Elphaba Nor Flight on Broom

She touched it, almost fearfully, as if she guessed it had intentions. It felt no different from an ordinary broom. It merely moved, as if guided by the hand of an invisible spirit. 'What tree are you whittled from, what field are you mown from?' she asked it, almost tenderly, but she expected no answer and she got none. The broom quivered, and elevated itself a little off the floor, as if waiting.

The cape had a hood on it, and she drew this up over her face. Then she hiked her summer skirt to her knees, and threw one leg over the broom, to ride it as a child rides a hobby horse.

The thing rose, tentatively, so she could keep her balance by trailing her toes on the floor, correcting, correcting-the center of gravity was high, and the span was so narrow. The top of the handle tilted farther up, and she slid down the shaft until she was caught against the brush top, as if it were a saddle of sorts. She held on tightly; her legs, especially in the upper thigh, felt as if they were swelling, the better to clench the handle between them. The large window at the end of the room hung open, for aft and light, and the broom moved a couple of feet across the floor, until it had reached the sill.

Then the broom rose a few feet, and carried her out the window. Nor's stomach pitched, and her heels beat against the underside of the brush.

Mercifully she had emerged not in the castle courtyard, where she would likely be seen, but on the other side, where the land did not fall away quite so far and fast. Nor wailed softly in the strangeness and ecstasy of the adventure. The cape flared out, exposing her chest, and how could she ever have imagined she wanted to be seen without a blouse? 'Oh oh,' she cried, but whether to the broom or to some guardian spirit, she did not know. She shuddered with exposure and shock, and the broom rose higher and higher, until it had come to a level with the uppermost window, which was in the Witch's tower.

The Witch and her nanny were watching, open-mouthed, with cups of tea halfway to their lips.

'You come down from there at once,' ordered the Witch. Nor didn't know if it was she who was being addressed, or the broom. She had no reins to tug, no words of magic to wield. However the broom, apparently chastened, turned back, descended, and made a somewhat clumsy landing on the floor of the men's barracks. Nor flung herself off, weeping and shivering, and reclothed herself properly. She didn't want to touch the broom again, but when she picked it up the life had gone out of it, and she carried it up to the Witch's apartments expecting a severe reprimand.

'What were you doing with my broom?' barked the Witch.