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."
"Doesn't matter," said King.
"Don't be ridiculous," protested Chesley.
Even I knew something was wrong, now.
"And you're afraid of these questions. You're sweating fear."
"I've had quite enough of this bullying," said Chesley, drawing himself to his most imperious height. "It is true that I didn't believe the boy's story this morning, but that's because he is a proven lia-"
"It's because you know where Dauna is," interrupted King, rising up to tower over even the tall steward. "I can smell it." King showed his teeth and growled.
In the years since then, I've learned that when men smile, they're talking without words. Sometimes it's as simple as, "that's funny" or "what a beautiful woman you are." Some smiles say, "I don't know what else to say, so I'll smile." Yet others say, "You're a miserable, stupid troll, but I can't say that, so I'll smile." King's smile said, "I'm about to clamp my teeth down on your throat if you don't talk." Chesley, to his credit, understood King's smile exactly.
"It wasn't my idea! I didn't want the money! They threatened me!"
Now we all knew he was lying. It wasn't hard to get the rest out of him, especially once Betha reached up and grabbed him by his skinny throat.
"What have you done with that darling girl?" she roared. King and I both moved quickly away from her. Even a fierce one like King knows who's the bigger dog.
It took her very little time to get Chesley's story.
"There," said King. He looked all silver in the moonlight-hair, eyes, and hands. He pointed to the warm glow of a lantern. The light spilled out of a flimsy warehouse door, making a silhouette of the guard sitting there, carelessly leaning back on two chair legs.
"That's father's warehouse," I said. "The one he rents for the goods he buys overseas. Why would they take her there?"
"Probably because that's the last place we'd think to look, Jame." I thought King was incredibly smart, even for a man.
"Now, listen. You won't be any help if you let those men get their hands on you, too." King took me by the shoulder and tugged the feathered cap out from my belt. He put it on my head and pulled it snugly down. I could tell by his eyes that I was invisible again.
"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.