Garrett & Petrus- The Complete Series

by C Marten-Zerf

Petrus stared at the pudgy man and then shook his head. ‘In your dreams, boy.’

  Willbourne glared at the Zulu but Petrus simply ignored him.

  Garrett set off along a trail, checking for spoor as he did so and the rest of the men followed him with Petrus bringing up the rear.

  After half an hour or so Garrett held up his hand, clenching his fist in a signal to halt. Then he beckoned to the laird who walked up next to him.

  Garrett pointed across the valley. ‘There,’ he said in a low voice. ‘A stag and three hinds. We need to work our way to the right, over by the stone cairn. Should be able to get a good shot then.’

  Willbourne stomped over and peered at the small herd. ‘I think that I’ll take a pot shot from here,’ he announced as he unslung his rifle.

  Garrett shook his head. ‘No. We need to get closer.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ stated Willbourne. ‘If we try to get any closer we’ll scare them off. I reckon that I should take a shot.’

  Petrus walked over and looked at the deer. ‘It’s easy to get closer,’ he said.

  ‘Rubbish,’ responded Willbourne. ‘Just because you live in the bush doesn’t make you an authority on deer hunting, good fellow.’

  Petrus raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Garrett started to talk to the laird but his sentence was cut off as Willbourne raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired. The shot went wide and the herd scattered and ran.

  ‘I told you not to shoot,’ said Garrett through gritted teeth.

  ‘So what,’ said Willbourne. ‘I don’t have to listen to the hired help.’

  ‘Really, Wilfred,’ interjected the laird. ‘Why don’t you come off it, old chap? You really are acting like the worst sort.’

  Willbourne looked suitably chastised but that didn’t stop him mumbling under his breath. ‘I’ll take the shot when I want to, bloody hell.’

  Garrett composed himself and led the party down a different track, once again casting for fresh spoor. Forty minutes later he pointed out another small herd. Two hinds and a stag.

  ‘So you reckon that you can get closer?’ Sneered Willbourne at Petrus.

  The Zulu stared at the podgy man for a few seconds then he simply stood up and handed the colonel’s rifle to Garrett, taking off his blanket shirt as he did. Underneath, he had on his shoulder rig, containing his assegai.

  His bare torso rippled with muscle and the weak winter sun threw his countless scars into stark relief. Long ragged slash wounds, short indented stab wounds and a row of puckered holes that were obviously bullet scars.

  He drew his blade with a steel rasp and Willbourne took a step back, his face drained of all color as his eyes fixated on the two feet of razor sharp steel.

  Without a word, Petrus turned and ran into the heather and the gorse, his steps long and loping. Smooth as a thoroughbred race horse. Within seconds he had simply disappeared. Vanishing into the landscape like he was part of it.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Stammered Willbourne.

  The colonel gave a chuckle. ‘Seen this sort of thing before, don’t you know,’ he said. ‘Maasai warriors. Saw one kill a lion with a spear once. Bloody impressive, don’t you know?’ He walked over to Willbourne, leaning in close as he spoke. As if he was sharing an intimate secret. ‘Word of advice, Wilf, old chap. I’d watch my mouth if I were you. Chances are, if you keep offending the Askari, he’ll gut you like a fish. I remember the Mau Mau in Kenya, 1953, night of the long knives. I was stationed there with The Black Watch, bloody locals went on a rampage, gutted a whole bunch of unsuspecting colonials. We had to discipline them of course, ending up killing over five thousand of the buggers. Great weather though, always sunny, don’t you know?’ He chuckled to himself and took out a pipe that he clenched between his teeth without lighting. ‘Gut you like a fish,’ he repeated.

  Willbourne delved into his shooting jacket and drew out a silver flask that he uncapped and took a swig from. The smell of single malt whisky wafted through the group.

  Garrett kept his eyes on the herd of deer, trying to spot Petrus as he stalked them even though he knew it to be a waste of time and effort. If his friend did not want to be seen then he simply would not be seen.

  There was a flurry of movement and the small herd scattered and disappeared over the crest of the hill.

  ‘Ha,’ declared Willbourne. ‘So much for that. Scared them away, just as I said.’

  But Garrett said nothing because he had been watching much closer than the others so he was the only one to notice that, out of the herd of three animals, only two ran over the hill.

  ‘Come along then,’ said Willbourne with a smirk on his face. ‘Farce is over, let’s continue.’

  Garrett raised his hand. ‘Just a moment, mister Willbourne,’ he said. ‘Let’s wait for Petrus.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s part of the group,’ snapped the laird. ‘That’s why, Willbourne.’

  Once again the podgy man looked a little sheepish and, once again, he muttered a comeback under his breath. ‘Don’t see why we have to wait for him. Bloody cheeky sod that he is.’

  So the men waited. The colonel chewed on the stem of his pipe. Willbourne drank from his flask, without offering, and mumbled to himself as he did so. And Garrett and the laird stood patiently and scouted the landscape.

  Suddenly and without warning Petrus appeared out of the long grass, like a wraith rising from a grave. Over his shoulders he carried a two hundred pound hind. Its throat had been cut and the blood had run down Petrus’ shoulders and onto his chest. He dropped the carcass down at Willbourne’s feet and then he raised his assegai above his head and shouted.

  ‘Ngadla! I have eaten!’ Then he leaned towards the podgy man and said in a voice as low as a lover’s whisper and as clear as thunder. ‘You see, it is possible to get closer.’ Willbourne shrank back. ‘And the next time that you speak to me,’ continued Petrus. ‘You will address me as inkosana Dinangwe, or prince Dinangwe. Not boy, or fellow, or chap. Do you understand?’

  Willbourne nodded, his movements jerky and uncoordinated as fear stole his ability to perform simple motor skills.

  ‘Good,’ said Petrus as he stole a sly sideways glance at the colonel. ‘Because if you forget, I may have to gut you like a fish.’

  The colonel burst out laughing.

  Chapter 4

  Garrett was driving the Land Rover along the track that led to his cottage. Petrus and he had decided to spend an evening at the local pub after the disastrous shooting day.

  The shoot had ended rather abruptly after Petrus had dumped the deer carcass at Willbourne’s feet and then threatened him with disembowelment. And, although the colonel had found the whole thing hugely amusing, the laird was less than pleased with all involved.

  The party had returned to the manor house in an uncomfortable silence and Willbourne had returned to London early as he complained of a sudden illness.

  The colonel and sir Rupert had stayed on and Garrett and Petrus had returned to Garrett’s cottage.

  And now the two of them were off to the pub to sit next to the fire, have a meal and sink a few beers.

  As the Land Rover approached the main driveway, Garrett’s cell phone rang. He took it from his shirt pocket and answered.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Garrett, it’s Alicia. I saw your lights coming down the track. Are you and Petrus going out?’

  ‘Yes,’ affirmed Garrett.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The pub. Quiet drink. Very boring.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Alicia. ‘Pick me up at the side door. I’ll come along.’

  Garrett disconnected and swore under his breath.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Asked Petrus.

  ‘That bloody spoiled brat, Alicia. She wants us to pick her up so that she can come with us to the pub.’

  Petrus shrugged. ‘Ignore her.’

  Garrett shook his head. ‘Can’t do that. It would upset the laird.’

  ‘Well
then, pick her up. It’s no hassle.’

  ‘Trust me, my friend. She’s always a hassle,’ grunted Garrett as he turned towards the manor house.

  He pulled up outside the side door and Alicia was already there. She wore jeans, black ankle boots, a black grandpa shirt, probably silk, and a large Barbour tweed jacket for warmth. Her face was made up in her customary fashion, dark lined eyes and shiny lips.

  Petrus stepped out of the Land Rover and opened the back door for her. She climbed in without thanking him and they set off.

  It was a short drive to the local watering hole and Garrett parked outside and led them in. A typical Highland Pub. Large inglenook fireplace blazing high on the one side of the room. A bar ran down the opposite wall and a selection of tables were scattered around the rest of the room. Some of the tables were set for diners and others were left unlaid for people that simply wanted to drink.

  The walls were wood paneled in dark oak and the exposed beams were covered in sprigs of heather and dried thistles.

  Garrett chose a table laid for dining and sat Alicia and Petrus down.

  ‘Drink?’ He asked.

  Petrus nodded. ‘For sure. Whatever you’re having.’

  ‘Drambuie for me,’ instructed Alicia.

  Garrett went to the bar and waited in the short queue to order.

  While he was away from the table Alicia spoke to Petrus.

  ‘So have you been friends with him for long?’ She asked.

  Petrus nodded. ‘A lifetime in deeds. Perhaps not so long time wise. He is a good man. Saved my life.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ agreed Alicia. ‘He’s a bloody hero. Saved my life too. I suppose he told you?’

  Petrus shook his head.

  ‘Well allow me,’ continued Alicia. ‘He burst into my life uninvited and saved me from a life of drugs and degradation,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Then he simply beat up all of my friends and forced me to come home.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Petrus. ‘He is a good man. A kind man.’

  Alicia snorted. ‘I’m being facetious. I mean really. Would you have done what he did? Simply barge in and beat up my friends just because they disagreed with you and tried to stop him taking me?’

  Petrus shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Well there,’ retorted Alicia smugly.

  Petrus turned to look at her and his dark eyes tore into her soul.

  ‘I would have killed them all,’ he said. ‘But Garrett, he is a kind man. Soft in many ways. You are lucky to have him as your protector. He would die for you without asking even a question.’

  Alicia looked shocked and her eyes glazed over briefly with unshed tears. And then she turned away from Petrus. ‘He’s just a game warden. My grandfather’s lackey.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Petrus. ‘In your eyes he will remain whatever you decide to see.’

  Garrett returned with a small glass of Drambuie whisky liqueur and two tankards of McEwan’s Scotch Ale.

  Petrus took a tentative sip and then nodded in approval.

  ‘Now that tastes like more,’ he said appreciatively.

  Alicia sipped at her liqueur, eyes downcast, while both Garrett and Petrus applied their full attention to their beers.

  At that moment a group of men barreled into the pub, pushing in through the front door, singing as they entered.

  O flower of Scotland

  When will we see your like again

  That fought and died for

  Your wee bit hill and glen

  One of the men, a giant of a man who stood over six feet five and was as wide as two normal men leered at Alicia and blew her a kiss.

  ‘Oh fuck off,’ she said.

  ‘Hey,’ the man responded. ‘Watch your mouth you silly cow. I was just flirting, no harm meant.’

  Alicia stuck her finger up at him and the rest of the men laughed and jeered but the recipient was less than amused.

  ‘Fuck you bitch,’ he growled. ‘I was just having a bit of fun you ugly fuck.’

  Alicia turned to Garrett. ‘Well, aren’t you going to do something?’

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘They’re insulting me.’

  ‘They don’t mean anything by it,’ said Garrett. ‘They’re drunk and you have no social skills. Just ignore them and it’ll blow over.’

  Alicia knocked back the rest of her drink and then stood up and deliberately walked over to the crowd of men who were now standing at the bar and distributing beers amongst themselves.

  The men saw her coming and one of them laughed. ‘Ooh, Macalister,’ he said to the big man. ‘You’re in big trouble now; the lassie’s coming to serve up some discipline.’

  ‘Fuck her,’ he boomed. ‘Bitch has no sense of humor.’

  Alicia walked up to the bar, grabbed a tankard of beer and upended it on the giant’s chest.

  ‘You bitch,’ he roared. ‘Enough is enough, now I’m going to slap some manners into you.’

  Garrett sighed and stood up.

  He walked over to the fracas and held his hand up. ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘I must apologize for my companion’s behavior. Please allow me to buy you and your friends a round of drinks on me.’

  ‘He insulted me,’ shrieked Alicia. ‘And he said that he was going to hit me.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ cursed Garrett. ‘Why are you doing this? Just go back to the table, sit down and shut up.’

  Petrus walked over and guided Alicia back to their table. Then he returned and pulled a wad of notes from his pocket. ‘Come on, guys,’ he said. ‘Let’s get some drinks in with our apologies.’

  The huge man jabbed Petrus in the chest with his frankfurter-sized forefinger. ‘I don’t want your money, boy,’ he said. ‘So fuck off back to your table before I’m forced to knock you about a bit.’

  Petrus reacted instantly, grasping the man’s finger and punching it backwards. The crack of it snapping was easily audible above the general background noise. Then the Zulu twisted and pushed the giant to his knees.

  ‘Who’s your boy?’ He demanded.

  Another man from the group lunged towards Petrus but the Zulu warrior simply backhanded him with his left hand, snapping his head back and sending him somersaulting over a table. Then he grabbed a steak knife off the table next to him and laid it on the giant’s cheek, the point resting millimeters from his eye.

  ‘No, Petrus,’ shouted Garrett. ‘Not here. We don’t do that here.’

  Another man jumped forward and Garrett clotheslined him with a straight arm to the neck and the man fell to the floor choking and clutching his throat.

  The pub fell completely silent apart from the sound of the giant whimpering and mewling.

  Petrus bent forward and brought his face close and talked to him in a harsh whisper.

  ‘My friend doesn’t want me to kill you,’ he said as he cocked his head to one side. ‘You see, he is a soft man. A gentle man. A nice man. But I am not a nice man,’ Petrus continued as he put a little more pressure on the steak knife.

  In the background Alicia smiled smugly.

  ‘But I am a guest here,’ explained Petrus. ‘So, for today, you live.’ He slapped the giant across his face, driving him to the floor.

  And then he flicked the steak knife underhand, throwing it at the pub dartboard in the corner of the room.

  It pegged deep into the center of the board with a loud thud.

  ‘Come on,’ he said as he stood up. ‘Let’s go.’

  The three of them left the silent pub and walked to the Land Rover.

  Garrett opened the driver’s door and climbed in.

  But before Alicia could get in Petrus grabbed her arm.

  ‘You play a dangerous game, child,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Yes you do. You seek to prove that he will protect you, no matter what. Well, he will, but be aware. You poke a stick at the Beast, attempting to waken it and one day you will. And you do not want that to happen, ever. Believe me
when I say that. There will be no turning back from what might happen. You will have opened the box and unleashed the storm. And you cannot put a storm back into a box – it cannot be done. Now get in the car.’

  Chapter 5

  The laird stood and looked out of the window but it was obvious to Garrett that, although he was looking, he was not seeing, he was simply facing that way while he thought.

  ‘So, my boy,’ he said. ‘Heard that there was a bit of a to-do in the pub last night.’

  Garrett shrugged. ‘No big deal,’ he said. ‘No one hurt. Well, not badly.’

  ‘Oh well, all’s well that ends well and so on,’ mumbled the laird. ‘However, I was wondering if perhaps you could do me a favor, my boy.’

  ‘Anything,’ responded Garrett.

  ‘It’s nothing serious. Actually only wanted you to do a bit of a survey of my holdings up North. You know, the estate past Inverness. I need the place given the once over. There are a few ancient crofters’ cottages and such what, on the land. If you could take a look at them get a general feel of their condition and then report back. Also do a bit of a game count, check out the stocks and general condition. That would be greatly appreciated, my boy. You could take Petrus along, I’m sure that he would enjoy it as well as finding it most informative.’

  Garrett smiled to himself. The laird was being as diplomatic as possible.

  ‘I think that’s a great idea, Brody,’ he said. ‘Plus it has the added advantage of getting Petrus out of the general populous so that he can do less harm.’

  ‘No, no,’ argued the laird. ‘That wasn’t my intention at all.’

  ‘Well, it would be mine,’ laughed Garrett.

  The laird chuckled. ‘I must admit, he is rather a rambunctious fellow, isn’t he. Very primal. A force of nature, as it were.’

  ‘And he’s doing his level best to be calm and unobtrusive,’ added Garrett. ‘You should see him when he’s setting out to disrupt.’

  ‘Rather not,’ urged the laird. ‘Not if that’s in any way avoidable.’

  ‘I’ll set off this morning,’ said Garrett. ‘And you’re right; I think that Petrus will enjoy himself. At very least the weather and the terrain should prove interesting, especially as we’ll be sleeping outdoors.’