“Not all?”
But Questor either didn’t hear him or simply ignored him, hurrying ahead, forcing Ben to walk more quickly to keep pace. They passed from the entry through a narrow court as dark and dingy in appearance as the rest of the castle and from there through a second entry, smaller than the first, down a short hall and into a foyer. Misty light slipped through high, arched windows, mixing with the gloom and shadows. Ben glanced about. The wood of the supports and stays was polished and clean, the stone scrubbed, and the walls and floors covered in rugs and tapestries that had retained some of their original color. There were even a few pieces of stiff-looking furniture. Had it not been for the gray cast that seemed to permeate everything, the room would have been almost cheerful.
“You see, things are much better inside,” Questor insisted.
Ben nodded without enthusiasm. “Lovely.” They crossed to a door that opened into a cavernous dining hall with a huge tressel table and high-backed chairs cushioned in scarlet silk. Chandeliers of tarnished silver hung from the ceiling; despite the summer weather, a fire burned in a hearth at the far end of the hall. Ben followed Questor into the hall and stopped.
Three figures stood in a line to the right of the dining table. Their eyes met his.
“Your personal staff. High Lord,” Questor announced. Ben stared. The staff consisted of a dog and two large-eared monkeys — or at least two creatures very like monkeys. The dog stood upright on its hind legs and wore breeches with suspenders, a tunic with heraldic insignia, and glasses. Its coat was golden in color, and it had small flaps for ears that looked as if they might have been tacked on as an afterthought. The hair on its head and muzzle made it appear as if it were half porcupine. The creatures that looked like monkeys wore short pants and leather cross-belts from waist to shoulder. One was taller and spindle-legged. The other was heavy and wore a cook’s apron. Both had ears like Dumbo and prehensile toes.
Questor motioned to Ben, and they moved forward to stopbefore the dog. “This is Abernathy, court scribe and your personal attendant.”
The dog bowed slightly and looked at him over the rims of the glasses. “Welcome, High Lord,” the dog said. Ben jumped back in surprise. “Questor, he talks!”
“As well as you do, High Lord,” the dog replied stiffly.
“Abernathy is a soft-coated Wheaten Terrier — a breed that has produced a good many champion hunting dogs,” Questor interjected. “He was not always a dog, however.
He was a man before he was a dog. He became a dog through a rather unfortunate accident.”
“I became a dog through your stupidity.” Abernathy’s voice was very close to a canine growl. “I have remained a dog through your stupidity.”
Questor shrugged. “Well, yes, it was my fault in a way, I suppose.” He sighed, glancing at Ben. “I was trying to disguise him and the magic made him thus. Unfortunately, I have not as yet discovered a way to change him back again. But he does quite well as a dog, don’t you, Abernathy?”
“I did better as a man.”
Questor frowned. “I would have to dispute that, I think.”
“That is because you must find some way to justify what you did, Questor Thews. Had I not retained my intelligence — which, fortunately, is considerably higher than your own — I would undoubtedly have been placed in some kennel and forgotten!”
“That is most unkind.” The frown deepened. “Perhaps you would have preferred it if I had changed you into a cat!”
Abernathy’s reply came out a bark. Questor started and flushed. “I understood that, Abernathy, and I want you to know that I don’t appreciate it. Remember where you are. Remember that this is the King you stand before.”
Abernathy’s shaggy face regarded Ben solemnly. “So much the worse for him.”
Questor shot him a dark look, then turned to the creatures standing next to him. “These are kobolds,” Questor advised Ben, who was still struggling with the idea that his personal attendant was a talking dog. “They speak their own language and will have nothing to do with ours, though they understand it well enough. They have names in their own language, but the names would mean nothing to you. I have therefore given them names of my own, which they have agreed to accept. The taller is Bunion, the court runner. The heavier is Parsnip, the court chef.” He motioned to the two. “Give greeting to the High Lord, kobolds.”