Speak, Boy

Speak, Boy!
a Prince story by Stephen Brooke ©2021

“I shall grant thee three wishes,” stated the jinn.

“I’ll need to think on that,” I answered.

The great green cloud-like apparition granted me only a look of disdain. “Not thee, human. ’Twas the dog who found and released me.” It turned back to Spot. “Choose well, little one.”

My mutt cocked his head at the magical being he had inadvertently let out of its prison. He looked like he was thinking. “Rahhhr roo roo ruff,” or words to that effect came from his throat.

“Ah! Very well.”

“Thanks!” said Spot.

“You chose to be able to talk?”

“To be able to talk human. I could always talk dog,” he informed me.

“There are many human languages,” spoke the jinn. It chuckled in a disturbing fashion. “I could have given any of them to thee had I a mind, rather than that of this mortal.” It nodded in my direction. “But I like thee. Thou art a good boy, art thou not?”

“Indeed so. I always agree when my mistress asks but I don’t think she understands me.”

I would from now on, apparently.

“Keeping in mind my, ah, shall we say tendency to play tricks, I advise care in choosing thy remaining wishes.”

It didn’t take the good boy long to decide. “Live forever!”

The Jinn shook its head. “Beyond my abilities. Thou wouldst not like it anyway.

What wouldst thou do when all the other dogs had disappeared into time?”

“Not to mention the humans,” I felt obliged to add.

“That might not be so bad,” felt the green demon. “Strictly speaking, I can not give thee more years at all, beyond those that are ordained by fate. But—” It gave us a dramatic pause. “There is a loophole. I can change dog years to human years. Thou canst last as long as thy mistress. Or longer.”

“Okay,” agreed Spot.

“Done,” intoned the jinn.

Spot stared at him for a while. “I don’t feel different but I’ll take your word for it. I can’t really think of anything else I need.”

“How about money?” I suggested.

“What would I do with that?”

“Give it to me and I can afford to keep you in treats. Instead of selling the incredible talking dog to a freak show.”

“Hmm. Good point, there. Oh! I know. I want to be big! Alsatian big! And, um, that includes all my body parts.”

“It will cost more to feed you,” I warned. I had fading hopes of Spot asking for wealth but I could try.

“Thy mistress doth make sense,” the jinn admitted. “And a beagle of such size will attract undesired attention. Unless I change thee entire into this Alsatian form thou desireth.”

“Oh, no. I like the way I look. I’m very handsome. Everyone tells me so. I guess you can give her some money. Whatever she asks, okay? I don’t know anything about it.” He cocked his head at me this time. “But I suspect I should learn.”

“Gold?” asked the jinn. “Or has everyone switched to that paper money now? I was imprisoned for some centuries and am not up to date on such matters.”

“Electronic,” I answered. “The funds simply need to appear in an account. Um, an overseas secret account. It wouldn’t do to have the government asking me where it came from.”

The demon seemed to be elsewhere for a few minutes. “It is done,” it said. “More than thou shouldst ever need, in a bank in the Cayman Islands. Somewhat easier than transporting gold, I must say! All the documentation thou needeth I have placed in thine home. Those islands looked a pleasant little place. I may stop by there a while on my way back to my world.” With that, it faded like mist before the sun. Only the broken container, a rather flimsy papier-mache urn, remained to tell us it had been there and not a dream.

I picked it up now. “I would guess these sigils kept it from breaking out.”

“Who cares?” said my talking dog.

“No one.” I tossed its chewed remnants aside. I needed no memento of this day. I had a talking beagle to remind me. “Ready to go, Spot?”

“Don’t call me that anymore. It’s not my real name.”

“Oh? What is?”

“Hmm. Can’t be translated into human, I guess. I’ll pick another.” He didn’t take long. “I’ve always liked Prince. I knew a Doberman by that name.”

I’d known it too, and feared it. “Why not King or Rex?”

“Too ostentatious. We beagles are humble folk. I say, must you do that?” he asked, as I attached his leash.

“Being able to talk won’t help you in the pound. You should, um, maybe be careful about who you let know about it.”

“Just our secret, huh? We’ll see.” We set off toward my apartment. Perhaps I should think of it as our apartment now. Spot—er, Prince—had suddenly become a person to me. From the park to our place was only a couple blocks, through what was not the best of neighborhoods. It wasn’t the best of parks either, nor of apartments.
It wasn’t the best of lives. Prince had never complained, as far as I knew.

True to his word, the jinn had left all the needed papers and information on my kitchen table. How much was in the account? I’d have to access it online to learn. I was a bit fearful of finding out! A little note lay beside them, drafted in an ornate hand. It took a while to puzzle it out. A warning to thee, mortal woman, it said. This money is the property of the dog and not thee. If aught should befall him, it will evaporate.

“What’s it say?” asked Prince. “I should’ve made reading my third wish!”

“To take care of you.” Which was sort of true. I would need to take very good care of Prince. “How would you like to move into a house with a big yard?” I asked. With high secure fences.

“Would there be squirrels?”

“If it doesn’t come stocked, we can buy some.”

“Oh, boy!”

Oh, boy, indeed. Those secret funds would not evaporate so easily were they converted to property.

Prince didn’t need to know about any of that, did he?

this is the first Prince tale, the origin story, if you will