Inspector Hobbes and the Common People: Comedy Crime Fantasy (Unhuman Book 5)

by Wilkie Martin

  If not for the mortgage and the repairs our house needed, I might have resigned on the spot. As it was, I had to walk away from the office and breathe fresh air. I stamped up The Shambles, weaving through the shoppers and tourists, and tried to come to terms with everything that had just happened. My brain was seething, but my feet found their own way to Blackdog Street. I paused a moment before climbing the steps of Number 13 and ringing the bell.

  The scrawny figure of Mrs Goodfellow, wrapped in a floury apron, opened the door. ‘Hello, dear.’

  Before I could reply, Dregs expressed his delight at seeing me for the first time in a week by bullying me to the ground and trying to lick my face. Although I made a show of disgust and fought to keep his tongue out of range, I wasn’t displeased—the welcome was sincere.

  ‘Are you coming in?’ asked Mrs G in her high-pitched, quavering voice as she pulled Dregs off. ‘I was about to put the kettle on.’

  I smiled. ‘That would be lovely.’ Her mugs of tea made all kinds of problems a little better.

  I got up and followed her inside. Something, no doubt delicious, was being baked and the mere scent was soothing to frayed nerves, though stimulating to the salivary glands. I was reassured by how little had changed in the small, plain sitting room since I’d lived there as Hobbes’s unpaying guest. Although I’d barely known him at the time, he’d taken me in after my flat burned down. I was forever grateful to him and the old girl, and although my developing friendship with them had exposed me to terror, pain and discomfort, it had transformed my humdrum life. Back then, I’d been a drunken, resentful, envious, lonely man, failing at being a reporter, and failing in life. Thinking about it, apart from the current business with Ralph, everything was so much better now.

  ‘The old fellow’s out in the back,’ she said as she led me into the red-bricked kitchen. ‘He’s preparing the soil before planting his delphiniums. I’ll call him in when the tea’s ready.’

  I sat down at the scrubbed wooden table in the middle of the room. Dregs rested his muzzle in my lap, hoping for, and receiving, a head massage.

  ‘How are you and Daphne?’ asked Mrs G as she lit the gas under the kettle.

  ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Umm … that is to say she’s doing well, but I’m not sure I am. You know the Bugle has new owners?’

  ‘So, I’d heard, dear.’

  ‘It’s also got a new editor. I thought I was doing a good job—Ralph was giving me interesting stories to write as well as the food stuff, and last night, he hinted at promotion. Now I think he might want to get rid of me and it’s not fair!’

  I told her all about Colonel Squire’s party, my article, and Ralph’s response.

  She listened, made sympathetic noises and nodded when I’d finished. The kettle boiled, and she filled the old brown teapot. ‘People are bound to have different opinions on a project like this. There is always some good comes out of a development, if only for the developers, but there’s a downside for whoever or whatever lives in the area. I know the old fellow has concerns about the Common People, though he hasn’t said much yet.’

  ‘But no one actually really lives on the common, do they?’ The memory of the masked face in the gorse bush came back to my mind. ‘Well, there are no houses there. At least, I didn’t see any.’

  ‘Well, dear, you wouldn’t see them if you were looking in the wrong places.’

  She stirred the teapot and called for Hobbes, who entered, mud-spattered and grinning. ‘Good morning, Andy,’ he said, took off his heavy boots and turned to wash his hands in the big, white sink. He was up to his elbows in suds when the doorbell rang.

  Dregs sprang into life, barking and quivering as if he intended tearing the visitors to shreds. It was all bluff though—he’d become a civilised dog since the day I’d first bumped into him and had feared for my life.

  Mrs G was bending to open the oven door. ‘Would you mind answering that, dear?’

  ‘Not at all.’ I got up, walked to the kitchen door and, after a brief struggle, confined Dregs behind it.

  After a quick adjustment to my dog-afflicted trousers, I hurried to the front door and opened it. Two ordinary-looking men in grey suits stood there, and a large, grey car with mirrored windows was blocking the traffic on Blackdog Street.

  ‘Good morning,’ I said.

  ‘Inspector Hobbes?’ asked the taller of the men, looking disappointed.

  ‘No, I’m Andy … Andy Caplet … ’

  ‘But this is the correct address for Inspector Hobbes?’

  ‘It is.’ Hobbes voice rumbled in my ears, making me jump—I could never work out how such a massive policeman could be so light on his feet.

  Both men flinched—they were only human, after all. They showed him ID.

  ‘Simon and Tom. I was expecting you. Come in.’

  The grey car drove away.

  I stepped aside as the men entered, and closed the door behind them.

  ‘Take a seat,’ said Hobbes, gesturing at the worn but comfortable red velour sofa in the sitting room. ‘What brings you two lads all the way from London?’

  Tom, the taller of the two, spoke as they sat. ‘There is a problem overseas which our department hopes you can help resolve.’

  Simon, an inch or two shorter, nodded. ‘Your … unique abilities might prove vital.’

  ‘Andy,’ said Hobbes, as I hovered in the background, ‘I’m afraid this is government business and not for your ears. Would you mind leaving us? Sorry about the tea.’

  ‘No problem … I … umm … really ought to get back to work, anyway. Shall I ask Mrs Goodfellow to give you some privacy?’

  Simon shook his head. ‘No need—she’s fully cleared.’

  When I returned to the kitchen, Dregs had been exiled to the back garden, but his hairy black head kept appearing in the window as he bounced. I grabbed my jacket, took a sip of tea, which tasted as fragrant and delicious as it always did there, and said goodbye to Mrs G who was making up a tray to take into the guests. On the side, an aromatic tray of lemon biscuits was still shimmering with heat—they’d be far too hot to handle yet. I gave them a longing look as I walked away.

  My curiosity about the visitors fired up as I headed for the front door, but although I walked as slowly as possible, hoping to hear something of interest, all I picked up was Tom and Simon talking about the motorway traffic.

  ‘Bye,’ I said as I passed them.

  Hobbes raised his huge, hairy hand.

  I went out into Blackdog Street, pulled the door behind me and lingered on the steps. Ralph had encouraged us to use any means possible to get a story, short of breaking the law and getting caught. What golden nuggets might I hear if I pressed my ear to the door? Yet I didn’t do it—eavesdropping on a secret conversation seemed too sneaky, and I feared Hobbes’s anger if he ever found out. Although I’d never been the target of his explosive rage, I had been close enough to feel terrified by the fallout. Feeling virtuous, I drew myself up and marched away. I doubted I’d have heard much anyway.

  I made a point of never reporting anything connected with Hobbes unless he’d given it the all-clear first. This wasn’t because I feared his wrath, though I did, it was because he was a friend and he had a secret. Not a guilty one. As far as I was aware, he’d done nothing too terrible, it was just that he wasn’t exactly human, though he could do a passable impression of one of them—or one of us I should say. Hardly anyone else had worked this out though, since it is a truth universally acknowledged that few can see what lies beneath the facade of a police officer.

  For a moment, I wished I could be a fly on the wall of his sitting room, but further reflection suggested the stupidity of that wish—flies, I was almost certain, lacked ears. Even if they had them, I doubted they’d understand English. Even more to the point, Mrs G couldn’t abide bugs indoors and would assassinate invaders with a pea-shooter, with which she was astonishingly accurate. I shrugged—I’d probably never know why two secretive officials would come all
the way from London to talk to him.

  I speculated that it might be connected to his occasional disappearances. Without explanation, he sometimes just wouldn’t be around, and though usually he was only away for a few days, on occasions he’d been gone for weeks and had returned with a deep tan on his already swarthy face. He’d never say where he’d been, or what he’d been doing, and I’d soon learned to avoid questioning him. However, on occasions, he’d mentioned weird stuff like policing a rogue anubis, or misbehaving chupacabras. At the time, I’d half assumed he’d been joking, but having seen so much oddness surrounding him, I now tended to believe him.

  When I got back to the office, Ralph grinned and joked, made no mention of my supposed bias, and was encouraging about my career. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. Perhaps he’d just done what he’d done to impose his authority. Perhaps everything would be fine and dandy when we’d all got to know each other better. When he went out at lunchtime, I mentioned my hypothesis to Basil, who was eating a limp cheese sandwich at his desk.

  ‘Don’t be such a muppet, lad,’ Basil replied. ‘He’s messing with us, trying to make us insecure so he can turn this fine old newspaper into a fluffy, happy rag without opposition. Tell you what, mate, I’m a Bugle man through and through—I’ve worked here for more than thirty years, but I’m no longer sure I want to stay. To tell you the truth, if I thought anyone would give me a similar job with similar pay at my age, I’d go now. Not that it matters—if he does here what he’s done at the other papers he’s edited, he’ll give me the boot soon and bring in some kid on a fraction of the pay who’ll do what he’s told without question. Even worse, he could start using AI and that’ll be the end of us and of real news.’

  I had much to think about when I got home that night, but Hobbes turned up a few moments after Daphne had returned. I let him in, and he took a seat.

  ‘What’s up?’ I asked.

  ‘I could do with your help,’ he said.

  To Daphne.

  ‘With what?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll come to that in a moment, but firstly, do you have a current passport?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s good. If you agree to my proposal, you’ll need it.’

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ she said, looking excited.

  ‘Me too,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

  He drew a breath. ‘The government has asked me to resolve a slight problem that has arisen in a distant country, and I have indicated my willingness to be of service. However, when I discussed the problem with the department, it made me believe that someone with archaeological skills will be required … and your knowledge of cryptids will also be helpful.’

  ‘Billy Shawcroft knows about archaeology,’ I said, butting in because I feared he was going to drag my poor wife off to dangerous foreign parts.

  Hobbes nodded. ‘True, and he has helped me in the past. However, in this case there is likely to be some deep snow, which is tricky for him.’

  Billy, though a man of massive abilities, was also a man of diminutive stature.

  ‘I hoped you might be interested,’ Hobbes continued, looking towards Daphne. ‘The task should take a few weeks … maybe a month.’

  ‘Where is it?’ she asked.

  ‘In Asia, but I regret that I can’t reveal any more until you agree. If you do, you will have to sign the Official Secrets Act. You will require a medical and if all is well, the department will brief you on the details of the mission.’

  ‘Asia is big,’ I said with my usual perspicacity. ‘You can’t ask her to head off to some mysterious place—it might be dangerous!’

  ‘Since the mission will take us into wild and lonely places,’ said Hobbes, ‘I cannot guarantee there’ll be no danger.’

  ‘She can’t leave her job at the drop of a hat,’ I said. Our domestic finances were already parlous without losing her salary.

  ‘It’s my job and I can speak for myself,’ Daphne pointed out. ‘But it’s a good point.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. The department will sort out any issues with your employers,’ said Hobbes. ‘Furthermore, you will be compensated for your time.’

  I wanted her to say no and to end this conversation, but she’d already made her point—I kept quiet. After all, her career had already taken her to foreign parts more than once, and though I worried, I accepted that it was her choice. She’d always come back. So far.

  ‘How many people will be on the mission?’ she asked, as if she’d already decided.

  ‘Just the two of us and a local guide who will also supply tents, food and transport.’

  ‘Tents?’ asked Daphne.

  My heart sank and my stomach lurched with fear, seeing how eager she looked.

  He nodded. ‘We will camp for most of the time. If you come, and I hope you do, you will need a suitable sleeping bag and mountain gear.’

  ‘Mountain?’ The word came out of my mouth as a squeak.

  ‘I have stuff I used in the Blacker Mountains,’ she said. ‘Would that be suitable?’

  ‘Probably not,’ he admitted. ‘The conditions we are likely to encounter will be far more extreme. You must be prepared.’

  Her eyes were bright with excitement. ‘If I agree, when will it all happen?’

  ‘Very soon,’ said Hobbes. ‘If you have no security or health issues, you will receive your briefing in London before the end of next week. Then we’ll go as soon as the department sorts out our travel arrangements.’

  Daphne sat quietly for a few moments. ‘I agree. It sounds most mysterious.’

  His big yellow teeth set into a wide grin. ‘Thank you—I hoped you would. I will inform the department.’

  ‘Isn’t this exciting?’ she said, turning to me with a smile and giving me a hug.

  I grimaced. ‘I suppose it is for those of us who are off to exotic places.’

  ‘I know, but I won’t be away for long—a month, didn’t you say?’ She glanced at Hobbes, who nodded.

  ‘Thereabouts.’

  I had an idea. ‘You’ll need someone to help with the baggage and around camp—I could do that.’

  Hobbes shook his head. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

  5

  The turbulence and vibration had stopped, and I could no longer hear the engine’s drone. We were at a crazy angle. I jerked awake in a mad panic—we were crashing!

  Of course, we weren’t—we’d already landed. Snow-draped mountains surrounded the battered little Cessna, and a breeze chilled around my ankles.

  ‘Nice sleep?’ asked Daphne, smiling. Like me, she was wearing the colourful high-tech mountain gear the department had provided. Unlike me, she was on her feet and ready to go.

  ‘Umm … I slept?’

  ‘Most of the way.’ She bent to kiss me. ‘You’d better get your things.’

  ‘And quickly!’ said Hobbes, who was leaning in through the door. He was dressed in a battered tweed coat and baggy trousers.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ I stood up and cracked my head on the low ceiling.

  ‘Mind your brain, sir,’ said Dilip, our pilot, grinning despite his lack of front teeth. ‘And put on your hat and sunglasses.’

  Though yawning and muzzy-headed, I shook myself and did as he asked before shuffling toward the fresh air. I stepped down onto short grass and looked around. The deep blue of the sky reminded me of tropical oceans, but the chill soon dispelled that thought. The previous day, when we’d looked down on the mountains from the jet, it had been impossible to appreciate their scale. Now, as I looked up from ground level and saw just how massive they were, and how they appeared to extend forever, they took my breath away. At least, I assumed that was why I was gasping for air. Ground level was wrong, too—ground sloping made more sense—our little plane was pointing uphill on the edge of the football pitch-sized meadow where it had landed.

  Hobbes noticed me struggling. ‘Try to relax, Andy. It’s the altitude�
�we’re over ten thousand feet above sea level. Take it easy until your body adjusts.’

  I nodded, and regained some control of my breathing, wondering why the others didn’t appear affected.

  Dilip started unloading our bags. Hobbes stacked them on a pile of rocks that would have made mincemeat of the Cessna’s undercarriage had the landing gone just a little off course.

  Daphne went to help. ‘You’d better rest for a moment,’ she told me as she struggled under an orange rucksack.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, taking it off her, but when I reached the rocks, I had to sit down. ‘What on earth’s in this thing? Dumbbells?’

  She laughed. ‘You should know—it’s yours.’

  Hobbes chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it soon enough … I hope.’

  I took deep breaths. ‘Remind me why I agreed to come here.’

  ‘If I recall correctly, you did not agree to come, you begged,’ said Daphne. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Mr Hobbes?’

  He nodded. ‘You insisted that it would be foolish to leave you behind because your skills would be indispensable.’

  ‘Yeah, alright,’ I admitted.

  In fact, I had few camping skills, and my real reason for getting onto the expedition was to look after Daphne and keep her safe from the perils of the mountains, whatever they might be. Besides Hobbes, I was aware of a few: wolves, leopards, avalanches. What I’d actually do if we encountered any remained to be seen. A deeper reason for coming that I didn’t care to acknowledge was my need not to feel left out.

  Dilip was ready to leave within fifteen minutes. After a quick round of ‘Goodbyes’, he climbed back into the cockpit and ran through a few checks. When all was well and the engine was running, he signalled to Hobbes who put his shoulder to the tail, turned the plane around and stepped aside. The engine’s roar rose in pitch, the prop blurred, and the little plane shot downhill. It was airborne within seconds and we watched as it made a sharp turn to avoid a rocky outcrop before setting course for the remote airfield in the hazy, green valley far below. Then, other than the muted chitter of unseen birds and the buzz of insects, the world fell silent. In that moment, despite Daphne and Hobbes being within touching distance, I felt crushed by the isolation and the sense of being so far from civilisation. If there were problems, no one would know, no one would come to help and, according to Hobbes’s rather vague map, the nearest hill village was at least a week’s hard trek away. Although I’d experienced something similar when Hobbes, Dregs and I made an excursion into the bleak and lonely Blacker Mountains, I’d known then that if things got too bad, I might walk to a small town only a few hours away. Up here, I was insignificant, helpless, cowed and useless and almost wished I’d stayed home, though I knew I’d be fretting if I had. I checked my mobile—no signal, as I’d expected.