By Eric Shanower
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The Silver Jug
In the Quadling Country of the Land of Oz stands a white marble palace covered with glittering rubies and flanked by pillared terraces. Lush gardens and orchards spread from the terraces across a green carpet sprinkled with fountains and gazebos. Walks of pure white gravel lace the gardens, and a wide drive leads up to the front steps. This is the home of Glinda the Good, the greatest and loveliest sorceress alive. Here Glinda has gathered one hundred of the prettiest girls of the Land of Oz to serve as her handmaidens. Each of these girls matches beauty with intelligence. Each is happy and faithful in her duties . . . each, that is, except Amanda.
Amanda was not bad, she was energetic and cheerful. She had not been sought out by Glinda as the ninety-nine other handmaidens had, but had traveled from the Gillikin Country to apply in person for the position. Amanda always meant to do her best, but her intentions were often foiled by an inquisitive and impetuous nature like a tightly coiled spring that ran from her head to her toes—a spring that let go at awkward moments.
For instance, Amanda mastered the art of weaving after little practice and soon joined the other girls in weaving a tapestry intended for the main hall of the palace’s west wing. Amanda wove with ease and speed, but, tiring quickly of the intended design, began to weave as caprice led her. The result was a wild array of colors and patterns. Amanda’s section had to be taken out and rewoven.
Another time Amanda was sent to gather the colorful tail feathers dropped by the many peacocks who lived in Glinda’s garden. When she returned, her skirt was in shreds and her hair flared in dusty disarray. She had grown tired of searching the ground for the occasional discarded feather. Instead, she chased the peacocks through bushes and flower beds, reasoning that if the tail feathers were to fall out anyway, what would be the harm if they were gathered just a little earlier?
And then there was the morning Amanda was sent to polish the great jeweled locks that fasten Glinda’s Great Book of Records to its marble table. Glinda reads this Great Book every day, for on the pages of the book appear descriptions of all the events in the world, no matter how small, at the exact moment each of them occurs. That afternoon when Glinda entered the room, she found only half of the book’s locks polished. There stood Amanda, overcome by her curiosity, absorbed in reading the huge pages of the book, and oblivious to all around her.
After each of these incidents, Glinda would gently reprimand the girl. Amanda would promise to restrain herself to her appointed duties, but despite the earnestness in her lavender eyes, Amanda quickly fell victim to her former tendencies.
Then one hot Friday, just before lunch, Glinda summoned Amanda to her Laboratory of Magic. Among counters and cupboards filled with ancient books, glass jars of colored substances, and curiously shaped metal implements, the great sorceress waited patiently until she heard a tap at the door. “Come in,” said Glinda.
The door opened slowly. Amanda stepped timidly into the room. Her hair and dress were dripping wet. She clasped a towel around her shoulders. “You sent for me, great sorceress?” she asked.
Glinda stared sharply at the girl. “What happened, Amanda?”
“Well, you see,” said Amanda, “I was out by the eastern wall gathering pink daffodils to be placed in the vases on the luncheon tables. The daffodils grow by the big fountain, you know.”
Glinda nodded.
“The sun was so hot, and I kept having to bend down again and again to gather the flowers,” Amanda continued. “The sun got hotter and hotter and the water in the fountain looked cooler and wetter until I—I don’t know—I just jumped in. I’m sorry—really I am. I won’t do it again.”
“I forgive you, Amanda,” said Glinda, “However, this is just the latest mishap in a long line of mishaps which are becoming increasingly difficult to overlook. My work as a sorceress is important. Frequent interruption is discouraging, especially when the interruptions are unnecessary.”
Amanda hung her head.
“I don’t wish to be harsh, Amanda,” continued Glinda. “You are capable. When you complete your duties you do them well. I know you treasure your position here, but if you want to remain in my service, you must learn responsibility. I do not want to stifle your personality or cut out your joy in life, but you must distinguish between the time for work and the time for play. If you can not, I will have to send you home.”
“I—I will try, your highness,” said Amanda, raising her head. Light glinted on the tears she just managed to hold back.
Glinda reached out and touched Amanda’s shoulder. “I know you will try,” she said, “and I will help you. I am going to give you a test.”
“A test?” said Amanda doubtfully. “How hard is it?”
“That is up to you,” said Glinda. “If you pass this test, you will have learned to take responsibility. Once having learned it, you will find it easier to do again.”
Glinda lifted a jug from a nearby counter. The jug was twelve inches high and made of silver. Its wide lip flared like a trumpet. A thick seal of red wax covered its mouth.
“I am giving this silver jug into your care for three days,” said Glinda. “I usually keep it locked safely in a cupboard, for it is magical. I will be spending the next three days in the Emerald City. When I return, I must find the jug in the same condition as I see it now. Notice that it is tightly sealed. I do not forbid you to break the seal, but if you do, you must deal with the results and reseal it before I return.”
“That won’t be hard at all,” said Amanda, relieved.
Glinda smiled. She handed the silver jug to Amanda. Amanda cradled it in her arms and studied her reflection in the metal surface. Then she eyed the red wax seal and began to wonder what could possibly be contained inside the jug.
“In three days,” said Glinda, “We shall see how well you have passed the test.”
Amanda took the silver jug to her dormitory room and set it carefully on the stand next to her bed. The rest of the day Amanda spent in her regular duties—embroidery before dinner, attending Glinda at an amazing performance of traveling gymnasts who could swivel all their joints both backwards and forwards—but all the time Amanda couldn’t stop wondering what could be inside the silver jug.
That night, Amanda’s roommate Dillifam, asked about the silver jug. Dillifam was from the Winkie Country. She had dark, curly hair and was the shortest of all Glinda’s handmaidens. Even though Dillifam never got into any trouble, she and Amanda were good friends.
Amanda sat on her bed and cradled the jug in her lap as she explained how Glinda was testing her. “I’m just dying to know what’s inside, Dil,” Amanda said.
“Maybe there’s nothing,” Dillifam said, slipping her toothbrush back into its rack.
“If nothing’s inside, why would it be sealed?” asked Amanda.
Dillifam laughed. “That’s the point, silly—to make you curious. If you’re not curious, there’s no test. It doesn’t matter what’s inside.”
“It matters to me,” said Amanda. “It matters a lot.”
“If I were you, Amanda, I’d leave it alone,” said Dillifam as she got into bed. “If you break the seal, Glinda will send you back home. Then who knows what my new roommate will be like? Probably some stuck-up Munchkin girl.” Dillifam nestled her head into her pillow.
“Glinda didn’t say I couldn’t break the seal—”
“Stop right there, Amanda,” said Dillifam. “If you’re smart, you’ll just ignore that jug. Don’t even think about it for three days.”
Amanda groaned. “Three long, long days. Impossible, Dil. I don’t even know how I’m going to get through tonight.” She set the jug back onto the night stand, turned out the light, and lay down in her bed. The silver jug shone eerily in the moonlight filtering through the gauzy window curtains.
In the morning Amanda and the other handmaidens gathered on the front lawn as Glinda flew away in her golden chariot drawn by twenty-six large snow white swans. Until Monday evening, Glinda was visiting the Emerald City. While she was away the handmaidens’ tasks would be fewer, so they quickly got up some games of croquet and lawn tennis. At first Amanda tried to join in, but as soon as she could evade Dillifam’s watchful eye, she sneaked back to her room.
The silver jug still rested on the stand beside her bed. Amanda picked up the jug. It wasn’t very heavy. She shook it. No bumps or rattles from inside.
“Even if it’s not empty,” thought Amanda, “it can’t hold anything dangerous, or Glinda would never have risked giving it to me.”
With that, Amanda decided to break the seal. She could reseal the jug after she’d seen what, if anything, was inside. She sat in a chair next to the window, set the jug on the floor before her, and braced it with her legs. In the streaming sunlight she began to chip at the wax with a nail file. But the wax was surprisingly hard, and the file bent. So gripping a pair of closed scissors in one fist, she drove the scissors into the wax. After several blows, the wax cracked. A chunk fell inward. Amanda peered into the hole. All she could see was blackness.
As she raised the scissors to chip more of the seal away, she noticed a tiny snout poke over the edge of the hole and nose about gently. The snout was golden and glinted in the sunlight. It looked as if it was made of many delicate plates of metal, each overlapping the next. The tiny plates slid liquidly one against another as the nostrils expanded and contracted, sniffing. A pair of large golden eyes followed the snout. Exquisitely articulated claws drew the reptilian body onto the cracked wax. The creature looked like a small lizard, expertly crafted from uncountable pieces of gold. It was barely thicker than her thumb and twice as long.
From its sides two wings suddenly fanned open. They waved up and down gently as if testing the air. It was a little golden dragon! Amanda was delighted, yet so startled that she jostled the jug. With a flap of wings the dragon sprang into the air.
“Come back,” cried Amanda, but her attention was immediately drawn back to the jug where another little golden dragon was unfolding its wings. Two more were struggling to squeeze through the hole in the seal. They emerged and followed the first into the air. More golden dragons crawled from the jug. The air began to fill with swooping dragons.
Amanda clapped one hand over the hole in the seal. Little metallic snouts pressed into her palm from within the jug. Little golden wings fluttered around her head. From the nostrils of one of the flying dragons shot a tiny burst of flame. Amanda felt its sudden heat against her forehead. With a cry she fell back into the chair, hands up to shield her face. A stream of little dragons poured from the jug and leapt into flight.
She clapped both hands onto the seal, but she was too forceful. The wax cracked completely. Most of it fell into the jug. Little golden dragons squirmed between her fingers. They crawled over her wrists and paused on her forearms before springing into the air. The room filled with a cloud of flashing, beating wings.
Amanda swung the silver jug around, trying to scoop the dragons from the air. She hit a few, knocking them to the floor or into furniture or across the room, but she couldn’t catch any.
The dragons swooped about more furiously. Their abdomens began to glow. Flames shot from their nostrils in short flashes. Scorch marks blossomed on the walls and ceiling. One of the curtains caught fire.
Amanda leaped face down onto her bed and wrapped her arms over her head. “Help!” she screamed. “Help!”
The door to the sitting room opened. Dillifam stepped in, but froze in surprise at the sight of dozens of tiny golden, glowing creatures whizzing around the room and breathing fire. Dillifam ducked as the dragons all streaked toward her.
“Shut the door!” cried Amanda.
Dillifam slammed the door shut, but it was too late. The last of the dragons had sped through the doorway.
Amanda jumped up and grabbed the silver jug. “Help me catch them!”
Dillifam was bewildered. “Amanda, what’s—?” She pointed to a burning blanket on her bed. “The room’s on fire!”
The room was on fire—in several places. But Amanda couldn’t think about that. She clutched the jug in one arm, pushed past Dillifam, and ran through the palace in search of the dragons.
Amanda followed the trail of scorched walls and burning tapestries. From the kitchens came cries of surprise and alarm. Amanda wished with all her might that she had never broken the jug’s seal, wished that she could turn time back to before she’d let the dragons out.
Various members of the kitchen staff stampeded past Amanda. One of the bakers, his arms covered in flour to the elbows, fled, screaming, oblivious to his flaming high white hat.
The spacious kitchen was deserted—except for the cloud of dragons. Today was bread-baking day. Dough oozed from overturned tubs. Baked loaves set out to cool lay broken and scattered across the room.
The dragons swarmed around the huge red brick ovens, flying in and out of them with sharp cries of “Mama! Mama!” Their cries sounded more despairing as they seemed unable to find what they sought.
Amanda set the jug onto a counter and grabbed a soiled tablecloth from the floor. Spreading it wide, she leaped at the dragons and scooped a lot of them into the fabric. Several escaped as she struggled to gather the edges of the wriggling mass of cloth. She looked around for a safe place to put her bundle, but dark brown patches began to blossom from within it. Amanda dropped the tablecloth. It blackened, burned, and the little glowing dragons escaped.
Maybe she could trap some of them inside the ovens if she closed the oven doors. But even as Amanda thought this, the whole swarm of dragons sailed through the open kitchen windows out into the bright blue afternoon sky.
“Come back!” screamed Amanda. She scrambled over the window sill, spilling several bowls of dough, and into the kitchen garden. Then hitching up her skirt, she sprinted after the dragons. “Stop!” she cried. “Stop!”
The dragons flew on, swooping about a little and emitting bursts of flame now and again. But they paid no attention to Amanda. She pounded across lawns, over gravel walks, through flower beds, but the dragons were gradually outdistancing her. At the end of the palace grounds, she kept going right into the meadow. The ground was uneven, the grass uncut, but Amanda didn’t slow down. Bugs and small birds sprang out of her way.
After awhile Amanda reached the top of a short incline. She fell to her knees, panting. Below her to the horizon stretched the Deadly Desert. One touch of its burning sands would turn living flesh to dust. Amanda watched the dragons fly on across the desert. They showed no sign of stopping. Soon they were lost to sight in the shimmering desert air.
Continued in The Salt Sorcerer of Oz and Other Stories
Copyright © 2002 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.
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