A Princess of Landover

together had been spent figuring out ways to correct the many things that Questor’s magic had gotten wrong.

Abernathy was the chief case in point, and Questor still hadn’t managed to fix that one. To keep him safe from the unpleasant and dangerous son of Landover’s last King, Questor had turned the court scribe into a dog Not fully, of course. He only managed to get him halfway there. Abernathy retained his human hands and his human mind and his human voice. The rest of him became a dog, although he still walked upright. This was not a good thing, because Abernathy still had his memories of his old life and wanted it back. But Questor couldn’t give it to him because he couldn’t work the spell that would reverse the change. He had tried repeatedly to help his friend—because they were friends, despite the fact that they argued and fought like cats and dogs. He had even gotten it right once, and for a brief period Abernathy had reverted to his human form. But mostly Questor had gotten it wrong, and those weren’t incidents anyone cared to talk about.

So here they were: a tall, scarecrow of a man with long white hair and beard, robes of such atrocious patterns and colors that even Mistaya winced, and a distracted air that warned of mishaps waiting just past the next sentence he spoke; and a dog that dressed and walked upright like a man and sometimes barked.

He could tell right away that they had something to tell him. It almost certainly had to do with Mistaya.

“High Lord,” Questor Thews greeted him, offering a deep bow.

“High Lord,” Abernathy echoed, but without much enthusiasm.

Questor cleared his throat. “We need a moment of your time—that is, if you have a moment to spare just now—to put forth an idea that we have stumbled upon while attempting to help you through this crisis with Mistaya, knowing how painful it must be for you—”

“Fewer words, Questor!” Abernathy growled, almost dog-like. “Get to the point!”

Ben smiled indulgently and held up both hands to silence them. “I trust this visit has a constructive purpose and isn’t just a misguided effort to advise me where I went wrong with my daughter’s upbringing?”

Questor looked horrified. It was hard to tell with Abernathy; a dog pretty much always looks like a dog, even if it’s a soft-coated wheaten terrier. “Oh, no, High Lord!” the former exclaimed in dismay. “We have no intention of trying to correct you on your efforts at raising Mistaya! We wouldn’t think of such a thing—”

“We might indeed think of such a thing,” Abernathy interrupted. He glared at Questor. “But that isn’t why we are here. As you may eventually find out, I hope.”

Questor glared back. “Perhaps you would rather handle this than I? Would that suit you better?”

Abernathy perked up his ears. “It might. Shall I?”

“Oh, please do.”

Ben hoped the vaudeville act was finished, but he held his tongue and waited patiently.

Abernathy faced him. “High Lord, Questor and I are well aware of the fact that Mistaya’s return is a disappointment and an irritation. We are also aware of what she thinks is going to happen, which is that things will go back to the way they were before she left. You, on the other hand, would like to find some more productive use of her time, preferably something educational and perhaps a bit challenging?”

He made it a question, even though the force of his words made it clear he was certain of his understanding of the situation. “Go on,” Ben urged, nodding.

“We know that she must be disciplined, High Lord,” Questor broke in, forgetting that he had ceded this territory to Abernathy only moments earlier. “She is a willful and rebellious child, perhaps because she is smart and beautiful and charming.”

“Perhaps because she is your daughter, as well,” Abernathy muttered, and gave Ben a knowing look. “But to continue.” He turned the full weight of his liquid brown, doggy gaze on Questor to silence him. “What is needed is a lesson that will teach Mistaya at least something of what you had hoped Carrington would provide. Study with Questor and myself, however educational, has its limits, and I think we may have reached them.”

Questor bristled. “That is entirely wrong—”

“Questor, please!” Abernathy bared his teeth at the other, then turned to Ben anew. “So we have an idea that might accomplish this,” he finished.

Ben was almost afraid to hear what it was, but there was probably no avoiding it. He took a deep breath. “Which is?”