#
DOG DREAMS

When Abernathy woke the next morning, having slept particularly well considering the trauma of yesterday’s events, Questor Thews was sitting in a chair across from his bed, staring at him like Death’s coming. It was very disconcerting. Abernathy blinked, reached for his glasses, and gave the wizard a long, slow deliberate look.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

The wizard nodded, then shook his head, unable to decide. “We have to talk, old friend,” he announced wearily.

Abernathy almost laughed at the solemnity of the declaration. Then he saw the look in the other’s empty eyes and felt something cold settle into the pit of his stomach. Questor Thews was deeply troubled.

“Well,” he said in reply, and went still again, as if that one word had addressed the matter and disposed of it without the need for further conversation.

He rose to a sitting position, taking a moment in spite of himself to admire the smooth line of his arms and legs, pausing then to give critical consideration to the look of his fingers and toes. His fingers were long and slim, but his toes were all scrunched up like those gummy things he had recently acquired a taste for. Elizabeth kept a bag of them down in the kitchen and was forever offering him one. He didn’t care for the idea that they reminded him of his toes.

He cleared his throat. “What would you like to talk about?” he asked, hoping it was something other than Poggwydd.

Questor Thews bestirred himself sufficiently to rise from the chair and pace to the window, a tall, bent scarecrow with the stuffing coming out at the seams. He parted the curtain and looked out, squinting against the light. The day was sunny and warm, the sky cloudless, the world coming awake. “Let’s go down to the yard and sit in the shade of those trees,” he suggested, sounding cheerful in a forced sort of way.

Abernathy sighed. “Let’s.”

He showered, shaved, and dressed, and in the middle of doing so it occurred to him that what Questor Thews wanted to talk about was the book. Theories of Magic and Its Uses. Abernathy had forgotten about the book, all caught up in Poggwydd’s unexpected appearance at Graum Wythe and resultant capture, the G’home Gnome another outcast from Landover, trapped now as he was, the difference being, of course, that Poggwydd really didn’t want anything at all to do with this world, while Abernathy was growing steadily more comfortable with his exile.

Which meant, he concluded, that the book had revealed something to Questor about leaving. That was why the wizard was still awake: he had found the answer he was looking for and was trying to decide how to tell Abernathy, who he knew wasn’t as keen to be getting back. Although, he argued to himself, he really was, because he understood as well as Questor that the High Lord needed them, Mistaya was in the hands of Nightshade, and something awful was going to happen if they didn’t get back in time to prevent it.

But what? What was going to happen? He wished he knew. A little certainty in the matter certainly wouldn’t hurt.

He finished pulling on his shoes and went out of the bathroom to stand before Questor. The wizard faced him, seemed startled by what he saw, and quickly turned away.

“Well, thank you very much, I’m sure!” Abernathy snapped. “Are my pants on backward? Are my shoes the wrong color?”

“No, no.” The other put a hand to his forehead, pained. “In fact, you look quite sartorial.” The wizard waved vaguely at the air. “I’m sorry to be so rude. But I’ve been up all night reading, and I didn’t particularly care for the end of the story.”

Abernathy nodded, having no idea at all what he was nodding about. “Why don’t we go on down and get started with this talk,” he pressed, anxious to get it over with. “We can see if Elizabeth is awake and ask her to join us.”

But Questor quickly shook his head. “No, I’d rather this discussion was just between you and me.” He looked down, then bit at his lower lip. “Indulge me, please.”

Abernathy did. They went out the door of the bedroom, along the short hallway, and down the stairs. As they passed Elizabeth’s closed door, they heard her singing inside. At least someone was feeling cheerful. They walked from the living room into the kitchen and came face to face with Mrs. Ambaum. She was standing in front of the stove making tea, bluff, hardy, watchful, and decidedly triumphant as she turned to face them.

“I spoke with Elizabeth’s father last night. He doesn’t recall having an Uncle Abernathy. Doesn’t recall anyone by that name. What do you have to say to that?”

One hand gripped a tea strainer. Armed and dangerous if they were foolish enough to try anything.

Abernathy offered his most disarming smile. “We haven’t seen each other in years. We were just boys the last time.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “He said to tell Elizabeth he’s flying in tonight. He wants to have a look at you.”

Abernathy blinked, conjuring up a picture of the meeting. Mrs. Ambaum cocked her head as if trying to get a look inside his.

Questor Thews quickly took charge. “Imagine that!” he declared. He took Abernathy by the arm and steered him past the startled housekeeper and out the back door. “Don’t be worried, now,” he called over his shoulder. “It will all get straightened out before you know it!”

They went down the porch steps and into the yard, Abernathy working very hard at not looking back over his shoulder to see if Mrs. Ambaum was staring after them. “I don’t much care for that woman,” he muttered.

Questor Thews grimaced. “Fair enough. She doesn’t much care for you, either.”

They moved out into the backyard, well away from the house, where curious ears might pick up what they had to say. Abernathy gazed at the sky and took in the sweep of its vast blue dome. He breathed in the smell of flowers and grasses and fading damp. Mrs. Ambaum was forgotten.

They reached an old bench painted glossy white to protect the wood against weathering and seated themselves, looking east across a broad stretch of empty fields to where the Cascade Mountains rose white-peaked against the depthless sky.

After a moment’s silence Abernathy looked at Questor. “Well?” he said.

The wizard sighed, folded his hands in his lap, fidgeted, and sighed again. “We have a problem,” he said.

Abernathy waited until it was clear that Questor did not know what to say next. “Could you possibly speak more than one sentence at a time, Questor Thews? That way we won’t waste the whole day.”

“Yes, all right.” The wizard was flustered. “The book. Theories of Magic and Its Uses. I read it last night. Read it twice, as a matter of fact. Made a very thorough study of what it had to say. I think it is what we are looking for.”

Abernathy nodded. “You think? Not very encouraging for those of us expecting a definite yes or no.”

“Well, it’s about magic—the book, that is—and magic is never exact. As you know. And this is a book about theory, a general discussion of how various magics work, about their principles, their commonalities. So it doesn’t say, for instance, ‘Take the eye of a newt, mix with a frog’s foot, and turn around three times left’ or some such.”

“I certainly hope not.”

“Well, that isn’t a real spell, anyway, of course. But it’s an example of a specific spell as opposed to general theory. This book is theory, as I said, so you can’t be certain about anything until you’ve tried it out; you can only apply the theory to the situation and be reasonably sure.”

Abernathy frowned. “Why do I not feel reassured by this? I wonder. Why does this conjure up memories of other times?”

Questor Thews threw up his hands. “Drat it, Abernathy, this is serious! You are not helping matters by making flippant remarks! Please, no more attempts at humor! Just listen!”

They faced each other in stunned silence. The smile dropped from Abernathy’s face. “I apologize,” he said, surprised that he could even speak the words.

Questor nodded hurriedly and brushed the apology aside. Unnecessary between friends, he was saying. “Theory,” he continued, picking up the thread of his conversation. “The book reveals a theory that I remember from the days I studied under my brother in the time of the old King. It goes something like this. When one magic intervenes to change the result of another, to alter that result in a substantive way, then to undo the consequences of the intervening magic, you must use a third magic to put things back exactly the way they were. So magic one is applied, magic two changes the result, and magic three puts everything back the way it was before magic two was applied.”

Abernathy stared. “What about the consequences of magic one where the consequences of magic two are negated?”

“No, no, that doesn’t have any bearing on things! Magic one is already disposed of!” Questor’s thin lips tightened, and his bushy eyebrows narrowed. “Are you following me on this?”

“Nightshade tried to kill us with her magic. She failed because another magic intervened, the one that belongs to the mud puppy, we think. Now we have to use a third magic to put things back the way they were. You lose me there. Put what things back?”

Questor’s eyes hooded. “Wait, there’s more. The second magic, in order to overcome the first and at the same time facilitate the future possibility of its own negation, must use a catalyst, a powerful hook, a peripheral consequence that can’t be mistaken for anything other than what it is. This consequence facilitates the dominance of the second magic over the first. Think of it as a form of sacrifice. In some cases it actually is. One life given to save others, for instance. Pretty hard to reverse that one. Normally the consequence has no meaning in the course of events beyond providing a clear indication of what it is that needs putting back in place.” He took a long breath. “I’m sorry. I know this is confusing.”

But Abernathy shook his head slowly, his face suddenly gone pale. “You’re talking about me, aren’t you, Questor Thews? Talking about changing me back again from a man to a dog. Aren’t you?”

His friend sighed and nodded. “Yes.”

“You think that if magic is used to change me back again, back into a dog, then the consequences of the second magic will be undone and we will all be sent back into Landover. Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

But he didn’t sound as if it were, and he didn’t believe it, either. Some part of him already whispered that it was so. Some part of him had been expecting this from the first moment he had discovered his good fortune. It was an inevitability that he should not enjoy such luck without consequences, not be allowed to escape from his fate so easily. He hated himself for thinking like this, but he could not help it. Damned by fate. Consigned to purgatory. He had been given a vacation from reality, nothing more.

“You could be wrong,” he pressed, trying to stay calm, feeling desperation begin to build inside already, feeling the heat of it rise along his neck and into his face.

“I could be,” Questor Thews acknowledged. “But I don’t think I am. We have already agreed that we were dispatched to the High Lord’s old world to save our lives and because something hidden here would help us find our way back again. The magic that sent us, and whoever used it, would have provided us with the key to our prison. Everything fits into place except your transformation—unless your transformation itself is the key. There is no other reason for it to have happened. It is too dramatic a result to be simply a side effect. It must be something more, and what else is there for it to be?”

Abernathy came to his feet—his human feet—and stalked off. He stopped when he was far enough away from the wizard that he felt alone and stared out at nothing. “I am not going to do this!” he shouted.

“I’m not asking you to!” the other replied.

Abernathy threw up his hands in disgust. “Don’t be ridiculous! Of course you are!”

He wheeled about in challenge. Questor Thews looked old and frail. “No, Abernathy, I’m not. How could I? I was the one who changed you in the first place. An accident, yes, but that doesn’t excuse what happened. I changed you from a man into a dog, and then I couldn’t change you back again. I have lived with that failing, that stupidity, every day of my life since. Now I find myself maneuvered into a position where I am expected to change you a second time. I must relive the worst moment of my life, knowing, mind you, that I still cannot undo the magic’s consequences once they are in place.” There were tears in the old man’s eyes, and he wiped at them savagely. “I do not mind telling you that it is almost unbearable to contemplate!”

For both of us, Abernathy thought dismally. He looked down at himself, at his real self, his restored self, and thought for a moment what it would mean to be a dog again. He pictured himself anew as the shaggy-haired, clumsy, laughable creature he had been. He imagined himself trapped inside that alien body, struggling to keep his dignity, fighting every single day of his life to convince those surrounding him that he was as human as they were. How could anyone expect him to make such a sacrifice? This was the trade-off for returning to Landover? But he knew it was more than that. It was the trade-off for being alive. Had the mysterious magic not intervened, he would be dead. Nightshade would have put an end to him. To the both of them. And Questor Thews was undoubtedly right, as much as it pained him to admit it. His transformation from a dog back into a man had had a purpose, and the only purpose that made any sense was the one the wizard had revealed after studying the book of magic.

So he could stay or he could go. The choice was his. Questor would not attempt to persuade him either way. The wizard had to live with his own demons in this matter. It was being left to Abernathy to decide. If he rejected the transformation, he was stuck here. Good and bad in that, he supposed. It didn’t need detailing. Of course, High Lord Ben Holiday was stuck as well; there would be no help from this end. On the other hand, if he allowed Questor to invoke the magic, he would presumably return in time to help the High Lord. But would he, in fact? Was there some real purpose to be served in going back, or would matters run their course whether he returned or not? If only he knew. It was one thing if by returning he would help save the High Lord and his family from Rydall and Nightshade. It was another if his return would make no difference at all.

He glanced toward the house. Mrs. Ambaum was looking out the window at them, sipping contentedly at her tea. Retribution by nightfall, she was thinking. Still no sign of Elizabeth. Beyond, where the road curved past the front yard and disappeared over a rise, the sunlight was a hazy curtain through the trees.

He walked back to Questor Thews and stopped in front of him, eyes fixed on the worn old face. “I really don’t think I can do this,” he said quietly.

The wizard nodded, face scrunched into a mass of wrinkles. “I don’t blame you.”

Abernathy held out his hands and looked at them. He shook his head. “Do you even remember the magic you used to change me that first time?”

Questor did not look up but nodded that he did.

“After so many years. Isn’t that something?” Abernathy looked down at himself. He hadn’t been changed back all that long, and already he was comfortable with himself in his old skin. “I like myself as I am,” he whispered.

Elizabeth appeared in the doorway. “Breakfast!”

Neither moved. Then Questor waved. “We’ll be there directly!” he called. He looked at Abernathy. “I am truly sorry.”

Abernathy smiled ruefully. “Of course you are.”

“I would give anything not to have to tell you this, anything not to have it so.” He bit at his lip.

“If it isn’t so, for the sake of argument,” Abernathy mused, “I will be trapped here not as a man but as a dog.”

Questor Thews nodded, holding his gaze this time.

“But it is so. You’re sure. As sure as you can be, aren’t you?”

The wizard nodded once more, didn’t speak.

“I have to make up my mind about this right away, don’t I?” Abernathy pressed on reluctantly. “If we are to be of any use to the High Lord and Mistaya, we have to get back quickly. There isn’t time to give this a lot of thought.”

“No, I’m afraid there isn’t.”

“Why don’t you argue the matter with me, then?”

“Argue with you?”

“Convince me, one way or the other. You choose a side. Argue both ways if you like. But give me some issues I can debate. Give me something to dispute. Give me a voice besides my own to listen to!”

“I have already explained—”

“Stop explaining!” Abernathy was suddenly livid. “Stop being rational! Stop being passive! Stop standing around waiting for me to make this decision all by myself!”

“But it is your decision to make, Abernathy—not mine. You know that.”

“I know nothing of the sort! I know nothing at all! I am sick and tired of being ignorant of what is happening in my life! All I want is to be able to go back to the way things were, and I am not being allowed to do that! I am still being required to perform, just as I was when we appeared at that Bumble-whatever festival, only the audience isn’t anyone we can see! Why should I agree to go along with this? It would be better just to sit down and refuse to do another thing!”

“Doing nothing is the same as doing something!” Questor was growing a bit heated himself. “A choice is made either way!”

Abernathy clenched his hands in fury. “So it still comes down to the same thing, doesn’t it? A choice must be made one way or the other, even if the choice is not really a choice at all?”

“You are babbling!”

“I am trying to make sense!”

Questor Thews sighed. “Why don’t we eat some breakfast and then perhaps—”

“Oh, forget it! I’m going back!”

“—things will be a little easier.” The wizard caught his breath sharply. “What did you say?”

Abernathy struggled to keep his voice from breaking. “I said I am going back! I want you to use the magic to change me!” He grimaced at the look on the other’s ragged face and was suddenly calm. “It isn’t so difficult a decision, Questor Thews. When this matter is over and done, I have to be able to live with myself. If I am required to be a dog again, I can adjust. I can accept it knowing that I did everything I could to help the High Lord and his family. But if I stay a man and learn later that by changing to a dog I could have saved their lives … well, you can imagine.”

He cleared his throat. “Besides, I swore an oath.” For a long moment he looked to be the saddest man who ever lived. “I am Court Scribe to the throne of Landover and pledged to serve her King. I am bound to serve in whatever way I can. I might wish it otherwise just now, but I cannot change the fact of it.”

Questor Thews stared. The old eyes were fierce. “You really are quite remarkable,” the wizard said softly. “Really.”

Impulsively, he wrapped his arms about his friend and hugged him, whiskers rubbing roughly into Abernathy’s smooth skin. “Well,” Abernathy said in reply, overcome by the other’s response. He tried to shrug his indifference. “Really, yourself.”

They went up to the house to have breakfast with Elizabeth. The three of them sat at the little kitchen table, crowded over bowls of cereal and milk. Mrs. Ambaum bustled about officiously for a few moments as if attempting to supervise in some way, then gave up trying and disappeared out the front door with a promise to be back by noon.

As soon as she was gone, Elizabeth said, “Dad is coming home tonight, flying in from New York.”

“So Mrs. Ambaum informed us,” Questor advised. He did not look at Abernathy. His friend was eating with his head bent close over the bowl and his hand to his forehead.

“We have to make up a new story,” Elizabeth continued. Her curly hair was damp from washing, and her face was freshly scrubbed. “It won’t be hard. We’ll just say that Mrs. Ambaum got it wrong, and that you …”

But Questor was already shaking his head. “No, Elizabeth. That won’t be necessary. Abernathy and I are leaving.”

“Leaving? When?”

Questor smiled sadly. “Right away. As soon as we finish eating.”

Disappointment showed immediately. “You found a way to go back, didn’t you?”

Questor nodded. “Last night.”

She bit her lip. She looked at Abernathy, brow furrowed. “But you only just got here. Can’t you stay another day or so? Maybe I can—”

“No, Elizabeth.” Abernathy straightened and met her desperate gaze with kind eyes. “The High Lord needs us. Mistaya needs us. Any further delay is dangerous. We can’t stay.”

Elizabeth looked down at her cereal and gave it a few stirs with her spoon. “It doesn’t seem fair. I don’t want to be selfish, and I know it’s important you go back. But you just got here.” She glanced up, then quickly down. “I’ve been waiting four years to see you again.”

Abernathy couldn’t speak. His face was stricken.

There was a momentary silence. “What about Poggwydd?” she asked finally.

Questor cleared his throat. “Poggwydd will go back with us. Abernathy and I will seek his release as soon as we leave here.”

“I’ll go with you,” Elizabeth announced at once.

“No,” Abernathy said quickly, thinking it was bad enough that they were going themselves but resigned to the inevitability of it.

“What he means,” Questor said, jumping in with both feet, “is that the moment we free Poggwydd, we will be on our way. Poof!” He tried a smile, failed. “If we encounter any trouble, we don’t want you involved. Isn’t that right, Abernathy?”

“But you might need my help!” Elizabeth didn’t wait to hear what Abernathy had to say. “You don’t know your way around Seattle! How will you get anywhere? How will you even find Poggwydd?”

“Well, perhaps you could help us with that last part,” the wizard suggested soothingly.

“Elizabeth.” Abernathy folded his hands on the table and sighed. “If we could stay, we would. If we could spend even a little more time with you, we would. You have been our friend. Mine especially. Twice now, not just once. But there are limits to what we can allow you to risk. It will be hard enough explaining us to your father.”

“I’m not worried about him! I’m not worried about Mrs. Ambaum or anyone!” She was adamant.

“I know,” he replied softly. “You have never let anyone stop you. If you had, I would not be here now.” He smiled sadly. “But we worry for you. We worry that something will happen to you, and then we would be responsible. Remember what happened with Michel Ard Rhi? Remember how close you came to being hurt? I was scared to death for you! I cannot take a chance that such a thing might happen again. We have to say good-bye now. Here, at your house, where we know you are safe. Please, Elizabeth.”

She took a moment to consider the matter and then nodded. “Okay, Abernathy.” Still upset, defensive, angry. “I guess.” She sighed. “Well, at least you’re a man again, aren’t you? At least you’re not a dog anymore.”

Abernathy smiled bravely. “Yes, at least I’m not a dog.”

They finished breakfast in silence.

In an effort to find out what had become of Poggwydd, Elizabeth called the King County police, who referred her to King County animal control, who in turn referred her to the King County animal shelter on Elliott. Because no one had been certain what Poggwydd was and therefore what to do with him, the G’home Gnome had been passed from hand to hand like an old shoe. The final result was temporary as well, she discovered when she spoke with one of the animal shelter employees. A zoologist from Woodland Park and an anthropologist from the University of Washington were both due to pay a visit later that morning. Territorial disputes would be resolved, and Poggwydd would be sent one place or the other for further study.

Elizabeth hung up the phone, gave her report, and said, “You’d better hurry.”

A taxi was called to spirit Abernathy and Questor Thews to their destination at the animal shelter. Elizabeth gave them money for the fare. She stood with them at the end of the walk until the cab arrived, giving them final words of caution and encouragement and providing her phone number in case things went horribly wrong and it turned out they needed her after all, secretly hoping they would, hoping they would find some way to come back but knowing they wouldn’t. When the cab arrived, she hugged them both and wished them a safe journey. She kissed Abernathy on the cheek and told him that he was her best friend, even if he was from another world, and that she would always wait for him because she knew that someday he would come back. Abernathy said he would try. He said he would never forget her. She cried in spite of saying that she wouldn’t, and Abernathy had to work hard at not crying with her.

Then Questor and Abernathy were off, speeding down four-and five-lane highways, zipping around other vehicles, barely missing all sorts of obstacles and barriers. They crossed a bridge, turned down a rampway, sped along a two-lane roadway at a slightly slower speed, and wheeled into a parking area next to a brown brick building with a sign that read “King County Animal Shelter.”

They gave Elizabeth’s money to the cab driver, stepped back onto solid ground with an unmistakable sense of relief, and headed inside. The walk diverged, and there were entries at either end. They went left through a door to a desk where a bored-looking employee sent them outside again and down the walk to the other door. At the second desk a young woman in a uniform looked up expectantly as they entered.

“Professor Adkins? Mr. Drozkin?” she greeted them.

Questor recognized an opportunity when he saw one. He smiled and nodded. The young woman looked relieved. “Do you have any idea what this thing is?” she asked. “No one here has ever seen anything like it. It’s giving us fits! I’ve tried everything—we all have—but we can’t even get close. After the police brought it in, I removed the restraints and it tried to take my hand off. And it eats everything! Do you know what it is?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Questor Thews said. “Can we have a look?”

“Of course; right this way.” She was eager to accommodate them, to rid herself of the burden of Poggwydd. Abernathy understood perfectly.

She brought them around the counter to a heavy metal door, which she unlocked and swung open. From there she led them down a hallway into an area of cages. At the far end was Poggwydd, slumped down at the back of the largest cage. His clothing was torn, and his fur was caked with grime and sweat. Cuts and scratches marked him from head to foot, and his tongue was hanging out. He looked, even for a G’home Gnome, decidedly miserable.

When he saw them, he leapt to his feet and attacked the cage with a vengeance that was astonishing. He shook and rattled and bit at the heavy wire in a frenzy, trying to get at them.

“He’s gotten even worse!” the young woman declared in astonishment. “I’d better tranquilize him right now!”

“No, let’s wait on that, please,” Questor interrupted hurriedly. “I’d like simply to observe him for now. I don’t want him sedated. Can you leave us for a few minutes … I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Beckendall. Lucy Beckendall.” She reached out her hand, and he shook it cordially, not bothering with an introduction on his end because he had already forgotten who he was supposed to be.

“A few minutes?” he repeated helpfully. “We can just stand here and have a good long look.”

Poggwydd was racing up and down the wire, showing all his teeth, shaking his fist, desperately trying to speak.

“Of course,” she agreed. “I’ll be right outside. Just call if you need me.”

They waited until she went back through the heavy door and closed it securely behind her. Questor looked at Abernathy, then stepped close to the cage.

“Stop that!” he snapped at Poggwydd. “Behave yourself and listen to me! Do you want out of there or not?”

Poggwydd, worn out anyway, dropped to the floor and stood glaring at him. It was very close and antiseptic in the room. Abernathy pictured himself locked away in there for a full day and was suddenly sympathetic toward the Gnome in spite of himself.

“Now, listen!” Questor addressed Poggwydd firmly. “There is no point in leaping about like that! We came for you as soon as we could, as soon as we found out where you were!”

Poggwydd gestured toward his mouth in frustration.

“Oh, of course, you want to say something,” Questor furrowed his brow fiercely. “Just keep your voice down when you speak so you can’t be heard or I’ll silence you again. Understood?”

The G’home Gnome nodded blackly. Questor spoke some words in a low voice, made a gesture, and Poggwydd’s voice came back with a gasp.

“You certainly took your time!” he said. “I might have died in here! Those people are animals!”

Questor inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “I apologize. But now here we are. We have come to get you out and take you back to Landover.”

The Gnome’s face scrunched into a mass of angry wrinkles. “Well maybe I don’t want to go! Maybe I’ve had quite enough of you, Questor Thews! And your friend!”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You want to stay in there?”

“No, I don’t want to stay in here! I want out! But once I’m out, I want to go back on my own. I can find my own way better than you, I’m willing to bet!”

“You couldn’t find your way out of an open field, much less another world! Whatever are you talking about?”

“Leave him, Questor Thews!” Abernathy snapped. “We’ve wasted enough time!”

The three of them began arguing heatedly and were still at it when abruptly the metal door opened and Lucy Beckendall stepped into view. All three went instantly silent. She stared from one to the other, almost certain she had heard the creature in the cage speaking.

“There is some sort of mix-up here,” she announced, looking uncomfortable and wary. “I have two gentlemen at the reception desk who had identified themselves as Professor Adkins from the University of Washington and Mr. Drozkin from the Woodland Park Zoo. They have shown me their ID cards. Do you have any identification to offer?”

“Of course,” Abernathy declared quickly, smiling and nodding. Drat!

He walked quickly down the line of cages, reaching into his pocket, fumbling, and shaking his head. When he reached Lucy Beckendall at the door, he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, shoved her back through the opening, and yanked the door closed once more. “Questor Thews!” he bawled, bracing himself against the door as pounding immediately began without. “Help!”

The wizard pulled up his sleeves, raised his skinny arms, and sent an electric blue clot of magic zapping into the lock. The lock and handle melted and fused in place.

“There, they won’t be getting in that way!” he declared in satisfaction.

“And we won’t be getting out, either!” Abernathy stalked back down the walkway. “So you had better know what you are going to do next!”

Questor Thews wheeled on Poggwydd. “There is only one way out, Mr. Poggwydd—with us, back to Landover. If we leave you, they’ll have you back in this cage in a matter of minutes. Who will help you then? Now, I’m sorry you’re in this mess, but it isn’t our fault. And we don’t have time to debate the matter.” The pounding without had given way to a violent hammering, metal on metal where the lock was fused. Questor’s mouth tightened, and his bony finger jutted at the Gnome. “Just think what they’ll do to you! Experiments! Tests! Potions of all sorts! What’s it to be, Poggwydd? Landover and freedom or a cage for the rest of your life?”

Poggwydd licked his grimy lips, his eyes bright with fear. “Get me out! I’ll go with you! I won’t make any more trouble, I promise!”

“Good choice,” Questor muttered. “Step back from the door.”

The G’home Gnome scurried into a back corner. Questor gestured and twisted with his hands, and the door sprang open. “Out!” the wizard snapped.

Poggwydd crawled out meekly and hunkered down like a beaten dog. “Stop that!” Questor ordered. “There’s nothing wrong with you! Stand up!”

Poggwydd straightened, his lower lip quivering. “I don’t want to see that little girl again! Or her mud puppy, either! Not ever!”

Questor ignored him, already at work marking a circle on the concrete floor with the heel of his boot. When he was done, he motioned the Gnome and Abernathy inside. They stood close together in the heat and silence as the wizard took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to concentrate.

“I hope you know what you are doing,” Abernathy said quietly, unable to help himself.

“Hush!” the wizard snapped.

Outside, the hammering had been replaced by a large number of voices. Reinforcements, Abernathy thought dismally. Then something heavy rammed into the door. They were trying to break it down! The frame and hinges shook with the force of the blows. Mortar cracked and sifted downward. Whoever was out there would be inside pretty quickly.

Questor began to speak the words of the spell slowly, clearly, deliberately. He had gone somewhere deep inside himself to concentrate, and he seemed oblivious to the hammering and shouting. Just as well, Abernathy thought. It would be just like the wizard to become distracted and get the spell wrong. What would he end up being then? A radish? He looked at Poggwydd. The G’home Gnome had his head lowered and his eyes shut tight. His arms were clasped about his scrawny body. Well, of course, Abernathy thought. We are all afraid.

Questor droned on, sweat beading his forehead. Abernathy could see the tension in his face. Changing me back again, he thought. And hating every moment of it. Abernathy experienced a sudden urge to cry out, to stop him from what he was doing, to make him do something else. But he suppressed that urge, his decision made, his fate accepted. He looked down at himself, wanting to remember everything about how he looked, not wanting to have to wonder again later. It hadn’t been so bad being a dog, really. Not so bad.

Light surged upward about them, filling the circle from floor to ceiling, encasing them in its bright cylinder. Questor’s voice rose, the words snapping like blankets hung in the wind. Poggwydd whimpered. Abernathy thought of Elizabeth. He was glad she wasn’t there to see this happen. It was better that she remember him as he was supposed to be.

The light brightened into a blinding radiance. Abernathy felt himself melting away. The feeling was not unexpected. He had experienced it once before, more than twenty years ago.

He closed his eyes and let it happen.