Читать книгу The Case of the Shipwrecked Tree - John R. Erickson - Страница 7

Chapter Two: Murphy the Spy

I fought sleep as long as I could, but there are two powerful forces in this world that a dog can’t resist. The first is sleep, and I don’t remember the second one.

So, yes, my struggle against the forces of sleep was doomed to fail, and after minutes and minutes of fighting to stay awake, I must have slipped the surly bonds of Life and sailed out into the misty harbor of delicious sleep.

It was wonderful! All the weeks and weeks of sleepless nights, all the cares and worries of running the Security Division, all the frayed nerves and knotted muscles melted away like . . . something. Mothballs in a pouring rain, I suppose, or maybe snowballs in a pouring rain.

Sugar cubes in a cup of hot tea.

Graham crackers in a glass of milk.

They all melted away, is the point, and there for a few moments, I felt myself . . . Suddenly a voice cut through the silence.

“Hi Hank, I’m back.”

I jacked myself up to a sitting position and began the backbreaking process of cranking open my eyelids. There stood Drover—grinning, happy, and dumb. And wigwagging his stub tail. “Were­wolfs wear rumple buckets—you just left. How could you be back so snooze?”

“Well, I made friends with the turkeys and got ’em to tell me everything.”

“Talkies? What are you turking about?”

“Turkeys, wild turkeys. See, you sent me on an important mission to incinerate the turkeys, and I did and now I’m back.”

“Yes, of course. Be still a minute and let me think. And stop wagging your tail. It hurts my ears.” I walked several steps away and filled my lungs with carbon diego. My private moments were over. I had been pulled back into the world of worry, care, and responsibility. I walked back toward the little runt. “All right, Drover, I’m ready to hear your report.”

“Gosh, did you fall asleep again?”

“No, I did not. I was merely . . . give me your report on the turkey spies. Did you find Murphy?”

He sat down and started scratching his ear. “Oh yeah, I spotted him right away. He was the one who looked just like a turkey.”

“So we were right, weren’t we? He came onto the ranch in that turkey costume and thought we’d never notice. Ha! What a foolish spy. Why are you scratching your ear?”

“Oh, because it itches . . . I guess. And it feels better when I scratch it.”

“I would be grateful if you’d scratch on your own time. Scratching in public is rude and uncouth.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Go on with your report. Did you hear any of their plans? What is Murphy up to? Surely he came here on some kind of devilish mission.”

“Oh yeah, I heard ’em talking, and I think Murphy came here on some kind of . . .” He paused for a moment. “. . . devilish mission.”

Those words sent a shock all the way out to the end of my tail, but I tried to conceal it. “I’m not surprised, Drover. That’s exactly what I had feared and expected. Okay.” I began pacing back and forth in front of him. “Let’s get down to pacifics. Tell me everything you know.”

“Well, let’s see. It’s a big ocean and it’s over by California.”

“Ocean, California. Got it. Go on.”

“It’s full of salt and seaweed and . . . and jellyfish.”

“Jellyfish, huh? This is getting interesting. Jelly­fish have poison stingers, you know. Is it possible that Murphy has developed some kind of new high-tech weapon that fires jellyfish instead of bullets? They’re very slippery, you know.”

“Yeah, they’re made of jelly.”

“The spies, Drover. Spies are very slippery characters.”

“Boy, I love jelly.”

“Exactly. Well, this is pretty scary, Drover. You actually heard the turkeys discussing this new jellyfish technology?”

“Well . . . I’m not sure about that.”

I stopped pacing and studied the runt. “Did you or not? If you didn’t, why are we discussing jellyfish?”

He rolled his eyes around. “Well, I was kind of wondering that myself. You wanted me to talk about the ocean and . . . well, I couldn’t think of anything to say, but I figured jellyfish live in the ocean. I guess.”

“Drover, is this some kind of pathetic attempt at humor? If it is, I must warn you that the punishment for making jokes during a briefing is very severe.”

“Maybe I heard you wrong.”

I began pacing again. “In that case, we’ll disregard all references to the bogus jellyfish technology and plunge on with your report. What I’m looking for, Drover, is specific information. Details.”

“I got de-tailed when I was a pup, and I’ve had a stub ever since.”

“I’m not interested in your stub tail.”

“Neither am I, but I have to wear it every day.”

“Drover, does your stub tail relate to this particular Turkey Report? If not, then let’s move along.”

“Well, when I’m out with a bunch of turkeys, I always notice that they’ve got beautiful tails made of feathers, and mine’s just a stub. It makes me feel like I’ve got . . .” A quiver came into his voice. “. . . an inferior tail.”

I stopped pacing and turned slowly to face him. “Drover, you do have an inferior tail. It’s not a feeling or an illusion. It’s a fact. You’ll never have a beautiful feathered turkey tail, and the sooner you accept yourself as you really are, the quicker you’ll be. Now, can we get on with this briefing?”

He hung his head and sniffled. “I guess so, but sometimes it gets me down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?”

“No. Hurry up.” I began pacing again. “Tell me exactly what Murphy said. I want his exact precise words, and omit all references to jellyfish and your tail.”

“Well, okay, let me think here.” He squeezed one eye shut and wadded up the left side of his mouth. It appeared that he was probing the empty depths of his mind, which was encouraging. “Here we go. His exact words were: ‘Gobble gobble gobble-gobble gobble gobble-gobble-gobble.’”

“That’s what he said? Are you sure about that?”

“Yep, I heard it with my own ears. What does it mean?”

“It means . . .” I cut my eyes from side to side. “It means, Drover, that we will now sing ‘The Turkey Song.’”

“‘The Turkey Song’? I never heard of it.”

“Then listen and take notes.”

And with that, before Drover’s very ears, I sang this song.

The Turkey Song

There are turkeys lurking in the murky shadows of the ranch.

We have reason to suppose that they are waiting for a chance

To invade the place and take control. Their leader’s in disguise.

He’s the famous secret agent, name of Murphy Turkey Spy!

He’s a dangerous fellow, an ace of illusion,

Who seems to delight in creating confusion.

But Drover and I are working the case.

This Turkey Rebellion won’t get to first base.

But it’s really confusing and we can’t decide

If this Murphy’s a human in turkey disguise,

Or an agent who’s pulling the ultimate sham:

A turkey disguised just to be who he am.

There are turkeys lurking in the murky shadows just outside.

We can hear their “gobble, gobble,” as they try to scheme and hide.

They might think that they have tricked us with their foolish follyrot

But we’ve solved this case: we know they’re either turkeys . . . or they’re not.

When I had finished the song (pretty awesome song, huh?) . . . when I had so-forthed the so forth, I noticed that Drover was looking at me with a goofy expression.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Well . . . I guess I’m confused. You think maybe Murphy’s not really a spy and . . . maybe I didn’t really see him?”

I heaved a sigh. “No, no, no. That’s what they want us to think, Drover. As I’ve told you many times before, never fall for the obvious. In this business, the more absurd things appear to be, the closer they are to Reality as It Really Is.”

“Well, this is pretty absurd.”

“Exactly my point. Reason and common sense tell us that there is no Murphy, no ring of turkey spies, no dark conspiracy to overthrow the ranch, but that should be a warning.”

“You mean—”

“Yes, Drover. Murphy is here on the ranch. Now that he knows we’re after him, it’ll be twice as hard to lure him into a trap. This is going to be a very difficult case.”

Drover’s eyes grew wide with fear. “Gosh, what’ll we do?”

I plundered that for a moment. Pondered, I should say. “We’ll carry on as though nothing has happened, as though we don’t suspect a thing. If we’re lucky, he’ll get careless and expose himself through a mistake.”

Drover gave his head a shake. “Well . . . he sure looked like a turkey.”

“He’s clever, no question about it, but don’t forget this: the turkier they look, the spyer they are. You can put that into your pipe and blow bubbles with it.” I noticed that his eyes had crossed. “Please don’t cross your eyes in the middle of my lecture.”

“I think I’m confused. Can I go back to bed?”

“I’m afraid not, son. Until we break this case and expose Murphy the Spy, neither of us will be getting much sleep.”

“Well, can I scratch my ear?”

I gave that some thought. “Okay, go ahead, if it’ll make you feel better. Oh, and Drover, don’t feel too bad about being confused. This guy’s a real pro. Even I might have been thrown off the track of the train.”

At that very moment, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a vehicle. An unauthorized vehicle was approaching our ranch headquarters compound. Even though I was in the middle of the Murphy Case, I had to tear myself away and find out who had entered our territory without permission.

“Come on, Drover, we’ve got a trespasser on the ranch! It’s time to launch all dogs!”

He was still scratching his ear. “Yeah, but what about this itch?”

“Bring it along. We might have to use it for evidence later on.”

And with that, we launched ourselves into the morning breeze and went streaking up the hill to find out just what the heck was going on. Little did we suspect . . . well, you’ll see.