Dogtective William and the Diamond Smugglers. Elizabeth Wasserman

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      Dogtective William and the Diamond Smugglers

      Elizabeth Wasserman

      Illustrations by Chris Venter

      Tafelberg

      For Max

      (1998–2011)

      A National Hero

      “Look at this!” William exclaimed. “Have you seen this guy? He may be strong, but he’s certainly not clever.”

      I peeped over his shoulder. He was reading an article in a magazine about diamond mining in Namibia. There was a photo of a German Shepherd in a bulletproof jacket with the badge of the Namibian police force.

      “He doesn’t look stupid to me,” I said. “German Shepherds are supposed to be one of the cleverest breeds around.”

      “Humph! Don’t confuse brains with brawn, Alex!”

      “Oh yes?”

      “Take this as an example. If you throw me a stick, what would I do?”

      “I wouldn’t even try that.”

      “Of course. What’s the sense in playing fetch? I wouldn’t waste my time with such a silly game.”

      “I see your point, William. You are clever, but not obedient. I learnt that the hard way, a long time ago.”

      “I can be obedient if you make it worthwhile.”

      “A biscuit, perhaps?”

      His ears pricked and his tail wagged. I laughed.

      “Conditioning,” he growled. “There are some things no dog can resist. That’s a scientific fact.”

      I got a tin of biscuits from the kitchen. It seemed that I was the one who was best trained to fetch.

      “So what’s the story with this dog?” I asked, biting into one of Mom’s delicious peanut butter crunchies. William was also chewing away, and it took a while before he was able to answer.

      “Read it yourself,” he muttered, splattering crumbs over the page.

      I picked it up and read:

      MINISTER CONGRATULATES ONE OF NAMIBIA’S NATIONAL HEROES

      Last night at the annual Police Academy awards, Minister Fitzwizard decorated Maximilian, the most famous member of Namibia’s dog squad, with a medal for valiant service and bravery.

      Maximilian, better known as Max, recently saved the life of his handler during a raid on a gang of diamond smugglers. An armed villain, hiding behind a barrel, took aim at Sergeant Butterwax but Max sank his teeth into his backside just as he was about to pull the trigger. The bullet missed the sergeant’s heart but struck his left shoulder. According to a police spokesman, he is making good progress in hospital. Meanwhile, Constable Mongoose has been assigned as Max’s temporary handler.

      William snorted and turned the page to drool over an advert for dog food.

      “Now this is a picture I can appreciate!”

      I looked at the photo: a Maltese Poodle with the hair on the top of her head tied up in a little ponytail. She was so happy and healthy, the advert claimed, because of this particular brand of dog food.

      William always had an eye for the ladies.

      “Shame on you, William! Haven’t you got a girlfriend?”

      His spaniel eyes drooped sadly, and I knew that he missed Boris. It was some time since he had last seen her. I wished that I could think of something to distract him, but I hadn’t even told him the bad news yet.

      It would not help to postpone.

      “William . . .” I started. He immediately caught the tone of my voice and glanced at me with suspicion. “Mr Paterson made an important announcement at assembly today. This holiday all the children in our grade will go rowing on the Orange River.”

      “Really?” William paged on, pretending not to pay attention to what I was saying.

      “It will be quite exciting, I guess. There will be two of us in each canoe. At night we will camp on the banks of the river and sleep under the stars.”

      Now he was eyeing an article on how to find a new job if your boss was giving you trouble. That wasn’t the kind of thing that would normally interest him . . . was he thinking of replacing me?

      “We won’t be gone for long, you know. We’ll be back a week before school starts again – enough time to still do most of the things we planned to do over the holidays.”

      We had talked about building a tree house. There was a huge plane tree in our back yard which was just perfect. William liked the idea a lot – he talked about using it as a base from which to communicate with all his friends in the International Detective Agency and, of course, with Boris, who now lived with Chief Superintendent Spears in London. He had already asked the IDA to supply him with his own computer and an Internet connection. I wouldn’t mind if he stopped using mine all the time. He often slobbered on the keyboard.

      “It’s not my fault, you know,” I said. “This trip is compulsory for all of us. Unless I have a doctor’s certificate . . .” William pricked his ears for a moment, but then appeared to lose interest again as he read on.

      “Don’t worry, Alex,” he mumbled. “Perhaps it’ll do you good to get out a bit. You’ve been looking a bit pale and scrawny lately.”

      I left him alone to sulk and returned to the kitchen to raid the fridge.

      Getting Ready For Our Trip

      The parents took over. A meeting was held in the school hall and letters were distributed listing all the things that had to be packed. There were so many preparations that we might have been planning a trip to the moon.

      During break, some of the boys were bragging about their rowing skills.

      “Once I had to cross a river full of hungry crocodiles!” Berty boasted.

      “And where was this?” Carla asked.

      “On my uncle’s farm, up north. One of the biggest ones got so close I poked him with my oar, right between the eyes.”

      Carla looked impressed. “But surely there are no crocodiles in the Orange River?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

      “You never know. But don’t worry; I’ll stay close to you. I know how to handle crocs.”

      I’ve never liked Berty.

      My other concern was not to be stuck in a canoe with James. James was my best friend, but he wasn’t the strongest or fittest guy around and it sounded like rowing could be tough.

      “Alex, can I go in a canoe with you?” Carla fluttered her eyelids at me, nearly knocking my socks off. I felt the blood rise to the back of my neck and mumbled something stupid. Everybody laughed.

      This may be it, I thought. The prettiest girl in the class finally noticed me! Evenings under the stars . . . I remembered the brilliant night skies of far-away Tromelin Island. Would the stars be just as clear over the Orange River?

      “The area around the Orange River is one of the most important agricultural