Mutt hunched in his small tunnel, relying on the darkness of the dungeon to keep him hidden. He peered out of the small hole in the wall he had crawled out of earlier to deliver the cloak to that brat wizard, Shon. He waited and listened. Just like always.

Mutt knew his master would punish him if he found out that he had lingered there after already completing the task he had been given. He wasn’t supposed to eavesdrop or pay attention, or even have his own opinion. He was only supposed to obey and scamper away. That’s all Gravine thought Mutt was good for. That’s all anyone thought Mutt was good for. But that’s only because nobody knew how good Mutt was at collecting secrets.

Being able to fit into very small places was a big part of it, of course. The whiskers and ears were a big help too. As much as Mutt hated this weak, ugly body of his, he couldn’t deny that it was much better suited for spying than his old body had been. The body from his first life, from back when he was whole and handsome and still alive.

Not that Mutt was dead. Not really. Not the same way all those disgusting zombies or phantoms were. They weren’t alive at all, just reanimated. Nor was Mutt an undead creature like that vampire Laronius or the banshee sisters whose lives were suspended through supernatural means in an odd kind of twilight between life and death, without truly being either. In contrast, Mutt was, in a way, both.

His body was certainly alive. It was just… borrowed. “Commandeered” was another word that Mutt would tell himself described his relationship with his body. He thought it foolish to consider it “stolen,” because humans don’t steal from animals. Humans might steal from each other, or from other intelligent races. But when it came to dumb animals, there was no such thing as stealing, just taking and putting to better use.

After all, people put out traps and poison to kill rats every day. Who would complain if one of them went missing so a fellow human could get a second chance at life? Not that Mutt could really remember much about his first chance at life. He couldn’t remember his name, where he came from, or if he had a family. All he could remember was that he had been handsome, and he had been a spy, trying to gather information about something sinister when something went wrong and he ended up dead.

Waking up dead had been an unsettling sensation. He could tell he wasn’t supposed to still be around, but something was keeping him tied to the spot so he couldn’t leave or move on. Not that Mutt had wanted to move on anyway. He had cared about little in life other than himself, and the thought of losing that self was terrifying. That’s when he was offered a deal.

In exchange for his permanent obedience and loyalty, Mutt had been offered a chance to anchor his soul to a living body, and have another chance to walk, talk, eat, sleep, and do everything else it means to be mortal. Though he’d had neither breath to speak, nor head to nod, somehow Mutt had been able to agree to the bargain.

Mutt hadn’t been told that the body he’d be given belonged to a rat. He hadn’t been told that the rat’s soul was still inside the body too. He hadn’t been told a lot of things. Like the fact that animal bodies weren’t made to fit human souls, and that it would have to change to accommodate him. He hadn’t been told about the excruciating pain he would endure as the body stretched and contorted, grew and mutated, twisted and writhed as it strained to fit the human form his soul was accustomed to. He hadn’t been told that the rat soul now stuffed in the body with him would squeal and cry at the agony along with him. And he certainly hadn’t been told that when it was all done, his body would look like a short, misshapen old man the size of a child.

Much later, after Mutt had started to grow accustomed to his new body, he had learned that the same magical process that had been used on him had been attempted several times before. Mostly with wolves. Mutt had some sense that during his first life, he had heard stories of werewolves, but he had never known where they really came from. The most popular stories and legends said that they were men who had been cursed with the ferocity of a beast. Now he knew the truth. They were animals that were cursed with the ambition of greedy humans who thought that one life simply wasn’t enough.

Mutt had learned that the werewolves that once lived in the castle and roamed the nearby forests were too unpredictable and reckless to be of any use to Gravine. The wolf souls within were constantly fighting for dominance, and on nights when the full moon weakened the magic that kept them in check, they would gnash and revolt against their usurpers. They would struggle so hard that even their bodies would begin to revert to some semblance of their former canine forms.

The rat soul that lingered in Mutt’s new body was not nearly so stubborn or fierce. Like Mutt himself, the rat was quite cowardly and timid. And yet Mutt had learned that, when he needed to, he could pull back his own soul’s dominance, and allow the rat soul to scamper forward a little. This decreased Mutt’s sense of awareness and self, so he tried to avoid doing it very often, or for long stretches of time. But the benefit was that it caused his body to revert again to something similar to the size and form of a rat. Which was how he had managed to sneak down to the dungeons so many times before, and how he had been able to drag the cloak through the small hole in the wall that he now hid inside of.

Mutt wasn’t sure how much his master knew of his abilities. On the rare occasion when Gravine actually condescended to talk to Mutt, he never let on that he thought Mutt was anything more than a diminutive servant with a knack for sneaking around places he didn’t belong. Never once did he mention Mutt’s ability to shift his form between a small deformed human to a large deformed rat, and everywhere in between. But then again, Sefit never willingly revealed everything he knew. Neither did Mutt.

That’s why Mutt hadn’t told his master that the cloak he had found and claimed had already belonged to the wizard he was trying to bribe. Not that Mutt would have lied if Gravine had asked. But by withholding that kind of information, Mutt had been able to learn a great deal about how much his master did, and didn’t, know. And for as much as Gravine liked pretending to be all-knowing and all-powerful, Mutt had figured out there was a lot that Gravine didn’t know.

Now, thanks to that whiny and impudent young wizard Shon, Gravine was revealing more of himself in an evening than Mutt had been able to learn from him in the past five years. Perhaps it would even be enough information for Mutt to finally have some leverage and tip the scales of power in their relationship. But he would have to be patient. He would have to listen carefully. And most importantly, he would have to stay hidden.

“You know what I love about self-absorbed scoundrels?” said a quiet and sarcastic voice inside Mutt’s head. “They’re like the best teacher and narrator anyone could hope for when you have the ability to listen to minds.”

Mutt held perfectly still, trying to calm and soothe the rat soul in his body to keep it from scurrying inward and causing him to grow back into his more human form while still squeezed inside a rat-sized hole. Surely the wizard had only spoken out loud, and he had heard it with his physical ears. Why would he be speaking directly to Mutt’s mind?

“See,” said the voice of Shon in Mutt’s mind again, “trying to listen to the mind of a modest or selfless person is the absolute worst. They rarely think about themselves, so I usually can’t learn anything about them. But you! You’re like a dream come true!”

No, Mutt told himself, he was imagining things from being down in the gloomy dungeon for too long. There was no way the wizard had listened to his thoughts.

“Think again, Rat Boy!” replied Shon’s voice in his head. “By the way, that’s literally a request. Keep thinking off all that juicy information I can use!”

“Shhhh!” Mutt whispered so quietly in his high-pitched squeaky rat voice that he hoped Gravine couldn’t hear. “You’re going to get us both killed if you keep this up.”

“Only if he figures out what’s going on,” Shon said. “Right now he has no idea that I’m speaking to your mind. He’s probably not even halfway done yet with this long, stupid monologue about how the conquest of his undead army was noble and just when he was alive because of… reasons. It feels like he’s been talking to me for at least an hour so so and he never really has been clear about that, and at this point he’s just rambling.”

“Now that we understand one another, I’ve got a deal for you,” said Shon within Mutt’s mind. “After all, you like deals, don’t you? Gambling? I mean, what’s the fun in playing if you never take a real risk? Am I right?”

When Mutt made no reply, Shon continued. “See, here’s the thing. I know so much about you now. A lot more than you think. While you were daydreaming about being a master spy and reminiscing about terrifying rat creature transformations, I was able to pick up on a few extras you left lying around in your mind, clinging to those memories you hold so close.”

“So now you’re going to help me with the biggest risk of all,” said Shon, his voice ringing clearly like a bell. “You’re going to help me escape this horrible place. You’re going to obey every command I give, and even go above and beyond. And most importantly, you’re going to swear to me that you will never lay a single finger on my cloak, or I’m going to tell Gravine EVERYTHING you’ve been up to.”

“I think you’re bluffing,” Mutt whispered inaudibly.

“Fine,” came the voice of Shon. “I think I’ll start with what you’ve been up to with the banshee sisters-” Shon’s voice was drowned out of both their heads as Mutt let out a terrifying mental scream.

“Glad to see I finally have your attention,” said Shon. “Now let’s talk about how you’re going to help me get out of this nightmare.”