Doglands (22 page)

“Help me! Help me! Help me!” screeched Tattoo.

Spotty clambered into the truck and slammed the door.

Furgul jumped into the back and hid among the loot.

As Spotty started the engine, Tattoo screamed from the fountains where he tried to splash the scorpions from his hair.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Tattoo pleaded.

But Spotty was too scared to hang around. All he did was toss a cell phone out of the window. Then the pickup’s wheels spun in the gravel, and he drove toward the gates. Furgul made room as two bearded lunatics leaped right over the tailgate of the truck. They panted with excitement.

“So this is what a real dog feels like!” said Cogg.

“You were always real dogs,” said Furgul, “you just needed to prove it.”

“Well, we couldn’t leave the bacon unprotected,” said Baz.

“Speaking of bacon,” said Cogg, “isn’t it time for that midnight snack?”

With a speed and expertise that suggested they’d done it before, Baz stood on Cogg’s back and popped the refrigerator door. Inside, every shelf was piled with packs of bacon. Cogg’s nostrils twitched like a true baconoisseur.

“Oak-smoked, maplewood, hickory and honey, or Cajun-cured vanilla?”

Furgul was starving. “What’s the difference?”

Cogg and Baz exchanged a horrified look.

“We’ve got forty-three exotic gourmet bacons in here,” chided Cogg.

“From thirteen different countries,” added Baz.

Furgul shrugged. “So why not try them all?”

Cogg and Baz gaped, their tongues lolling out. They looked at each other.

“How come we never thought of that?” said Baz.

“Like I said the minute I saw him, Furgul’s a genius!”

“You didn’t say any such thing!”

“Oh yes I did!”

“Oh no you didn’t!”

As the truck rumbled through the night, the three dogs feasted on the finest bacons in the world. When their bellies were full, they settled down for a nap.

“There’s something we’ve been meaning to ask you,” said Cogg.

“Yes,” said Baz. “Where are we going, skipper?”

Furgul looked up at the Dog Star, the brightest in the sky.

“Looks like we’re going to the carnival.”

T
he strange machines towered in the moonlight without moving. The stripy shacks were deserted. The music was silent. The crowds had gone. Throughout the huddle of mobile homes, where the carnival people slept, the windows were dark. Without the flashing lights, the creaking gears, the roar of wheels on tracks and the screams of passengers, the deserted carnival seemed like the ruins of an abandoned civilization, inhabited only by ghosts and piles of garbage.

Furgul sensed that the fairground was a malevolent place, and not just because of such men as Spotty and Tattoo. Perhaps this spot was the crossroads of a twisted tangle of Doglines. Perhaps something bad had happened here long ago. Furgul didn’t know. In any case it gave him the chills.

Spotty stopped the truck outside a squalid mobile home.
He switched off the engine and sat cowering behind the wheel, too afraid to get out even though he wanted to. Furgul jumped off the back of the pickup. Cogg and Baz followed Furgul.

“Let’s make him think we’ve run away,” said Furgul.

They retreated into the shadows and waited. When Spotty thought it was safe, he dashed out of the truck and into the mobile home. A light blinked on. They could see his silhouette at the window, rushing around inside.

“Wait for me here,” said Furgul. “Don’t let Spotty come out of the mobile home. He mustn’t get back in the truck. If you have to scare him, show him your teeth, but don’t bark or you’ll wake the other mobile homes.”

“You can count on us, skipper.”

Furgul trotted away through the rows of mobile homes, toward the carnival area. He lifted his nose and sniffed about, but the smells were so many and so strong—and so unpleasant—that he couldn’t pick up the scent he was looking for. He’d have to depend on eyesight alone. He crisscrossed the fairground in systematic sweeps, checking every shack and machine. Nothing. He spied a section used as a parking lot that was full of the huge trucks that transported the carnival machines. He headed over there.

The first thing that caught his eye was a silver moonbeam flashing on a chain. Then a pair of tormented eyes gleamed from the darkness. Her coat was so black that she was otherwise quite invisible. She emerged from between the wheels of
an enormous truck, a long chain clanking behind her.

“You came back,” said Dervla.

“I couldn’t leave my best friend chained up to a truck,” said Furgul.

“You came back for me?”

Furgul grinned. But Dervla’s face remained haunted.

“The Dog Who Never Smiles,” he said.

Furgul stepped closer. Dervla backed away.

“Don’t get yourself in trouble,” she said. “Tattoo and Spotty might see you.”

“Spotty’s in his mobile home. Tattoo’s having trouble with scorpions.”

“Scorpions?”

“His underpants are full of them—and he’s miles away. Let me get a closer look at that collar. Step out into the moonlight.”

Dervla stepped out of the shadows. Furgul studied the chain. It was looped around her neck, then threaded through a steel ring that hung from the end of the chain. This created the noose of a slip collar. The harder she pulled, the more the loop of chain would tighten around her throat. He opened his mouth and reached toward her neck.

Dervla shook her head. “You’ll never bite through it.”

“Just hold your neck stiff,” he said. “I’ve been wearing one of these all day, and I’ve worked it out. You just can’t do it on your own. See, the slip collar works both ways: If
you
pull, it gets tighter, but if
I
pull—”

Furgul grabbed the loop between his front teeth and gave it a steady pull. The chain rattled through the live ring—and the loop got bigger and bigger. Dervla blinked with amazement. She ducked her head backward, and the enlarged noose slid over her ears and tinkled to the ground.

“There you are,” said Furgul.

Dervla looked up at the moon. She glanced at Furgul.

“Go ahead,” he said.

Dervla craned back her powerful neck. Her jaws opened wide toward the moon. The howl that was torn from her throat froze Furgul’s blood, yet at the same time his eyes filled with tears. It started low, from deep inside her, and rose into a cry from the wounds inflicted on her heart. Dervla’s howl expressed her rage at being tortured for so long. But it was also a lament of guilt and shame for allowing them to rob her of her dignity. The melancholy howl soared skyward. And when her lungs were empty, it soared on still, as if the cosmos would echo to its sound until the end of time.

And her howl summoned the pack as if from nowhere, as in days of old. Heavy footfalls drummed across the carnival. Furgul’s instinct told him who they belonged to, but he couldn’t believe it. He turned.

Pounding across the fairground—his paws leaving shallow craters in the dirt—came Brennus. From the blackness beneath the roller coaster came a yap—and Zinni pelted toward them. From somewhere above came a familiar voice.

“It’s okay, Furgul!” said Skyver. “I’ll get you out of here!”

Furgul looked up as Skyver skipped down from the top of the truck. As he landed in front of Dervla, he attempted a flashy pirouette and fell flat on his face.

“Ooohff!” gasped Skyver. “That usually works perfectly.”

Brennus and Zinni hauled up.

“What are you doing here?” asked Furgul.

“We found the poor little pup outside the Sanctuary,” explained Zinni. “He told us what had happened. Then Jodi drove him to the animal hospital.”

Brennus said, “We figured you were in trouble.”

“We’ve come to take you home,” said Zinni.

“But how did you find me?” asked Furgul.

“Easy,” said Skyver. “We followed the sweet smell of Chumley’s Curry Supreme.”

“This is Dervla,” said Furgul. “Dervla, meet Brennus and Zinni.”

Furgul helped Skyver to his feet. “This is Skyver. He’s the scruffiest dog in the world, but you won’t hear him brag about it.”

“At your service,” said Skyver. He tried to get a sniff of Dervla’s hindquarters. “You look like you need some tender loving care.”

“But you don’t look like the one who’s going to supply it,” Dervla snapped.

Skyver retreated to Furgul’s side and whispered, “I think she likes me.”

“This is a bad place,” said Brennus. He, too, sensed the twisted essence of the fairground beneath his paws. “We should leave.”

They reached the mobile home. Furgul introduced Cogg and Baz to the gang.

“Spotty tried to get out,” said Cogg.

“But we controlled ourselves,” said Baz.

“He can still walk,” Cogg reassured them.

“I’d say it’s more like a hobble,” suggested Baz.

“Let’s call it a limp,” conceded Cogg.

“Forget about Spotty,” said Furgul. “You two can go to Appletree with the others. It’s a great place, but if you want to work for Chumley again, Jodi will make sure you get home.”

Furgul looked at Dervla. She needed Jodi. Jodi healed wounded dogs.

“Dervla, I want you to go back to Appletree too.”

“Where are you going?” asked Dervla.

“I’ll follow you later,” said Furgul. “Wait for me there.”

Brennus said, “So you finally found Dedbone’s Hole.”

Furgul nodded. Dervla looked questioningly at Brennus.

“It’s the slave camp for greyhounds where Furgul was born,” said Brennus. He looked at Furgul. “His moment has come. He’s going back to Dedbone’s Hole—to set the wrong things right.”

“Keeva threw the race at the track tonight,” said Furgul.
“I know Dedbone. In the morning he’ll drive her away in a cardboard box, and she’ll never come back.”

“What kind of resistance can we expect?” asked Brennus.

“I’m not asking any of you to go with me,” said Furgul.

“And I’m not asking your permission,” said Brennus.

“Neither am I,” said Dervla. “Count me in.”

“There’ll be at least two men, with shotguns,” said Furgul. “Plus a pack of guard dogs who’ll protect Dedbone to the death. It’s too dangerous.”

“Sounds perfect,” growled Cogg. “We can prove we’re real dogs again.”

“We didn’t get a chance to do it here,” agreed Baz.

“We’re all coming, Furgul,” piped Zinni. “Whether you like it or not.”

“We are?” said Skyver, aghast.

The others looked at him.

“I’ll pop back to Appletree and get some more help!” said Skyver.

“You’re right, Skyver,” said Furgul. “You head on home. Jodi needs you.”

Skyver glanced at the others, as if ashamed of himself.

“You’re a free dog,” said Brennus. “No one here will think the worse of you.”

“Good luck, Skyver,” said Zinni.

Skyver avoided Dervla’s gaze. For once he was lost for words. He turned and trotted away until he melted into the shadows and was gone.

“Well,” said Brennus, “looks like we’ve got us a Dog Bunch.”

They all turned at once as the mobile home door swung open and Spotty clattered out, a suitcase in his hand. He stumbled toward the pickup truck, the bloodstained rags of his pants flapping round his ankles.

Dervla took off after him. Like silent death.

Spotty dropped his suitcase and fled for the carnival.

“Dervla!” called Furgul. “Come back!”

Dervla didn’t stop. Neither did Spotty. They disappeared.

“Wait here,” said Furgul to the others.

He sprinted after Dervla. As he left the mobile home site he saw them.

Spotty staggered toward the big wheel while Dervla trotted in silence at his heels. He blubbered with terror, glancing over his shoulder at the black German shepherd with the pitiless eyes. Dervla could have taken him down anytime she wanted. But she was torturing him with fear, just as Spotty and Tattoo had tortured her.

As Furgul gained on them, Spotty reached the big wheel and climbed into one of the buckets. Dervla sprang after him, and Spotty screamed.

“Dervla!” barked Furgul. “No!”

Dervla stood on her hind legs in the bucket. Her forepaws pinned Spotty’s shoulders to the seat. A coward’s tears tumbled down his cheeks as he begged for mercy. Dervla stared into Spotty’s face, her deep black eyes devoid of pity. She
bared her fangs, inches from his throat, and Spotty closed his eyes. He knew he was a dead man.

“Dervla, look at me,” said Furgul.

Dervla turned her head. Her gaze met Furgul’s.

“Do you remember that day we met? In the park?” said Furgul.

For the first time since they’d met in the filthy pen, when she’d killed three dogs without making a single sound, Furgul saw her soul glimmer in her eyes.

“We played,” said Furgul. “We fought. We laughed. We ran. You made me feel free for the first time in my life. It was beautiful, Dervla. You were beautiful.”

“That was a long time ago,” said Dervla.

“I watched them kill my father,” said Furgul. “They starved Brennus till they thought he was dead, then dumped him on a garbage heap. In the morning they’re going to kill my mother. That day in the park was a long time ago for all of us.”

Dervla blinked. She closed her jaws.

“Spotty’s broken,” said Furgul. “You’ve broken him.”

Dervla looked at the pathetic, sniveling wretch between her paws.

“He’s helpless,” said Furgul. “You don’t need to kill him. He’s nothing.”

Dervla looked back at him. And Furgul saw in her face once more the free spirit that had called him across the park when they both were young.

“I want you to run with the winds,” said Furgul. “I want
you to find the Doglands, not lose them forever. I want to run with
you
again, Dervla.”

With the grace and power that she’d never lost—even when lost in hatred—Dervla leaped from the bucket. She landed by Furgul’s side. She heard Spotty whimper in the bucket, curled into a ball. She stepped to a red lever at the base of the machine. She raised a paw and pushed it down. The big wheel groaned and clanked and started to turn. Spotty’s bucket rose into the air. He still whimpered, but this time with relief.