The next morning brought another change, this time into the weirdest anamorphism he
had yet seen on this world. He seemed to recognize the longer fur, and the
pattern of color that ranged down her back. Her face was somewhat elongated but
her mouth didn't match what he expected. She had a big bushy tail that cascaded
out from under the covers. He put his hand on her paw. He could feel some
impressive nails. They were like little scimitars. He wondered if she was going
to awake with a craving.

     She stretched a little, opening her mouth in a yawn. Sure enough, she didn't have
much in the way of teeth, but a remarkably long tongue snaked out and back in
during her stretch. Jon-Tom was fairly certain he knew what she was. Like the
olingo, perhaps it was something that had disappeared from this world in his
time, or else he hadn't had the chance to encounter one. She opened her eyes
and smiled, albeit clumsily, up at his inquisitive face. “Morning! So what am I
today?" As she asked, she was holding up her paws. She clenched them and
released them, observing her long claws. They weren't retractable, but they
seemed suitable as weapons. The fur was a little too long for feline, and a
little too course for canine.  She gave
up her inspection and looked to her husband.

     “Well mate of mine, what did I turn into?" He kissed her furry cheek and rubbed her long nose. “Well
Sybeele, I can't say for certain, but it seems to me that you've become an
anteater. You're about the same size and shape as a pangolin, which I am
intimately familiar with." She lashed out with her tongue, which flicked him in
the face. “Intimately familiar with a what?" He had to describe the animal to
her, both as it was on his world (which he had never known existed), to the one
here. That involved telling her about the whorehouse that he had bought, and
how he had saved a kingdom. That kept the conversation going right through
breakfast.

  “Jon-Tom, sometimes it's hard to believe you. I mean, I know you're truthful and all, but
the stories seem surreal. If I wasn't changing into so many different creatures
every other day, I would be tempted to call you a liar. Like this, “she said,
using herself as a demonstration. “What, under the clouds above, is an
anteater? Are you telling me there is something out there that only eats bugs?"
He was ready to point out that she had managed breakfast, but it seemed
impolitic. “Every creature evolved to survive. Some did that by living on
insects. On Earth, they use their incredibly long tongue to harvest them, and
their tough claws to rip open nests. You have evolved past that, or rather the
species here has. I say it's an interesting change. Do you want to try it out?"

  She knew what he meant. She was strangely unsettled by the form. Or maybe it was her
stomach. Regular food didn't seem to be agreeing with her. But the hell if she
was going to go foraging for ants. She'd go hungry for the next day if she had
to. “Jon-Tom darling; lets pass on this one, unless I'm feeling better tonight.
Insects may be this form's favorite food, but I haven't the stomach to go
gathering them up for a meal. Breakfast feels like lead. I think I'll stick to
water until this form passes. As interesting as sex in this body might turn out
to be, I'm not doing it feeling like crap." Her face was a little drawn.

  He cupped her chin and kissed her nose. “Sybeele darling, you may do as you
please, but if you sit here and suffer all day, it's your own fault. You carry
the power to wake the dead." She mentally slapped herself. She did! In an
instant she felt fine. “OK, so I'm as stupid as you are sometimes. But I'm
still not eating ants. However, sex is back on if you like!" He kissed her
again. “Why don't we wait until tonight? Though…" She waited for him to finish.
He didn't. “Though what?"

  He leaned back in his chair. “Well, you haven't mentioned my duty roster. You
know, it might be easier if I know things a few days in advance at least. For
example, I have scheduled an appointment with Huntchy tomorrow. I hope it's not
going to interfere with anything else." She lowered her head to look straight
down her nose at him. “You have an appointment with Huntchy? I thought you got
that out of the way yesterday." He pulled his feet out from under the table and
propped them up.

  “I did. I think he needs new purpose. I don't see where he's that intelligent, but I
think he goes to extremes to hide it. Graven says he's a genius. If so, he's
wasting his talents as a drunken laborer. Tomorrow we will have it out, man to
horse. The winner gets what he wants. If I win, he quits drinking and goes back
to using his brain. If he wins, he gets off scot free from anything he does
that's against the law."

  Sybeele sat there in bemused silence. Nothing could break that stubborn horse's will.
“My dear sir, what kind of contest are you two having? Huntchy would rather rot
in hell than break his bad habits." Jon-Tom grabbed his glass of water from the
table and drank it down. He then set it down, upside down on the tablecloth.
“That stubborn fool has accepted my challenge to a drinking contest. The first
to drop loses." Her eyes went wide. “You're an idiot! I have all of your power!
You'll never out drink him! He's a horse for god's sake!" Instead of speaking,
he took his fork, screwed up his face in preparation for the pain, and stabbed
it into his hand and withdrew it. Blood flowed out. Before she could scream, it
stopped. The skin was whole and unbroken.

  “Dammit Jon-Tom, how did you do that? Eve told me I would get all of your excess
power!" He chuckled. “Yes dear, you did. And good riddance too. I still have my
spell singing ability, I think, and a few things left over from being host to a
unicorn. I can adjust certain, critical parts, as you should know, and I can
heal, both myself and others. Everything else was just a disaster waiting to
happen." She was considering this. She had assumed that he was essentially
helpless without her, but it appeared that he wasn't anywhere close to
floundering. “Adjust certain parts? Oh I get it; like back home. But I didn't
know you could do it now!

  She was as forgetful as he was. “Ahem! What about the other night? You seemed pretty
happy that I could adjust myself then." She looked confused, then brightened.
“Oh yeah, I guess I kind of forgot. Call it the heat of the moment I guess. The
fact that you can do that will save me all sorts of trouble in the future." He
was bemused by this. She had all that power and refused to use it. It had to be
love that held her here, for the greatest magical power on this world meant
nothing to her. He could understand. She was a mere nothing on his world;
nothing more than a poor child that was about to be murdered for no good
reason. And he loved her very, very much. There was no doubt in his mind; he
knew what love was all too well. He had a heart full of it. It was why he had
made the deal with the town's nuisance horse.

  She was watching him think, hoping he wasn't mulling over too many details. She poked
him into awareness. “Jon-Tom, maybe you have your healing talent, but I don't see
how that will help you in a drinking contest." He came to full clarity. “A
unicorn's horn has the power to detoxify poisons. I don't have a horn exactly,
but it's part of the healing ability. Therefore, I can drink a leviathan under
the table and still win. It's sort of cheating, but Huntchy didn't ask any
questions. And tomorrow, the magician's guild will be there to certify the
document stating the terms of the deal. And before you ask, I intend to write
it with Huntchy present. That way he can't cry foul when it's over. But back to
my original complaint. I never know ahead of time what each day is supposed to
bring. So what's on for today?"

  She sighed. “To be honest, there is nothing on the roster for today. Nor tomorrow
either. The three days after that will be full, with meetings with the wizards'
guild, the farmers' guild and the swordsmen guild." He sat up, startled.
“There's a swordsmen guild?" She looked at him sharply. “Of course. They teach
all manner of combat to prospective fighters. You don't get a job as a personal
protector just by practicing with a toy sword on a mock up dummy." He wondered
to himself if this had somehow evolved into the assassins' guild. Four hundred
years was a long time. Then he dismissed the idea. It didn't matter right now.

  “Well, Mrs Merriweather, what would you like to do? Sex is on the top of my list, but
we seem to have all day and night to try it out. What say you and I go check
out the town together?" She suddenly got shy. “I'd love to, but it might seem
improper for you to be seen with what appears to be a different female every
other day." He grabbed her tail and pulled her onto his lap. “If everyone knows
who you are and that you change every other day, and that we are married, who
the hell cares? I don't wish to sound harsh, but I gave up giving a damn what
people think a long time ago. I'm way past caring what people think. Those who
accept you are worthwhile, and those that don't can go f…" She put a clawed
finger to his lips.

  “I get it. And I guess I agree. Besides, I'll be with you, so what more do I need?"
She kissed him clumsily, got down and went to the bedroom to rummage up some
clothing that would fit her new figure. It wasn't happening. Then she
remembered her new power. In a flash she had a wonderful outfit that was roomy
enough to allow for a bushy tail. Jon-Tom dressed in his old favorites, and out
the door they went. The streets were busy but hardly crowded. There were some
open air vegetable markets that were surrounded by hares, rabbits, pikas and
squirrels. Farther along there was another open air market, selling fresh fish,
clams and snails. It was busy selling to martins, fishers, otters and a few
smaller felines. The next market was selling hand crafted items; thing made
locally by apprentices who earned money from their sale.

  Sybeele was drawn into this one by the allure of gold and sparkles. Indeed, the items
here were all crafted by hand and paw, not like on his own world where most of
the trinkets were made overseas by cheap labor. Here there were pieces of
jewelry, small snuff boxes, charm bracelets; even intricately crafted stiletto
daggers and chain mail. None of it compared to what the chief guildsman could
produce, but it was hard to tell from a simple look-over.

  He was afraid that she was going to want something, but she was more interested in
discussing with the vender who had made which pieces. She picked up one,
showing it to him proudly. “This was made by Saffrel. This is her apprentice
mark on the bottom." He turned it over to see a small crocus punched into the
metal. The piece itself was very nice, a small silver urn decorated with vines
for handles. A similar motif ran around the entire surface. Jon-Tom was very
much impressed. The individual leaves looked like they had been plucked from a
plant, miniaturized and silver plated.

  He found he was interested in buying it. The problem was, he didn't have any
money, per se, in this time. If he had his power, he could make money out of
thin air. For that matter, if he had brought his duar with him, he could do it
almost as easily. He sighed and put the item back down. The vender, a slim
coati dressed in a smart green tunic and brown shorts, noted his motions.

  “My good Lord Mayor, do you not like this lovely little vessel? Your wife spoke to
you of its creator, a fine young craftsman, or should I say craftswoman?
Saffrel is indeed a blooming flower of youth, thus she has chosen an
appropriate mark for her wares. If the price is too high…" Jon-Tom shook his
head. “It's not that. I'm certain it's worth every penny." Sybeele nudged him,
and at the same time pulled out a bag from her purse. “Might my Lord Mayor wish
to spend some of his money, or does he wish to horde it all until his death? I
can think of no finer thing to purchase than this, and when she learns that it
was chosen by you, it will mean almost the world to her."

  Apparently he already had a fund to draw upon. It was something else that hadn't been
explained to him. He had been hoping there was something though, otherwise
paying for tomorrow's drinking contest was going to prove dicey. With a smile,
he handed over the coins, adding one extra, to be given to the artisan, and
they headed off down the street, Sybeele hanging lovingly off his arm. “You
have good taste Jon-Tom," she said with appreciation. He leaned down and kissed
her head. “I've got you, don't I?" A tongue snaked out and licked his cheek.

  Jon-Tom found that he really liked this town. He had been in some that were pretty
backwater in regards to health and cleanliness. Here, it turned out, they even
had a subterranean sewer system that diverted water from the nearby river to run
under the town for washing away the nastiness. Everything flowed along a
downgrade until it reached a receiving pond. Here the lowliest of the
agricultural guild dredged the stuff into piles to air dry, after which it was
returned to the field to start the process all over again. These guys would
make any hippy proud!

  Even now, there were street sweepers clearing off the debris into little grates set
in the street. It was a bit like sweeping the dust under the rug. Weeds were
pulled from cracks, and flower pots, enormous ones, were filled with tall,
fragrant flowers. In Jon-Tom's mind, if he ever got the chance to die, this is
where he wanted to do it. It was simply a wonder that he had never heard more of
this city. It was something spectacular, better even than Polastrindu. It was
like he pictured the old medieval castle-towns as a child, before he learned
the truth about such places. He was proud to be their mayor.

  The folk here seemed friendly enough, though he noticed he was getting a few covert
looks. Perhaps it was Sybeele. They knew than he was married to a human,
otherwise he would have no children. But it seemed deeper than that. One old
fellow straightened matters out for him without ever being asked. He was old,
slightly inebriated, and a jackdaw. His rasping, grating voice carried the
entire length of the street. “Haw haw haw! This here human has challenged the
great Huntchy to a drinking contest! What a great idiot we have been given to
lord o'er us in our finest hour! I say everybody take's t'morrow off as a
holiday, to watch the biggest defeat in the history of law and order."

  Jon-Tom bowed to the bird, wishing he could get his hands around his neck. “Oh mouthy
one, you are correct in that there is to be a contest tomorrow. The winner gets
what he wants. If I win, he gives up drinking and starts using his brain. If he
wins, he gets total freedom to do as he wishes. But you bring to light the fact
that there is more here than meets the eye. Perhaps we should open betting on
this event."

  The jackdaw jumped down, his head bobbing back and forth. “Betting? The good lord
mayor wishes to place bets? What is his form of currency?" Jon-Tom made a bow.
“My power. I'll give every backer of Huntchy a free pass to escape the penalty
of the law for one month. However, should he lose, he will offer his services
to the city for one month. You will do as you're told, without fail, for that
time period." The townsfolk gasped in dismay. They hardly expected him to win,
so extending what amounted as a free ticket for a free-for-all was
disheartening. If they only knew.

  The jackdaw was soused, but not stupid. It was going to be a thousand pound horse
versus a hundred and seventy pound human. He drew a wing across his chest and
made a drunken oath. “I Opplef, of the clan of Guttro, hereby pledge that I
will put my backing to a horse any day." Jon-Tom smiled. “And I accept your
pledge, in front of these good people, who will forget not a word that has been
said. I will see you tomorrow at Priccolo's place." He bowed to the crowd, who
parted as he and his wife continued their journey through town.

  Sybeele pulled him in tightly. “What are you trying to do, get every ne'er-do-well into
line? You realize that even some good, kind hearted citizen's will bet against
you. The odds favor the horse." He wrinkled is nose. “Odds smodds. A lesson
learned the hard way often sticks with a person. I don't care if anyone bets on
me. This isn't about money, it's about wasted potential. Which leads me to
another subject. I may need your help, magically that is, if something I intend
to try backfires. I've gotten so used to raw power that doing something with
finesse on the duar may prove difficult.

  They continued their walk. Jon-Tom found his way to Priccolo's Bung and Barrel. The
owner, a short little muskrat, was all atwitter. “My Lord Mayor Sir! How could
you schedule such a thing without consulting me? I hope you intend to pay for
every drop drank or spilt! I run a business here, not a flop house!" Jon-Tom
pulled out his money, and handed over the entire amount. “This should cover the
costs." Priccolo counted it out and blanched. “Sir, this is way too much!"
Jon-Tom patted his back, bending over to do so.

  “Keep it all until this is over. Take from it what you need for an honest day's work.
We'll settle up tomorrow after I teach Huntchy a lesson." The muskrat knew his
drinkers, and those who couldn't hold their booze. “Lord Mayor Sir, I hate to
say this, but my money is on the horse. Most everyone's is. It's nothing
personal, it's just that…wellllll…you're a human and all. He's got you, pound
for pound, nearly eight times the mass. They'll be burying you without
embalming by the end of the day."

  Jon-Tom sighed. “Here's the deal. Tomorrow, Huntchy and I sign an agreement. A wizard
will seal the pact. I'm adding a clause that anyone taking the horse's side
will have to serve the town, in a capacity I chose, for thirty complete days.
I'd like you to spread the word. And I'm going to give you some advice. Don't
bet, and if you're going to bet, bet on me. His four legs will drop far sooner
than my two. I guarantee it!" The owner looked him up and down. For some
reason, the human's stance and surety rattled his resolve. “Ok my Lord Mayor,
I'll refrain from betting. But if I lose sure money, it's coming out of your
purse!"

  Jon-Tom walked out and turned down a side street, making his way to the wizards' guild,
where he got the volunteer services of one a top performer. The spell wasn't
particularly a hard one, but Jon-Tom wanted it done right. From there it was
back to his home. Sybeele fixed a meal for them, including using magic for
herself for a big bowl of ants. He said nothing as she dug in. She had them
cleaned up in no time. She belched daintily. “I hate to say it, and I really
mean this; those bugs were delicious! I'll be so glad to be back to me
tomorrow!" He laughed right up until her tongue came out and slid into his ear.
Then it was her turn to laugh.

  That evening wasn't without incident. The first thing they found out was that
anteaters weren't encumbered by things like hymens. On the other hand, they
seemed to be ill suited for normal sexual contact. She was about ready to call
the whole thing off when it dawned on her, yet again, that she could modify
this body, even if she didn't have control over its species. With a thought, a
naughty thought, she gave herself a proper human vagina. The rest of the night
went fine, though on more than one occasion, Jon-Tom wished for a pair of
clippers to deal with her long, flowing fur. It was nice to look at, but hell
to deal with in bed.

  It was also a good thing he still had his healing power. Those claws, meant for
tearing open concrete-hard termite mounds, made mincemeat of his back. He put
it on automatic just to keep up with the damage. At the rate they were going,
he was going to run out of healing before tomorrow's contest. Then again, if
that was the case, he would need to drink himself insensible just to deaden the
pain!