Laughing, Gwendolyn shook off a half dozen of the brutes and remounted. She gave me a mischievous sidelong glance.
“And here I thought you wanted an adventurous life.”
“And so I do, Gwendolyn. A life full of drama and romance and high adventure. Reasonable adventures. Rescuing fair maidens from ogres. Slaying dragons in their lairs. Storming the gates of hell. Not—I repeat, not—suicidal acts involving puppies the size of timber wolves.” A horrible thought came to me. “Do the adult dogs roam loose?”
“All over the place. The General doesn’t believe in kennels.” She was giggling now. “The look on your face—it’s priceless! But you can relax. The grown-up dogs are very dignified. Very aloof with people, until they get to know you. Especially Fangwulf.”
“Who—or should I say, what—is Fangwulf?”
“He’s the General’s head dog. The leader of the pack.” Again, that mischievous sidelong glance. A great foreboding filled my heart. Immediately confirmed.
“I’ll have to make sure the General introduces you to Fangwulf,” she said.
* * *
Some time later, a great mansion loomed on the horizon. A lane led to it from the main road, shaded by trees on either side. I had expected to turn down that way, but Gwendolyn continued along the main road. In response to my quizzical eyebrow, she explained: “The General won’t be there. He’s always at his shack, except for a few evenings when Madame Kutumoff forces him to attend one of her soirees.”
A mile or so further on, we turned down a trail leading off from the left of the road. Then, through a small wood, and into a clearing. At the far edge of the clearing, nestled under the overhanging boughs of a huge sycamore, rested a hut. It was easily the most ramshackle structure I had yet seen in the Mutt.
I pointed to it, chuckling. “Now that’s more what I thought housing for the downtrodden serfs should look like.”
“Ostentatious, isn’t it? It’s the General’s shack. I think he overdoes the thing, myself. But he’s quite proud of the tradition.”
I forbore comment. Odd place, the Mutt, I believe I’ve mentioned before. As we drew near, I noticed some mounds scattered about in the clearing near the hut, looking for all the world like little haystacks. As we came nearer, they began to move. The truth dawned upon me.
“They’re the size of buffalos,” I whispered shakily.
“Nonsense! Any decent buffalo will weigh in at around a ton. The dogs don’t average but three, maybe four hundred pounds.”
“Dogs are not supposed to be that big,” I hissed.
“Why are you whispering?” boomed Gwendolyn. The sound of her powerful voice brought the monsters to their feet. But I was relieved to see that they made no move in our direction. They simply stood there, watching us impassively.
As Gwendolyn drew up before the hut, a man emerged. Rather short, perhaps a bit on the heavy side. Altogether, completely unremarkable in his appearance. A battered campaign hat was perched on his head. He leaned on a cane held in his left hand. In its right he held a short, very pungent cigar.
“Hello, General,” said Gwendolyn.
“Gwendolyn,” responded the General, nodding his head. Gwendolyn began to introduce me, but before she got two words out of her mouth a pack of raggedy children came boiling out of the hut.
“Gwendolyn! Gwendolyn! Gwendolyn! Gwendolyn!” they shrieked, capering about. A moment later Gwendolyn was off her horse and repeating—more gently—her earlier antics with the puppies. I was forced to the painful conclusion that the love of my life had no sense of aristocratic reserve whatsoever.
Eventually, she extracted herself from the squealing pack.
“General Kutumoff, meet Benvenuti Sfondrati-Piccolomini.”
A look of interest came into his face. “So this is the young man I’ve been expecting.”
I was taken completely by surprise. So, judging from her expression, was Gwendolyn.
“How did—I didn’t say anything about Benvenuti in my note.”
The General looked at her. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting him to come with you, Gwendolyn. But I received a letter from his uncles a month ago saying he was coming to Grotum. Ludovigo and Rodrigo said the boy was bound to get into some kind of trouble, which means he’d wind up here sooner or later. And since he’s here with you, I’d say he’s in serious trouble.”