Excerpt from Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade
Copyright © 2007 Diana Gabaldon, Lord John and the Brotherhood
of the Blade. All rights reserved.
All photos by Jennifer Watkins, 2007.
John eyed the level of brandy in the decanter, thinking that as things looked, they were likely to need it before the evening was out. Von Namtzen outwardly was still a large, bluntly handsome man; the injury had not diminished him, though his face was thinner and more lined. But Grey was aware that something had changed; von Namtzen's usual sense of imperturbable calm, his fastidiousness and formality had gone, leaving a rumpled stranger whose inner agitation showed clearly, a man cordial and snappish by turns.
"Don't fuss," von Namtzen said curtly to his butler, who had come in and was endeavoring to brush dirt from his clothes. "Go away, and take the dogs."
Wilhelm gave Grey a long-suffering look that said, You see?, then clicked his tongue, urging the dogs away to the kitchen again. One remained behind, though, sprawled indolently on the hearth-rug. Wilhelm tried to make it follow him as well, but von Namtzen waved him away.
"Gustav can stay."
Wilhelm rolled his eyes, and muttering something uncomplimentary in which the name "Gustav" featured, went out with the other dogs wagging at his heels.
Hearing his name,
the dog lifted his head and yawned, exhibiting a delicately 
muscular
long pink tongue. The hound--Grey thought it was a hound, from the ears and muzzle--rolled
to its feet and trotted over to von Namtzen, tail gently wagging.
"What on earth is that?" Grey laughed, charmed, and the strained atmosphere eased a little.
It was not, Grey supposed, more ridiculous than Doctor Rigby's pug--and at least this dog was not wearing a suit. It was impossible to regard the creature without smiling, though.
It was a hound
of some sort, 
black
and\ disproportionately long-bodied, with legs so stumpy that they appeared to
have been amputated. With large, liquid eyes and a sturdy long tail in constant
motion, it resembled nothing so much as an exceedingly amiable sausage.
"Where did you get him?" Grey asked, leaning down and offering his knuckles to the dog, who sniffed him with interest, the tail wagging faster.
"He is of my own breeding--the best I have obtained so far." Von Namtzen spoke with obvious pride, and Grey forbore to pass any remark regarding what the rest of the Graf's attempts must look like.
"He is...amazing robust, is he not?"
Von Namtzen beamed at his appreciation, irritability forgotten, and scooped the dog up awkwardly in one arm, displaying the dog's expanse of hairless belly and a tremendous chest, deep-keeled and muscular.
"He
is bred to dig, you see." Von Namtzen took one of the stubby front paws,
broad and thick-nailed, and waggled it in illustration.
"I do see. To dig what? Worms?"
Von Namtzen and Gustav regarded each other fondly, ignoring this. Then the dog began to squirm, and von Namtzen set him gently on the floor.
"He is marvelous," the Graf said. "Completely fearless and extremely fierce in battle. But very gentle, as you see."
"Battle?" Grey bent to peer more closely at the dog, which promptly turned to him, and still wagging, gave a sudden massive heave which ended with the stumpy paws perched on his knees, the long muzzle sniffing interestedly at his face. He laughed and stroked the dog, only now noticing the healed scars that ran over the massive shoulders.
"What on earth has he been fighting? Cocks?"
"Dachsen," von Namtzen said, with immense satisfaction.
"Badgers. He is bred most particularly to hunt badgers."
Gustav had tired
of perching on his hind legs; he collapsed onto the floor and rolled onto his
back, 
presenting
a vast pink belly to be scratched, still wagging his tail. Grey obliged, raising
a brow; the hound seemed so amiable as to appear almost feeble-minded.
"Badgers, you say. Has he ever killed one?"
"More than a dozen. I will show you the skins tomorrow."
"Really?" Grey was impressed. He had met a few badgers, and knew of nothing--including human beings--willing to engage with one; the badger's reputation for ferocity was extremely well-founded.
"Really." Von Namtzen poured a fresh glass, paused for no more than an instant to sniff the vapor of the brandy, then tossed it back in a manner unfitting the quality of the drink. He swallowed, coughed, and was obliged to set down the glass in order to thump himself on the chest. "He is bred to go to ground," he wheezed, eyes watering as he nodded at the dog. "He will go straight into a badger sett, and do battle with them there, in their own house."
"Must be the devil of a shock to the badgers."
That made Stephan laugh. For an instant, the tension left his face, and for the first time since his arrival, Grey caught a real glimpse of the friend he had known.