At 224 pages, OZ-STORY 6, the final volume of this annual anthology of stories, comics, and verse about L. Frank Baum's wonderful Land of Oz, is nearly twice as long as any previous volume. Included are rare or previously unpublished works by all seven authors of the original Oz books, plus many other fascinating features, vintage and new.
Excerpted from Oz-story 6 by L. Frank Baum, Eloise McGraw, Harlan Ellison, Philip Jose Farmer, Eric Shanower, Ruth Plumly Thompson, John R. Neill, Steve Lieber, Steven "Ribs" Weissman, Anna-Maria Cool, W. W. Denslow, Marge, David Maxine. Copyright © 2000. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved
THE RUNDELSTONE OF OZ By Eloise Jarvis McGraw
Chapter One
In the Emerald City, in one of the charming little gardens of the royal palace, Princess Ozma, the fairy ruler of the Land of Oz, was having tea with two of her ladies in waiting. In the course of a year she invited each of the ten, two by two, being careful not to favor any one over the others. Today it was the turn of Lady Pernilda and Countess Magriata -- an ill-matched pair, for Lady Pernilda was elderly, pudding-faced, fond of elaborate hats, and inclined to stare down her not-very-impressive nose at the liveliness of the younger generation, whereas the Countess was not only lively and young, but quite impossible to squelch. However, they were the only ones remaining to be invited this year, so there was nothing to be done about it. Ozma, who privately preferred the company of Countess Magriata, made a point of being especially gracious to Lady Pernilda, inquiring with every appearance of interest after her elderly husband, her elderly and crotchety dog, and the distant c! ousins she heard from occasionally and never failed to bring into the conversation. Ozma had gathered from previous allusions that the cousins were very important people indeed in their own part of the country.
“Yes, your Royal Highness,” said Lady Pernilda now, with a nostalgic sigh. Today’s hat was a turban as tall as a water pitcher, trimmed with a great many emerald-green roses. “I miss them still, after all these years in the Emerald City. Sir Nevilard WOULD come -- well, his future was here, of course -- I do not blame my husband. But he has no relatives. I come of a very old Gillikin family, you know.”
“Oh, we know,” put in the young Countess, meeting Lady Pernilda’s quick, suspicious look with one of angelic innocence.
Ozma made haste to pour more tea, and ask how recently Lady Pernilda had heard from her distinguished cousins.
“It has been . . . some years,” replied the old lady reluctantly. “Indeed, I have wondered . . .” She seemed to change her mind about what she had intended to say. “But there! You will not want to hear more about my affairs! Your Royal Highness is too kind.”
“How often I have said the same!” Countess Magriata exclaimed with a smile like the sun coming out. “Please, Princess Ozma -- may I tell you about MY affairs? My father has given me a beautiful little bay mare for my birthday, and a jeweled saddle and bridle . . .”
She prattled on for some moments about the mare, and her older sister, and the older sister’s toddler who was always doing amusing things, and presently Princess Dorothy came out to the garden to join them, and the conversation became general until it was time for the guests to leave. But Ozma, whose kindness was real and went far deeper than a tea party required, detained Lady Pernilda as Dorothy was strolling ahead with the younger lady in waiting. “Please tell me, my friend. Are you in any way disturbed because your cousins have not written you? You sounded -- well, a little worried.”
“Oh, no, your Royal Highness! I assure you! Please don’t be concerned. I am sure Mal will send word sooner or later. He was always a dilatory correspondent.”
“Very well. But don’t hesitate to come to me if you become uneasy. We can always look in the Magic Picture, you know.”
Lady Pernilda’s pudding-face relaxed into a smile that made Ozma realize she must have been quite pretty -- though perhaps still pudding-faced -- as a younger woman. “Thank you, your Royal Highness. I will remember that,” she said, swept a creditable curtsey despite her pudgy shape, and took her leave.
Copyright 2000 Eloise Jarvis McGraw. All rights reserved.
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