The Dog Said Bow-Wow Read Free

days.”
    “Now
that’s
a figure of speech I’ve neither heard before nor can comprehend.”
    “It means simply that it’s likely they’re using weapons rather more sophisticated than is strictly speaking allowed by the Covenants of Warfare. There’s a lot riding on this siege. The Iron Duke has put everything he has into it. If he were defeated, then the worst the Council of Seven could expect would be sanctions and a fine. So long as they don’t use tac-nukes or self-reprogramming viruses, the powers that be won’t invoke their right to invade.”
    “Tac-nukes or self-reprogamming viruses?”
    “Again, it’s complicated. But I see you’re yawning. Why don’t you bank the fire and turn in? Get some sleep,” said the stick. “We can talk more in the morning.”
    But in the morning, the soldier didn’t feel much like talking. He packed his gear, shouldered the stick, and set off down the road with far less vigor than he had the day before. On this, the stick did not comment.
    At noon, the soldier stopped for lunch. He let his pack slip from his shoulders and leaned the stick against it. Then he rummaged within for the lef-tover rabbit, only to make a face and thrust it away from him. “Phaw!” he said. “I cannot remember when I felt so weak! I must be coming down with something.”
    “Do you think so?” the stick asked.
    “Aye. And I’m nauseated, and I’ve got the sweats as well.”
    The soldier wiped his forehead with his hand. It came back bloody.
    “
Chort!
” he swore. “What’s wrong with me?”
    “Radiation poisoning, I expect. I operate off a plutonium battery.”
    “It’s…you… You
knew
this would happen to me.” Unsteadily, he stood, and drew his sword. He struck at the stick with all his might. Sparks flew, but it was not damaged. Again and again he struck, until his strength was gone. His eyes filled with tears. “Oh, foul and treacherous stick, to kill a man so!”
    “Is this crueler than hacking a man to death with a big knife? I don’t see how. But it’s not necessary for you to die.”
    “No?”
    “No. If you grab your gear and hurry, you just might make it to the Iron Duke’s camp in time. The medics there can heal you — anti-radiation treatments aren’t proscribed by the Protocols. And, to tell you the truth, you do more damage to the Iron Duke’s cause alive and using up his personnel and resources than you do neatly dead in the moorlands. Go! Now!”
    With a curse, the soldier kicked the stick as hard as he could. Then he grabbed his pack and shambled off.
    It was not long before he disappeared over the horizon.
    A day passed.
    Then another.
    A young man came trotting down the dirt track. He carried a sword and a light pack. He had the look of a mercenary.
    “Hello,” said the stick.

The Dog Said Bow-Wow
    THE DOG LOOKED like he had just stepped out of a children’s book. There must have been a hundred physical adaptations required to allow him to walk upright. The pelvis, of course, had been entirely reshaped. The feet alone would have needed dozens of changes. He had knees, and knees were tricky.
    To say nothing of the neurological enhancements.
    But what Darger found himself most fascinated by was the creature’s costume. His suit fit him perfectly, with a slit in the back for the tail, and — again — a hundred invisible adaptations that caused it to hang on his body in a way that looked perfectly natural.
    “You must have an extraordinary tailor,” Darger said.
    The dog shifted his cane from one paw to the other, so they could shake, and in the least affected manner imaginable replied, “That is a common observation, sir.”
    “You’re from the States?” It was a safe assumption, given where they stood — on the docks — and that the schooner
Yankee Dreamer
had sailed up the Thames with the morning tide. Darger had seen its bubble sails over the rooftops, like so many rainbows. “Have you found lodgings yet?”
    “Indeed I am, and no I have