by H. Y. Hanna
“Chokin’ chicken bones, what is it?” gasped Ruffster as he also spun in a circle. Honey could see the other dogs twitching and ducking and looking around in confusion.
Whoosh.
This time Honey saw wings. A pair of wings that beat in eerie silence, with nothing more than a soft whisper of feathers as they swung past. Then the gleam of sharp talons. She caught a glimpse of a white heart-shaped face with enormous black eyes, then the bird was gone.
The dogs retreated back to the doorway, breathing hard. Honey saw a shadow move across the far wall, then a pale ghostly shape glided onto a wooden beam high up in the rafters. The white, heart-shaped face rotated around the head and those big, black eyes stared down at them.
“It’s an owl!” said Suka, looking up at it. “My Boy was learning about owls at school last term and I was helping him with his homework. There was a picture of one just like this. It’s called a Farmhouse Owl... No, wait, a Barn Owl. Yes, that’s it. A Barn Owl.”
“Why can’t we hear it?” asked Honey. “It’s scary the way it just swoops down out of nowhere and you can’t even hear it coming up behind you.”
“It’s the way their wings are curved,” said Suka. “And they have these special feathers which are really velvety and absorb sound.”
“Aw, for the love o’ bacon, who cares about stupid feathers,” said Ruffster. “Right now, the problem is it won’t let us into the attic. How’re we goin’ to get that bag with Nanny’s things?”
“You go,” growled Tyson suddenly. “Leave the owl to me.”
Before anyone could say anything, the Jack Russell darted out into the middle of the attic. The Barn Owl instantly swivelled its head around, spread its wings, and dived for Tyson. Honey gasped. But just at the last minute, Tyson swerved sharply to the right, avoiding those extended talons. He started running again in a different direction and the Barn Owl followed. Left, right, behind, between, Tyson led the Barn Owl on a merry chase around the boxes and trunks in the attic, always just managing to avoid those sharp claws.
“For a small dog, he sure can run,” said Ruffster, watching admiringly.
“Who yer calling small?” yelled Tyson as he darted around a pile of blankets.
“Bystro! Quickly! He cannot hold it off for long,” said Mishka, starting to slink towards the bag.
“I’ll go,” said Honey, stepping forwards. “I’m the tallest and I’ll be able to reach the bag most easily.”
She managed to get to the other side of the room before there was a shriek. Honey looked back. The Barn Owl had seen her. Wheeling up from a dive on Tyson, it was turning in mid-air and coming after her.
“Quick, mate! Grab the bag!” shouted Ruffster from across the attic.
Honey lunged for the bag handles, got a secure grip with her teeth, then turned and headed back for the doorway. Suddenly the attic seemed a lot larger and the doorway much farther away. Panic seized her. She had no way of knowing if the Barn Owl was coming behind her on its noiseless wings. She thought of those cruel talons aiming for her eyes and her heart clenched tight. Honey looked desperately towards the open doorway. Am I going to make it?
She was almost there. She saw the other dogs looking at her eagerly. Then just as she reached them, there was a whisper of sound right behind her head. Honey ducked just as Ruffster exploded upwards, barking furiously. There was another shriek and a tremendous flapping of wings. Then the owl was gone.
“We’d better get out quickly,” said Ruffster, panting. “Reckon I only scared it off for a moment.”
“Tyson?” Honey dropped the bag and looked around.
The Jack Russell popped out from behind a trunk nearby and ran over to join them. They heard the flapping of wings up in the rafters.
“Come! Quickly!” Mishka shot out the doorway, followed by the others.
Honey picked up the bag again and hurried after them. There was no time to think about how she was going to get down the stairs—she just tumbled down anyhow—and then she was picking herself up and running again. Even though the Barn Owl was no longer pursuing them, they still kept running—all the way down until they’d reached the ground floor of the house. They didn’t stop until they burst back into the living room.
“Whew!” said Suka, as they gathered around, panting and gasping for breath. “The Barn Owl looked so cute and sweet in my Boy’s books... who knew they’d get so aggressive?”
“At least we got the bag,” said Ruffster, turning to look at Honey. “Aw, mate, you’ve slobbered all over it!”
Honey glanced at the bag she had dropped on the floor. It was covered in slimy, wet drool. “Sorry,” she said, dropping her ears back in embarrassment.
“It does not matter,” said Mishka, wagging his tail. “It is what is inside that is important.”
They all held their breath as Honey shook the contents of the bag out onto the floor. Three eggs rolled out. Honey’s heart leapt for a moment before she realised that none of them could be the Fabergé egg. They were big, ugly lumps of things, probably made of clay or stone, and painted in garish colours. She shook the bag again and more things fell out: a carved wooden spoon, a small oval box covered in shiny black lacquer, a scarf with a beautiful red and yellow pattern, a painted miniature horse... and lastly, a large, cylinder-shaped object rolled out. It came to rest by Mishka’s paws and they saw the smiling face painted on its side.
“The matryoshka doll!” cried Suka. “We found it!”
SEVEN
EAGERLY, THEY TRIED to undo the matryoshka doll, but no matter how much they pawed at it, they could not get it to open.
“No use, mate,” said Ruffster at last. “Need the humans. They’ve got thumbs.”
“I will get my Miztress,” said Mishka.
The humans had gone outside and were relaxing on chairs on the terrace, chatting and finishing off the rest of the picnic. Mishka ran up to Irina and grabbed her sleeve with his teeth, then gave it a gentle tug.
“What is it, Mishka?” asked Irina as she followed him back into the house. She stopped short when she saw the other dogs standing around the bag with its spilled contents. “Oh! Where did you dogs get that?” She bent to pick everything up and took it back outside. Honey and the other dogs followed.
Irina sat down again and showed the items to the other humans. As the dogs watched avidly, she began undoing the matryoshka doll for Suka’s Boy to see. She opened it in half and took out a smaller doll from inside, then opened that doll and took out the next doll from inside... soon, there were seven wooden dolls lined up on the terrace table, descending in size.
But no Fabergé egg.
The dogs sagged in disappointment.
“Well, I guess if it was that easy, they would have found it ages ago,” said Suka. “I still think we weren’t wrong, though... the clue must be in the letter. Maybe we took the wrong word to be the clue.”
“Reckon we should go back to the library and take another look,” said Ruffster.
“Da. Yes, I think that is a good idea,” said Mishka.
As the others headed back into the house, Honey noticed that Biscuit was not with them. The Beagle had climbed up onto one of the terrace chairs by the table and was busy sniffing amongst the items from the bag, which Irina had placed on the table. Honey saw his tail wag as he examined one of the clay eggs—an ugly pink one with green stripes across its surface—then he opened his jaws and tried to get his mouth around it, crunching down hard with one side of his teeth.
“Biscuit!” Honey said, aghast.
He looked up guiltily. “I was just wondering what it tastes like.”
“It’s not a real egg,” Honey said. “It’s just made of clay or something...”
Biscuit made a face as he ran his tongue around his mouth. “Doesn’t taste very good.”
“It’s probably the paint they’ve used on it,” said Honey, glancing at the pink egg. Biscuit’s chewing had gouged little holes into the surface of the clay egg and chipped away some of
the paint. She looked at Irina furtively. Thankfully, the humans were too busy talking and Suka’s Boy was still playing with the matryoshka doll. Nobody had seen Biscuit chewing the clay egg.
“Come on,” she told the Beagle. “We’re getting left behind.”
They joined the others back in the library. Suka was peering at the letter again and muttering to herself under her breath, while Ruffster was pacing up and down next to her. Mishka and Tyson were huddled together in the corner, discussing growling techniques. Terrier talk.
Honey went up to Suka and read the letter again. This time, a sequence of words caught her eye. “This sentence,” she said suddenly, “where it says: ‘In northern countries, old grannies never insult their own’... It feels odd.”
“How do you mean?” asked Suka.
Honey furrowed her brow. “It just doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the letter. What did she mean by it? It doesn’t really make sense. But it must be important because Irina’s grandmother wrote ‘Remember that’ after it.”
“Maybe she was talkin’ about her own granny,” said Ruffster.
“No, I think Honey is right,” said Suka, her eyes brightening. “I think this sentence is the clue! We just have to figure out what it means.”
“Maybe it’s a riddle?” suggested Biscuit. “You know, like that time we were searching for the missing puppies and we had to solve all those riddles.”
Ruffster groaned. “Not stupid riddles again! They’re always just a load o’ gibberish!”
“Doesn’t sound like a riddle,” growled Tyson.
“Maybe the words are in the wrong order,” said Mishka. “Perhaps we have to read them backwards. Or rearrange them.”
They tried all the combinations. Still nothing made sense.
“Own their insult never grannies old countries northern in,” tried Ruffster. “Northern grannies insult their own countries in never. Old countries never insult grannies in their own northern.”
“Yer making no sense,” growled Tyson. “They’re just random words. Got to have a reason for putting them together.”
“You’re right, Tyson,” said Honey suddenly. “They are just random words. So they must have been put together in that order for a special reason.”
“Hey!” Ruffster cocked his upright ear. “You know when the humans don’t want us to know somethin’—and they think they’re bein’ really clever by sayin’ the letters of the word instead?”
“Like W-A-L-K for walk?” said Suka. “Or V-E-T for vet?”
“Or B-A-T-H for bath,” muttered Honey, shuddering.
“Yeah, well, maybe this is sort o’ like the same thing!” Ruffster wagged his tail excitedly.
“You mean, the words stand for letters?” said Honey. “But how do we know which—”
“The first letter,” growled Tyson. “Try the first letter of each word.”
“I...N...C...O...G...N...I...T...O...” said Suka slowly, looking down at the paper.
“That’s it!” said Honey. “The clue is ‘incognito’!”
EIGHT
“I KNOW THIS WORD,” said Mishka suddenly. “We have the same word, inkognito, in Russian. It means to be in disguise, to not let others know who you really are.”
“Well, that’s a stupid clue,” grumbled Ruffster. “How’s that goin’ to help us find the egg?”
“Irina said her mother was disguised as a peasant child to escape from Russia,” said Honey. “She was incognito, right? So nobody would know who she really was. Maybe the same thing was done to the Fabergé egg.”
“You mean—like how the painting was hidden in a loaf of bread?” asked Suka.
“Yes.” Honey nodded.
“Ooh, maybe they had other food with them,” said Biscuit. “Like a Russian sausage? You could hide a lot in a fat sausage. Or how about a cake? I’ve never tasted a Russian cake. Are they good?” He turned to Mishka eagerly. “I tried beef stroganov once—that was super yummy. And my Missus made some blini one day—she said they’re Russian pancakes which you eat with honey and sour cream and I think they’re even more delicious than—”
“We’re looking for a Fabergé egg, not a Russian restaurant,” growled Tyson.
Honey sighed. “Anyway, we don’t know what other foods Nanny might have been carrying...”
The sound of voices calling their names made them all look up. Reluctantly, they abandoned the letter and headed back towards the living room. They found their humans still outside, but they were on their feet around the terrace table. Olivia was stacking plates and empty glasses, while Suka’s Boy’s Mother and Biscuit’s Missus were packing leftovers back into the picnic basket. With a sinking heart, Honey realised that they were leaving.
Biscuit’s Missus handed the picnic basket firmly to Irina and shook her head when Irina protested. “It’s our pleasure. We’ll try to pop back again in a few days to see how you are. I’ll bring one of my cheesecakes! Biscuit always goes crazy when I bake one of those.” She chuckled, looking at the Beagle who was busily sniffing around the human’s legs, hoovering up any crumbs that had fallen to the ground.
Irina’s eyes misted over. “You are too kind. You are all wonderful... I don’t know how I can ever repay—”
“Now, don’t be silly!” Biscuit’s Missus waved her hand.
“I’ll bring my camera next time,” said Olivia with a smile. “Get some nice shots of Mishka for you.”
“Olivia’s a professional photographer,” explained Suka’s Boy’s Mother. “She takes some brilliant photos.”
“I wish I could do more,” said Olivia, her smile fading. She waved her hand towards the house. “I hope...”
Honey saw Irina try to smile bravely, but she knew that when they were gone, Mishka and his Mistress would be left alone again, to face the awful fate of losing their home once this Easter weekend was over.
“Oh, Mishka...” Honey turned to the Black Russian Terrier. “I’m so sorry! I really wanted to find the Fabergé egg for you.”
“Ne bespokoit’sya. It is OK. You tried to help. That means a lot to me,” said Mishka, wagging his tail slowly. “I have not had friends like you before. Whatever happens... already, I do not feel so alone.”
“We’ll come back to see you the next time our humans bring us to Riverside Gardens,” promised Suka.
Mishka shook his head sadly. “We may not be here anymore.”
Honey felt heartsick. She glanced at the terrace table, where the matryoshka doll still stood, now combined back into one body, and the other assorted items from Nanny’s bag. The pink egg that Biscuit had been chewing on glittered in the sunlight. Honey heaved a sigh and was about to turn away when she froze. She looked at the table again.
The pink egg glittered.
Glittered?
How could a dull, clay egg glitter? Honey stepped closer to the table to look. She saw the nicks and cracks where Biscuit’s teeth had cut into the egg’s surface, the gouges and gaps breaking through the pink paint... and through the cracks, the sudden gleam of gold and the sparkle of jewels.
“The Fabergé egg...” breathed Honey.
“What?” said Ruffster, pausing in scratching his ear.
Mishka, Tyson, and Suka all stared at her.
Honey wagged her tail in delight. “It was here all along! Incognito! Disguised as something else so nobody would recognise it!”
Ruffster was still looking puzzled. “Mate, what are you talkin’ about?”
“This pink egg—” Honey was so excited she could hardly get her words straight. “It’s the Fabergé egg! They covered it with some clay and thick pink paint or something and put it with two other cheap, clay eggs so that nobody would suspect that it was different... But you can see—look, where Biscuit chewed on the surface, some of the paint and clay is breaking off—can you see? There?”
“Sosiski! I see it!” said Mishka in a hushed voice. “Gold! And something sparkling!”
Honey laughed. “Biscuit—for once, your obsession w
ith eating things has saved the day!”
“Huh? What?” Biscuit raised his head from where he had been sniffing the ground next to Irina’s feet. He moved eagerly towards them. “Really?”
There was a muffled cry as Irina tripped suddenly over Biscuit and reeled backwards. She threw her arms out to steady herself, but it was too late. She crashed into the terrace table, hitting one edge and flipping the surface of the table like a seesaw.
“No!” Honey gasped as the Fabergé egg flew through the air, out onto the grass. It hit the ground and rolled towards the edge of the slope. The next moment, it had fallen over the edge and was rolling down the slope, straight for the river.
NINE
HONEY LAUNCHED HERSELF after the Fabergé egg, racing to the edge of the slope and looking down. She could see it just below her—rolling slowly but gathering speed. She bolted after it.
The slope was steep and the long grass slippery. Twice Honey felt her legs skidding under her and once she almost tripped, bracing her paws just in time to stop herself tumbling head over paws down the slope.
She kept her eyes fixed on the Fabergé egg, which was rolling faster and faster now. Honey saw with horror that this section of the slope ended straight at the water’s edge. She had been hoping that there might be a bit of levelling off at the bottom, so that the egg might slow down as it rolled onto the flat, grassy area before reaching the water. But there was none. If she didn’t grab it before it hit the bottom, it would be lost in the river.
She put on a burst of speed, stretching her long legs out in a full gallop. Great Danes might be one of the laziest breeds in the dog world, but when they had to, they could really run. Honey extended her neck as she raced up behind the Fabergé egg. It was bouncing erratically as it rolled, making it difficult for her to grab it.
She lunged and missed.
