"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."