wizard_howell (
wizard_howell) wrote2007-07-29 03:14 pm
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The sunrise here to the north is a spectacular affair; it finds him at the edge of a pond, contemplating the water's flow over the rocks. Lesson one is learned: nighttime in Strangia is no time at all to be out and about on one's one. It's more than evident that the country as a whole is not only preparing but almost completely prepared for war: things are locked down tightly and friendly faces are few and far between... even to one dressed in the unmistakable uniform of the Strangian army.
It's all right, though. He's learned far more in this one night than the King of Ingary might have hoped for; the work he and Sophie have been doing certainly is both appropriate and adequate. There are strange magics at work in this land: they're as tangible as the water in the stream at his feet. As much as he'd prefer to be home bickering with Sophie over doing too much work or the merits of cooking on Calcifer, he understands why he's here. If Ingary suffers from one thing, it's a false sense of security. Things are far worse than he (or, he suspects, the King) imagined. Everywhere, there are stockpiles of munitions and canned goods and clothing; storefronts have been turned into military effort workshops; anti-Ingary signs grace every street corner.
He's not quite sure what Ingary has done to incur such hatred, but he'd like to understand it. Unfortunately, he doubts he'll have that luxury: there's movement in the distance and so he takes his rifle in hand and stands tall: watching, waiting, listening.
It's all right, though. He's learned far more in this one night than the King of Ingary might have hoped for; the work he and Sophie have been doing certainly is both appropriate and adequate. There are strange magics at work in this land: they're as tangible as the water in the stream at his feet. As much as he'd prefer to be home bickering with Sophie over doing too much work or the merits of cooking on Calcifer, he understands why he's here. If Ingary suffers from one thing, it's a false sense of security. Things are far worse than he (or, he suspects, the King) imagined. Everywhere, there are stockpiles of munitions and canned goods and clothing; storefronts have been turned into military effort workshops; anti-Ingary signs grace every street corner.
He's not quite sure what Ingary has done to incur such hatred, but he'd like to understand it. Unfortunately, he doubts he'll have that luxury: there's movement in the distance and so he takes his rifle in hand and stands tall: watching, waiting, listening.
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It would probably have been a better idea to remember that there was an army in the way. Sophie wonders, guiltily, if the highly confused Strangian captain will report the red-bearded stranger who appeared briefly in the midst of a platoon to his superiors. Still, no help for it, she tells herself. Anyways, after a few missteps, and overshooting once or twice, she's found herself squarely behind Strangian lines.
She still hasn't learned how to stop the boots without falling over. But she falls over strategically, and pulls the boots carefully off, tucking them under her cloak (they're heavy) before pulling out the finding spell she'd bullied Michael into hastily preparing.
"Find Howl," she whispers. "Go!"
And now . . . she's here.
Tromping up towards what looks remarkably like a Strangian officer, and hoping desperately that Michael didn't misplace an ingredient along the way.
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He is, after all, a very skilled wizard.
"Stop. Who goes there?"
It seems to be the standard Strangian military greeting: couldn't they have come up with something a little more interesting? Unique? Memorable?
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You'd think Howl would recognize his own disguise spell, Sophie thinks in some irritation, over the rush of relief. Unless he's just trying to make life difficult for her, which is thoroughly possible -
- or unless he's being watched. Which, she recognizes belatedly, is also possible.
She coughs, and says, in as gruff a voice as she can manage, "Special messenger with news from, er, from Wales."
She's hoping it sounds convincingly manly.
. . . mostly it just sounds like she has a cold.
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"From whom, and what exactly is a Wales?"
If anybody's captured or harmed Sophie, there will be no end to his anger. This mission already has him on edge; he won't make any missteps now.
"Come on, lad. State your business." Sharp green eyes study the bearded figure in front of him: it has to be Sophie. Nobody else croaks quite the same way.
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Not to mention the fact that she still hasn't forgiven him for coming up here without telling her to begin with.
"I haven't the faintest idea," she snaps. "I'm just the messenger, sir. It clearly isn't my job to be told the finer points of strategy!"
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A wave of his hand sends a warm breeze cascading toward her. "Well then, you'd best deliver the message, oughtn't you? Come, spit it out."
He's honestly not toying with her. It's simply that his life's at stake here; every mistake could be his last. And when push comes to shove, he'd rather not be dead.
"Tell me the dog's name."
If this isn't Sophie, they'll think he's mad. If it is, she'll know the answer. It seems a fair enough test.
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The dog, after all, has no less than three names, and two of them are more than likely extremely dangerous to be throwing around in anything less than vulgar terms in the middle of Strangia.
"I suppose you mean Percival, but it isn't really."
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But his smile fades in an instant.
"What on earth are you doing here?"
She could get herself captured or killed.
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"You tell me you're just off to visit the King and I find out the next morning you're in - in the middle of the war zone? And you lied to me about it? As if I was going to sit at home and go on knitting!"
She's full of righteous fury, and getting angrier as she goes on, in large part to cover for the fact that now she's here . . . she's really not sure what she's planning to do next, except have a domestic squabble in the middle of an enemy nation.
This is the trouble with impulse decisions.
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"Cariad, it was for your own protection. It was meant to avoid this situation specifically. Honestly, Sophie, if I'd told you I was coming to Strangia on" -- he looks around shiftily, making sure they're alone -- "the King's orders, you either would have insisted I stay home or insisted on coming along."
It's one of those situations that's almost funny, but not quite. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid, and it's come to pass anyway.
"What would you have done in my situation?"
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She might have fibbed. For his own good. But only over small things, slight exaggerations; surely nothing as grave as this.
He could have been killed. And she would never have even known he was in danger.
"If you had only told me what was going on, we could have discussed it," she says, instead of answering his question. "I could have helped - I can help," she goes on, more briskly. "Michael's perfectly capable of keeping the shop for a few days. And I'm good at getting people to tell me things, you know I am.
"And since you're so prone to running off these days, I want to be able to keep an eye on you."
It's not fair to say to him.
But she's still furious. And still frightened.
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She's right: they could have discussed it, but they didn't. He chose not to, by way of protecting her as best he could. "Michael's absolutely capable of minding the shop and you're better than you know at getting people to tell you things. But look, cariad: I did it to protect you, just as you're now trying to protect me."
Unfortunately, as the daylight grows, they'll be that much more visible. And she can't go round Strangia as a red-bearded man in the company of a soldier; that will never do.
"The argument is moot; you're here now. You've got what you wanted. What remains is to keep you here safely." He moves that finger from beneath her chin and uses it to tap his own lip in consideration.
There will have to be a disguise, and he has a very good idea what will work best. The problem is that Sophie will never agree to it in a million years.
What a shame.
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She huffs, surreptitiously rubbing her hands together under the cloak to keep them warm. "I did bring a disguise. I suppose if you have a spare uniform I could be a Strangian soldier well enough . . . do soldiers wear cloaks?"
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He hates to do this, he really does. On the other hand, hate is such a strong word and he's never hated using magic to do what needs to be done.
"But I have another disguise for you. Stay right there: don't move a muscle."
This, he thinks, will be a true test of love. Reaching forward, he touches the tip of his index finger to the center of her forehead; he invokes the words of power. In that instant, the water stands still in the stream and the clouds hesitate to move. Summoning this type of magic is a disruptive effort to the natural order of things, but he can't help it.
Sophie has to be safe.
He just hopes she doesn't try to maul him once she sees what he's done.
"There. Now you're safely disguised."
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As soon as it's done, though, she opens her mouth, planning to give Howl a piece of her mind -
- and listens in horror to the sound that comes out.
What.
What.
The hair - fur? - on her back rises up in sharp shock, and she opens her mouth to let out another "MROW!", with which she attempts very hard to convey the fact that she is never ever ever going to forgive Howl for this.
Ever.
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He's nothing if not a quick thinker, though; he knows only too well how to adapt and how to get out of a sticky situation.
"Be as angry with me as you want, Sophie, but don't say I never did you any favors." In a flash, his own shape is changing and while cats are lovely and sneaky and delightful, he wants something a little bit different for himself.
At least this way, he and Sophie will be able to communicate. Animals have a bond that people simply can't know about or understand... even animals who are really humans who are trying very hard not to think of themselves as animals but as humans trapped in animal form, for whatever reason, good or bad.
He feels himself falling to the ground; expecting it, his hands go out to brace himself.
Then he shakes out his fur and wags his tail.
[There. Now we're even. Have at me, but not till we get to that grove of trees, please. Come along.] One snout points toward the oak trees in the distance. If she weren't so angry, he'd offer to race her.
(She'd win.)
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Why do people always feel compelled to turn her into things? Why her! At least when she was old she only had two legs to deal with, as opposed to trying to maneuver four -
- and as soon as she starts trying to think about how, exactly, to coordinate all four legs, she loses the instinctive knowledge she's had of how to run in her new form and sprawls onto the ground with un-feline grace.
Form imposes certain habits; her next impulse is to sit herself up, lick her paws, and do her very best to pretend that that didn't happen. She represses it, picking her way sourly across the few feet remaining between her and the forest.
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Honestly, he'd tell her to relax into her form; he remembers the first time he was a cat and how awkward it was at times. But right now they don't have the luxury of lessons. She's followed him to a war zone, and that's risky business.
[Be glad I didn't turn you into a roach.]
There's always a bright side to everything.
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Well. Words very clearly fail.
She hisses again and jumps ahead over a fallen tree. As most of her mind is taken up with being furious at Howl, she makes the leap with automatic ease, landing neatly on the other side before turning around to add, [Besides, this was rather poorly thought-out! Who ever heard of a cat and a dog walking together voluntarily?]
If they were home, she'd likely be Not Talking to him right now. But they're not at home - and angry as she is, it's more important that they both get home safely.
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Of course he is; he's both a philosopher and an Aquarius. Not to mention a dog.
A big one.
[Perhaps you didn't see those soldiers approaching because you were so busy arguing with me. What would you have me do, Sophie: admit I was wrong? That I shouldn't have been doing my utmost to keep you out of harm's way? That's rubbish and we both know it, and cats and dogs can be great friends. I had both growing up; they got on swimmingly.]
She can't get away with that.
Her anger, he knows, is valid. It's justified. But if Sophie has one shortcoming, it's not seeing the forest for the trees. [Here we are in Strangia, and our little oak grove is about to be surrounded by soldiers. Should we sit here and be used for target practice, or get our arses out of here before they set up camp? I'm not particularly keen on getting shot at today. You?]
He's still on a mission from the king; he still has information to ferret out.
Ferret: now there's a concept.
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She's got lots more to say to him, but he's right in one thing: this isn't the time. Sophie slinks lower in the grass and peers ahead towards the opening of the grove, trying to distinguish the green of the Strangian uniform through the slightly darker green of the oak leaves.
[All right - where do you suggest we go? It won't do any good to run without a direction. Or a destination. What exactly are we meant to be finding out, anyways?]
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Because he's a protective prospective husband, he nudges her in the correct direction and watches through dog-sight -- different from human, different from feline -- as she slinks her way through the tall grass to the hut. One ear cocked, he listens to the sound of the approaching soldiers: laughing, talking, and if Sophie thought his language was rude (it wasn't), she should hear this lot. Still, there's nothing to be heard that furthers his mission; he'll take Sophie out of here at the earliest opportunity.
This really is no place for her.
Once she's safely inside the building -- it's really just a ramshackle stone hut -- he trots over, apparently without a concern. Dogs shouldn't appear concerned, after all.
[Now. You want to know why we're here.]
It's really simple enough, but the circumstances of two countries about to be at war make it more difficult than it ought to be.
[Strangia's set to attack Ingary; we know that. What we don't know is when or how. The king sent me here to find those two specific pieces of information and once we know them, we're free to return. Since this is the most heavily guarded stronghold furthest to the south, I'm starting here. If the soldiers plan to go by foot, they'll likely amass here. And if not, we'll simply have to try to infiltrate the ranks and find out whatever plans there are.]
At least that was his original idea, and it should have worked quite nicely. His replica of a Strangian officer's uniform was spot-on. He worked hard at that, too.
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[If not? We may not know whether they will or won't amass here until it's too late - wouldn't it be far better to start by actively trying to find out what we need to know?]
She rises off her haunches and paces back and forth across the packed earth, whiskers twitching as she thinks.
[Shouldn't we be able to find some way to hear what's going on in the officer's tents? It's the officers who'll know the real plans, after all, not the common soldiers.]
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[It's why I was wearing an officer's uniform when you found me, my brilliant and precocious bride-to-be. Do you suppose you'd ever forgive me if I went back to that and you stayed in this form? I'd keep you safe and close at hand.]
She'll never forgive him anyway, but it's certainly worth asking.
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(Well, it's not as if Sophie is well-versed in the different kinds of uniforms worn by members of the Strangian military.)
[And you think nobody will notice an extra officer wandering around that nobody knows?]
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There is more than one reason he chose a dog; while it's true that dogs can chase cats very successfully, it's also true that soldiers like dogs. They talk in front of them. They might or might not accord the same easy familiarity to a cat.
But that gives him an idea. [You know, we could split up. Walk the perimeter, each of us, and meet back here in an hour's time and report on what we've discovered.]
This plan has potential: it will both keep Sophie busy and should she be the one to uncover information, give her something about which she can say I told you so, Howl! in her crankiest cat voice.
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Sophie gives him a suspicious look all the same. She'd meant what she said, about wanting to keep an eye on him, and she's not entirely sure she trusts him not to sneak off to do something terribly dangerous while she's industriously wandering through the campsite.
On the other hand, he can hardly leave her trapped in cat-shape while he dashes off, can he? Even Howl isn't that slithery.
[I suppose,] she says, with grudging assent, and then pauses.
[How are we to know when an hour's passed? A cat can't keep a pocket-watch.]
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[We'll have to do our best guess, cariad. I'll tell you what: make the circuit then come back here and I'll do the same. If there are conversations of interest, you stay put and if you're not back when I get here, I'll find you?]
He can't conjure up a kitty-sized wristwatch and even if he could, it would be ridiculous. But...
[At the risk of incurring further wrath, I could put a warming spell on you that lasts an hour, and when it wears off you'll know it's time to come back.]
It would be easier if she'd let him switch back to human form; he'd carry her with him.
Actually, it would be easier if she'd stayed at home. However, this is Sophie, and he knew exactly what she was like when he proposed marriage.
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[And, as you asked, and it does make sense, I'm perfectly all right with it.] If her emphasis is a little heavy, well - she feels it's a point that ought to be emphasized.
[As long as you remember to do the same for yourself - I'm counting on you, Howl. I want your word. I'm not having come all the way here just to lose you again.]
She's doing her best to have the sternness entirely cover up her fright - because any way you look at this, it's dangerous.
And more so for Howl than for her. Wizard Howl is a major player, a known power and enemy of Strangia. Witch Hatter is barely a piece on the board - and here, that's an asset.
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The only problem is to do this, he has to be a human; he shifts back quickly and before Sophie can say a word, casts the spell on himself first, as promised, and then on Sophie and as soon as that's done, he falls to the ground as a dog again.
A very warm dog, in fact.
It's a good spell; they'll know when the hour's done.
[Right, then. You take the south and I'll take the north.] There's a method to his madness; should anything happen, Sophie will be able to escape back to Ingary more readily from the southern position.
There's just one more thing.
[Should anything go wrong, make your way back home to Kingsbury, and to Wizard Suliman. He'll be able to recognize you as under a spell and break it for you.]
He's not expecting problems. But in a war zone, anything's possible.
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She doesn't have to try too hard not to think about the complexities of four legs. After all, she's got something else to focus on - and that is the fact that Howl can say whatever he likes, but the fact of the matter is that she's not leaving him behind anywhere.