Winfred

8

Schubert

  Well, I was quite tired of the torture. Tired is not a good word. How about exhausted… no. It was worse than that. I was in such intense pain that I blacked out several times. I decided that I should tell him something, in order to preserve my life. However, I was not going to tell him the truth. Why would I? Instead, I lied. I told him false positions, false code, false names, false plans, false everything. Of course, being caught in my lies would lead to almost certain death at von Steubon’s hands, but for the moment, I only wanted to escape the torture.

Returned to my room, after agreeing to give him the information he wanted (false, of course), I was given one threadbare blanket. You cannot know how grateful I was to receive that blanket. It was almost as valuable as life itself at the time. I covered myself with it, and lay down on my plank bed. Soon, the hallway was deserted, and through the bars that had been erected over what used to be my door, I could see only darkness. Suddenly, I heard the clack, clack of what sounded like animal feet on the pavement.

I immediately froze, thinking that it must be a rat or some other such vulgar creature. I was surprised beyond belief when I heard a whimper outside my door. I crawled over to the bars, blanket wrapped around me, and was greeted by the wagging tail and wet nose of von Steubon’s dog.

Schubert, named after some German musician or other, is quite the dog. He’s not even a foot tall, and probably only weighs about seven or eight pounds. He’s only about the friendliest dog you’ve ever met, which, considering who his master is, is quite the feat.

He’s certainly a long dog, which is why we call them sausage dogs back here, in Britain. Anyhow, I crawled up to the bars and reached my hand through. Schubert licked my hand, and before I knew it, the little dog had squeezed through the bars and into my room with me. He hopped up onto my low plank bed and lay down beside me, tucked under the blanket. He gave a tiny little doggy yawn and fell contentedly asleep.

The last thing I remember thinking before falling asleep, was that if von Steubon found out where his loyal little sausage doggy had spent the night, I’d be in a jolly good bit of trouble. 

***

image: von Steubon's dog, Schubert, a dachshund (or sausage dog)

Chapter dedication: to kittencatten for being the story's first reader! Thank you!