The Curse of the Eberbachs

Dorian Red, the Earl of Gloria, was very content with his day. Not only was he presented with a marvellous sunset on reaching North Downs, not only had Bonham and James stopped bickering about the expenses of today's shopping spree, he had indeed found out the whereabouts of Patrick Retty, a piece of information he would sell to the inaccessible German Tank as dearly as possible tomorrow ... He had hoped to meet the forbidding beauty today, however, obtaining the precious information had taken longer than he had expected, and the pretty bird had flown for the day. So to go Klaus-hunting would have to wait until the next day. But this was only a momentary setback, as most probably tomorrow a kiss would be his for sure. Or perhaps ... a little more? Oh, it would be rewarding to make his outrageous offer, to see the indignant anger blaze in those emerald eyes ... He sighed happily.

Bonham turned into the driveway, and after another five-minute drive they reached the entrance to the main wing of Castle Gloria.

On the doorstep to the entrance sat a dog. A Doberman, to be exact, with the typical mixture of dark and reddish brown colours. Pointed ears erect, it sat upright, looking at the approaching car, but did not move.

As if it was expecting us, Dorian thought. He liked the large dog at first sight. A strong, muscular animal. He didn't know much about Dobermans, but he was fairly sure the animal would win a few prizes at every exhibition. It must have come a long way, though. Its fur was covered in mud, and it was bleeding from a gash in its flank.

"Looka that fellow!" Bonham exclaimed, killing the engine. "Must've lost its way!"

"We should see if we get a reward when we bring it back," James said from the back seat. "After all it is sitting on our doorstep. Only might be a bit difficult to find out to whom it belongs. It isn't wearing a collar."

"Well, then we'd better look after the poor thing." The Earl opened the car door.

"Better be careful, Guv'!" Bonham warned. "Fella doesn't look rabid, but it might have had a hard time anyway."

The Earl however had already left the car and was approaching the dog. It remained where it was sitting, looking at him approach, not coming up to him, wagging its tail, as friendly, playful dogs might do, even with strangers; nor did it growl, put its ears back, or show its teeth. Bonham was right. The dog generally was in a good shape, with the muscular body of a fully grown specimen of its breed, but it really seemed to have fallen on hard times lately. Apart from the bleeding gash in its right flank, there also was a wound on its left shoulder, nothing deep, probably from some barbed wire. It had stopped bleeding already.

"Now, what a beautiful dog you are. Have you lost your master? You must have had a hard day, boy. Are you hungry? We'll find a fine steak for you, hm?"

He put out his hand slowly for the dog to sniff, which it did, carefully, then it pushed its nose against the back of Dorian's hand. Slowly and rather stiffly, it rose to its feet.

"Jonesy!" he called. "Jonesy, we're back! And we've got ourselves a visitor. Jim, Bob, Rudy!"

Instantly, a few of the good-looking young men who always flocked around the Earl filled the hall, ahing and ohing over the handsome dog.

"Now, where did he come from? Where did you get him, Lord Gloria? Isn't he beautiful? Is he a present from someone?" – "No, stupid, the poor thing is hurt, don't you see?"

Though it had followed the Earl into the entrance hall without hesitation, hearing all the fuss, the dog now growled and bared its impressive set of teeth. It did not back down, though.

"Shush!" Dorian admonished his men. "Look at him! He must be tired and hungry, he needs cleaning up, food, and a rest. Stop milling around! You, Rudy, find something to eat, a steak, probably; Jonesy, there is a dear, would you bring the first-aid kit to my room? Bonham, we need some dog food and some bowls, probably some toys for him to chew on, and an large basket. Oh, and probably your grandma's good salve!"

"Milord! This sounds as if you want to keep it!" James came forward, putting his hands to his hips.

"I suggest we give it back to its owner. Someone keeping a dog like this one must be well-to-do. Such a big dog is expensive! There must be a good reward!"

The Earl's beautiful azure eyes rested on his pretty accountant in gentle indulgence.

"Very well, Jamesie. So why don't you try then and find out who in the vicinity might be missing a male Doberman? Don't limit your search to the near vicinity, though. He might have come a long way."

The Earl started for his room. Before he could say anything – and to the amazement of his men – the dog got up and followed him. It limped a little.

At the foot of the stairs, Dorian turned around, taking in his men and the Doberman with a sweeping glance.

"We will give him back, Jamesie, " he said. "But only if the person claiming him actually is his rightful owner. And by that I do not mean that he probably paid a lot of money for the dog. The poor thing might have had a reason to run away. Perhaps the owner died, and his heirs treat him badly."

"It might take some time to find his rightful owner," Dorian continued, unperturbed. "Until then, I'll try to make him feel at home as much as I can." He looked at his men.

"Yes, Milord!" they chorused. Everyone of them knew the Earl well enough to think this was just like him: Caring for a stray dog as if it was his own.

"Now," the Earl said, walking up the corridor to his suite, the dog at his side, "we'll be in my room soon, and then you'll have some food and a nice rest. And we'll have to look at that nasty gash in your flank. That wound on your shoulder seems more like a scratch, but the other thing is a bite. Would it be better to see a vet? You are a brave boy. I don't want to know how your opponent must be looking. How strong you are. A chest like a tank."

They had reached the Earl's suite. Dorian opened the door to the large living room and let them both in.

"You know, you remind me of someone, a human. Hm. Strange I should think this – ah, there's Rudy with the steak and Jonesy with the first-aid kit. Thank you both, boys!"

The two men looked a bit sceptical at the dog, but it appeared only to be tired. And hungry, for it almost tore the large steak from Rudy's hand, threw it onto the carpet, sniffed and licked it, before it began to work on the meat, finishing off quickly.

Dorian meanwhile had filled the bowl Jones had brought as well with water from the tap in the bathroom.

"Do you need anything else, Milord?" Jones asked, eyeing the big dog warily, "otherwise Rudy and I could finish the sketches for –"

"If you ask me, I don't like this breed," the Major heard Jones say. "Another dog will show when it's angry, but not a Doberman. You never know what's up with them."

The Major was satisfied. At least the Earl's minions would show respect. The Fop himself, however ...

"Oh, you've finished the steak already," Dorian said, closing the door behind his men. "You must really be a poor, hungry –"

The Major had never seen the effeminate, elegant blond so taken aback, so utterly bewildered and at a loss, not even on the occasions when he had held him at gunpoint. It gave him a grim satisfaction.

The Earl was so surprised, he almost stepped into the water bowl, made a half-turn, stumbled and sat down on his butt.

"I must be mad," he said in a small voice, shaking his head. "Now I'm hallucinating. Have to stop being so obsessed about that German, I'm even hearing his voice –"

"Alright, whoever is doing this nonsense, imitating the Major's voice and involving a poor animal in his stupid prank, can stop now!" he announced to the empty room. "This is not funny, and I'm not falling for it!"

Oh, damn, he doesn't believe it! Well, how should he? Could hardly believe it myself this morning, and if it was the other way round, I wouldn't believe it either. Blöder Mist * have to convince him somehow that it's really me, but how? Can't shoot a Magnum one-handed ... bit difficult with paws ... The Glare doesn't work on him, never did. Verdammt *!

"Du Knallkopf * what do you think how I feel about it?! Waking up this morning was no fun, I tell you! Don't ask me what has happened, because I don't know! And don't ask me how I feel about it! Beschissen * !"

The blond stared at him, not very intelligently at the moment, but given the circumstances, the Major could not hold it against him.

"Ah, finally we're getting our little grey cells in motion!" the Major snapped, more from exasperation than anything else. "Well, who do you think I am, you idiot British fop? Rin Tin Tin, or what?!"

The Earl knelt next to him and sat back on his heels. The Major's dog instincts felt that the human was still bewildered, but he also sensed understanding, an acceptance that something unbelievable had happened to someone the human – held very dear. And that someone was he, the Major himself. He sensed that his idea to seek out the Goddamned Fop had been right. Dorian's feelings of worry, shock and compassion were genuine. If someone would provide shelter for him until he found out what had happened and would be able to regain his human form; if someone would even do anything in his power to help him, this would be the Earl of Gloria.

The Major was not too happy when Dorian enclosed him in his arms and whispered sweet nonsense in the vein of "My poor Darling, we'll see to it that everything will be alright again," in one of his pointed ears, but he could not very well bite the human, who provided his only hope at the moment, could he?

Besides, Dorian smelled good. Behind that nasty rose-stench, he really smelled good.