Dogtective William and the pirates. Elizabeth Wasserman

in my room, William was waiting for me.

      “Did it work?”

      “What do you mean? Did what work?” I didn’t understand what he was talking about.

      “Oh, I was just wondering why you look so happy.”

      I told him the news, flustered with excitement. But suddenly it hit me: William would not share my joy. He would have to stay at home, with only my dad for company. And my dad would be so busy with his new job that I could only hope that he would remember to feed my dog.

      But William was unperturbed. In fact, he seemed to be quite happy.

      “Well, we have to start preparing for this trip right away!” he said, wagging his tail.

      “We?” I asked. “What do you mean we?”

      “Yes, we. The two of us. I can’t let you go all on your own. I have to watch over you. That’s my job, as your dog.”

      “No, William!” I protested. “Pets are not allowed on these cruise ships. And we don’t need protection, thanks. It will be perfectly safe.”

      “Not at all!” he cautioned, waving his new book around. It was the book on the history of the pirates, which had just arrived by mail that morning. “Pirates are active again in the Indian Ocean,” he lectured. “Only a few months ago a cruise ship, similar to the one you and your mother are going on, was captured very close to the Seychelles. And just after that, an oil tanker as well. The pirates operate from the Somali coast. They are a dangerous bunch. I’m not letting you go on your own!”

      I tried to protest, but I should have known that it was useless to argue with William. He is a very stubborn dog, and he usually gets his way.

      He soon got the better of me.

      “But William, even if I do take you along,” – his stories about the activities of the pirates had grown increasingly gruesome, and I started to wonder if it would not be better to have him at my side – “how are we going to manage it? Even if we dress you in a loud Hawaiian shirt, you can’t simply saunter on board. It won’t work. They’ll throw you overboard, just like that. Did I mention that dogs are not allowed?”

      “It wouldn’t be the first time that I stow away in your luggage,” he said. “Just carry me aboard, and I shall see to the rest.”

      I did not doubt him. As I have mentioned before: William is no ordinary dog.

      The Departure

      The Thursday before we embarked, two parcels arrived at our house.

      One of the parcels was addressed to William. Fortunately, I opened the door for the courier myself; otherwise my parents might have wondered why my dog should be receiving a parcel.

      “What’s in it, William?” I enquired.

      “Curiosity killed the cat,” he snubbed me.

      “Listen, puppy,” I pointed a threatening finger at him. “I am putting my head on the block for you, concealing you in my luggage and sneaking you on board a cruise liner. The least you can do is answer my questions!”

      “Sound a bit like your dad, don’t you?” William growled.

      “Oh, go chase a cat,” I snapped.

      William carefully stowed the parcel in his backpack, next to his teddy. He never goes anywhere without that teddy.

      The other parcel was for me. Beneath the brown paper wrapping I uncovered another layer of colourful gift wrap, and a card that read: “Happy Birthday!”

      The signature on the card belonged to superintendent Tom Spears, head of the British division of the IDA. I’d met him in London, where William and I helped him to round up Brumbum and his malodorous henchman, Scurvy Scabscratch.

      “But it is not even close to my birthday.” I tore the wrapping paper open and found some of the best presents ever: lightweight binoculars plus a set of two-way radios that looked serious and very expensive, not anything like toys.

      “Handy gadgets for our voyage,” William remarked. He inspected one of the radios. “Let’s go and test it!”

      I grabbed my bicycle and rode all the way down to the other end of our suburb, but I could still hear William loud and clear, as if he was standing right next to me. The radios could be tuned to different frequencies, and we eavesdropped on the conversations of the security guards of a nearby mall, but they had nothing of interest to say to each other.

      We had such fun, I almost forgot to go and finish our packing. I sorted out a comfortable space for William in a canvas bag with a long strap that I could comfortably carry over my shoulder. The bag had a panel made of netting next to the top zipper which gave William enough fresh air to breath and also a bit of a view.

      I had a suitcase also, and in that I packed my clothes: a few shirts, bathing trunks and things like that. On top of all that, I crammed William’s little backpack.

      “Careful with that!” he said.

      “Stop bossing me about, or I’ll leave you at home.”

      The evening before we set off, we all went to bed early. My mother, especially, was very excited.

      Something woke me in the middle of the night. I noticed that William’s basket was empty. Where could he be? I sneaked downstairs to look for him. Sometimes he gets hungry at night. The mere thought of a midnight snack made my stomach growl. Cookies, with milk!

      But the kitchen was empty. I heard a voice coming from my dad’s study. It was William, talking on the phone.

      I pressed my ear tightly to the door to follow his whispered conversation. I could only catch something about an operation that was on track.

      What operation? Was someone ill?

      Before I could start to worry I heard him hang up. I quickly scrambled back to the kitchen. I had no wish to be caught spying on him.

      He found me at the fridge, digging into a bowl of chocolate mousse.

      He wagged his tail. William loves chocolate mousse.

      Not saying a word about his midnight telephone conversation, the two of us polished it all off.

      Very early the next morning, while fog was still rolling in from the sea, Dad took us to the harbour. Mom was wearing a new dress. The strap of my carry bag cut into my shoulder and I made a mental note to put my dog on a diet as soon as possible.

      The Sonata exceeded all of my expectations. It looked like a luxurious floating hotel. Sailors dressed in white were scampering everywhere and brightly dressed tourists were waving from the decks.

      A young lady in uniform met us on the quay. She inspected our tickets and our passports and ticked our names on a list on her clipboard. Someone stacked our luggage on a trolley.

      Dad was in a hurry to get back to his office. He briefly hugged us, gave my mother a lopsided kiss and hurried off. We waved him a final goodbye and stepped up the gangway. Our adventure had begun.

      All Aboard!

      It was awesome. Everything aboard the Sonata was so shiny and beautiful. I marvelled at the polished decks, the ferns in silver planters and white canvas deckchairs stacked in neat rows.

      A waiter carrying a silver tray of drinks pounced on us. “Welcome aboard, Mrs Simpson and . . . But where is Mr Simpson?” he asked. His phoney smile sagged when he cast his beady eyes on me. He did not seem to be fond of kids.

      “Mr Simpson couldn’t join us, unfortunately,” my mom explained. “This is my son, Alex.”