The Librarian (Book One: Little Boy Lost) (10 page)

  
Wesley watched Locke take the pail from Taylor before going up onto his tip-toes and hanging it on one of the tree branches. He wished he had done it for her instead.

  
Locke was sniffing the air again when Wesley and Taylor went to hang the other pails. He continued, sniffing his way deeper into the woods until he found a narrow path of dirt that wound its way through the trees.

  
Taylor came to his side. “How do you do that?”

  
Wesley followed them down the path, keeping a close watch on the trees as they moved deeper into the forest. None were coming alive, but they seemed to be changing as the kids traveled. Each was a little more bare than the last, until eventually they were in an area of the forest where the trees didn’t have any leaves at all. Their gnarled branches twisted into bony hands – hands ready to come alive at any moment. Wesley quickened his pace, moving closer to his friends.

  
The children let Locke’s nose lead the way until they crested a hill that looked down on a small stone cottage in the distance. A ribbon of smoke curled from its brick chimney and escaped into the pale blue sky.

   
Wesley saw her first. “Oh man!” he exclaimed. A young girl was chopping wood near the cottage below.

  
Of course, she wasn’t a girl. Not really. They were in Oz.

  
She was a munchkin.

BACK IN THE library, the hooded man lifted a table with one hand, tipping it on edge to make sure no one was hiding beneath before letting it crash to the floor.

  
His cloak billowed as he turned to a nearby desk and kicked it over. He seemed to be growing more irate with every moment. If only he had slowed his angry search, perhaps he would have seen the shadow looming behind a grate on the wall – or the old man who was casting it while watching his every move.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE we’re doing this,” Taylor whispered as she and the others sneaked to a hiding spot behind a small well on the outermost edge of the cottage owner’s land.

  
The munchkin girl was short and squat and wore a faded pair of overalls. Her face was colored a soft pink and seemed to reflect the sunlight like the skin of a porcelain doll. She was covered in mud and had accomplished little since starting her work. Her axe was as big as she was, and the pile of logs that needed chopping was a mountain compared to the neatly stack firewood she had produced.

  
Taylor watched the munchkin maiden study her hands. Her skin was cracked, her fingers worn red and bleeding.

  
“We should help,” Taylor said quietly.

  
“We can’t,” Locke said.

  
“I know, but she’s so—“

  
“What’s taking so long, child?!” It was a tiny voice, but angry, forcing the kids to pull together behind the well for cover.

  
Afraid herself, the maiden struggled to lift her axe as an ugly old woman came out of the cottage, down the porch steps and began to march toward her. “Such a waste of space,” she snarled. “I swear!”

  
“I’m trying my best, ma’am. I promise I’ll—“

  
“Don’t whine to me, little girl! If your loving woodsman hadn’t disappeared on us you wouldn’t have so much to do, now would you?”

  
Locke saw a spark of recognition in Taylor’s eyes. She was moving to get a better look, but the Lost Boy was quick to hold her back.

  
The old woman threw up her arms in disgust. “I guess you want another night without supper! Is that it?!”

  
“Please, no!”

  
“It won’t worry me any if you fade away to nothing. Your lover certainly did!” She stormed away toward the cottage. “I want that wood split and stacked by nightfall,” she hissed. “And don’t forget you’ve got chores in the house when you’re finished here!”

  
The maiden watched until her mistress was up the stairs and in the house then let out a long, tired breath. Her eyes fell on the chopping block in front of her. A single log stood at attention on the block, waiting to be split. She gathered her strength and lifted the axe, but the tool’s weight sent the maiden toppling backwards into the mud. She landed hard, sitting in the muck for a long moment before she finally broke down and began to sob.

  
Behind the well, Taylor turned to face Wesley. “You know who that is?” she whispered.

  
“Yeah,” Wesley answered. “It’s the Tinman’s girlfriend.”

  
“It’s not his girlfriend, Wes.” She was upset he’d phrased it that way. “She’s his fiancé. His soulmate.”

  
“Who’s the Tinman?” Locke interupted.

  
“You’ve never seen...” Her words trailed off. Of course, he hadn’t. Locke had never seen the movie nor read the book. He didn’t know anything about
The Wizard of Oz
. It was just another carving on the library wall, a doorway into another world he’d never visited until now.

  
The children snuck away, Locke listening as his two friends took turns telling the Tinman’s story.

  
“The Tinman is from a story called
The Wizard of Oz
. He’s – well, he’s a man made of metal.”

  
“Right,” Taylor said. “Only he wasn’t always made of metal. In the beginning... he was just a man.”

  
“The Woodsman was in love with the munchkin maiden. She promised to marry him as soon as he could afford to give them a proper home.”

  
“Like most love stories,” Taylor began, “things weren’t easy for them. The Woodsman was very poor—“

  
“And she lived with an evil old woman who treated the maiden like a slave and forced the maiden to wait on her hand-and-foot.”

  
“The Woodsman promised the maiden he would work hard and earn enough so he could come back and give her the life she deserved.”

  
“But the old woman wasn’t going to let the Maiden go that easy,” Wesley explained.

  
“Exactly,” Taylor said. “The old woman went to the Wicked Witch of the East, and—“

  
“Witch?” Locke asked, interrupting.

  
“There are witches in Oz,” Taylor explained. “Some are good, some are bad. She’s one of the worst.”

  
“She promised the Witch two sheep and a cow if she would keep the marriage from happening.“

  
“The Witch agreed.”

  
“That night the Witch cast a spell on the Woodsman’s axe, and the next day the axe leapt from his hand, sailed through the air and cut off one of his legs.”

  
“Oh my gosh!” Locke exclaimed, shocked the story had taken such a dramatic turn.

  
“The Witch was sure that would be good enough,” Taylor continued.

  
“Really,” Wesley said. “Who’s going to cut wood on one leg, right?”

  
“The Woodsman,” Taylor said softly. “That’s who.”

  
“He’d do anything to keep his promise so he found a tinsmith who was good enough to make him a leg out of tin. It was stronger than his real leg, and in a few days he was cutting wood better than ever.”

  
“Then what happened?” Locke asked, somewhat hesitant.

  
“Every time he stepped foot into the forest his axe would take another limb. One after another. His legs. His arms. Until eventually, there was nothing left to take.”

  
Locke could picture the Woodsman standing in the middle of the forest, tin arms and legs, his axe gripped tightly in his metal hands.

  
“Even then, though. Even as he began to realize he was fighting a losing battle,” Taylor shook her head as she talked. “All he could think about was her.”

  
“He went back to work, but the axe jumped from his hands once more and finally split the Woodsman’s body in two.”

  
“The tinsmith worked through the night, but there was little he could do. He pieced the Woodsman together but couldn’t rebuild what mattered most to the Woodsman. His heart.”

  
“The Woodsman was beaten. He didn’t think the munchkin maiden would love a man made of metal so he disappeared into the forest. She never saw him again.”

  
Wesley and Taylor led Locke out of the forest and into the meadow. Both knew he would have questions and waited patiently, Wesley picking a pink flower as they walked.

  
“Why would someone write something like that?” Locke asked. “Your heart doesn’t have anything to do with loving someone.”

  
“That’s what makes it so sad,” Wesley said.

  
“So sad,” Locke repeated.

  
The three walked in silence until the cabin re-appeared on the horizon and planted an idea in Taylor’s mind. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be,” she suggested.

  
“What do you mean?” Wesley asked.

  
“Who says we can’t find him for her?”

  
“Whoa! Wait a minute, now. We can’t—”

  
Taylor cut Wesley off. “What if that cabin is his house? I saw an oil can on the shelf. That would mean he’s close, right?”

  
“We can’t, Tay. You know that.”

  
“Why?”

  
“Because Locke said it’s against the rules!”

  
“Yeah? But why? Who came up with these rules anyway? Why are they so important?” Both turned to Locke who didn’t seem ready to join their conversation.

  
“It’s like we’re in a time-travel movie,” Wesley said as he showed her the flower in his hand. “Even picking a flower can change the way things are supposed to happen.”

  
“How do you know that?” Taylor asked.

  
“I just do!”

  
“But we helped Locke,” she said softly. “If we didn’t he’d still be trapped under that table. If
that
was right, how can
this
be wrong?”

  
Wesley didn’t have a good answer for that. The three children stood facing one another in silence until Locke finally spoke up and quietly asked,“Are they important to the story or are they just... in the background... like me?”

  
Taylor shrugged. “The munchkin maiden is barely mentioned. I think she shows up on one or two pages, that’s it. Most people don’t even know she’s part of the story.”

  
She and Locke looked to Wesley, as if his was the deciding vote.

  
“Is this what you were talking about?” Wesley asked. “Being trapped in a story?”

  
Locke pointed back in the direction from which they’d come. “That girl will wake up to the same pile of wood every morning. It will never change. She’ll be working for that old lady forever. Not the rest of her life. Forever. ‘Til the world ends.”

  
“It’s a chance to give them a happy ending, Wes.”

  
Wesley shook his head, finally giving in. “Fine,” he said in a huff. Taylor jumped into the air, giddy with excitement. “What’s the worst that can happen anyway?”

RANDY WAS STILL at his post in the library’s main hall and was flipping through the huge copy of
Oz
the librarian had given him. He’d grown to appreciate the beautiful illustrations that were scattered throughout the tome and the fine craftsmanship that had gone into the book’s production. He was reading while he waited and found Taylor was right; there was some pretty cool stuff in the book that wasn’t mentioned in the movie at all and he was only four chapters in. He was about to start chapter five: “The Rescue of the Tin Woodsman.”

THE CHILDREN KNEW their chances of finding the Tinman were slim. It was like looking for a needle that was buried in one of a thousand different haystacks. They were short on time, and the forest seemed to go on forever in all directions. He could be anywhere. But then—

  
Wesley came to a quick stop and put a balled fist into the air. “Did you hear that?” he shouted. “Listen!”

  
Taylor and Locke were at a distance on either side of Wesley. They had made sure to stay within sight of one another, but they were spread out in an effort to cover as much ground as possible in their search. Taylor listened, but all she heard was the bubbling of a nearby brook.

  
“HMMMPH!”

  
“There!” Wesley said. “This way!”

  
Wesley took off, running deeper into the forest. Taylor and Locke were quick to follow.

  
Wesley came into a small clearing but tripped and fell face first into the dirt. He rolled onto his side, looking back to see his foot was hooked on a grey tree stump jutting out from the ground. There was another stump beside that one. Another beside that.

  
“Tell me you guys didn’t see that,” Wesley joked as Taylor and Locke came rushing into the clearing behind him. Neither answered. Both kids were staring at something directly behind Wesley.

  
“Wes?” Taylor whispered.

  
“HMMMMPH!”

  
Wesley rolled onto the flat of his stomach. A man was standing just a few feet away and casting a shadow across Wesley’s face. More than that, the stranger was holding a large axe, ready to bring it down on Wesley’s head.

  
“Don’t!” Wesley pulled both knees into his chest and covered his head with both arms, bracing for the impact of the stranger’s axe. When it didn’t come, Wesley poked his head back out into the open.