Suddenly a hush settled over the dogs and they all attentively turned toward the platform, as if responding to some kind of signal, even though Yoda had heard nothing, despite the hyper-sensitivity of his ears. The deathly stillness caused an involuntary shiver to shudder its way through him.
The two Dobermans emerged from the shadows, as if they were themselves shades assuming a solid form. They moved their heads to and fro, sweeping their burning gazes over the others.
Even though he knew Smokey was somewhere in the clotted darkness above, watching over him, Yoda felt as if he were utterly alone, isolated from civilization and bearing witness to some arcane primeval rite.
At first nothing happened, and Yoda realized he was holding his breath. He let out the held breath as softly as he could.
A massive form stirred within the shadows, like a swirling dust storm suddenly coming to life. The Master slouched into view.
The attendant dogs backed away at the sudden manifestation. More than one dog uttered an involuntary whimper at the sight of the monstrous image of the masked dog.
Yoda had heard descriptions of the Master from Slim Shady, Swoon and Biggles, had seen physical evidence left by the Master, and had even seen the picture printed out by Little Kitty. He thought himself more than prepared for the actual sight of the Master.
He was wrong.
Yoda’s first full view of the Master, even obscured as the creature was, wreathed about with shadows and sitting on massive haunches well behind his Doberman guards, was chilling. In general he looked very much like the painting, but no artist could capture the feral evil and brooding menace of the Master. There was no telling, of course, whether the head was at all doglike because of the loose enveloping cowl which hid such important traits as ears, muzzle and brow, all important features used by dogs in recognition of species and breed, but all could see the eyes through holes in the cowl, glittering like fiery emeralds. The body was vaguely doglike, but the scent emanating from it, musky and primitive, was doggish enough to settle any qualms held by the attendant dogs.
“The time has come to begin the next phase of my plan,” the Master whispered. Though his voice was soft and low, his words carried to the farthest reaches of the warehouse. “The alphas of all the gangs have by ancient ritual accepted me as their alpha. All of you will be assigned…”
Yoda involuntarily yelped as strong jaws clamped down on his hind leg and pulled him from his hiding place. As soon as he was clear of the crates, Yoda whipped around sank his sharp little teeth into a sensitive nose. His attacker, whom he now saw was a Black Labrador, howled in pain and let go of his leg.
“You darn little yapper!” Caller, the Black Lab, shouted.
Yoda heard a cacophony of canine yells and bellows on the other side of the crates, but he paid no attention to them. He was much more concerned about the massive maw rushing toward him.
Caller lunged at the intruder Pomeranian, closing his mouth around the smaller dog and chomping down as hard as he could. All Caller got for his trouble was a mouth full of long wild fur, not a single taste of dog. He tried to spit out the choking hair.
Yoda started to pull away, then saw a long ear dangling in front of him. He lunged for it and sank his teeth into the soft flesh. If there is anything more susceptible to pain than a dog’s nose, it is a dog’s ear. The agony which Caller had felt when Yoda nipped at his nose was nothing compared to what he felt coursing through his ear. He shook his head violently to dislodge the Pomeranian, but his action only made things worse – not only was his ear being pierced by needlelike teeth, but the Pomeranian tenaciously held on, so now he had a fifteen-pound fur-ball flying around his gyrating head and threatening to tear off his ear altogether.
Just when Caller thought things could get no worse, a huge cat landed on his back from out of nowhere and proceeded to use him as a scratching post. He yelled for help and hurtled into the mass of dogs, who had yet to break from stunned immobility. Finally, the other dogs surged into the attack. Most of them, however, ended up biting Caller in the confusion. They could not catch the flying Pom, and when they drew close the black-and-silver tom deserted the Black Lab for fresher flesh.
Howls and yowls echoed through the old structure. All the dogs were seasoned brawlers, veterans of myriad rumbles, and most had at one time or another faced off against a cat, but none of them had ever fought a cat who even remotely approached Smokey’s level of skill, experience and ferocity.
Suddenly, Yoda found himself sailing through the air, arching over the battle. He let go of the ear. Just before he landed in the midst of five dogs hanging back to avoid Smokey, Yoda saw the Master still atop his dais. It was hard to tell because of the mask, but Yoda was sure he was not pleased, not at all.
The dogs surged toward Yoda, but beat a hasty retreat to avoid his scissoring teeth. His barks beat at them like a fusillade of cannon balls, and with his fur bristling some of the terrified dogs thought he was bigger than they themselves, even though all really outweighed him by at least a factor of three.
Just as Yoda was congratulating himself, three of the dogs were bowled out of the way by the Master’s Dobermans. Yoda clamped his teeth into the nearest Doberman’s right foreleg, but the larger dog ignored the pain and head-butted Yoda. At the same time, the other Doberman dove in, sinking his teeth behind Yoda’s neck and snagging him by the collar. The Doberman leaped and bounded across the floor and alighted upon the dais before the Master.
The Doberman dropped Yoda. Before Yoda could do anything, however, the Master planted a massive paw on him, driving him cruelly to the wood.
An unearthly howl cut through the air and silenced the din.
All eyes turned to the dais, including those of a Rottweiler and a large cat whose claws were dug deep into his head.
“Cease your fighting,” the Master commanded in his strange and sibilant voice. “Else your friend will be crushed.”
Smokey retracted his claws, reluctantly, and after one last slash, and was immediately grabbed by the scruff by the other Doberman. Seconds later he was dropped next to Yoda.
“You should not have surrendered,” Yoda whispered. “I can take care of myself.”
Smokey tilted his head and gave Yoda an encouraging grin.
“What are you doing here?” the Master asked.
“Looking for a nice seafood restaurant – my friend is partial to bass and tuna,” Yoda quipped. “Know any good ones? Must have really good ambiance and a nice view of…”
The Master pressed down with his paw, driving the air from Yoda’s lungs. Smokey rushed toward him, but he was again grabbed by the scruff and hoisted helplessly into the air.
The Master eased up on the pressure. “It’s foolish to speak so rashly when you are submitting.”
“Who’s submitting?” Yoda demanded, making sure his voice carried to the dogs who were starting to murmur. “I only submit to dogs who deserve it, and that doesn’t include you!” The paw squashed down again; when it was lifted, an unrepentant Yoda added: “You’re not even a real dog, you hooded freak!”
Yoda expected another push-down, but, instead, the Master craned his neck until their eyes were mere inches apart. The green eyes behind the mask seemed to burn into Yoda’s soul. He wanted to look away, but could not.
“Why are you here?” the Master asked. Though the voice was whispery, it seemed to thunder. “The two of you? Alone?”
Yoda grinned widely. “Who said we were alone?”
The sudden sound of shattering glass cut through the shocked stillness that had settled upon the Master’s pack at Yoda’s outburst. Not a dog present was unmoved by the staunch defiance of the Master by a dog who not only fit under the Master’s paw, but was pinned by it.
As if they were a single dog, they all whipped about to see the startling sight of three dogs hurtling through the grimy glass panes fronting the brick warehouse. Two of the dogs, a Cane Corso and a Belgian Shepherd, they well knew, for these were the self-same dog
s whom the Master had ordered disgraced and banished, K-9 Officers Antony and Arnold. The third dog, the dog leaping higher and flying faster than the two police dogs, was of no breed they could specify – certainly the body length and barrel chest of a Dachshund, but abnormally long legs with a springing power equal to that of a kangaroo. The third dog was also much more elderly, his black fur specked with white and his face pale as a ghost, but there was nothing at all elderly about his movements.
Before the three dogs crashing through the windows hit the floor and could be met in battle, another disturbance erupted from the right side of the building. Those dogs foolish or frightened enough to avert their gazes from the hurtling trio saw a large Golden Retriever followed close behind by a Calico blur.
The Dobermans flanking the Master were distracted.
Smokey twisted his body and cat-flipped himself up over the Doberman’s face, then began thrashing with his back claws. To respond to the sudden turnabout, the Doberman was forced to release the cat’s scruff. Unfortunately for the big dog, that afforded Smokey the opportunity to slip back to the Doberman’s neck, where all his claws had full range and where the dog could not reach.
Yoda noticed that the Master’s other paw had shifted to well within range of his teeth. The Pomeranian clamped down hard as he could, practically biting all the way through. Another unearthly howl reverberated through the building, but instead of suggesting either menace or feral majesty, it was that of a wounded animal caught in a cruel and inescapable trap.
The pressure was removed from Yoda’s back as the Master jumped away, and the Pomeranian chose not to linger. He shot away as fast as his windmilling legs could carry him. The second Doberman sought to stop Yoda, but found his own progress impeded when the massive bulk of the Master fell on him.
All the dogs in service to the Master were brawlers, but they were also bullies. And in every bully’s chest beats the heart of a coward. They were terrified. Everywhere they turned there was a dog or a cat with biting teeth and lashing claws.
Then the police arrived, surging like a tsunami through broken windows and shattered doorways. Feelings of terror and pain were joined by a sense of abject defeat.
The fight was over.
Almost.
“The Master!” Levi snapped. “He’s trying to get away!”
“Not on my watch!” Antony growled.
The Master, abandoning his troops and guards, had leaped into the darkness from which he had first appeared on the dais. Levi and Antony pursued the escaping beast, following him into the black night through a hole in the wall hidden behind a covering.
The roadway behind the warehouse led to a container-cluttered loading dock at the water’s edge, and the Master vanished into the maze. Wary, the two dogs followed after.
“Keep your sniffer on full, Levi,” Antony advised. “He has to be close by.”
“No way out except through us,” Levi noted.
“Not going to happen,” Antony muttered.
The sounds from the warehouse were very dim, almost lost in the vastness of the night. Far louder was the lapping of water against pylons supporting the dock over the bay. While Levi searched with his keen sense of smell, Antony scanned with his eyes and ears. They moved forward cautiously.
Antony was so focused on the danger in front of them that he did not sense anything approaching from behind; Levi smelled it, but held silent.
They were running out of dock. As they neared the last stack of crates, Antony and Levi were warned of onrushing danger by senses that had nothing to do with sight or smell or sound, but by some primeval gut feeling, still strong in every dog despite millennia of voluntary domestication. Forewarned, they both leaped back in time to avoid a massive maw filled with spiky teeth.
Antony moved to block any escape attempt by the Master. Levi leaped forward, his trajectory carrying him above the Master’s snapping jaws and beyond the Master’s crouching body. As he passed over, he lowered his head and bit; when he landed on the wooden dock, he had in his mouth the Master’s black cowl.
“Great Anubis!” Antony breathed.
The Master unmasked did not greatly resemble the picture Little Kitty had downloaded from the Internet. But neither did the Master look, as Little Kitty put it, anything like a d-o-g.
The ears were fan-formed. Across the great dome of his head ran a high boney ridge, a sagittal crest to which the muscles of his massive jaws were anchored. His brow projected over his eyes, which were large and misshapen compared to a normal dog’s eyes and burning with green fire. His muzzle shot forward like that of a baboon, and his canine teeth were almost tusks.
“No wonder you had to wrap your head in that mask,” Antony remarked. “Had to hide yourself.”
“Dogs follow dogs,” Levi agreed, dropping the cowl. “Any dog seeing that thing would turn and run the other direction.”
“Fools!” the Master hissed, backing away so he could keep both dogs in view. “You are both mongrel curs compared to the purity of the Kolignosae, debased and degenerate, ignorant of the proud ancestry you defile every moment you remain alive.”
“Well, you may despise us,” Antony said, “but it looks like we have the upper paw.”
The Master growled menacingly.
“Your plan to unite all the gangs under you is ended,” Levi added. “Everything is out in the open, and nothing evil can survive being dragged into the light – the corruption, the machinations, the lives you have ruined or ended. It’s all known.”
“And there is no place for you to hide,” Antony said. “You will face ancient justice.”
“You cannot stop me,” the Master sneered. “All I see are two mortal dogs. You are no match for a being who in the dawntime was worshipped as a god.”
Abruptly, the Master hurled himself toward Levi, but the little Dachshund-mix held his ground. Antony lunged at the Master, but was intercepted by a titanic paw. He slammed into the side of a container, slid to the dock, but did not lose consciousness. Through bleary eyes he saw Levi easily avoid snapping jaws and flailing paws while at the same time drawing blood from the Master’s right ear. When Arnold had told him about Levi’s savage gladiatorial background he had not believed; now, he did not doubt.
Though the Master was enormous compared to Levi, he was neither slow nor clumsy. And he fought with a savage viciousness that would have been considered brutal, even in an illegal arena.
Not long ago Levi proved to his fellow operatives of the Three Dog Detective Agency that he had forgotten nothing of what he had been forced to learn for survival’s sake in his youth. Again, those same skills and tactics came to the fore as he countered the Master’s every attack and counted his own coups against the monster canine from out of time. After only a few minutes of heated battle Levi was untouched, while the Master bled from a half-dozen wounds.
The Master’s endurance, however, was tremendous. Levi was beginning to tire, a combination of the fighting, the exertions of the evening, and age, while the Master seemed not at all weakened from his many wounds or the energy of battle. Seeing Levi’s slowing movements, Antony stood on shaky legs, shook his head to clear his vision, and essayed into the fray.
Levi and Antony dogged the Master from multiple points of attack, keeping him constantly whipping about, trying to move him ever closer to the edge of the dock. Levi had the idea – and it was clear from his actions that Antony shared that idea – that if they could get the Master into the water they might have an advantage over him. While Dachshunds (of any mix) and Cane Corsos were excellent swimmers, the Master’s primal breed might not be quite at home there. His extreme musculature and apparent lack of any body fat argued for the swimming skills of a dropped stone. Or so Levi hoped.
The problem was in getting the Master into the water. They seemed to gain no ground in their efforts. As determined as they were to get him into the waters of the deeply dredged bay, the Master seemed equally determined to avoid them, which made Levi and Antony suspect they
were on the right track.
As Levi leaped for a strike at the Master’s throat, Antony dove in low, thinking to snip at one of the important hamstring muscles. Unfortunately, Antony miscalculated the swing of a paw and was struck fully in the side of the head. His neck cracked sharply and his body pin-wheeled through the air, striking Levi in mid-leap. Both dogs hit the dock hard, rolling in a tumble.
The Master surged toward the two stunned dogs, ready to go in for the kill.
“And to think I once worshipped you,” a strong voice cried in the night.
The Master whipped his head about. “You!”
Boris the Sulimov stood atop a shipping crate.
“You should be dead,” the Master muttered.
“Antony and Arnold gave me my life,” Boris said. “And those you sent to finish me off were…less than successful.”
“What are you doing here now?” the Master demanded. “Only a fool would not seek to run beyond my reach. Have you come to watch your tormentors die, or to die with them?”
“Antony was never my tormentor; he was just being who he is to everyone.” Boris replied. “And Levi? Every dog knows his only enemy is evil itself.”
“Then why have you come?” the Master repeated.
“To see the defeat of evil, the end of the Master,” Boris answered. “I thought you were almost godlike, that you could give me something I never had before – a world in which I belonged.”
“Then you are indeed a fool,” the Master sneered. “If most dogs are unfit for the world I am building, then how unworthy you are, a jape of nature, a blasphemy against the purity of the species, a union that should never have…”
Levi launched himself at the master, thinking, with satisfaction: Ha! Caught you monologuing!
The Master attempted to evade Levi’s lunge. He might have been partially successful had not his evasive action opened him for an attack by Antony. The Master howled in agony as Levi chomped on the side of his head and Antony gashed his belly.
K-9 Blues Page 20