"Even so," the Scarecrow said, "the Gillikins will break out of the woods within a few days. We won't be able to stop them in their march to the city. The country's too open. Tell Glinda that all I can do now is to prepare for a siege. That ought to tie down most of their army."

"She probably already knows that," Hank said.

"Yes, probably. But she has to get the news officially."

A hawk arrived with an order from Glinda. Hank was to forget about the planned strafing of the Gillikins. He took off three days later. He felt tired and defeated but not discouraged.

Stover reported the latest developments to Glinda.

"All bad news, I'm afraid."

"No," the queen said. "Not all. You must have slain almost a fourth of Erakna's hawks, and that means that her intelligence and messenger force is greatly reduced. Also, you dealt a heavy blow to the Winged Monkeys.

"However, the Uneatable will have learned from her two encounters with you. The next time she sets a trap for you, she'll do it differently."

"Why am I so important to her?"

"It's not you so much as it is the airplane. She must have an exaggerated idea of the danger it represents to her armed forces."

Hank winced, but he had to admit that she was right. Jenny's main use was just carrying passengers. She could have been of limited benefit in strafing or bombing the invaders if it were not for the hawks and eagles. But these could bring him down fairly easy. He had been lucky escaping them. Also, the hawks were far superior scouts.

Now, if only he could have an MB-3A pursuit plane. No use thinking about ifs, though.

"You're not the only teller of bad news," she said.

"Yes?"

"The day before Erakna sent the Winged Monkeys after you, she killed Wulthag."

"Oh, my God! The East Witch is dead?"

"Yes. Somehow, Erakna got through her defenses and incinerated her. A Gillikin army is marching almost unhindered to the Munchkin capital. Old Mombi is with it; she's to be the ruler, subject, of course, to Erakna."

"That's terrible!"

"Not altogether. Erakna is spreading her forces too thin. She'll have a hard time conducting a war on three fronts. Four fronts when she starts invading Quadlingland. The Gillikins are already short-handed on the farmlands. She'll probably bring in slaves from the conquered areas to replace the farmers. But they'll have to be guarded, and she'll have to use a lot of soldiers to do that. She'll also have to tie down many soldiers and occupation troops."

"Could she also have thought about capturing me so she could question me? She must be very curious about me. Maybe she thinks that I have knowledge that she could use, especially of weapons."

Glinda sipped berry juice, then said, "You're very shrewd, Hank. Like your mother. Yes, I suppose that was in her mind, but she obviously preferred that you should be killed. She is more concerned about how much you might help me than about possible aid to her."

Hank hesitated, then said, "Pardon me, Little Mother I..."

"Call me Glinda when we're alone. I get tired of titles."

"Well, uh, Glinda, I wonder... that is, when Erakna attacked Wulthag, she must have used up a lot of energy. Wouldn't she be weaker then, her defenses not so strong? Why didn't you take the opportunity then to attack her?"

Glinda's eyes narrowed, though she smiled.

"Erakna used up much energy when she attacked, yes. But by the time I detected that, she'd slain Wulthag. Poor dear. As soon as Wulthag died, Erakna immediately took over Wulthag's store of energy. That not only recharged Erakna, it made her stronger than before. That's why I did not attack."

"Thank you for the explanation," Hank said. "Though it's not really so illuminating. I need a clear and detailed description of both the theory and the practice of magic."

"You'd have to go through the discipline of witch-art," she said. "That'd take years, and it'd be very dangerous. Out of every hundred who begin training, half quit before they get very far. Out of the remaining fifty, only two or three, if that, become full-fledged witches or wizards. The others... die.

"I should modify that. A few settle for being minor witches. Like Mombi, for instance."

"Why don't you attack her?"

"I will when conditions are right."

She told him to make out his report for the Signal Corps and she would read it. When the green haze came again, he should have everything ready. She might wish to censor it, however.

"They just won't believe it," he said.

"Even if they think you're crazy, they'll keep trying. They might attempt to send through another flier. Or, perhaps, many. Once they can control the size and duration of the opening, they'll invade. I'm sure of that."

"I'm not. You're very worried about disease. But they'll be just as concerned about the diseases here. They could be wide open to them."

"But we don't have any. None for them to worry about, anyway."

"They don't know that. You made sure of that."

"Did I?"

"Sure. What makes you think you didn't?"

"I've had three hundred years experience, but I still run across people who are so tricky that even they fool me now and then. Human ingenuity is deep and complex, and it's most ingenious when it's involved with crime or war. You're tricky, and you haven't declared for us. I wouldn't believe you if you did say you were on our side."

She paused.

"I might if you marry Lamblo. But even then I couldn't be sure of your loyalty. You could marry her as a ploy."

"Damn it! I'm not that deceitful! I have integrity! I'm honest! If I was such a double-dealing swine, I'd have jumped at the chance to marry Lamblo!"

"Cool down," she said, smiling. "You're as hot-tempered as your mother. The difference between you two is that her anger was always appropriate. You're not as self-secure. Of course, you might be faking indignation."

"I'm not very good at faking!"

"Hotter and hotter. The point just now is what you would do if there was no danger from your people and your patriotism wasn't being tried. Would you then marry Lamblo?"

"I really don't know," he said. "I'm not in love with her. That is, I'm not possessed with headlong unthinking passion."

"Passion isn't always love. In fact, it seldom is. If you're waiting for that..."

Hank said nothing.

"Whom are you waiting for? Anyone I know?"

"There's no woman on Earth..."

"Here?"

"I wasn't going to say that."

There was a long silence. Glinda looked at the pile of papers waiting for her to study and sign or not sign. She sighed. Nobody else, he thought, could convey so much in just an exhalation. There was a deep, centuries-deep, weariness in it. Or, perhaps, not weariness but frustration. Or, perhaps, sadness. Or all three, not levels of them but inextricable strands.

He felt as if he needed the relief of tears.

At that moment, he loved her more than he ever had; he ached for her, but he also felt a shadow. And that was the darkness of understanding that he could never have her for mate or wife. She was human and beautiful, but she was also a very very old human. She would as soon take a year-old infant for lover as him.

She raised her eyes and fixed him with them.

"You're in love with me, aren't you?"

"Oh, no," he said quickly.

He hated himself for the lie. Why had he blurted that out? Why was he afraid to admit the truth? Had he thought that he would offend her? Hurt her? A woman who had had three hundred years to form every defense against every kind of emotional hurt? Who probably did not even need defenses by now?

She smiled slightly but said nothing. Those eyes. They looked like the eyes of the Sphinx of Gizeh. Time-worn, they stared out into infinity and eternity, and these looked back at her, and she became part of them. No. Became them.