Realms of Magic - Brian Thomsen King [49]
EVERY DOG HIS DAY
Dave Gross
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