He veered into a corridor and was scampering down it when he heard the Queen shout: “Stop him!”
Wendell cursed and the sound came out as a growl. There was an awful lot to get used to in this dog body, not to mention trying to outthink the nastiest woman in the kingdoms while he tried to make his escape. And, to make matters worse, he had a hunch he was going deeper into the prison instead of getting out of it. And he didn’t even want to think about trying to open doors.
If he could apologize to Giles, he would. This was not the kind of hunting Wendell had had in mind.
Who would have thought wimpy Wendell would be this much trouble? The Queen narrowed her eyes as Wendell’s tail disappeared into a darkened corridor. And to make matters worse, the smelly Trolls she was stuck with weren’t as swift as she wanted them to be.
“We’ll get him,” Burly shouted. “He’s not going anywhere.”
“He can’t escape,” Blabberwort said. “It’s a prison.”
Oh, wonderful. Pronouncements. And obvious ones at that. The Queen was about to push them from the room when all four Trolls took off, limbs flailing.
If Wendell had any sense at all, he would be able to keep them busy for hours. And Wendell had just proven to have a lot more sense than she had ever given him credit for.
She turned toward the Dog Prince, who was still looking at himself with wonder. Apparently Wendell had been smarter than any animal. The look on the Dog Prince’s face was definitely a lot dimmer in the intelligence department. How come she hadn’t noticed Wendell’s brains before?
Probably because he had always played spoiled heir to the throne to perfection.
“Well?” she asked the Dog Prince. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Your Highness?”
The Prince glanced over his shoulder slowly, then growled, “Where’s my tail gone?”
An involuntary sound of disgust escaped her. She had had a very small hope of sending the Dog Prince after Wendell, but that obviously wouldn’t work. Instead, she would need other help.
She clutched the keys she had lifted from the Troll King— delicately, not because she thought he would notice, but because she really didn’t want to touch his leather-and-suede coat— and walked back into the prison proper. She avoided her old corridor, the one that led to maximum security, and instead went toward the cells.
As the inmates saw her, they shouted at her to let them out. Some hung near the bars, others reached for her as she passed. They were a motley bunch, scarred and hideous-looking, but without any real strength. Bulky, burly men didn’t run well. She needed someone with speed, agility, and cunning.
Not that she would find anyone like that here. Anyone with speed, agility, and cunning should have been able to outrun all the king’s horses and all the king’s men.
Then she smiled. The only king the Nine Kingdoms would have would be a dog.
She was about to give up when she saw a flash of dark hair, of intelligent eyes, of a narrow, handsome face that somehow made her think of wolf-like cunning.
Speed, agility—and cunning. Hmmm. How perfect.
“You,” she said.
The man came closer. He was slender and moved with the kind of quickness she was looking for. He grinned at her, and there was a bit of the rake in that smile.
“Hello,” he said.
A melodious voice, deep and rich. The kind of voice a man should have. She raised her chin slightly. He was charming, too, and knew how to use it. This was more than a human male. This was something else.
“What are you?” she asked.
“Me?” He raised his eyebrows as if he couldn’t believe the question. “A very fine chap, falsely imprisoned on a trumped-up—”
“Do not make me ask again.” She knew he was more than that. His gaze caught hers. Apparently he realized that she was not someone to be trifled with.
His eyes changed, flared green for a moment, and then returned to normal. “I am a half wolf.”
She unlocked the cell door, but hung on to it to show him her control. “If I let you out, you must serve me without question.”
He grinned. “Breakfast, lunch, dinner, I’ll serve you anything. I’m your wolf. Loyalty is my middle name.”
She let go of the door and took a step toward him. His grin faded and he stopped babbling. She looked at him, stared at him, and his eyes went flat, the way an animal’s did while it tried to figure out the best way to deal with its fear.
“Give your will to me.” She used her Power voice.
Still that flat look. He wouldn’t be an easy one to convince.
“Be mine to summon and control whenever I call on you.”
For a moment, she thought he was going to say no. Then he blinked, looked away, and nodded. Now she was the one who smiled. He was hers, and she knew that no matter how smart Wendell was, he lacked cunning.
He could never outrun a human wolf.
Chapter Three
Wendell scampered through the corridors of the prison. His brand-new tail kept flopping behind him. If it weren’t for all his doggy feet, he would have fallen long ago. He finally figured out how to tuck the thing between his legs. Miraculously, it curled when he did that so that he wouldn’t trip on it as he ran.
He had no idea where he was going. The corridor seemed bigger than it had before. The ceiling was far away and the walls were wider apart. He doubted that was because this part of the building was actually bigger. He suspected it was because he was smaller. He knew he was missing a lot of opportunities here, opportunities a real dog would see, because he thought of himself as larger than he now was. He had to focus on his dog size—where would a Golden Retriever fit?—because he certainly wasn’t man-sized anymore.
If only he’d been paying attention. He’d been warned long ago to be on his toes when he was within ten miles of his stepmother. Of course, he hadn’t paid attention to that. Giles had—but on that one, apparently, Giles hadn’t listened hard enough.
Wendell’s heart twisted a little at the thought of Giles. The old man had been a good companion all these years. But if Wendell didn’t take care, he would end up like Giles. Or worse. He’d be on one end of a leash and his evil stepmother would be on the other.
Wendell rounded a comer, his claws scraping against the cobblestone floor. If only they’d keep the flooring the same around here, but he’d had to adjust to regular stone, then brick, and then cobblestone. He wasn’t used to four feet, and he wasn’t used to running barefoot and the effect of his toenails scraping on everything was driving him insane.
At least he’d solved the tail thing.
His heart was pounding and he was lost. He had no idea where he was going. He kept stopping at door after door after door, but they were all locked. Or as good as locked. He’d never missed his thumbs so much in his entire life.
Guards were everywhere. Unconscious guards lying on their sides, their faces covered with pink dust. There had been a coup in the Snow White Memorial Prison and he was the only one who knew about it.
What would his advisors think when the Dog Prince returned to them? Would they know it was Wendell? Would they be startled when it barked at them?
“There! There he is!” one of the Trolls shouted.
That voice was very far behind him, yet he heard it. Hmnun. He’d been told that dogs heard better than humans. Now he knew it. It didn’t make up for the lost thumbs, the diminished eyesight, or those scraping claws, but it did help a little.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw movement behind him. He didn’t have that much of a lead.
He saw some stairs ahead. Down. Down would be good. Maybe there’d be a back exit.
A dog-sized back exit.
“Out of my way, amateurs,” a new voice said. It was clearly not the voice of a Troll. “This is a job for a wolf.”
A wolf? A talking wolf? Weren’t wolves superior to dogs? So much for hiding in a small, dog-sized space. The wolf would smell him out in no time.
“We are best at tracking.” Those Trolls were real whiners.
“In your dreams, Troll boy,” the wolf said.
The stairs led to a narrow corridor filled with high arches. He followed them and ran toward a dank, forgotten room, filled with cobwebs and dust and more junk than he’d ever seen. There were crates and chests and even half a rotted carriage— blue with a white emblem on it. On top were rotted clothes and curtains. The entire place smelled forgotten.
He resisted the urge to sneeze. He was still going at top speed. He wasn’t quite sure how to stop. He rounded the comer into the far side of the room, lost his doggy balance-—his feet sweated when he was nervous!—and slid into a towering pile of junk.
It clattered around him, sending dishes and goblets and things he couldn’t identify toppling to the stone floor. He was sliding horribly—and the slide didn’t stop until he crashed into a large mirror at the far end of the room.
It was a full-length mirror with some kind of elaborate design on the frame. As he looked at it, the silvering shifted.
“He’s over there!” one Troll shouted.
An amazing world opened before him. First an ocean—or perhaps a sky—and then a statue of a large green woman holding a torch. He stared at it.
The image kept shifting. Now it showed a bridge and a city like none he’d ever seen. Buildings that reached for the sky crowded together like peasants waiting for his coach. The sun shone on this place, and it glittered in the light.
He heard footsteps behind him, clattering and slapping and coming toward him.
The image was moving in, toward the buildings. They had smooth glass windows and walls that appeared to be made of a better, smaller stone than he’d ever seen.
At the base of the mirror, he saw his own reflection, and it confirmed what he already knew. The golden dog’s body was his now. The only difference between the one the Queen had held and the one he had now were the eyes. These eyes were his. He recognized them, even though he didn’t know how he could.
The footsteps had gotten very loud. Wendell’s heart was pounding. Someone had gotten close. There was no other way out of this room. He had to go through the mirror.
“What’s going on here?” the wolf said.
The image now showed a grassy place. It looked manicured, but it was full of trees, full of places to hide.
Wendell leaped into the mirror, silently praying that he wouldn’t just bump his head on the glass and give himself seven years of bad luck (not, of course, that his luck could get any worse).
He didn’t hit anything, except a thick liquid that had to be the mirror. Suddenly, he was in complete darkness. But worse than that was the silence. He couldn’t even hear his own breathing.
Then he was in the trees, branches slapping against his face as he hit the ground. There was real dirt beneath his paws, but there was a stink to the air he’d never smelled anywhere else— a heavy, oily scent as if someone were burning too many lamps in one place.
He bounded forward, determined to get away from the entrance site. The wolf would come after him, and if Wendell wasn’t careful, the wolf would find him. Wendell had to find water to hide his scent. That would throw the wolf off. Then, in this strange place, he might be able to find help.
There was a path before him. It seemed to be made of dirt and gravel, but he couldn’t really tell. A woman riding a strange metal contraption was coming down the hill toward him. Wendell tried to jump out of her way, but the contraption slammed into him.
He flew through the air. A dog was whimpering, and then he realized that was him. As he soared, he saw the woman fall and hit her head. Then he landed near a rock. He wanted to get up, but he couldn’t.
Instead, fighting it as hard as he could, he slipped into darkness.
A faint clatter echoed through the prison, and then three voices rose in disgust. The Queen closed the door to the reception hall. She didn’t want to hear the sounds of failure.
Wendell had escaped her, for the moment anyway. He couldn’t go forever. He would be too challenged as a dog. He wouldn’t know how to survive. But the Queen didn’t want to use her newfound freedom to search for the little inconvenience, not when she had so many deliciously evil plans.
She folded her gloved hands together and turned toward Ihe Troll King. What a disgusting example of Trolldom. He was tall and square, with the same hooked nose two of his children had. His skin was as pale as his older son’s, only unlike his son’s, the Troll King’s eyes glinted with something like intelligence.
She could use him. She could use him very well.
“Within a month,” she said, catching his attention, “I will have crushed the House of White. I will have Wendell’s castle and his kingdom.”
She took a step toward the Troll King, making certain her voice was at its most seductive. “And for helping me to escape, you will have half his kingdom to rule.”
The Troll King’s eyes widened, and he licked his lips. She half expected to see him rub his hands together with glee, but apparently he restrained himself.
“Half the Fourth Kingdom?” the Troll King asked. “But it’s huge ...”
That word must have triggered something in his small brain, because he suddenly frowned.
“What’s your plan?” he asked. “What do I have to do?” She raised her chin slightly, modulating her voice just a little. “Allow me the use of your children until they have caught the Prince for me.”
“That’s all?” The Troll King sounded relieved.
“And tell no one what you have seen, of course.”
To her surprise, the Troll King didn’t answer for a moment. Instead his eyes narrowed. She could almost see his troll-sized brain attempting to work. He was actually contemplating this— or trying to. He obviously thought there was a catch to it.
Of course, there was, but she wasn’t going to tell him that for a long time.
Finally, he asked, “Do I get to choose which half of the kingdom I have?”
The Queen closed her eyes. Never underestimate the power of greed. Then she opened her eyes, smiled at him, and told him what she thought he needed to hear.
A magic mirror. Wolf didn’t like the look of that. Nor did he like the look of that dog—the dog that would give him his freedom if he but captured it. That dog looked much too smart. It was studying the images changing in the mirror as if it were waiting for the right one.
Wolf hadn’t tried to be quiet. He had announced his presence just a moment before. But now, as he approached, the dog looked over its shoulder and saw him.
Those eyes were too intelligent to be a dog’s eyes.
Then the dog looked forward again. The image in the mirror had changed to trees and greenery. At the base of the mirror, he saw the dog, then he saw his own image behind it. He was a good-looking man, if he did say so himself. Just tall enough, just handsome enough—
He lunged for the dog just as the dog leapt forward. The dog disappeared into the mirror, and for a moment the image winked out.
Wolf uttered a perfectly wolflike curse, thought for maybe a half a second about his own foolishness at following a dog through a magic mirror, then leaped just as the image of trees and bushes returned.
The stuff inside the mirror coated his skin and he was enveloped in utter darkness. He couldn’t smell anything, see anything, or hear anything.
Then he found himself tumbling in a group of bushes. The branches tugged at his clothing and he was getting grass in his hair.
He was outside! He hadn’t been outside in a long, long time. He wanted to let fly with a wolfish howl, but that would reveal his position. Instead, he stood, dusted himself off, and glanced behind him.
There was a mirror-sized shimmer by the bushes. Faintly, he could still see the storage room. The Trolls were thumping their way through the arch—late, just as he’d predicted. They had no idea how to track anything.
Tracking. That was his job. He had to move away from the image so they didn’t see h
im and wouldn’t know where he had gone. He moved, then sniffed. The air wasn’t quite fresh, but it didn’t stink as much as the air in many of the villages. Here there was only a slight scent of urine overlaying the greenery. No. The dominant scent was something unidentifiable and metallic. Then, above that he caught the faint odor of sudden fear, and beneath it—dog!
Wolf grinned and loped in the direction of the smell, thinking this assignment was getting more pleasant by the minute.
Virginia sat up slowly. Her entire body ached, but her forehead ached the most. She’d fallen off her bike before, but never had she crashed and burned like this. She hadn’t seen that dog until it was too late.
Her hands were trembling. She willed them to stop shaking, and one did. That was the one she used to touch her forehead. It was bleeding. She stared at the blood on her fingertips for a moment, then decided it wasn’t enough to worry about. She probably had a cut. She’d had them before.
Then she looked at her bike and moaned.
The front wheel was completely buckled. There was no way she could ride it and no way she could fix it. Not here.
She would be late to work, but at least this time she had an excuse.
The condition of that wheel meant she’d hit that dog pretty hard. She looked for it, and saw a bundle of golden fur lying beside the path.
Unmoving.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “I’ve killed it!”
She’d never killed anything before, not even accidentally. She moved toward it, and as she did, the dog twitched. It wasn’t dead after all. She let out a small sigh and put her hand on its soft fur.
The dog looked up at her with surprisingly intelligent eyes.
“Are you all right?” she asked as she felt through its fur, searching for broken bones, blood, anything that would require immediate care. She found nothing.
“Where’s your master?” She looked over her shoulder. A dog this well cared-for usually had someone trailing it. Or had it gotten out? That wouldn’t do her any good. There had to be millions of dogs in the city of New York. That meant there were millions of dog owners, and all of them brought their dogs to this park. How would she find the right owner?
The 10th Kingdom Page 3