This book was designed by Melissa Arnst, and art directed by Chad W. Beckerman. It is set in Adobe Garamond, a typeface that is based on those created in the sixteenth century by Claude Garamond. Garamond modeled his typefaces on those created by Venetian printers at the end of the fifteenth century. The modern version used in this book was designed by Robert Slimbach, who studied Garamond’s historic typefaces at the Plantin-Moretus Museum in Antwerp, Belgium.
The capital letters at the beginning of each chapter are set in Daylilies, designed by Judith Sutcliffe. She created the typeface by decorating Goudy Old Style capitals with lilies.
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“Call 911!” Daphne cried as she knelt beside the feet.
“There is nothing to be done,” the woman in white said in an irritating singsong voice. “She was the Wicked Witch of the East. She held all the Munchkins in bondage for many years, making them slave for her night and day. Now they are all set free and are grateful for the favor.”
Daphne ignored her and spoke to the legs. “Don’t worry, lady! We’ll get you out of there.”
One of the Munchkin men stepped forward. “That’s not the line.”
Sabrina and Daphne eyed each other, confused. “Huh?”
The woman in white looked around and then leaned in close so she could speak in a voice no louder than a mouse’s. “You are messing up the story,” she said nervously. “You’re supposed to ask me if I’m a Munchkin. That’s what happens next.”
Sabrina scowled and clenched her fists. “What is she talking about? Every person from this nutty place is—”
“Shhhh,” Daphne said, and turned to the little woman. “OK, we’ll say what you want us to say. Are you a Munchkin?”
The woman sighed with relief and brushed some wrinkles out of her dress. “No, but I am their friend. I live in the land of the North. When they saw the Witch of the East was dead, the Munchkins sent a swift messenger to me, and I came at once. I am the Witch of the North.”
“I thought Glinda was the Witch of the North,” Sabrina said.
Daphne shook her head. “That’s only in the movie. Glinda’s the Witch of the South. Haven’t you read this story?”
“I skimmed it.”
Another of the little men chimed in. “No, you’re supposed to say, ‘Oh gracious! Are you a real witch?’”
Sabrina fumed and stomped her foot. “Just let me punch one of them out. It will be a lesson for the others.”
“Silence your animal, Dorothy!” another Munchkin demanded. “It’s altering the story.”
“Dorothy?” Sabrina said.
“My name’s not—wait! They think I’m Dorothy,” Daphne said as a happy smile spread across her face. “The book must have turned us into characters.”
“Then who am I?” Sabrina asked. She studied her clothing, but she was wearing the same thing she had had on out in the Hall of Wonders.
Daphne snickered. “Probably Toto.”
Sabrina joined in on the laugh, but it quickly faded. She reached under her shirt and found a small leather collar fastened around her neck. On it was a silver tag engraved with the name “Toto.” She pulled it off and angrily threw it to the ground. “Of course! I have to be the dog.”
Daphne laughed so hard she snorted.
“Yes, it’s hilarious!” Sabrina steamed. “Don’t be surprised if I bite your leg.”
Daphne got herself under control. “Well, this is interesting. If the book is turning us into the characters, maybe that’s why everyone’s being so weird. We’re supposed to follow the story. Am I right?”
The crowd regarded them quietly, as if they were afraid to answer. Finally, one of the little old men nodded subtly and whispered, “Please, we beg you. Just say the line.”
Sabrina threw up her hands in frustration and turned to her sister. “I feel like I’m trapped in a second-grade play. They’re going to have to spoon-feed us every line of dialogue unless you’ve got this story memorized from beginning to end.”
Daphne recited the line the Munchkin had given to her: “Oh gracious! Are you a real witch?”
“Yes indeed,” the woman in white said. “But I am a good witch, and the people love me. I am not as powerful as the Wicked Witch who ruled here, or I would have set the people free myself.”
Sabrina groaned. “Enough! We’re not here to be part of your story. We’re looking for a man who is traveling with a toddler—a little boy. Have you seen them or not?”
The Munchkins stepped back in fright.
“He’s short and balding and wearing a black suit,” Daphne added.
A rosy-cheeked man in the back of the crowd made his way to the front. “I have seen him.”
The rest of the Munchkins broke into excited complaints, begging their friend to be quiet and not change the story. He spat on the ground and refused. “It’s best to just get them out of here as soon as possible,” he said. “They’re just like the last feller. He wouldn’t follow the story, either.”
“Mirror was here? When?”
“Not long ago,” the Munchkin said. “He took off down the Yellow Brick Road in search of one of those magic doors.”
“Magic doors?”
“That’s right. I’ve heard rumors they will take you out of this story and into the next.”
“Then we have to stop him,” Sabrina said. “If he gets to the door, who knows what story he’ll step into next.”