Macster - The Missing Links

When the Queen had finished cutting off Relish's head, she placed it in a Merrypips apple crate and carried it distastefully back to the carriage. The Dog Prince was already inside, cringing on his seat against the far wall. Good. He had learned to fear her again. "Are you going to beat me?"

She regarded him thoughtfully before deciding against it. There wasn't time, and if she refrained from doing so, he would associate that reward with his coming along and obeying her. Reinforcement of good behavior was a large part of dog obedience. "No. I'm going to take you home." She wiped the blood off her face with a handkerchief and then replaced her gloves on her hands.

The Dog Prince seemed gleefully excited. "Oh, excellent!" He sniffed at the box as she set it on the seat beside her. "Is this breakfast?"

She rolled her eyes; she'd forgotten dogs enjoyed dead things, the smellier the better. She would have to watch him carefully. "Not unless you enjoy Troll head," she replied dryly, then leaned out the window and rapped the side of the carriage. "Drive on!"

The driver whipped the horses and at once the carriage proceeded along the packed dirt road, its gleaming black form fading slowly into the thick, swirling fog.

It was time to display the trophy they had collected.

Wendell turned, dumbfounded. There was his carriage, he recognized the horses with their red plumes and the royal emblem on the door. People were throwing confetti everywhere and crowding close to the carriage, heedless of the clopping hooves. And there was the Dog Prince, leaning out of the window, tongue lolling. He was holding something and waving.

"Born to be King!" the crowd shouted. "Born to be King!"

"Prince Wendell!" a woman cried, throwing roses.

"That's a lie!" Wendell cried, but of course no one could hear anything but his barking. "I'm Prince Wendell! That's me!"

How could they be so fooled? That wasn't him, that was the dog. He was the real Prince.

Wasn't he?

Suddenly Wendell shuddered. He didn't know anymore. It seemed as if he had always been a dog. His fading memories were no help, and surely if everyone knew that that was the Prince, they had to be right, didn't they? They couldn't all be wrong? He felt faint, and his legs trembled.

As the carriage passed, Wendell finally saw what it was that was in his--the dog's?--hand. The head of the Troll King dangled in the Dog Prince's grip.

"Long live Prince Wendell! Long live Prince Wendell!"

Beyond the Dog Prince, he could barely see the Queen, slid as far back in the corner of the carriage as she could get, her hood pulled tightly forward, the curtain pulled to conceal her from the crowd. He could see her smile. The expression of smugness, of total victory, burned into his memory.

Wendell watched the carriage disappear around a corner, like his life, felt everything he was and could be unravel and follow the vehicle like trailing threads. His failure was complete...and now he wasn't even sure anymore if the truth he thought he knew was valid.

Who was he? Who was he?

Despondent, the dog looked morosely around the still-crowded street as the people slowly began to disperse.

The Huntsman was nowhere to be seen.