Page 18 of Black Dog

“Somewhere. No’ close, but no’ far,” Song said.

“Well, that’s helpful.” Helm’s sarcasm was both biting and belligerent.

“Helm,” Ram cautioned. “Song is no’ to blame.”

“Sorry,” Helm said and sounded as if he might really have wanted to take back the criticism. He looked down at the floor. Helm had never liked being reprimanded by his father. He liked Ram’s approval.

Turning back to his sister, Ram said, “What does that mean?”

“I’m so sorry, Ram. We think he’s in a vehicle, maybe drugged. ‘Tis no’ much, I know.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Blackie was disoriented, drowsy and not able to get his eyes all the way open. He was aware that he was in a moving vehicle and that there was something fitted around his head and snout. He’d never had on a muzzle before. Not even in the crate days in the basement of Black Swan when he was little more than a pup. He wanted to lift his head, but couldn’t quite manage it. Before he became too agitated about the circumstance, sleep claimed him again.

When next he felt awareness creeping into his consciousness, he heard voices close by.

“You’re no’ expectin’ much for this, are ye? This dog is far past his fightin’ days. He’ll do well to last a minute in the pit.”

“Sorry, boss. He matches the profile. And seems healthy.”

“Aye. Well. We can use him to fire up one of the promisin’ youngsters.”

Blackie struggled to open his eyes as he listened to retreating footsteps. It was quiet except for water dripping somewhere.

He was lying on his side on a cold, hard floor. It took some time to get his eyes fully open, longer before he could raise his head. He’d been left in a space that was about twelve by twelve feet, three solid walls and an opening in the center of the fourth made of two wood gates, one on top and one on bottom.

He pawed at the muzzle, not liking the restriction, or the way it smelled. He hated the muzzle, the people who’d put it on him, and the fact that his collar had been removed. Blackie didn’t like the feel of being without his collar. Elora had given it to him right after she’d rescued him and he’d never been without it. It was as much a part of him as a leg or a tail.

Hearing a clank and voices, he stilled to listen, cocking the ear nearest the noise in that direction. The sounds were mixed with the whining of another dog, which wasn’t a surprise. He could smell that other dogs were nearby. And that horses had been there at one time.

After a few hours a small peep door opened in the upper part of the wood gate. A hose was shoved through and water was added to the standing water in the trough. That was followed by a bag thrown on to the floor. The thin outer layer of the bag was made of intestine, the same membrane used for sausage, but inside was a serving of kibble.

Blackie didn’t want to accept the food, but he hadn’t eaten since the night before. He normally went out in the mornings to eliminate and had breakfast immediately after, but that morning’s routine had been interrupted. Using his teeth he pulled at the bag then licked before biting down.

He ate and drank, even though the water didn’t smell like home then paced around the cell a few times before lying down. After all, there was nothing else to do. Occasionally he woke to the whining of other dogs.

No one was happy.

Duff said, “Now that we can get in the kitchen, maybe I can whip up a snack.”

“I’ll help,” Song said.

“No,” he told Song firmly, having tried her cooking a time or two. “You visit with your kin. I’ll be the downstairs help.”

He seemed pleased at the prospect of feeding people, but he wasn’t prepared for everybody to follow him into the kitchen.

Duff found what he needed to make banger and soda bread sandwiches with cheese and secretly thought that, if he hadn’t been born royal, he might’ve liked owning a little pub with a reputation for great food and friendly service. He found a can of chicken broth in the pantry and warmed it up for Litha. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said as he set the mug in front of her.

Blackie was aware of the shift in energy. A big crowd of humans had gathered nearby. The collective smell and collective noise told him all he needed to know. They were excited, but his instinct told him they weren’t excited for a good reason. The stench of whatever emotion that was made him anxious and restless. He needed to find a way out. Out of the room. Out of the muzzle.

A visual flash of the farm crossed his mind. It was his view of the property from his favorite spot on the hill. How he longed to be there. Or sleeping at the foot of Elora’s bed. Or sleeping on Helm’s bed when Elora was unconscious and wouldn’t make him get down.

He didn’t know how he was going to get home, but he knew he’d be there again. Somehow.

Ram realized he hadn’t seen Elora for a while. He sneaked away, up the stairs, and found her sitting on the side of their bed in the dark. Easing down beside her, he said nothing, but simply put his arm around her. She leaned over, melting into him.

“Hey,” he said.

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