"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 sword
smen 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.
THE COMMON SPELL
Kate Novak-Grubb
"This is a waste of time. I don't need to learn this," insisted Marl, the cooper's son.
Kith Lias glared at the boy, but she kept her temper in check. Marl was hardly the first to denigrate the skills she was trying to teach. He wouldn't be the last, either. Marl was a big boy, the kind whose lead the other boys would follow. While none of the other students said a word, some of them eyed Marl with admiration that he'd had the courage to voice what many of them were thinking. The rest of the students watched Kith curiously, waiting to see how the teacher would handle this challenge to her authority.
"Even a cooper may need to read and write sometimes, Marl," Kith answered, pushing a strand of her long, dark hair back behind her ear. "You may need to write down the orders for your suppliers and customers so you can remember them better."
The other students nodded at Kith's example, but Marl snorted derisively. "I'm not going to be a cooper," the boy declared. "Soon as I get enough money to buy a sword, I'm joining a caravan as a guard. I'm going to be an adventurer."
"A swordling without the common spell," Kith muttered sadly.
"What's a swordling?" asked Lisaka, the tavernkeep's daughter.
"What's the common spell?" Marl demanded.
"A swordling is an adventurer's word," Kith explained, "for a novice sell-sword. A mageling is a young mage who hasn't proven herself. The common spell is… well, actually it's a story I heard from Alias the Sell-Sword."
The children in the classroom leaned forward as one. Like all students throughout the Realms, they knew that their teacher could be distracted from the lesson if they encouraged her to reminisce. They were also eager to hear a story about Alias the Sell-Sword. Alias was a famous adventurer-she rescued the halfling bard Olive Ruskettle from the dragon Mistinarperadnacles and slew the mad god Moander-twice. Only last year she drove the thieves guild from Westgate. A story about Alias would be wonderful.
"Tell us, please," Lisaka asked.
"Yeah, tell the story," Marl demanded.
Kith shrugged. "I heard Alias tell this story in the village of Serpentsford in Featherdale. The people there were suspicious of all female strangers who passed through the town, even a hero like Alias, for the village was plagued by a penanggalan."
"What's that?" asked Jewel Weaver, the youngest student in the class.
"It's a female vampire," Marl said with a superior air.
"Not exactly," Kith retorted. "A penanggalan is undead, and it does drink the blood of the living, but there the sim-ilarity ends. A penanggalan appears as an ordinary woman in the daylight, and the sun's rays do not destroy it. But at night its head twists away from its body, trailing a black 'tail', which is all that remains of its stomach and guts. The body lies motionless while the head flies off and hunts for its victims. It prefers the blood of women and girls."
Jewel squealed, and several other students shivered. Even Marl looked a little pale.
"The people of Serpentsford had known enough to cremate the victims of the penanggalan so they would not become undead themselves," Kith explained. "But the villagers were beginning to lose hope that they would ever discover the monster, or even any of her secret lairs, for she was very cunning. Alias told this story to raise their spirits."
"So what's the story?" Marl growled impatiently.
Amused at the boy's attentiveness, Kith smiled ever so slightly. She sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. Marl squirmed with annoyance.
Kith began the tale. "This is a tale of the adventuring party known as the Swanmays. Their members included two swordswomen, Belinda and Myrtle; a pair of rogues, Niom and Shadow; a cleric, Pasil; and a mageling, Kasilith. In the Year of the Worm, the Swanmays wintered in the city of Westgate. Their landlord, a weaver woman, had an apprentice, an orphan girl named Stelly who was thirteen. Stelly and Kasilith, the mageling, became close friends, and Stelly wanted to leave the weaver to join the Swanmays.
"Now, although it was a master's legal obligation, the weaver had not yet taught Stelly to read or write. Belinda, the leader of the Swanmays, wasn't keen on taking responsibility for an illiterate girl whose only skills were with wool, and stealing an apprentice was a crime in Westgate. Yet Belinda liked Stelly. She promised Kasilith that if the mageling taught Stelly to read and write, Belinda would go to the city council, challenge the weaver's claim to Stelly, and petition to take Stelly on as an apprentice swordswoman,
"During the winter, Kasilith taught Stelly how to read and write her letters. Stelly believed what Kasilith was teaching her was actually magic; it was so awesome to the girl that scribbles on paper could mean something. Kasilith joked that if it was magic, it was the most common spe
ll in the Realms.
"That same winter a penanggalan began to prey on the women of Westgate. Neither the city watch nor any of the adventurers inhabiting the town could discover the creature's lair. In life, the monster had been a noblewoman and her family and their power helped to hide her. By chance or fate, the undead noblewoman came into Stellas master's shop to have a tear in her cloak repaired and decided to make the weaver her next victim. Explaining she could not call for the cloak until later that evening, the penanggalan made arrangements to meet the weaver after the shop closed.
"A little while later, the weaver learned of Belinda's plan to take Stelly from her. Angrily, the weaver ordered Stelly to repair the noblewoman's cloak, then locked the girl in the workroom. Stelly could hear her master ordering the Swanmays out of her house, then barring the door.
"After crying for a while over her lost chance, Stelly went back to her work. In the pocket of the noblewoman's cloak, the girl discovered an expensive locket engraved with a name. Since Stelly could now read, she recognized the name belonged to a girl who had already fallen prey to the penanggalan. Stelly shouted for her master, but the weaver, thinking the girl was just throwing a tantrum, ignored her cries. Much later in the evening the apprentice heard her master unbar the door to the house and then cry out once in fear. The penanggalan had come for the weaver in her true form.
"Locked in the workroom, Stelly could make out the weaver's moans and the sound of the beast slurping up her life's blood. Stelly cowered silently in fear until she became unconscious.
"In the morning the penanggalan, once again in human form, unlocked the workroom door to retrieve her cloak. Pretending concern for the apprentice, the undead noblewoman promised to return and free Stelly after dark. Stelly hid her fear and her knowledge of the woman's true nature. Knowing the penanggalan intended to return after dark to kill her as it must certainly have killed the weaver, Stelly conceived a desperate stratagem. Across the back of the monster's cloak she scrawled 'pnngalin' with a piece of chalk, then folded the cloak carefully so her repair work showed but her markings did not. The noblewoman nodded with satisfaction at the repairs and allowed Stelly to set the cloak about her shoulders. Then the woman left the workroom, locking the apprentice back in. It was the last Stelly ever saw of her."
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