Big Honey Dog Mysteries HOLIDAY COLLECTION

by H. Y. Hanna

  THE END

  TREASURE FROM THE PAST

  ONE

  “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?

  TWO

  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.”

  THREE

  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 Mi
ssus, 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.”