Doglands (21 page)

The two dogs—both males—were a dark iron gray in color and were so alike in appearance, they could have been twins. They had deep chests and powerful legs. Their heads were the shape of large bricks. Their masks were dark, almost black, and their eyes were keen and warlike. Most striking of all was their facial hair. Their eyebrows were enormous and bushy and each dog had a bristly mustache. Each had a beard on his chin of remarkable length and splendor.

When they saw Furgul they barked even louder than before.

“Don’t you know who I am?” snarled one.

“Never mind him! Don’t you know who
I
am?” snarled the other.

“We’re going to do you a favor!”

“We’ll eat you first!”

“Then you won’t have to watch us eat your masters!”

The schnauzers howled with laughter. Furgul remembered what Dervla had said about guards. He decided that these two were barely smarter than pit bulls, and maybe no smarter at all. Tattoo stepped back from the gate. He seemed pleased with himself.

“Good, good, good,” Tattoo muttered.

Tattoo had cracked the lock on the gates, but he didn’t open them. Instead he and Spotty came back to the truck with their toolbox. They reached inside the cab. Furgul noted
that to either side of the gates, a tall fence stretched off in either direction. He also saw that the crest on the gate was shaped like a big golden bone.

Spotty dangled the car keys in Furgul’s face. Furgul was about to snap at his fingers when everything went black. The keys had been a distraction while Tattoo had thrown a blanket over Furgul from behind. He struggled to wriggle out, but they jumped into the truck and pinned him down. They wrapped the blanket round and round him.

CLACK-CLACK!

Tattoo’s steel rod hammered down on Furgul’s head. It didn’t knock him out but it stunned him. They unchained the leash from the metal ring and lifted him from the truck. The two men carried him quite some distance, slung between them in the blanket. Furgul’s head cleared. Wherever they were going, the barking of the schnauzers followed them closely all the way. The two thieves stopped. Furgul felt himself swinging to and fro inside the blanket.

First one way, then the other, he felt the two thieves swing him higher and higher. At the top of one swing they let go, and Furgul flew up into the air. He was going over the fence. And the schnauzers would be waiting. He kicked at the blanket with all four legs and twisted to land on his feet. The blanket slid from his head, and as he hit the ground he broke into a gallop.

Furgul didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He could feel the breath of the schnauzers at his heels. He could have gone
faster, but it seemed like his pursuers were at full stretch. If he ran them for long enough, perhaps they’d get tired. One thing was for sure: Furgul felt a whole lot better running—even with two bearded fiends on his tail—than he felt being chained to the truck.

The moon was full tonight, and he took in the rich man’s land as he ran.

Furgul ran through an arboretum of exotic shrubs and trees, and then across a nine-hole golf course. He ran along the edge of a silver-plated lake where sailboats bobbed on the water. He passed a big slab of concrete with a helicopter sitting in the middle. Then he reached a huge swath of lawns surrounded by flower beds. At the top of the lawns was a house not much smaller than the stadium he’d seen at the track.

All the while the schnauzers toiled behind him. But if they couldn’t go any faster, neither did they show any signs of slowing down, much less of giving up. He could hear them squabble with each other as they panted and ran.

“If you’d stayed out of my way, I’d have had him by now.”

“He’s making you look like a meatball.”

“You’ll look like a meatball when this lurcher kicks your butt.”

“You won’t be saying that when I save your bacon.”

“That bacon we had for breakfast was very appetizing.”

“You can’t beat bacon, it’s true.”

“I eat a lot of bacon. I’m what you might call a bacon dog.”

“The lamb chops we had last night were quite tasty too.”

“Wasn’t too keen on the lamb chops, too much gristle.”

“Nothing worse than too much gristle.”

“Gets stuck between your teeth.”

“Bacon never gets stuck between your teeth.”

“As you say, you can’t beat bacon.”

“You just can’t beat it.”

This is getting ridiculous
, thought Furgul.

As they approached a lavish arrangement of tennis courts, Furgul opened up a ten-yard lead on the schnauzers. He dodged inside the nearest court and jumped the green net. Then he turned and waited for the schnauzers.

They stopped on the far side of the net and panted for breath.

“Looks like it’s time for a midnight snack.”

“He looks too gristly to me.”

“We’ll just kill him, then.”

“And leave him for the dung beetles!”

They paused to laugh at their own quips. Furgul sighed and sat down.

“Look, we’ve worn him out!” said one schnauzer.

“Trapped behind the net!” added the other.

“Lured him in, like a spider into a web.”

“No, no, no. Flies get lured into a web, not spiders.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“What about mosquitoes and bluebottles?”

“Okay, mosquitoes and bluebottles. Moths too. But the spider
spins
the web.”

“A moth is drawn to the flame, not lured into a web.”

“Anyway, it was me who lured the lurcher into
this
web.”

“You can’t handle a lurcher.”

“I’ve eaten lurchers for breakfast!”

Furgul stood up and barked so hard that they both jumped back in alarm.

“You eat bacon and lamb chops for breakfast!” growled Furgul.

They looked at him and wriggled their monstrous brows.

“That’s a tad aggressive.”

“No need to get nasty.”

“You’re not real dogs,” said Furgul. “You’re just a pair of glorified pets.”

“Pets?”

“Pets!”

“We’re professional guard dogs!”

“We’re the elite!”

“And we ate the lamb chops for dinner, not for breakfa—”

“Shut up. And listen,” said Furgul. “You two live with—I’m sorry, you ‘guard’—the richest guy in the universe.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say the universe.”

“Not even the galaxy.”

“Do you think they have bacon on other planets?”

“I suppose it depends on whether they have pigs.”

Furgul marveled at their stupidity. “While you two are
standing there—bickering like a pair of French poodles—Spotty and Tattoo are robbing your master blind.”

“Where?”

“How?”

“Who?”

“Robbing him blind?”

“But he doesn’t even wear glasses!”

Furgul said, “You remember the two men who threw me over the fence?”

“Of course we do.”

“It was me that saw them first.”

“But
they
didn’t break the rules.”

“
They
didn’t set foot on our master’s property.”

“And you did.”

For once they just stopped—exchanged a smug smile—and nodded.

“Spotty and Tattoo are on your master’s property now,” said Furgul. “They’re inside his house, stealing all his money—along with every last slice of bacon in the fridge.”

The schnauzers looked at each other. In unison they roared with panic.

“NOT THE BACON!”

They turned and started to charge out of the tennis court.

“Not so fast!” barked Furgul.

The schnauzers stopped and looked at him. By now he had no doubt that they were twin brothers. In their eyes he
saw their dawning realization that Furgul might just be their new boss.

“Tell me your names,” ordered Furgul.

“Pumpkin,” they said together.

“You’re both called Pumpkin?” asked Furgul.

“Well, the master can’t tell us apart.”

“So it makes it a little easier on him—”

“—if he can use the same name for the both of us.”

“He doesn’t really see us all that often.”

“Though it’s not that he doesn’t care.”

“He works very hard.”

“Business commitments.”

“Philanthropy.”

“What does that mean?” asked Furgul.

The two schnauzers looked at each other. They were clueless.

“You tell him.”

“No, it’s your turn.”

“Never mind,” said Furgul. “But I thought Pumpkin was a girl’s name.”

At exactly the same instant the jaws of the twins dropped open. Their eyebrows writhed. Furgul had never seen dogs look quite so horrified.

“Maybe I’m wrong about that,” said Furgul. “I never met a Pumpkin before. Anyhow, it’s a pet name. What are your dog names?”

“He’s called Cogg.”

“And he’s called Baz.”

“We don’t
look
like girls, do we?”

“Do we?”

“Relax,” said Furgul. “Cogg means ‘war,’ and Baz means ‘killer.’ ”

“War?” repeated Cogg. “How about that for a name?

“It’s nearly as good as Killer,” said Baz.

“What’s your name? asked Cogg.

“Furgul.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’ve got to do exactly what I say,” said Furgul.

“Yes, sir!” they said together.

“Have either of you ever fought a human?” asked Furgul.

“Well,” said Cogg, “there was that time I nipped the chauffeur’s ankles.”

“And I once gave the gardener’s leg a good humping,” said Baz.

“Have you ever even fought a dog?” Furgul asked.

“Well, there was that time when the housekeeper brought her Pekingese …”

“And I once had a nasty tear-up with—a cat,” said Baz.

He saw the expression on Furgul’s face.

“A really huge ginger tomcat,” added Baz.

“I remember that cat,” said Cogg. “Didn’t you lose?”

Furgul sighed. “If only you two could learn to keep your mouths shut, you might be quite handy in a fight. Maybe even dangerous.”

“You think so?” asked Cogg.

“How dangerous?” asked Baz.

“See what I mean?” said Furgul.

Cogg and Baz opened their mouths to speak—then stopped. They looked at each other. Then they clamped their jaws shut and waited in absolute silence.

“Excellent,” said Furgul. “I’m scared already.”

Furgul jumped over the net and headed for the house.

“Now think about that bacon and follow me.”

As the three dogs stalked around the front of the house without making a sound, Furgul broke the silence with a gasp.

On a stone plinth, surrounded by fountains, stood an enormous bronze statue of a man with a smile of gentle bliss on his face. In one hand he held a large spoon, in the other a bowl of dog food. Around his feet sat a variety of bronze dogs of different breeds, each looking up at him with affection and awe, tongues lolling from their mouths.

Furgul couldn’t believe it.

“That’s Mr. Chumley,” said Cogg, with reverence.

“Everything we are as dogs, we owe to him,” said Baz, with wonderment.

“I know who it is,” said Furgul.

“Every dog knows Mr. Chumley,” said Cogg.

“Mr. Chumley is every dog’s best friend,” said Baz.

“Wherever a dog is hungry, there Mr. Chumley will be.”

“He’s the Greatest Dog Lover in the World.”

Furgul said, “This is Chuck Chumley’s house?”

“It’s Mr. Chumley’s country house, yes,” corrected Cogg.

“He’s got another house in the city that’s even bigger,” added Baz.

“Mr. Chumley’s a great man,” said Cogg.

“Probably the greatest man in the world,” agreed Baz.

“Very possibly the greatest who ever lived,” suggested Cogg.

“Why?” said Furgul. “Because he gives you bacon instead of Extra Meaty Dog Feed?”

Baz made a choking sound of disgust. “Extra Meaty Dog Feed?”

“Mr. Chumley wouldn’t allow that muck in the house!” said Cogg, shocked.

“The smell alone makes him feel sick!” added Baz.

“And he doesn’t want to watch us get fat.”

“Or to see us catch diarrhea.”

“So what’s Chuck supposed to be offering the dogs in that bowl?” Furgul asked. “It doesn’t look like bacon to me.”

Cogg and Baz stared up at the spotlit statue. They furrowed their brows.

Furgul caught the scent of Spotty and Tattoo. He heard noises coming from the house. “Come on,” he said.

The three dogs stalked forward and hid behind a hedge. They spied through the leaves. The pickup truck stood just outside the house. It was half-stacked with loot—including a silver refrigerator that sparkled in the light of the moon.

“They’ve already got the bacon!” hissed Cogg.

“How can we save it?” whispered Baz.

“Tattoo has a steel rod in his pants pocket,” said Furgul. “Don’t let him pull it out. And don’t attack Spotty—I want him to drive the truck away.”

“Drive it away?”

“With the bacon?”

“Why?”

“Shush,” said Furgul. “Here they come.”

Tattoo and Spotty staggered out of the house carrying a large glass aquarium tank between them. Furgul was puzzled. The tank had no water in it.

“Now they’re stealing Mr. Chumley’s scorpion farm!” gasped Cogg.

“Over twenty rare species from five different continents,” added Baz.

Tattoo and Spotty started down the wide stone steps toward the truck.

“Let’s go,” said Furgul.

“Why not?” said Baz.

Cogg and Baz tore straight through the hedge in front of them, growling like bearded lunatics. Furgul jumped over and landed just behind them. He saw no reason not to let the schnauzers do their job. They caught the two men just halfway down the steps, the tank still in their arms, Tattoo backing down first in front of Spotty. Cogg and Baz sank their teeth into the calves of Tattoo’s legs. Tattoo yelled and lost his
footing. As he toppled over, the tank toppled right on top of him. Tattoo’s yell turned into a scream as a mass of scorpions skittered over his body.

Spotty started to dash back up the stairs to hide in the house, but Furgul reached the doorway first. He bared his teeth in Spotty’s face.

Get in the truck or I’ll bite your thieving hands off
.

As Spotty reeled back down the stairs, Cogg and Baz seized one leg each of Tattoo’s pants in their teeth and heaved, their powerful paws thrusting backward. Tattoo’s pants slid right off his legs and ripped completely in two down the middle. The scorpions swarmed over Tattoo’s thighs and up the legs of his shorts. They crawled on his head and down the back of his shirt. Tattoo scrambled to the fountains and plunged into the water.