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but you..." He stopped, clearly perplexed. "Abernathy," he said quietly. "What has happened to you?"
Now it was Abernathy's turn to stare. Happened to him? He looked down at himself once more. Same
body, arms, legs, familiar clothing, everything in place. He looked back at the other, shaking his head in
confu-sion. "What are you talking about?" He had to speak loudly to be heard over the music.
The gaunt, white-bearded face underwent a truly in-credible series of contortions. "You've... you've
changed back! Look at yourself! You're not a dog any-more!"
Not a dog...Abernathy started to laugh, then stopped, remembering. That was right--he was a dog! He
was a soft-coated Wheaten Terrier, made so by Questor Thews when the old King's spiteful son, Michel
Ard Rhi, had sought to do him serious harm, then left that way because Questor could not change him
back again.
Yes, a dog.
Except, he realized suddenly, shockingly, he wasn't a dog anymore. He was a man again!
"Oh, goodness!" he breathed softly, unable to believe it. "It can't be! My heart and soul...!"
He reached down hurriedly and examined himself all over. Yes, those were arms and legs and fingers
and toes. His body was back! His human body! He patted wildly at himself, reaching inside his clothing.
No fur, but skin, like any normal man! He was beginning to cry now, tears running down his cheeks. He
scrambled for something to look into, finally grasping one of the sil-ver buttons that fastened his ornate
tunic. He peered down into its tiny, carved surface, and his breath caught in his throat.
It was his human face he found staring back at him, the face he had not seen in more than thirty years.
"It's me!" he whispered, swallowing. "Look, Questor Thews, it's really me! After all this time!"
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 He was crying so hard and at the same time laughing that he thought he might simply collapse. But
Questor Thews reached forward and braced him with hands on both shoulders. "My old friend," he
declared in delight, and he was crying, too. "You're back!"
Then, in a spontaneous and quite out of character dis-play of affection, they were hugging and clapping
each other on the back, rendered unable for the moment to speak a word.
The audience that had gathered while all this was go-ing on watched uncertainly. It was sizable by now,
drawn initially by the odd costumes and the obvious in-terest of the man and woman who had first
approached, then held there by what everyone presumed was a drama of some sort being played out as
open-air theater. Really, they were thinking, it was quite good, if some-what inappropriate for the
occasion.
There was a scattering of polite applause.
Abernathy continued to cling to Questor Thews, as if letting go would change him back again. He could
feel the air and the sun's warmth, and he could smell the food and hear the music as if he had never been
able to do any of those things before in his life. If he could be born again, he thought, it would feel like
this!
"What's happened to us?" he managed finally, draw-ing away from the other's grasp. "How did I
change? How did it happen?"
Questor released him reluctantly, then shook his head, wispy hair sticking out all over the place, the
re-sult of his enthusiastic embrace. "I don't know," he de-clared wonderingly. "I don't understand any of
it. I thought we were dead!"
The crowd applauded some more. Abernathy became aware of them now, three and four deep all
around the wizard and himself. He was startled in spite of himself--and deeply embarrassed. "Questor
Thews, do something!" he demanded heatedly, gesturing at the knot of people ringing them.
The wizard glanced about in surprise but somehow managed to maintain his equanimity.
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 "Hello, there!" he greeted. "Can anyone tell us where we are?"
There was laughter from the crowd.
"Bumbershoot," came a tall, lanky boy's quick an-swer.
"Bumbershoot?" repeated Questor Thews doubtfully.
"Sure. You know, Bumbershoot, festival of the arts." The boy grinned. He was enjoying whatever game
it was they were playing.
"No, no, he means the city," a burly fellow said. He was enjoying the game, too. "You're in Seattle,
Wash-ington, fellows."
"United States of America," another voice added.
Other names and places were shouted out, spectators now having decided that this was an audience
participation performance. Everyone was quite enthusiastic, and the crowd grew larger still.
"Questor!" Abernathy said sharply. "Do you realize where we are? We're in the High Lord's old world!
We've been transported through the fairy mists once again!"
The wizard's jaw dropped. "But how could that have happened? Nightshade meant to destroy us! What
are we doing here?"
"Ask Scotty to beam you up!" someone shouted.
"Are they Trekkies?" someone else asked hopefully.
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 The crowd howled with laughter and engaged in some rhythmic clapping to urge the two on. The music
from the pavilion had ceased momentarily, and it seemed as if everyone at the festival had suddenly
con-verged on them, anxious for a new show. Belatedly, Abernathy realized that their unexpected
appearance had been the trigger for all this attention, materializing as they had out of nowhere as if... well,
as if by magic--which was exactly how they had gotten there, of course, but that was beside the point.
This was Earth, the High Lord's old world, and magic was not practiced here. Not tolerated, really. Not
even believed in for the most part. The crowd thought the two were part of the festival, like the jugglers
and the stilt walkers and what have you.
Whatever magic they possessed was illusion. It was meant to entertain.
"We have to extricate ourselves from this situation right now!" Abernathy insisted in an anxious covert
whisper. "These people think we are offering them some sort of performance!"
He scrambled quickly to his feet, looking down at himself as he did so, at his human self, wondering in
amazement that he was there, restored once more, mi-raculously, impossibly. His voice caught in his
throat.
"We have to talk this out... this whole business! But alone, Questor Thews!"
The wizard nodded in emphatic agreement, rising with him. They were both dressed in Landover
clothing, looking very out of place unless you accepted their ap-pointed roles as entertainers. The wizard
quickly de-cided that it was better to go along with perceptions than to try to argue or explain them
away. He was as confused as Abernathy about what had happened and just as anxious to sit down in a
quiet spot and attempt to reason it all out.
"Ahem! Ladies and gentlemen! Could I have your at-tention, please." He addressed the crowd in his
most au-thoritative voice, lifting his arms in an encompassing gesture to gain their undivided attention.
They quieted at once. "My colleague and I require a few moments of preparation before we can proceed
with the next act. So if you will just go about your business--enjoy the rest of the festival--we will see you
back here in, oh, per-haps an hour. Or not," he added under his breath. "Thank you, thank you very
much."
He lowered his arms and turned away. The crowd did not move. No one was prepared to leave just
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