| |
––––––––
“OH, BE CAREFUL! DON’T go any closer!”
Honey the Great Dane paused and turned in surprise at the frightened voice. The speaker was one of several dogs who were standing behind her, their eyes wide and anxious. But they weren’t looking at her—they were looking at something beyond her, farther down the riverbank.
Honey turned back in the direction she had been heading and tried to see what they were looking at. The flat, grassy bank of the river ended a few metres ahead, rising sharply in a steep slope. Honey followed the line of the slope upwards, squinting in the sun. At the very top of the slope, overlooking the river, stood an old house. But it was nothing like other houses she had ever seen. Strange, onion-shaped domes rose from its roof and long, narrow windows pierced its high walls, which curved and overlapped one another like an antique puzzle. It looked like something from a fairy tale. Honey shivered. A creepy fairy tale.
“They say a witch lives up there.”
Honey turned back again to see her friend, Suka the Siberian Husky, weaving through the group of dogs and coming up to her. Suka’s blue eyes weren’t scared, though—they were sparkling with excitement—and she looked up at the old house with relish. Honey wondered what neighbourhood gossip Suka had collected about this place. If there was one thing Suka loved doing, it was telling stories—the wilder, the better.
The Husky flicked her fluffy tail and added eagerly, “I heard that she has claws for hands and eats children for breakfast!”
“For kibble’s sake, not another of yer stupid stories, is it?” growled Tyson the Jack Russell Terrier as he came up to join them. Honey smiled to herself. As the most down-to-earth of her friends—in this case literally, with his short, stubby legs and compact body—Tyson could always be relied on to call a bone a bone.
“It’s true!” Suka insisted. “The local dogs were telling me about it—some of them live nearby and walk their humans here regularly. They’ve seen an old woman come out of the house; she always wears black and she has these creepy claw hands. They even say—” Suka lowered her voice dramatically, “—that the house is guarded by a huge, black bear who obeys her commands.”
The dogs behind them nodded, wide-eyed, hanging onto Suka’s every word. All except one scruffy mongrel who pushed his way out from the back of the group and trotted up to them with a cheerful chuckle.
“Mate, that’s the dumbest story I’ve ever heard,” said Ruffster the mongrel mutt. He scratched his one upright ear. “There ain’t no such thing as ghosts and witches.”
“Fine, if you’re so brave, you go up there and check it out then,” challenged Suka. Her blue eyes lit up. “In fact, let’s all go! C’mon, it was supposed to be a big adventure visiting these gardens for the first time, but so far, we’ve just been hanging around the humans, doing nothing... It’s getting a bit boring.”
Honey looked up at the old house, then turned and looked the other way, back along the riverbank to where the flat, grassy area widened out again. That was the main part of Riverside Gardens and it looked like lots of people had decided to take advantage of the lovely spring weather this Easter weekend—the space beside the river was dotted with couples and families stretched out on cushions and blankets. A group of children holding baskets were walking around the flower beds in an Easter egg hunt. Every so often, one of them would cry out with glee and pounce on something, then stand up holding a colourful egg to be added to the basket.
Honey’s gaze drifted over the scene until she found one group of humans she recognised: they were sitting on a blanket by the water’s edge, talking and laughing as they handed things out from a picnic basket. “What about our humans?” she asked.
“Oh, they can still see us,” said Suka carelessly, already starting forwards. “Anyway, we’re just going to the top of the slope—we’ll be back down in a moment.”
“Wait, let’s get Biscuit to come too,” said Ruffster. He turned towards their humans and barked, “Biscuit! BISCUIT!”
A black and tan shape emerged from behind the picnic basket and hesitated, then moved reluctantly towards them. Biscuit the Beagle gave them a reproachful look as he arrived, his nose covered with icing sugar. “I was just finally about to grab a doughnut, you know. It took me ages to get near the picnic basket without my Missus noticing.”
“Mate, you’ve already sneaked two sausage rolls, a piece o’ pie, and three cookies.” Ruffster eyed the Beagle’s podgy belly. “If you keep eatin’, you’re goin’ to burst like a balloon.”
Biscuit sniffed indignantly. “I’m not—”
“Do you think you can help us, Biscuit?” Honey interrupted hastily. “We’re going to check something out and we need your super nose.”
Biscuit turned to her, his chest swelling with importance. “Of course! What do you need me to track?”
“A witch!” Suka called from the foot of the slope, grinning back at them.
“A... a witch?” Biscuit looked uneasy.
“That’s just Suka’s wishful thinking.” Honey chuckled. “I’m sure there’s really nothing up there.”
As they reached the top of the slope, however, Honey began to change her mind. Up close, the house looked even more strange and fantastical. Its high walls were a deep salmon pink, trimmed with white cornices and rising in staggered layers so that the whole house looked like a multi-tiered cake with white frosting.
“This house looks like some kind o’ weird birthday cake with bobbles on top!” laughed Ruffster, gazing up at the onion domes rising from the roof. “No way a witch would be livin’ in somethin’ like this.”
“Witches can live in all sorts of places,” said Suka darkly. “My Boy has a book called Hansel and Gretel and the witch in that story lives in a beautiful gingerbread house.”
“Ooh, do you think we can eat this house too?” asked Biscuit eagerly.
“Can ya never stop thinking about yer stomach?” growled Tyson.
“Well, I—”
Suka suddenly stiffened. “Shhh! Look! What’s that?”
They all froze. From the shadows at the side of the house, a dark figure suddenly appeared and lurched towards them. Black rags seemed to float around the body and a pair of angular arms stretched out menacingly, reaching forwards with claw-like hands. In spite of herself, Honey felt her heartbeat quicken and her breath come faster. Was Suka right? Is this the witch?
––––––––
THE DOGS ALL WATCHED, transfixed, as the black figure staggered towards them. Low moaning sounds broke the eerie silence, making the hackles on Honey’s back stand up. She tensed as the figure came closer, swaying unsteadily.
“Howling Hyenas, there really is a witch!” whispered Suka.
Biscuit whimpered and took a few steps back, while Tyson thrust his head out, his fur bristling.
Ruffster gulped and said, “M...maybe we should leave—”
But before any of them could move, the dark figure suddenly cried out and pitched forwards. The dogs reeled back, bracing themselves, but the figure simply sank to the ground with a soft groan.
Tyson took a cautious step forwards, sniffing the air. Then another. And another. He stretched his neck out towards the prone figure, his nose twitching.
“That’s not a witch,” he growled, turning back to look at them. “That’s an old woman!”
Honey hurried over to his side. Tyson was right. An old woman lay on the ground in front of them, her face deathly pale. She was dressed in a faded black dress and black lace shawl, and her hands were gnarled and twisted. She moved weakly, as if trying to get up. Honey leaned down to nose her gently. The old woman’s breathing was harsh and laboured.
“I think we’d better get our humans,” she said, looking worriedly at the others. “She looks sick—”
“Ubi’rajsya ne’medlenno!” A huge, black beast rushed at them, snarling ferociously. “Get out! Go away! You leave my Miztress alone!”
For a moment, Honey thought it was the black bear Suka had been talking about—then she realised that she was facing a dog. A massive black dog with a dense, wiry coat that covered his powerful body. Thick, wavy hair sprouted from the top of his block-shaped head, covering his eyes with bushy eyebrows and ending in a coarse beard. He clenched his teeth and eyed them suspiciously as he stood over the collapsed woman.
“We were just trying to help,” Honey explained. “She fell down.”
“We do not need your help,” snarled the big black dog.
Honey protested, “But she looks sick—”
“It is none of your business. You go!”
The old woman raised her hand feebly and whispered, “Mishka...”
Instantly, the black dog’s ears went back and he bent and licked the old woman’s face. He whined softly, trying to roll her over by pushing her with his great head. But try as he might, he could not help the old woman up.
“Let us help, Mishka,” said Honey gently.
“Yeah, mate,” said Ruffster. “We were goin’ to get our humans.”
The black dog raised his head. His eyes were still wary, but Honey could also see a look of desperation in them. He said stiffly, “Where are your humans?”
“Down by the river,” said Honey quickly. “I’ll call them.” She turned and looked down the slope, then took a deep breath and began to bark. There is nothing quite like the booming foghorn of a Great Dane bark. Everybody in the gardens below looked up in astonishment. Honey saw her human, Olivia, jump up from the picnic blanket and wave irritably, calling her to come down, but Honey ignored her and kept barking.
Olivia sighed and started up the slope, followed by Biscuit’s Missus and Suka’s Boy and his Mother. Honey waited until all the humans were nearly at the top before she stopped barking and went to meet them, her tail wagging.
“Honey! What on earth do you think you’re doing, barking like that?” admonished Olivia, frowning. “Everybody was—oh!” She broke off as she saw the old lady.
The humans rushed over to her side and gently helped her to her feet. Slowly, they supported her as she made her way back into the house. The dogs followed the humans as they walked through a set of double glass doors which opened out from the side of the house and onto the terrace. This must be where the old woman had come out from.
They all trooped into the house and Honey looked eagerly around. But if she was hoping for something as magnificent as the exterior, she was disappointed. They were standing in a large room with high arched ceilings and tall windows with a magnificent view of the river and gardens below. But it was mostly bare—just an old settee with a few chairs in one corner, a worn coffee table, and a few bookcases propped against one wall. It had been a grand room once, but now the walls were cracked and faded, the paint peeling in places, and pale rectangular outlines showed where several paintings had once hung but were now gone. A few doorways led from the room and, through the one nearest to her, Honey could see a long corridor with scuffed floor tiles, ending in what looked like a kitchen.
“Bit o’ a sad, old place, isn’t it?” muttered Ruffster, looking around.
Mishka stiffened next to them. “Once, it was beautiful—the most beautiful house in this part of the country!”
“What happened?” asked Suka.
Mishka sighed. “It is a long story. But there is no hope now. My Miztress does not have the money—she will lose the house after this Easter weekend and we will be homeless.” He looked anxiously towards the old woman. “I am worried. She is old—it will kill her.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” asked Suka, horrified.
The black dog shook his head. “There is only one thing that can save us now. It is something from long ago in my Miztress’s family... an old secret. But it is impossible. We have tried many times and always we have failed.”
“Failed what?” asked Honey.
Mishka met her eyes “To find the lost Russian treasure.”
––––––––
THEY ALL STARED AT Mishka. Honey expected him to laugh any minute and tell them it was a joke, but the black dog looked deadly serious.
“Treasure?” Ruffster scratched his ear. “You serious, mate?”
Mishka nodded solemnly. But before he could say more, they heard a weak voice calling his name. The old woman was sitting up now, propped by cushions on the settee, although her face was still very pale. She stretched out a hand and, instantly, Mishka went across the room to her. He sat down in front of her and laid his great head on her lap.
“Thank you,” said the old woman, looking around and smiling weakly at them. She had a soft, musical voice that made Honey want to stop everything and just listen to her. “It is very kind of you to help me.”
“Is there something we can get for you?” asked Biscuit’s Missus. “Like some medicine, perhaps?”
“No, no, I am not really ill. Just... a bit tired,” said the old woman.
“How about some food and a hot drink?” asked Olivia, moving towards the doorway. “If you don’t mind me using your kitchen, I can make something for you.”
A shadow crossed the old woman’s face. “Oh, no, please, do not trouble yourself—”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Olivia assured her, heading for the kitchen before the old woman could say more. Honey trotted after her human and found herself in a cavernous old kitchen, with an open fireplace at one end and a long, scrubbed wooden table in the centre. It was as bare as the living room, though. In fact, as Olivia opened pantry doors and checked the refrigerator, she looked shocked at how empty the shelves were. Honey realised that the old woman had probably been ashamed to let them see the state of her kitchen.
“It’s no wonder she’s fainting!” Olivia murmured to Honey as she peered into the empty fridge. “She’s not tired—she’s weak from hunger and malnutrition. There’s hardly any food in this house. Poor thing... I know!” Olivia smiled as she let the fridge door swing shut. “We’ll bring our picnic here!”
Ten minutes later, they were all gathered around the settee again as Olivia unloaded the picnic basket and set the items out on the coffee table. The aroma of roast chicken filled the room and Honey felt drool start to dribble from her jowls as she watched Olivia lay out sandwiches on a plate, each bursting with different ingredients: crispy bacon and egg, juicy roast chicken with cranberry sauce, honey ham and cheese, and crisp, minty cucumber. Next to these, Olivia added a thick wedge of potato pie, a pile of sausage rolls still warm in their pastries, and a tangy tomato salad, followed by a plate of doughnuts covered in icing sugar and a punnet of fresh strawberries.
Biscuit sat by the table and watched wistfully, his head following Olivia’s hands between the basket and the table—left, right, left, right—like a human watching tennis in the TV box. When Olivia wasn’t looking, he grabbed the corner of a roast chicken sandwich and darted away.
“Biscuit!” hissed Suka.
The Beagle stopped guiltily, then walked over to Mishka and dropped the sandwich in front of him. “Here, you must be hungry too.”
The black dog turned his head away proudly. “Spasibo. Thank you. But I do not eat the food of others.”
Honey noticed, however, that his nose was quivering uncontrollably and she realised suddenly that his thick coat had hidden how thin he really was. His ribs were showing and his hip bones jutted out sharply.
“Go on, Mishka,” she urged. “Your Mistress needs you to stay strong for her.”
The black dog hesitated.
“Yeah,” said Biscuit. “Who cares whose food it is? It’s food! Look, it’s delicious—just have a bite, like this—” He tore a chunk off the sandwich and chewed blissfully “And like this—” He opened his mouth for another bite
“Biscuit!”
“I’m just showing him how to eat it,” grumbled the Beagle as he moved away.
Mishka hesitated a moment longer, then he grabbed the sandwich and gobbled it down, licking his lips with relish. Biscuit’s Missus, who had been watching, laughed out loud.
“I never thought I’d see the day when Biscuit would share food with others,” she said with a smile. She handed another sandwich to Mishka, then a doughnut to the delighted Biscuit.
By now, everybody was tucking in. Suka’s Boy handed the old woman a piece of crusty French baguette while his Mother poured steaming minestrone soup from a thermos into a mug. The colour gradually returned to the old woman’s face as she sipped the hot soup. Finally she put the mug down and sighed.
“You are all wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you. Oh, forgive me—I have not even introduced myself—my name is Irina.” She gestured to the black dog. “And this is Mishka.”
As the humans started to chat, Ruffster turned to the black dog curiously. “Say, what kind o’ dog are you, mate? Don’t reckon I’ve ever seen one o’ you before.”
“I am a Black Russian Terrier.”
“You’re a terrier?” Ruffster said. “I thought terriers were all small guys like Tyson here—”
“Who yer calling small?” snapped Tyson.
“I am not a true terrier,” said Mishka. “We Black Russians were created by the military to be police dogs. They took many different breeds, like the Giant Schnauzer and the Rottweiler, and some Russian ones too—such as the Moscow Water Dog—and they mixed it all together to make the Black Russian Terrier. In Russia, we are also called the Russian Bear Schnauzer. My name, Mishka, means ‘bear’ in Russian.”
Tyson gave him an approving sniff. “Yer terrier enough for me.”
By now the humans had gone around introducing themselves as well and then Olivia pointed out the dogs one by one.
“Are they all yours?” Irina asked, wide-eyed.
“Oh no,” laughed Olivia. “Honey, the Great Dane, is mine. And—”
“Suka’s mine!” said Suka’s Boy, jumping up to clasp his arms around the Husky’s neck. “She’s the fastest dog in the world, you know! I’m going to teach her to pull a sled, just like the Huskies up at the North Pole.”
“That walking stomach on legs is mine,” said Biscuit’s Missus with a wry smile, nodding at the Beagle.
“And Ruffster and Tyson belong to other friends,” said Olivia. “They were busy today so we offered to bring their dogs along with ours, for the picnic.”
“They look like great friends,” said Irina, smiling as her eyes roved over the dogs. “And they are very good with my Mishka. He has not had much chance to make friends, poor thing, cooped up here with me all the time.”
“It’s an amazing place to be cooped up in, though,” said Olivia, smiling as she gestured towards the ceiling.
Irina returned the smile. “My father built this house for my mother. He modelled it on a very famous building back in Russia—the St Basil’s Cathedral—which is one of the most beautiful structures in the world. It was built by Ivan the Terrible and legend says that he blinded the builder when St Basil’s Cathedral was done, so that it could never be recreated. Going to visit the cathedral was one of the few things my mother could remember from when she was a little girl.”
“Your mother was Russian?”
“Yes, her name was Anastasia, but she left Russia when she was just five years old. She never forgot her country, however, and so my father built this house especially for her, so she could have her own little piece of Russia right here.”
Olivia sighed. “How romantic.”
Irina gave a sad smile. “You are too polite to say, but I know you can see from looking around that the house has been suffering. It was amazing once, you know, filled with beautiful things. I remember as a little girl the wonderful parties my parents used to give—the music, the dancing, the ball gowns, the chandeliers... Even after I grew up and left home, I always felt like I was entering a fairy tale whenever I came home to visit. But then my mother got sick and died. It broke my father’s heart. I came back here to live, to look after him, but he was lost without her. He became ill himself and died a year later.”
Mishka whined softly.
“I’m so sorry,” murmured Biscuit’s Missus.
Irina reached out to stroke Mishka’s ears. “It was only after my father’s death that I found out the terrible truth. He had made some bad business decisions and he owed other people a lot of money.” She looked around the bare walls, her eyes filled with pain. “I have been trying to do the best I can. I cannot work very well anymore because of my hands.” She looked down at her gnarled and twisted fingers, curved with a claw-like stiffness. “I have been crippled by arthritis. So slowly, slowly, over the years, I have had to sell most of the old paintings and antique furniture and other things of value... but still, it is not enough.” Her voice broke on a sob. “I have been sick with worry. They... they gave me until this Easter weekend. If I cannot pay off the debts by the first day after Easter, I will lose this house and Mishka and I will have nowhere to go.”
“That’s awful!” cried Olivia.
“Haven’t you got family or someone who can help you?” asked Biscuit’s Missus.
“No, I am alone,” said Irina. “There is no one.” She hesitated. “There is one thing... oh, but I am silly even to think about it.”
“What is it?” asked Suka’s Boy excitedly.
“Hush, darling, it might be private,” said his Mother.
“No, it is OK,” Irina smiled. “I feel like you are all good friends already. I would like to share this with you. Anyway, you may think it is just a silly old woman’s dream...” She paused and looked around at all of them. “But if it is true, then it could be the miracle that would save me and Mishka!”
Honey pricked her ears. She remembered what Mishka had said about a lost family treasure. Was Irina going to tell them about it at last?
––––––––
“COME. I THINK IT IS best if I show you.” Irina stood up slowly and, leaning heavily on Mishka, moved towards one of the doorways. Everybody followed and Honey found herself walking down a long, dark corridor. Eventually they came to a doorway which led into another big room. This one had many bookshelves standing in a row down both sides of the room and some deep, leather armchairs tucked into the corner. A library, Honey thought, inhaling the musty scent of old paper and leather. On the far side of the library, a painting hung on the wall. Irina came to a stop in front of it and they all gathered around, gazing up at the picture. Biscuit raised his nose and sniffed curiously.
“I could not bear to sell this one,” said Irina. “It came with my mother from Russia. It is of my grandmother—my mother’s mother—when she was young.”
Honey stared up at the oil canvas. It showed a dark-haired young lady with a slight smile, sitting on a red velvet chair by a window. She was wearing a long dress with a low, scooped-out neckline and around her throat was a necklace with a beautiful red pendant. She was also holding something in her hands... Honey tilted her head... It looked like an egg? But nothing like the eggs she normally saw in the fridge back home—or even the chocolate ones she saw every Easter. This egg seemed to be covered in gold swirls, with jewels decorating its surface. Honey wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or the way they were painted, but the egg and the red pendant in the painting seemed almost to glow. You could almost imagine that they were sparkling right here, in the library.
As if reading her mind, Olivia gave an exclamation and leaned towards the picture. “Wow, I thought those were real for a moment.”
Irina smiled. “Those were the two great treasures in my mother’s family. The ruby necklace and the Fabergé egg. You know, of course, that Fabergé eggs are one of the most valuable treasures in the world. Every Easter, the Russian tsar used to give a Fabergé egg as a gift to his empress—the only other people who possessed them were a few wealthy families who got them on private commission. My mother’s family were related to the tsars so they were one of the few who had a Fabergé egg. They had many treasures... but the egg and the ruby pendant were the most valuable.”
“Where are they now?” asked Suka’s Boy eagerly.
Irina’s face clouded over. “Nobody knows. There was a terrible time of chaos and violence in my mother’s country during the early twentieth century, called the Russian Revolution. Many people died. Many of those with big houses and beautiful things had their homes destroyed and all their families killed. But some of them managed to escape. My grandmother couldn’t leave, but she found a way for my mother to escape Russia with her nanny. They disguised my mother as a peasant child, so nobody would suspect, and the nanny helped to smuggle some things out with them when they left. One of those things was this painting, rolled up and hidden inside a loaf of bread.”
“Oh... not the treasures?” asked Suka’s Boy, disappointed.
Irina shook her head. “The nanny was injured while they were trying to escape and she didn’t live long after they arrived in this country. My mother was adopted by a kindly couple, but the only things she had with her were this painting, her favourite toy, a few ornaments the nanny had been carrying, and a letter from my grandmother.”
“But... if the treasures have been lost, why did you say that they could save you?” asked Olivia.
“I never saw the letter from my grandmother when I was younger,” said Irina. “My mother never talked about her past life in Russia. Well, I guess she was only five years old when she left so she didn’t remember much. It was only after she died that I found the letter from my grandmother, when I was going through Mother’s papers.”
She leaned forwards, her eyes suddenly excited. “In the letter, my grandmother mentions the Fabergé egg and hints that it too was smuggled out of the country. I never got the chance to investigate further because my father took the letter away and wouldn’t talk about it. But a few years after he died, I found the letter again, hidden in a drawer, and I have been puzzling over it ever since. I’m sure my grandmother must have left a clue about where the Fabergé egg is hidden. If only I could find it!”
“That would be amazing,” said Biscuit’s Missus.
Irina nodded. “Fabergé eggs are priceless—they were handmade from gold and jewels and other precious materials. It took over a year to make one and each was a unique design, with a ‘surprise’ inside. Many were lost during the Russian Revolution. If a ‘lost’ one were to turn up now, it would be worth millions and millions!”
Wow, thought Honey. That would be more than enough to save this house and free Irina and Mishka from their debts forever.
Ruffster turned to Mishka as the humans continued to discuss the letter. “Have you looked for this Fabby egg, mate?”
The Black Russian Terrier shuffled his paws. “Many, many times. My Miztress and I—we have been over this house from bottom to top. But still, we cannot find a clue.”
“What about that letter from the grandmother?” asked Suka.
“It is a strange letter,” said Mishka. He looked up. “Ah, my Miztress is going to show it.”
Irina was unlocking a drawer in the writing bureau next to the leather armchairs. She drew out a stiff piece of paper, yellow and faded, and laid it carefully on the table for everyone to see. Honey and the other dogs wriggled between the humans and peered at the letter. The words were written in a thin, spidery handwriting and there were ink blotches everywhere which made it even harder to read.
“I don’t read Russian very well, but I am lucky that my grandmother wrote the letter in English. I think perhaps she hoped it would make it harder for most people in Russia to read it, if my mother and the nanny were caught,” Irina explained, as everybody crowded closer to read it.
My darling Anastasia,
I fear that I can no longer keep you safe so—much as it breaks my heart—I must let you go. Nanny will look after you and I fervently hope that after the fighting is over, I may find you again.
Much has been lost in these terrible times but I hold on to the desperate hope that some treasures might be saved. You are, of course, my greatest treasure, my darling child, but there may be other treasures that could help you in a time of need. The egg by the royal jeweller, Carl Fabergé, with its hidden surprise inside, was always your favourite—your own little “matryoshka”—but it must lose itself for you to be reunited. In northern countries old grannies never insult their own. Remember that.
I hear them coming now. I will leave this letter and the portrait with Nanny, so that you may have something to remember me by. Do not forget me, my darling. May God keep you safe and speed you on your way.
Your loving,
Mamochka
Honey read it twice through, trying to find a clue in the sentences as to where the Fabergé egg might be hidden.
“This is like something from one of my Boy’s storybooks!” Suka said next to her, her blue eyes wide with excitement. “It’s even better than Hansel and Gretel. This is like the best Easter egg hunt ever!”
“I don’t smell any clues,” said Biscuit, sniffing the letter intently.
“Maybe Irina’s wrong and the clue isn’t in here,” said Ruffster. “Maybe she put it somewhere else.”
“No, the hidden message must be here in this letter,” said Suka. “Irina’s grandmother wouldn’t have had time to leave a clue anywhere else. We’ve just got to work it out.”
As Suka stepped closer to the letter to read it once more, Honey looked around. She realised that they were alone. The humans had drifted out of the library and gone back to the living room. She could hear their voices, still talking, fading away in the corridor.
“Howling Hyenas!” cried Suka suddenly, looking up from the letter. “I think I’ve got it!”
––––––––
“WHAT? WHAT?”
They all gathered around Suka.
The Husky turned to Mishka. “This bit in the letter... where it says ‘your own little “matryoshka”’—what does that mean?”
“It is a kind of doll,” said Mishka, sitting back on his haunches. “A Russian doll. It is made of wood and looks like a fat little sausage, with a picture of a woman’s head painted at the top and her dress in the round bottom part. But she has no arms or legs. You can open it.”
“Open it?”
“Da. Yes, when you open the two halves of the doll, there is another doll inside, exactly the same but a bit smaller. And then when you open that, there is another one even smaller inside. And another. And another. They are each inside one another.”
“But why would the grandmother call the egg a matryoshka?” asked Ruffster.
“Perhaps because Fabergé eggs also open and contain something inside, a bit like a matryoshka doll,” said Mischka.
“Suka, what are you thinking?” asked Honey.
The Husky nudged the letter with her nose. “I think Irina’s grandmother must have mentioned matryoshka for a reason. Maybe it’s the clue! Can you remember what Irina told us about what her mother and the nanny were carrying when they escaped from Russia?”
“Bread,” said Biscuit.
Ruffster rolled his eyes. “It was the paintin’ rolled up and hidden in a loaf o’ bread. And the letter... oh, and the nanny carryin’ some stuff.”
“Yer forgetting the toy,” said Tyson.
“Yes, exactly!” Suka wagged her tail. “Irina said her mother was carrying her favourite toy. Maybe that was a matryoshka doll! If we can find her toy, maybe we’ll find the egg hidden inside it or—”
“The mother’s toy was not a matryoshka doll,” said Mishka. “It was a soft toy—a little black dog. I know because my Miztress still has it. She keeps it on her bed. She says it reminds her of me.”
Suka’s ears drooped. “Ticks! I thought I’d got it...”
“No, wait, Suka, you might still be right,” said Honey. “The matryoshka doll might not have been the toy that Irina’s mother was carrying—but it might have been with the things that Nanny was carrying.”
“But she was just carryin’ bits o’ junk,” protested Ruffster.
“Nyet. No, not junk,” said Mishka. “Ornaments. Small beautiful things.” He stood up suddenly, his black eyes excited. “Yes, you are right. Perhaps there is a matryoshka doll amongst her things!”
“Does Irina still have Nanny’s things?” asked Honey.
“I think so. She showed me once. She keeps them with some old clothes. But it is in the attic.”
“Can we get up there?”
Mishka trotted to the library door. “Come. I show you the way.”
––––––––
HONEY HAD NEVER CLIMBED so many stairs in her life. Mishka led them up through the stories of the rambling house, higher and higher, until at last they were climbing a narrow flight of wooden steps that were so steep they were almost like a ladder.
Tyson bounded up the steps without a second thought, followed by Biscuit huffing and puffing, then Ruffster and Suka. Honey started to scramble up, then realised that her paws were actually bigger than each step. She slipped, missed, and fell, smacking her chin onto one of the steps.
“Ow!”
A low rumbling sound came from Mishka. Honey realised the Black Russian Terrier was laughing.
“I have big paws also. It is not so easy for us big dogs. But you will get used to it. I have been up and down many times since I was a puppy. Come, I show you.” Mishka started up the stairs, carefully placing each paw sideways along the step, so that it fit better onto the surface.
Honey followed, trying to copy him, and found that by placing her paws sideways, it did make it easier to get a grip. She had to twist her body to the side, so it made going up a bit awkward, but gradually, she got the hang of it. She was nearing the top when she suddenly wondered how she was going to come down again later. Just thinking about it made her feel dizzy—and she quickly pushed the thought from her mind. She wouldn’t worry about it now. The attic first, she told herself.
The stairs ended at an open doorway. Honey stepped through and found herself in a large, dark room. There was a feeling of great space above her and, when she looked up, she saw a round wooden roof arching high over her head, supported by wooden beams. We’re inside one of the onion domes, she realised. Here and there, shafts of light were seeping in through the cracks and gaps in the wooden roof. Honey pricked her ears, thinking for a moment that she could hear a faint rustling. She squinted up into the dark recesses of the roof. Did she just see something move, up between the wooden beams?
Nothing. All was quiet.
She must have been imagining things.
Honey looked back down. Her eyes were acclimatising to the dim light now and she could see more clearly. This was obviously the place for things that time forgot. The room was filled with old chests and trunks and cardboard boxes. An ancient cheval mirror stood in the corner, the glass yellow with age. Honey sneezed as the smell of dust and mould tickled her nostrils. She sneezed again. There was something else. A strange scent she had never smelled before. She glanced at Biscuit, wondering if he knew what it was. Nothing usually got past that Beagle nose. He was standing with his nose raised, sniffing the air intently, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement.
“Biscuit?” Honey whispered. “What—”
“It is over there!” Mishka said, looking eagerly across the room at a woven cloth bag sitting on top of a large leather trunk. “My Miztress put Nanny’s things in that bag.” He started towards it.
“Wait—” Honey started to say as Ruffster, Suka, and Tyson followed him, but it was too late.
Before they had gone a few steps, there was a sudden shriek from the air and a black shape swooped down towards them.
––––––––
“LOOK OUT!”
Honey ducked as something swerved past her ears with a soft whoosh. She whirled around, trying to peer into the dark.
Something swooped down on her again.
Whoosh.
She yelped and twisted, but still she couldn’t see what it was. She looked wildly around. It was terrifying that something could come up behind her like that and she could hear nothing.
“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!”
––––––––
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’!”
––––––––
“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 with 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.
––––––––
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.
Ticks. She tried to run faster, eyeing the egg as it rolled just in front of her nose.
She lunged again. Missed again.
They were near the bottom of the slope now. Honey could see the river out of the corner of her eye, the water dark and rushing past. The Fabergé egg hit a clump of grass and bounced high in the air, straight for the water. Honey hurled herself forwards and made a last desperate lunge.
Thunk.
Her teeth closed around something solid. Honey skidded and sat down on her bum, almost falling into the river herself. Slowly, she stood up again, chest heaving, the egg clamped between her jaws.
She looked up to see a row of heads at the top of the slope. The humans were staring down at her with their mouths open. The dogs looked jubilant.
“You saved it, Honey!” barked Ruffster, jumping up in delight. “You saved the Fabby egg!”
––––––––
THE EGG THAT HONEY finally dropped into Irina’s hands was pretty slobbery, but that didn’t seem to bother the old woman as she stared disbelievingly at the cracked pink surface. The rough journey down the slope and the drool from Honey’s mouth had removed even more of the lumpy clay covering, and now they could all clearly see sections of gleaming enamel embedded with sparkling jewels. Carefully, Irina picked and peeled the rest of the covering away, then rinsed the egg in a glass of water. Biscuit’s Missus handed Irina a napkin from the picnic basket and they all watched in awe as she slowly wiped the egg clean of all traces of clay, paint, and drool.
She set the Fabergé egg upright on the table.
The glossy enamel surface of the egg gleamed in the sunlight, changing from deep sea-green to vibrant aquamarine. A lattice of gold swirls covered the base of the egg, curling upwards like the tendrils of a climbing vine. In the spaces between the swirls, tiny flowers were embedded, their delicate petals glittering with diamonds that looked like dewdrops. And nestled amongst the flowers were more jewels: a brilliant sapphire, a rich red ruby, a shimmering emerald.
“I... I cannot believe it,” whispered Irina, tears in her eyes. “It is so beautiful... I almost wish I did not have to sell it...” She sighed. “But it must be done.”
“Does it open?” asked Suka’s Boy. “I thought all Fabergé eggs have a surprise inside.”
“Yes, you are right,” said Irina, sitting up.
She looked closely at the egg. At the top was a little gold button, encircled by a crown of gold swirls. Irina reached out and pressed the button. Everybody gasped as the egg suddenly opened, the two halves spreading apart to reveal a tiny pedestal inside. On the pedestal sat a miniature gold bunny, one long ear folded back, the other raised alertly.
“Hey, it’s got ears like me!” said Ruffster, wagging his tail. “Kind o’ fittin’ that there’s a bunny inside... seein’ as it’s Easter.”
Between the rabbit’s front paws was a tiny jade carrot. And something else.
Honey’s heart jumped in excitement as Irina lifted out a thick gold chain with a sparkling red stone attached. It was the ruby from the painting!
“I thought this was lost!” cried Irina. “I never thought it would be hidden inside the Fabergé egg.”
“That ruby alone would be worth a fortune,” said Olivia. “You could sell that and have enough money to save your house and live comfortably—and keep the Fabergé egg.”
“Oh, I cannot believe it!” Irina threw her arms around Mishka and hugged him hard. She looked at them all, her eyes shining. “I feel like I am in a dream.” She laughed and wiped tears from her eyes as Olivia and the others came up to hug her too.
Still talking excitedly, the humans went back into the house, taking the Fabergé egg with them. Mishka turned to Honey and her friends. His eyes were shining even more than Irina’s. “Thank you. This has become the best Easter we have ever had. Now I hope you will come back to visit me soon. Then I can show you this house as it was meant to be.”
––––––––
SIX MONTHS LATER, HONEY and her friends stood with their humans outside Mishka’s house, eyes bright with anticipation. They had all been groomed until their coats were smooth and shining—well, all except Ruffster, since no amount of brushing or shampooing could tame his scruffy coat. They were entering through the front door this time and Honey looked around in awe as they stepped into the grand foyer, dominated by an enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
Irina came rushing up to greet them, a big smile on her face. She was wearing black again—but a beautiful satin gown this time—and walking proudly by her side was Mishka, his black coat trimmed and gleaming. The dogs circled each other excitedly, sniffing bums and wagging tails, before following their humans down the wide hallway to the back of the house.
As they entered the living room, Honey almost couldn’t believe her eyes. Rich brocade curtains now framed the windows and the walls were freshly painted, the cracks all gone. Paintings and tapestries now covered the empty spaces. A sumptuous lounge suite overflowing with cushions sprawled over half the room and beautifully carved antique furniture filled the corners.
“Holy liver treat!” said Ruffster, staring around.
Mishka wagged his tail proudly. “It has taken time but my Miztress managed to find many of the paintings and things she had to sell and buy them back again.”
Honey walked over to one painting that had pride of place in the centre of the wall. It was the portrait of Irina’s grandmother holding the Fabergé egg—and in a glass case in front of it was the real thing, nestled on a bed of black velvet. The jewels sparkled as they caught the light. It was just as stunning as Honey had remembered.
“So many people wanted to come see it,” said Mishka, joining her beside the case. “The newspapers, the TV, the museums, the big jewellery shops... it was crazy! Nobody can believe that we have found another Fabergé egg. One man came from a place called Hollywood—he wanted to talk to my Miztress about making a movie of her mother’s life.”
“Howling Hyenas, really?” Suka bounced up to them. “Who’s going to play you in the movie, Mishka?”
“I think the movie should really be about you,” said Mishka, looking around at all of them. “You were the ones who found the treasure.”
Honey smiled and wagged her tail. “Yes, you’re right, we did. We found a new friend.”
––––––––
THE END
***
If you enjoyed these stories check out the full length novels:
Book 1 (CURSE OF THE SCARAB)
Book 2 (A SECRET IN TIME)
Here is an excerpt from
