Realms of Magic

EVERY DOG HIS DAY

King ran far ahead of me, pelting down the busy street in Raven's Bluff with the uncanny canine knack for navigating through a forest of human legs. I chased after him as well as I could, hindered by sharp elbows and stern reprimands from adults willing to forgive a running dog, but not a running boy.

"Rub!" called King. Voices from the crowd answered him as I tried to push toward him.

"King! There's a good boy."

"What a good dog!"

Everyone knew and liked King, one of the masterless street dogs of the city. Everyone had stories of the remarkable feats the old terrier had performed: saving drowning children, foiling pickpockets, tracking down criminals… This time I was the one who needed his help. My sister, Dauna, was in the hands of kidnappers, and King was the only one besides me who had seen them.

"King! Where are you?" I shouted. Scanning the street, I spotted King's wake, a wave of turned heads and quick sidesteps.

"Ruh, ruh!" His rough voice came through the open door of a little cottage. The building looked out of place next to the straight lines of the shops and taverns on Wicker Street. A carved board next to the door read, "The Barley Bowl."

"Huh, rub.!" he called again.

Then I heard a piteous sound: King's whining. I'd heard the old, gray terrier growl at bullies, woof amiably to his friends, and even yap like a puppy when chasing the other street dogs. But I'd never heard him whine in pain. It made my heart shrink, and I almost began to cry again. Instead, I wiped my blurry eyes and entered the inn.

Inside, a dozen people sat at simple tables, their dinners in wooden bowls before them. At the feet of one man, the oldest man I'd ever seen, sat King.

The old man held King's head with long, thin hands. Bright eyes peered into the dog's face. "Oh, you got a snootful, all right. What scoundrel played dirty with you?" The old man's voice was sweet and tremulous as a minstrel's hautboy.

"The oldest man I'd ever seen" had a beard as white and fine as a swan's wing. Upon his narrow frame he wore a faded blue robe cut in the fashion of the court of thirty years ago. The badge upon his breast looked impressive and official.

"Here, lad. Hold his head." I stared a moment before realizing he was talking to me. "Come along. If you were standing in cement, you'd be a lamp post now!"

"Good boy," I said to King, kneeling by him.

"Good boy," the old man said to me. If I weren't already so upset, I might have been offended. "Hold him while I administer the Universal Solvent."

A potion, I thought! After escaping, then chasing, and finally losing track of the men who took Dauna, we had found a wizard to help us. Wizards are often ornery, but once he had ensorcelled the pepper out of King's eyes and nose, I'd ask him a boon, and he would help save my sister.

But instead of producing some glimmering phial of magical fluid, the old man took his cup of water and gently poured it across King's weepy eyes. King balked, but I held him tight.

"There, my old friend. That should take the sting away.

Nothing like a little rain to clear out the gutters." King whimpered once more, this time less pathetically. He nuzzled the old man's hand.

"But you said 'Universal Solvent,' " I protested. "I thought you were a wizard." I knew it was wise to be polite to wizards, but my disappointment was quicker than my wits.

"And what's that, but water? Any mason worth his sand will tell you that. And I've been a wizard and a mason for longer than…" He drifted off, and his mouth worked wordlessly as he thought about it.

"I've run out of things to compare to my age," he decided. "Except perhaps for King."

"Are you King's master?" I asked.

"Oh, no. King's his own master. We're old, old friends. As you count in dog years, we're nearly cohorts." He chuckled, then sobered, as if the thought at first cheered, then saddened him. "Two old dogs of the city," he sighed.

"If you are a wizard, then you must help us. King tried to help me, but when the kidnappers went over the fence with Dauna, one threw pepper at him. Then…"

"Wait! Back to your drawing, boy."

"My what?"

"You can't build a house without a drawing," he said. "And you can't crave a favor without an introduction."

"Ohil'mJame."

"And I'm Ambassador Carrague. Well met, young Jame."

"Carrague! They said you died!" Father had read the obituary aloud from the Trumpeter, then griped about who would replace Carrague as city building inspector.

"Dead? Pish posh. Those fools couldn't tell the difference between a corpse and a handsaw. Merely sleeping! Good thing I woke before they'd boxed me up. Eh?" King nosed Carrague's leg impatiently.

"Ah, yes, yes. Dauna's been kidnapped, has she? Who is this Dauna?"

"Dauna's my sister. They tried to get me, too. But I was playing in the street, and King ran up barking when he saw them carrying her. That scared them off, but they held on to Dauna. King and I chased them."

"Why would someone kidnap her?"

"We're rich," I explained. "They want my father's money."

"Have your parents alerted the watch?"

"Father's returning from Sembia with silks and wine for sale. He won't be home for days. Mother died years ago. And Chesley-our steward-he doesn't believe anything I say! He thinks I'm just telling stories again. But King saw it all, and we nearly caught the kidnappers."

"But now they've given you the slip, eh?"

"Yes," I replied sadly. King growled in affirmation. "If I'd been faster, I could have seen where they went. But by the time King got under the fence and I climbed over, they were gone. King couldn't find their trail with his nose full of pepper."

"I daresay not. Even King has his limits." King looked up defensively at Carrague. "Now, now. There are just some things you're better built to do, King." The terrier looked miserable.

"If King were a man, he could have climbed that fence in no time. Then we'd have saved Dauna."

King's gaze turned to me, his red and weary eyes large and full wounded by my remark. His jaw dropped in a remarkably human expression of astonishment at a sudden attack from a friend.

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way, King. No man could have picked up their trail the way you did. You did the best you could, for a dog." King crossed his front paws and laid his head down with a whimper. I knew I'd said the wrong thing again. Something about King made you feel he understood your words, not just your tone.

"You don't know King's secret, then. Do you, Jame?"

"I know he's the smartest dog in Raven's Bluff! Why, he's saved people from drowning, foiled robbers and killers, too, and…" Now that I thought about it, even the smartest dog in the world couldn't do half the things King did.

"Oh, all that's true enough. But it's only the facade. There's a deeper story underneath. King's foundation, as it were."

"What's that?"

"Better to show you. That is, if King doesn't mind my telling his secret." Carrague looked down, as if expecting an answer. "It could be a way to help Jame's sister," he prompted.

Lifting his head, King looked at each of us in turn. He sat up with an air of a judge deliberating on a man's life, his whiskered mouth thin and tight. Carrague returned the look, a bit of the caprice gone from his own gray face. They looked at each other a long time, 'the old dog and the old wizard. Then King made a very human nod.

"To my office, boys." Carrague lifted his stick like a general directing his troops. "To my office."

The Ministry of Art — the home of the city's most powerful wizards — stood well down the road from the mayor's palace. "Afraid we might blast a hole in the castle," complained Carrague. "Ridiculous notion. We're not mere apprentices. There's hardly ever an explosion."

With this and other remarks, Carrague had me terrified of the place before we arrived. It looked grand, ornate, well guarded, and thoroughly daunting.

"Your office is here?"

"Yes, yes. They moved me here when they realized I hadn't died. But they gave my job away. Just like that!" He snapped his fingers. "And that ridiculous gnome they hired! Ah! Ah!" The old man shook his walking stick, began to stumble, then caught himself with it once more.

Carrague gripped the railing as we ascended the marble steps. The guards let us past, though one gave me a questioning glance. King barked a friendly greeting, and the guard winked back. Everyone knew King.

Carrague rested a moment from the short ascent. Wizard or no, he was an old, old man. I wanted to offer help, but I feared he wouldn't like that.

A rich red carpet ran far down the hall, and colorful tapestries rose into the gloom of the high ceiling. We walked slowly past woven griffins and leviathans, unicorns and sprites, airships and painted soldiers-all fantastical things I'd never seen for myself. Can-ague barely noticed them, since he must have seen even more wondrous sights in his life. I caught myself gazing at them in awe and wist-fulness. Then I guiltily remembered our reason for being here.

"What are you going to do to rescue Datura?" I asked.

"Why nothing. It's King who'll rescue her. He's the hero. I'm the wizard. And you're the boy, so watch more and talk less."

We had stopped by one of the many doors that lined the hall. Carrague's symbol marked the door. He spoke a word that I couldn't remember two seconds after he'd spoken it, and the door opened.

The whole world was stuffed into that office. I guessed you could search for months through there and find one of anything you'd ever want. I expected stuffed owls, unicorn horn and pixie wing in glass jars, bubbling beakers, and roiling cauldrons-and there was some of that there. But there were also feathered masks, jeweled statues, framed paintings, and enough furniture for ten houses. There stood the bust of a man I dimly recognized as a king across the Sea of Fallen Stars. From the ceiling hung a pair of thin wings on a wooden skeleton, and under a huge oak table moved something that kept just out of sight each time I stared at it. In a large glass globe swirled green seaweed, through which a tiny manlike figure peered at us. A parrot flew down from the window to light on King's back, until the terrier snapped at it and sent it flying back to its perch.

"Damn that woman anyway," cursed Carrague. "She's cleaned while I was away!" I looked at King, and he at me. Neither of us could see any signs of cleaning.

"I need the willow wand and the purple dust of Raurin," He opened the drawers on a big desk that served as a laundry table rather than a writing board. "No, no. That's not right. It's the yellow dust of the doppleganger we need." He turned his attention to a cabinet. "Here," he said after six slams of the tiny drawers. He held up a small black pouch. "The yellow dust."

Carrague looked all around, then finally slapped a wand at his belt. "Ah, had it with me all the time. Now to business." King already sat in the one chair clear of any obstruction. "Are you ready, old friend?"

King made that same human nod.

"Ready for what?" I asked. "What are you going to do to him?"

"Undo to him. I will change him back to his original self."

"His original self?"

"Rote learning is useful for clerks, my boy." Carrague rapped the wand smartly on my hand. "But we're dealing with wizardry here. Real magic. Don't repeat what I say."

"What do you mean by King's original self?" I hoped the question was different enough to avoid another rapping, but I kept my hands behind my back just in case.

"Why, his self before he was turned into a dog."

"Turned into a…" I stopped myself just in time. "What was he before?" I looked at King carefully for a clue. His eyes were bright and intelligent, but so were those of many dogs. Could he be a dragon hiding as a dog? Or could he be…

"A man, of course. A hero, in fact." Carrague untied the black pouch and began sifting yellow dust over King's silvery coat. King shook himself and looked at the wizard reproachfully.

"Now be still, King." Carrague continued with his dusting, and King endured it stoically.

"If King used to be a man, why didn't you change him back years ago?"

Carrague whirled around to point at me, yellow dust spilling down to form a half-circle around him. "Now that is the first intelligent question you've asked." King woofed in agreement or impatience.

"He never asked before," answered Carrague plainly.

"Woof!" interjected King, scratching at the dust in his fur. He clearly wanted to be done with whatever magic Carrague promised to cast.

"Patience, King," chided Carrague. "If the lad's to learn anything, there's a matter of history to relate."

"Huh!" disagreed King.

"You're right. We are in a hurry, since Dauna's in danger," conceded Carrague.

"You can understand him?" I asked, astonished.

"No better nor worse than you could, if you listened carefully," said the wizard. The abbreviated story is that King, while still a man, offended a witch. She killed his companions but turned him into a dog, as you can see. Luckily for him, he escaped and came to Raven's Bluff, where he's become the most famous hero of the city, man or dog.

"And now, King," the ambassador said gravely. "Is this what you want? Shall I turn you back into a man so you can rescue young Jame's sister?"

King's nod never seemed so utterly human as now.

Carrague nodded back at him. "Very well," said the wizard.

Then Carrague raised the willow wand and spoke some more of those words that won't stick in memory. I braced myself for a flash of light, some thunder, maybe even a howling wind that would toss about the contents of the room (which, I reasoned, would explain their current state). King just sat there under Carrague's chanting and wand-waving, patiently awaiting the transformation.

But nothing happened.

"Nothing happened," I pointed out helpfully.

"No?" Carrague frowned at the wand. "Hmm. Maybe it was supposed to be the green powder of shapechanging," he mused.

King growled, then opened his mouth wide.

"Yaah," King yawned. Then he sat up suddenly, his front paws held out before him daintily, as if they were wounded. They began to swell, and his whole body stretched with a rubbery, creaking sound.

"Oh, my," said Carrague. He stood back from King and his chair. I followed his lead.

King's snout retracted, and all the hair on his face sank back into his flesh. His ears slid down either side of his head like sails vanishing over the horizon. His awful yawning whine grew deeper and louder.

"Rraaii!" he howled, then roared as his voice changed.

Fingers flexed where claws had been, and his broadening back bent forward in pain or ecstasy. I grimaced and shut my eyes, only to open them immediately. The sight was horrible, yet fascinating.

A naked man sat where King had been. His unruly hair gleamed silver as the dog's coat had been, and he had the same, large, intelligent eyes. While he remained muscular and fit, his skin was thin as old parchment. Though not as ancient as Carrague, King was still an old man. He squinted at us.

"That is why I never asked you to do this before," croaked King. "It hurt even worse the first time."

Carrague only nodded.

Carrague easily found clothes for King; he conjured them. If I had any lingering doubts about his wizardry, they vanished when he flourished his fingers, speaking both the arcane words of Art and some mundane descriptions of fabric, color, and size. A variegated aura appeared, then darkened and shrank to form real fibers in the air. Faster than spider legs, Carrague's fingers wove them into breeches and tunic, boots and cap.

King fetched up a sword from Carrague's cane rack, hefted it, then grunted his approval. "It feels good to hold a sword again," he pronounced. His voice rumbled, rich and pleasant.

"Now don't run off to fight first," warned Carrague. "You have the power of speech again, and that's no mean tool. You'll need more than a blade to prevail against kidnappers."

"Believe me," said King. "I've lived long enough without a sword to know how to use my wits. You've got to do a lot of thinking when you're a dog in a city of men."

Carrague nodded, then peered at his cloak rack and plucked off a small green cap and handed it to me. "That looks about your size, boy. Try it on." I tugged it onto my head.

"It's tight," I said. Carrague smiled at me, but King's mouth opened as wide as I'd ever seen it when he was a dog. He looked a quick question at Carrague.

"Pixwhistle's cap of invisibility," said the ambassador proudly.

"What?" I looked down at my arms. They were plenty visible to me. "I am not invisible."

King nodded at me, then sniffed. "You're invisible all right. I can't even smell you."

"Actually, you probably couldn't smell him unless you were very close," said Carrague. "Your nose isn't the fine instrument it was."

I looked around for a mirror while the two old men discussed olfactory, auditory, gustatory, and a few other — ory functions that didn't interest me. After elbowing past some mannequins and digging through baskets and bins, I unearthed a full-length mirror framed in carved oak.

"Hey, I'm invisible!" I exclaimed. I took off the hat. "I'm visible again!" While King's transformation and the conjuration of his clothing was more spectacular, this particular magic was much more personal. It worked on me.

Carrague and King finished their discussion and turned to me. "It's time to find Dauna," said Carrague.

"Let's start with the servants at your house," said King.

"Oh, Master Jame! We were so worried!"

Betha charged through the kitchen, grabbing me up in meaty arms better suited to butchering livestock than hugging children. I don't think I've ever fully recovered from those crushing embraces. At least it was Betha, and not Chesley.

I had just enough breath left to tell my story again. "I'm fine, Betha. But Dauna's been kidnapped. Oof!" She squeezed me again. "And I mean it. It isn't just a story, like Chesley says. King saw them, too."

"Oh, we know, dear boy. We know." She hugged me again, and that was the last I could speak for a while.

"Mistress Betha, I'm here to investigate Dauna's kidnapping."

"And by whose authority are you here, sir?" Chesley appeared from the dining room. He was all narrow lines and livery. Our family didn't have a livery, but Chesley insisted on wearing one all the same. Livery and uniforms were as important to him as protocol and etiquette.

"I serve Ambassador Carrague, of the Ministry of Art," said King proudly. He raised his chin. If he had been a dog, his hackles would have risen. I couldn't blame him.

"I'm afraid I don't understand why the Ministry of Art is involved in a matter for the watch," sniffed Chesley.

"I was at hand," sniffed King. Unlike Chesley, though, he was really sniffing. He walked right up to Chesley and kept on sniffing, leaning forward to get a good whiff. Chesley was unprepared for that.

"Wha-Whatever are you doing?" stammered the steward.

If I'd had any breath left, I'd have lost it all again in laughter.

"Where were you when Dauna was kidnapped?" demanded King. Chesley wasn't used to having the tables turned in that direction.

"Why, I-why, I was at market."

"Then why in the world did you send me to market this morning?" demanded Betha indignantly. "I could have finished all that washing you insisted on having this afternoon."

King kept sniffing at Chesley, moving down from his thinning hair to his narrow shoulders, and farther down. "Well?" said King.

"As if it matters!" protested Chesley, pushing away at King, who seemed oblivious to the impropriety of his own behavior. "If you must know, I had to replace a bottle of the master's wine, which I had carelessly broken this morning."

"Hmm," said King.

"Hmm?" said Chesley.

"I don't smell any wine on you."

"Of course you don't, you nonsensical fool! I changed clothes."

"Doesn't matter," said King.

"Don't be ridiculous," protested Chesley.

Even I knew something was wrong, now.

"And you're afraid of these questions. You're sweating fear."

"I've had quite enough of this bullying," said Chesley, drawing himself to his most imperious height. "It is true that I didn't believe the boy's story this morning, but that's because he is a proven lia-"

"It's because you know where Dauna is," interrupted King, rising up to tower over even the tall steward. "I can smell it." King showed his teeth and growled.

In the years since then, I've learned that when men smile, they're talking without words. Sometimes it's as simple as, "that's funny" or "what a beautiful woman you are." Some smiles say, "I don't know what else to say, so I'll smile." Yet others say, "You're a miserable, stupid troll, but I can't say that, so I'll smile." King's smile said, "I'm about to clamp my teeth down on your throat if you don't talk." Chesley, to his credit, understood King's smile exactly.

"It wasn't my idea! I didn't want the money! They threatened me!"

Now we all knew he was lying. It wasn't hard to get the rest out of him, especially once Betha reached up and grabbed him by his skinny throat.

"What have you done with that darling girl?" she roared. King and I both moved quickly away from her. Even a fierce one like King knows who's the bigger dog.

It took her very little time to get Chesley's story.

"There," said King. He looked all silver in the moonlight-hair, eyes, and hands. He pointed to the warm glow of a lantern. The light spilled out of a flimsy warehouse door, making a silhouette of the guard sitting there, carelessly leaning back on two chair legs.

"That's father's warehouse," I said. "The one he rents for the goods he buys overseas. Why would they take her there?"

"Probably because that's the last place we'd think to look, Jame." I thought King was incredibly smart, even for a man.

"Now, listen. You won't be any help if you let those men get their hands on you, too." King took me by the shoulder and tugged the feathered cap out from my belt. He put it on my head and pulled it snugly down. I could tell by his eyes that I was invisible again.

"Keep this on. Once we're in, you look for Dauna. Getting her out of there is your job. I'll keep the kidnappers busy."

I nodded, but he kept looking toward me as if I hadn't. "Oh, I mean yes," I said. Being invisible was tricky business.

"Here we go," said King. He turned and loped toward the door, crouching low to stay in the shadows. He got within five feet of the watchman before his scabbard struck the ground and made a terrible scrape against the stone walk.

"What's that?" said the watchman. "Who's here?" He rose from his chair with a clatter, and I was sure he'd shout before King could stop him. But King was a dark blur, rushing up to slam the open door right in the watchman's face. The surprised man dropped like a sack of flour.

"Hsst! You there, Jame?" King whispered. I hurried to catch up.

"Right behind you."

"Listen." We listened for a moment. Voices floated up from the dark interior of the warehouse, but they sounded conversational. King nodded an all clear, then lifted the fallen watchman back into his chair. Tilting him carefully back, King left the man looking every bit as watchful as he'd been before. We entered the warehouse.

Past the yellow circle of lamplight by the door, the warehouse was dark and cool. It smelled clean and damp, though the floor was dry and scattered with sawdust. The rafters were hidden in darkness, but I could feel the clear space above our heads. Past the shadows of crates and barrels, another light reflected dimly on the far wall.

At first I followed King carefully around bolts of Shou silk. But when we reached the Mulhorandi carvings, he waved me forward without turning around. "Look," he whispered. "Is that Dauna?" I peered through the space between a particularly severe pharaoh and a slender cat goddess. It was Dauna.

They had her tied to a chair, and she slumped in the coils as if she'd exhausted herself with struggling. She wasn't bruised or bleeding anywhere, so I breathed a sigh of relief. The kidnappers wanted a ransom.

We could see three of the kidnappers, two of whom I recognized from our chase that morning. The third was Siward, the young thug Chesley had hired as a handyman last month. Chesley hadn't told us the boy was involved, but we should have guessed. A head taller than me, and perhaps two years older, Siward bullied me when he first arrived at the house. Now I knew that wasn't the limit of his wickedness.

"See there?" whispered King. He pointed to a line of barrels beside Dauna's chair.

I nodded. Then I whispered, "Yes."

"Try to make your way around to free Dauna." He held out a knife, and I took it. I nodded again, turned, and tread as quietly as I could back to the other side. King vanished into the gloom between the crates.

Checking to make sure the hat remained firmly on my head, I crept around a great pile of bagged spices. Some of them tickled my nose, and I pinched it shut. I didn't want to sneeze and accidentally alert the villains. Soon enough, I found a space through which I could crawl close to Dauna.

Poking my head out from between the narrow aisle of barrels, I wasted a few moments trying to attract Dauna's attention with frantic waving. Being invisible was becoming embarrassing. Fortunately, no one could see me making these mistakes.

I looked around and counted Siward and three other men, one of whom we hadn't seen from our earlier vantage. Two of them played at lots, and the one we hadn't seen was trimming his nails with a dagger, while Siward lounged against the wall, trying to look tough and knowing. He stole quick glances at the other men to see if any noticed how dangerous he looked. None of them did.

With each of the kidnappers occupied with his own pursuit, I had no trouble slipping behind Dauna's chair. Being invisible helped, too, I suppose.

"Dauna, it's me, Jame," I whispered softly.

"Jame?" said Dauna. I couldn't blame her. It was taking me some time to get used to the invisibility thing, too.

"What's that?" demanded Siward, rising from his pose to stand directly in front of Dauna. "Did the little bug say something?"

Dauna's the bold one. "I heard a voice," she said. "Must have been the city watch, come to arrest you all." She's never been a great one for stories, though. Good thing, as it turned out.

"Right, and then they'll declare you the princess of Cormyr. Ha! Little bug! I bet your father won't even want you back, you ugly thing. Then we'll have to squash you." I'd never seen nor heard anything as ugly as Siward's laugh then. Dauna would have something sharp to say, I thought. But she screwed up her face and began to sob. I guess that's when I first really hated Siward.

He laughed again and called her "little bug" a few more times. I thought him rather dull for it, but it had a pronounced effect on Dauna, whose sobs turned to a wailing cry. King would make his move soon, I hoped. What was he waiting for?

"Oh, mercy," cried one of the lot players. "Don't get her started again. Get away from her, boy."

"Who are you calling a boy?" challenged Siward. But he went back to his place at the wall. It was then I realized that the fingernail-trimmer was missing. The kidnappers noticed it too.

"Where's Lonny?" asked the other lot player. His opponent shrugged.

"Probably had to see a man about a horse." They laughed at that tired joke. My bet was that King had dispatched the man and was busy tying him up. I used the time to put my hand over Dauna's mouth and whisper again.

"It's Jame, your brother. I'm invisible. Really. I'll let you try it later. But first, I'm going to cut you free. Don't scream or talk to me or anything. All right?" She hadn't bitten my hand yet, and she made a sort of nodding motion, so I let go. Cutting the ropes was quick and easy, but they fell to the floor with a noticeable thump.

"Hey, she's loose!" cried Siward.

Both of the lot players rose from their table, and suddenly King came leaping over the crates behind them. But he'd jumped badly, used to landing on his front paws first. A man's hands aren't quite up to that task, so he went sprawling on the table between two surprised kidnappers.

"Get him!" cried a lot player. The other drew his sword and raised it, preparing to stab King in the back.

"King!" I shouted. "Look out!" By then, Siward was almost on top of Dauna. I grabbed the cap off my head and pushed it over Dauna's curly locks. Siward paused just long enough at my sudden appearance and Dauna's disappearance for me to shout, "Run! You're invisible! Run home to Betha!"

Then Siward was an avalanche upon me.

"You prat!" he screeched, losing all composure. "I'll beat you into pudding!"

I wanted to respond with something clever, but he was quick to make good on his threat. My only response was a series of unintelligible grunts punctuating each of his blows. I looked desperately around for King, hoping he had not only dispatched his enemies, but could also rescue me from Siward.

But King had his own troubles. Both of the kidnappers wielded swords now, two blades to one, and King's back pressed the wall. To his credit, he was a good swordsman, but the weapon seemed awkward in his grip. It had been too long since he had fought like this. Then one of the kidnappers struck him a smart blow to arm, knocking his sword down. Both villains' blades flicked toward his throat.

"On your knees, hero," mocked one of the swordsmen. Siward held me by the collar and turned to look.

King was amazed and uncertain. He hesitated, then slowly knelt, defeat in the old warrior's eyes.

"Down, you cur," ordered the other man. The first grabbed King by the shoulder and pushed him down onto his hands.

"King!" I cried.

He looked over at where I lay beneath Siward's giggling bulk. All three kidnappers laughed mockingly, congratulating each other with glances. King peered across at his dropped sword, his expression hopeless, his head hanging low. He looked utterly defeated.

But then King hunkered down, finding the balance between his hands and feet. He lifted his head slowly. The kidnappers were busy grinning at each other, so I was the only one to see King show his teeth in a smile that would have terrified me had it been cast my direction. The swordsmen didn't see King look up at them, a renewed fire in his eyes. He tensed, ready to spring.

"Rahr!" growled King, lunging at the first kidnapper's leg.

The man shouted in pain and beat ineffectually at his attacker. "He bit me! He bit me!" he repeated in disbelief.

"He's raving mad," shouted the other, raising his sword.

Then they heard King's low, awful growl, and saw King's eyes, his teeth bared and bloody.

"Merciful gods, it's a werewolf!" cried one. Two swords struck the ground at once, and the kidnappers fled so quickly that one of them slammed face first into the statue of the cat goddess, knocking himself senseless. The other ran somewhat farther, screamed, then fell with a great thump. I figured out later that he had stumbled over Lonny, whom he thought to be the unfortunate victim of King, the werewolf.

Siward's reaction was every bit as sudden as those of his companions. "Werewolf!" he screamed.

Siward ran three steps and promptly tripped over a chair that mysteriously slid beneath his legs. Dauna appeared, slapping the babbling Siward with the feathered cap. "Who's squashed now, little bug?" Whether to stanch the wound to his dignity or to preserve his dwindling sanity, Siward chose the better part of valor and fainted.

The rest was a boring parade of arriving watchmen, a tearful and huggy Betha, and plenty of questions. The earlier thrill kept us awake for the first hour or so, but then Dauna's yawns melted into sleep. King carried her home in his arms, and I barely made it back under my own power.

"You must stay the night here," said Betha to King. The hero opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it again. Betha was still the bigger dog.

I had just enough strength to show King to the guest bedroom. We said good night, and I turned to leave. But I stopped a moment at the door to look back at him, thinking I had something to say but finding no words. He didn't see me.

I watched him lie down on the bed with a heavy sigh, then turn heavily onto his side. A few more uncomfortable shifts, and King climbed off the soft feather bed to crawl onto the rug, circle three times on all fours, then curl up to sleep comfortably.

Father returned four days after we rescued Dauna. He wouldn't let us out of his sight for days. The first time I saw King was at Chesley's trial. The court was crammed with people, and I couldn't get anywhere close to King. Even from a distance, I could see he was unhappy. He'd lost some of the silver gleam he'd had on the night of the rescue. He looked just gray and tired. And old.

Eventually, Father allowed me my freedom again, and I rushed to the streets to find King. I wanted to hear all of his stories, everything about why the witch had changed him into a dog and about all his adventures since then.

King could have been anywhere, so that's where I looked. After searching the docks, the circus grounds, the markets, and even the Ministry of Art-where the guards told me Carrague was away to supper-I found myself on Wicker Street, not far from the Barley Bowl. I smelled barley soup and knew Carrague must be inside. Surely he could tell me what had become of King.

There was the ambassador, all right. He leaned back against the wall, snoring softly. A long pipe rested near an empty soup bowl. One hand dangled at his side, idly stroking the silver fur of an aging, mixed-breed terrier.