The Last Changeling by Jane Yolen Page A

creature’s mouth. He could see it had multiple rows of teeth like the large predators of the northern ocean. Only smaller, of course. Not that he had ever had the opportunity to see the large predators or the northern ocean, but he had read about them in his studies with Jaunty. And there had been one rather horrific illumination in the book. He had always thought it exaggerated. He was no longer certain. The back rows of the bowser’s teeth looked ready to swarm forward if any of the front ones failed in any way.
    Gentle but firm,
he reminded himself.
    â€œSee here, bowser. I do not want to wash you, and you, apparently, do not wish to be washed.” He knew that might sound indecisive to the bowser. And possibly to the other creature in its shapeless cloak as well.
    â€œNevertheless, bowser, that is exactly what is going to happen. Best if we do it quickly and quietly with as little fuss as possible.” Dipping the rag into the bucket, he swished it around. All the while he hated the greasy feel of the thing and wanted to remove his hand from it. But he did not.
    Remembering his father with the hounds, holding out leather leashes for them to sniff, he held the rag up now so the bowser could examine it.
    Though the thing has no eyes that I can see. No ears either, but it obviously knows I am here.
The teeth are proof of that.
He may have been imagining it, but the jaws did not seem to be gaping so wide after his little speech to the creature; the teeth
were
a bit more hidden.
    Aspen squeezed the rag a little so he would not slosh cold water onto the creature.
We definitely do not want to shock it, now.
Then he leaned forward and pushed the rag into the middle of the bowser’s . . .
    Back? Surface? Floor?
Aspen did not know what to call it; he was just glad the animate rug made no move to bite him.
    â€œThere, that is . . . that’s a good . . . erm . . . bowser,” he cooed, and began scrubbing. The surface of the creature was rug-like, but a great deal warmer, and it moved occasionally under his hand as a hound might. Aspen went back for more water, then scrubbed another spot.
    The brown of the—
fur? fabric?—
turned near black with the moisture; but after scrubbing for a few minutes, Aspen looked over at his earlier work and saw that the part of the bowser he had washed was drying to a shining gold.
    â€œYou really
were
filthy!”
    The bowser rippled as if in response and finally closed its toothy jaws.
    â€œI believe you may have made a friend.”
    Aspen had almost forgotten the cloaked creature, and turned his head toward it.
    â€œPerhaps.” He shot it a quick grin. “We shall see when I wash near the mouth.”
    He moved to where he’d last seen the teeth and scrubbed there now. There was no sign of teeth—front or back—and he felt no sign of anything hard or pointy beneath his rag.
    Interesting
.
    And suddenly he was done. Only a few spots of dark remained as the bowser’s heat dried the final wet patches, and it looked for all the world like a rug of spun gold, a gold that seemed to light up the room.
    â€œWhy—it is . . . beautiful,” Aspen said, unable to disguise the awe in his voice. “Fit for a king’s chamber.”
    The cloaked creature stepped forward and reached down, stroking the back of the bowser with long, skeletal fingers. “Is it?”
    Close now, Aspen smelled the sweet stench of overripe fruit and remembered where he had seen this kind of creature before.
    â€œSticksman!” he shouted. The bowser rippled backward and gave a halfhearted show of teeth, before quickly settling again.
    The cloaked creature turned its gaze on Aspen, and he recalled clearly the same pale blue eyes of the skeletal creature that had poled Snail and himself from the Unseelie lands across a river filled with carnivorous mer. They had not had enough payment for passage, and Aspen