This is something I wrote last year, partially to wrap up some loose ends surrounding Clocker and Kadj the Conjurer from Ruth Plumly Thompson's Pirates in Oz. As is my wont, I also worked in a few references to some post-canonical Oz works. It feels unfinished, though, like it needs to go somewhere else. Any suggestions are welcome.

ROBOTS OF OZ
By Nathan M. DeHoff

“And what can we do for you, sir?” inquired the Frogman, who stood at the entrance to Ozma’s throne room, where the Royal Ruler was holding court.
“I have reason to suspect you have several items that used to belong to me, as well as an old prisoner of mine,” answered the tall man in faded robes.
“Prisoner? Are you, then, a jailor?”
“Not by choice, certainly, but I was the only one willing to take this particular fellow after he fell out of favor with the people of Menankypoo.”
“Menankypoo? Isn’t that in Ev?”
“Not politically, but geographically, it essentially is. It’s where I live.”
“Then how did you get here to Oz?”
“That’s my secret.”
“All right, but you should know that magic is forbidden here in—”
“I’m well aware of that, and I haven’t practiced any magic since coming to this fine country. Well, unless you count this walking stick.”
“It’s magical?”
“To an extent. It saves up energy and transfers it to me, to keep me moving more efficiently.”
“I would imagine that’s acceptable, but you probably should check with the Ruler. One of my closest friends has a Magic Dishpan that she inherited from her ancestors, and she’s allowed to keep it.”
As soon as Ozma had finished speaking with a farmer who wanted to keep locusts off his fields, the Frogman announced Kadj from Menankypoo. The man approached the throne, where Ozma sat with the Cowardly Lion and Hungry Tiger on either side of her, and Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz just behind the seat.
“Menankypoo? That place out in Ev where people talk in flashing lights?” asked Dorothy.
“Yes, although I am not a native, and hence am incapable of communicating in that fashion. I have come here because I think you might have some of my magic in this palace.”
“I don’t see any reason why we would have taken any of your magic from Menankypoo,” said Ozma. “The only interaction we’ve had with them was to restore them after they’d been thrown in the sea by pirates.”
“I doubt being underwater affected them much. But anyway, I don’t know that you necessarily took my magic on purpose, but it does appear to have ended up here. The Standing Stick and Hardy-Hood invented by my daughter Cinderbutton, and a man with a cuckoo clock head by the name of Clocker.”
“Yes, I remember them!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Old Ruggedo brought them here the last time he invaded, and we didn’t know where they came from in the first place.”
“I’d almost forgotten about Clocker,” mused the Wizard. “I was trying to replace his bad works with good, but haven’t been particularly successful. He’s still in a closet now.”
“That seems rather cruel to a living thing,” observed Ozma.
“I do not know that he is a liv-ing thing,” objected Tik-Tok, the mechanical man made of copper, who stood near the throne. “He works on clock-work, as I do.”
“You’re both right, in a way,” said Kadj. “He’s a combination of biological and mechanical components. He was supposed to serve as a wise man for the King of Menankypoo, but his subjects didn’t much like the ideas Clocker put into his head.”
“Can you really expect much when he has a cuckoo for a brain?” asked Scraps, the Patchwork Girl.
“I’m afraid that was one of Mooj’s ideas. I don’t think he turned out too well either, although perhaps you’d know better than I do.”
“The same Mooj who turned me into an alarm clock?” shuddered the Cowardly Lion.
“Perhaps. He was a master clockmaker who worked for Smith and Tinker, who if I’m not mistaken were also the creators of your copper man.”
“You mean Jomo?” asked Dorothy.
“Jomo? Oh, yes, the coppersmith. He came to work at the firm around the same time as Mooj, actually.”
“I thought Jomo WAS Smith and Tinker,” said Scraps.
“He was a vital part of the organization, but of course he worked for Mr. Smith and Mr. Tinker themselves, before they disappeared.”
“So there WERE a real Smith and Tinker?” inquired the Wizard. “I’ll admit I’ve been confused on that point.”
“Why, of COURSE there’s an actual Mr. Tinker! His first name’s Ezra, and I met him in Kansas!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Why had I forgotten about that?”
“I’m afraid there may have been some magic at work there,” replied Kadj.
“But Jomo doesn’t USE magic!” demanded Jellia Jamb, the head of the palace staff.
“No, he didn’t, but I did. So many people were asking for Smith and Tinker after they disappeared that I had Jomo drink some of my Identi-Tea, so he and those around him would think he WAS them. After that trouble with the Nomes, though, he left for Oz, as Mr. Wainwright had done before him.”
“Did you work for Smith and Tinker, too?” asked Dorothy.
“Occasionally, although I was never an official part of the firm. I occasionally provided magical assistance.”
“I did not think Mis-ter Smith and Mis-ter Tin-ker used ma-gic,” stated Tik-Tok.
“No, which is why they needed my help. Of course, in a magical land, even those who don’t practice magic still make use of it sometimes. I mean, if you look at Tik-Tok, it takes much less energy to wind him than he has after being wound. It takes a bit of manipulation of the laws of thermodynamics to accomplish that.”
“I’ve always thought the same about people not dying here in Oz,” added the Wizard.
“Even the most non-magical of inventors occasionally needs a conjurer.”
“But I thought conjurers just did tricks, like the Wizard used to before Glinda taught him real magic,” said Betsy Bobbin, causing the court magician to blush.
“That’s one meaning of the term, as in a conjuring trick. It can also mean someone who calls demons.”
“A demon? But aren’t they evil?” asked Trot.
“That’s a common misconception. Some are, like the ones who live in the caves near the Laughing Valley, but there’s nothing inherently bad about the term. It comes from the Greek, meaning a tutelary spirit.”
“Mr. Baum did write a book about the Demon of Electricity,” said Dorothy.
“Yes, I’ve met him. In my particular case, however, while I have worked with demons, the title ‘Conjurer’ refers largely to my having studied under the Wizard Conjo.”
“I don’t believe I’ve heard of him,” said the Wizard of Oz.
“He’s very reclusive, but he also can’t help showing off.”
“Then you knew that old clock-face Mooj?” asked the Patchwork Girl.
“Yes, he worked for Smith and Tinker. He had some kind of accident while working on a clockwork project, and he somehow managed to augment his own head with clock parts. After that, he seems to have grown increasingly…odd. He became obsessed with finding a device that could regulate time itself, said to be hidden somewhere in a place called Seebania.”
“Maybe that’s why he took over the kingdom,” said the Wizard.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. He seemed to have rather…loose morals, especially after the accident. There might be some kind of inherent difficulty in mixing organic brains with mechanical ones, which could explain how Clocker became so sinister.”
“My friend, the Tin Woodman, had flesh parts replaced with metal ones, and he’s not sinister at all!” objected the Scarecrow.
“Yes, but the Emperor isn’t really mechanical, is he?” mused the Frogman. “He’s just formed of metal parts. Meddling with brains, however, could be considerably trickier.”
“My brains work just fine.”
“But they’re the only brains you’ve ever had. Remember what happened to the Glass Cat when the Wizard tried to replace her pink brains with transparent ones?”
“Yes, that was a mistake,” sighed the Wizard, “although I still think it could have worked if I’d done it gradually instead of all at once.”
“I wouldn’t try it.”
“I’m not going to, since she prevented Ozma from being kidnapped and all. I’m just not sure changing brains is a lost cause.”
“I’m not sure about that, but I do know that neither Mooj nor Clocker turned out well,” declared Kadj. “What happened to Mooj, anyway?”
“Ozma turned him into a drop of water,” explained the Wizard.
“Well, if he was continuing down the same path he had been, there might not have been a better choice.”
“He threatened Ojo, who gave me most of MY brains,” announced Scraps, “and pushed his father off a cliff.”
“Well, maybe I’d better take a look at Clocker,” declared Kadj. “Do you still have the Standing Stick and the Hardy-Hood?”
“The Stick, yes,” answered Ozma. “We gave the Hardy-Hood to Roger, the Read Bird from the Octagon Isle.”
“I suppose I don’t necessarily need it back, but it’s rather frustrating to come home from vacation and find that your cave has been burgled.”
“Speaking of mechanical people,” said the Frogman, “our next case is that of Ozwoz the Wonderful, who has 2000 magically controlled wooden soldiers.”
“What an odd coincidence.”
“That’s how things sometimes are in Oz,” confirmed the Wizard.
A man in sharp Gillikin clothes, with a broad-brimmed feathered cap, a long cape, and a rakish mustache, entered the room, where he was shown by the Soldier with Green Whiskers to a seat facing Ozma’s throne.
“Salutations, my fair young Queen!” said Ozwoz politely, doffing his cap to his monarch. “I understand you called me here to discuss some matters with my army.”
“Yes, from the information we’ve gathered,” began Professor Wogglebug, as he walked back and forth before the Gillikin’s chair, “you have been practicing illegal magic, and having hostile intentions toward travelers, as per your attempts to have your army of wooden soldiers fire upon the Princes of Pumperdink and Regalia, and the Red Jinn of Ev.”
“Oh, yes, but we got on quite well afterwards. We even traded, and I find my never-empty cookie jar to be quite useful when I’m working and don’t have time to get a meal.”
“But only because they had magical protection to keep themselves from being shot full of holes! Not everyone who comes by your home has that, I’m sure.”
“To be fair, not many people come there at all, and those who do leave promptly without my soldiers firing a single shot.”
“Is it really necessary to have your own personal army?” asked the Scarecrow.
“Perhaps not necessary, but well within my rights, and a useful precaution in case of thieves or invaders. Many countries in Oz have their own standing armies, and I have heard nothing of your trying to disband them.”
“But those are countries with their own populations, not just one person!” objected the Wogglebug.
“It is still my own inherited territory, and the population is not strictly relevant. Consider it my own personal country, Ozwozia, if you wish. Besides, if you consider the army itself, the population is 2000.”
“2001, counting you, right?” questioned the Scarecrow.
“No, as I gave my vanguard soldier, Johnwan, to Prince Randy. Perhaps I shall make another, to keep the number round, but so far I have not felt the need.”
“I prefer square numbers, myself,” put in the Woozy, who had just awakened from a nap.
“By my cal-cu-la-tions, that would re-quire Oz-woz to ei-ther give a-way a-noth-er six-ty-three sol-diers, or make an add-i-tion-al twen-ty-six,” said Tik-Tok.
“I don’t know that your wooden soldiers really count as a pop’lation,” stated Dorothy.
“Do you consider your own mechanical man to be a citizen?” questioned Ozwoz.
“Well, yes, but he thinks and talks and acts. If your soldiers are all like Johnwan, they only do what they’re ordered to.”
“I am on-ly a ma-chine, and do what I am wound up to do,” said Tik-Tok, “but I app-re-ci-ate your ac-cep-tance of me as part of Oz-ma’s court.”
“You’re not only a machine. You’re our friend!” exclaimed Betsy, giving the copper man a hug.
“And you can’t appreciate anything unless you have feelings,” added the Shaggy Man.
“Mere-ly a fig-ure of speech, I as-sure you.”
“I think he’s embarrassed,” remarked Trot.
“Even if your army can be legally excused, there’s still the matter of your practicing illegal magic,” continued the educated insect.
“I am, as I have explained before, a Wozard, and there are no laws against wozardry in the Land of Oz.”
“That’s the sort of legal loophole that’s common in the Outside World, but we try to avoid such things here,” said the Wizard. “The practice of magic is illegal without a license, regardless of what it’s called. Besides, what IS a Wozard?”
“Why, the practice of wozardry, a sort of thaumaturgical art that specializes in the manipulation of matter and energy for the purposes of maintaining control over…er, the nature of reality and the safety of…humanity?”
“You just made it up, didn’t you?” asked the Patchwork Girl, pointing at the Wozard.
“Not entirely. I found the term in a book, referring to the Prince Ozmonga, whom I believe to be a relative of mine.”
“And you’re sure that wasn’t just a mistake?” asked the Wogglebug.
“A bug, if you will,” said the Scarecrow, earning him a frown from the Professor.
“I examined it with a spelling spell, and it said it was a real word,” said Ozwoz.
“Which means you WERE practicing magic,” said the Scarecrow.
“A perfectly acceptable bit of wozardry.”
“Which you still haven’t really defined,” said the Wizard.
“And you just decided you were a wizard, didn’t you?”
“I, ahem, suppose that’s true, as I was using the term before I knew any actual magic. Once I learned it, the title stuck.”
“And what makes your wizardry different from, say, your mentor Glinda’s sorcery?”
“It’s a bit of a gray area. I have learned that many who consider themselves wizards specialize in scientific magic and the use of tools and machines, but that’s not always the case.”
“Then you can be a wizard without knowing exactly what one is, but I can’t do the same as a Wozard?”
“Then wozardry is only different from wizardry because you SAY it is?” asked Jack Pumpkinhead. “Then couldn’t anyone practice magic if they came up with their own name for it?”
“If it comes to that, other places in Oz have magical properties and practitioners. Randy’s Kingdom of Regalia has a prophetic amethyst ball, and a sage practiced in scrying. Blankenburg has its water of invisibility. The Kingdom of Patch has its Spool of Succession.”
Scraps groaned at the mention of this item, but let Ozwoz continue. “The King of Bear Center has both a magic wand and a magically powered pink bear.”
Trot began saying, “He did get the wand from the fairies, which is—"
“And the Yips have a magic dishpan.”
“That DOES happen to be a family heirloom,” said the Frogman.
“I have magical heirlooms as well. And I feel that, as the ruler of Ozwozia, I have the right to my own magical possessions and my standing army. My experiments have harmed no one.”
“But the bullets could,” said Betsy.
“They are for self-defense. I’ve never tried to invade another country, unlike, say, the Queen of Oogaboo.”
“You seem rather well informed for a recluse,” stated the Cowardly Lion.
“Oh, I keep up with the news, as best I can.”
As this had about wrapped up the testimony, Ozma began deliberating with some of her courtiers, while the Wizard asked Ozwoz, “By the way, do you have any knowledge of clockwork?”
“My soldiers operate in a different manner, but I have studied it somewhat. Why do you ask?”
“Assistance with altering the mechanical man made partially by Kadj here.”
The Conjurer and the Wozard followed the Wizard into his laboratory, where he opened the closet holding the now motionless Clocker, a man about twelve feet tall with a wooden head and clock face. As he had a fleshy outside dressed in fancy clothing, opening him was a task the magic-workers were a bit squeamish about, but Kadj was able to do so with a switch on his back. Once the three of them began looking around at the Clock Man’s inner works, they all competed with each other to find things they could improve. The Conjurer removed a few extra screws he found in the shoulders, thinking they might be making the man screwy. The Wizard tightened a few bolts and replaced the rusting mainspring, although Kadj had to help in shaping it properly. Ozwoz used some of his All-Purpose Polish on both Clocker’s head and as much of his insides he could. He also insisted on making a remote control device, in case an emergency shutdown was required. As they worked, the Wizard wondered aloud how many more mechanical people there were around.
“Smith and Tinker built another partially organic person, smaller than Clocker here, although I don’t remember what happened to him. There’s also the Giant with the Hammer that the Nome King bought. I’ve heard tell of a cast-iron giant made by King Scowleyow, but I have no idea how it ran. I’ve also heard tell of a whole tribe of mechanical people in the Deadly Desert.”
“Well, what do we do with the cuckoo?” inquired Ozwoz. “Give it something to eat?”
“What do cuckoos eat?” asked Kadj.
“Chocolate cereal?”
“I don’t think a mechanical bird would eat anything,” pondered the Wizard. “Still, it couldn’t hurt to give it some of my special nectar, good for curing throat maladies and sour voices.”
The magicians wound up the Clock Man and closed up his body, and then waited as the minutes ticked by until it was three-fifteen. The cuckoo popped out of Clocker’s forehead and handed a slip of yellow paper to the Conjurer, which read, “I am completely operational, and all my works are functioning perfectly.”
“Hmm, looks a bit sinister to me,” observed Kadj.
“What, being polite and formal is sinister now?” objected Ozwoz.
Ozma, who had finished deliberating, told the Wozard that, thanks partially to his service in helping to repair Clocker, she would not punish him for his past use of magic, and that he would be allowed to keep his soldiers, provided she never use them to attack anyone without proper cause. He would, however, be forbidden to practice any magic, no matter what he called it, at any time in the future without proper express permission. Ozwoz figured it was the best he could hope for, and returned to his Gillikin home. Kadj wrapped a cloak around himself and Clocker and leapt into the nearest fireplace, making them both disappear in a puff of smoke.

THE END