Clovenhoof 05 Beelzebelle

by Heide Goody

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Ben.

  “Why not?” asked Michael.

  “Because then we won’t have its corpse to, er, prove it’s really dead,” said Ben.

  “You mean you won’t have its corpse to turn into another crazy-ass display to frighten your customers with,” said Nerys. “I don’t want to kill it.”

  “And maybe we don’t need to,” said Clovenhoof. “We just need to show it some understanding. I was so close to getting through to it when I found it in the supermarket.”

  “Was that before I saw it fling you from the rooftop?” said Ben. “I hope you’ve thought of something fresh to say to it by now.”

  “It was in a bad mood.”

  “Wait!” hissed Michael. “It’s on the move! And it’s eaten both the pieces of bait.”

  “Can’t resist that pancake goodness,” said Clovenhoof.

  They all stared at the various phone screens.

  Gorky chirruped.

  “Yes, it’s gone off towards the side,” said Clovenhoof.

  “How can that be?” said Ben. “I didn’t see anywhere off to the side.”

  “We go back and find out,” said Michael. “Quietly now.”

  There was silence, broken only by the sound of water rushing by and their feet sloshing through the flood. The sound of Clovenhoof loudly breaking wind brought a tut from Nerys and a shush from Michael.

  “It was my monkey,” he protested.

  Gorky gave a little flatulent toot, though whether this was corroboration, disagreement, or sheer coincidence was unclear.

  Clovenhoof stopped when he reached the point indicated by the tracker.

  “Here,” he whispered, indicating a recess in the wall, leading off to a smaller tunnel that they’d walked past. “This bit looks new.”

  “I’ve seen the plans for this,” said Nerys. “We’re under the new church, right? Well, the plans show a set of passageways and chambers where it connects up with the drains and sewers. The completely OCD woman from the council said that it was non-standard.”

  “Non-standard how?” asked Michael.

  “Apparently, it’s a bit like the arrangement that you get under portakabin toilet blocks, where you can isolate the mains from the building. She said that it might be that they want to install some eco toilet thing like a reed bed in the future.”

  “Something like that,” said Michael.

  “Surely we don’t want to actually follow it in there?” said Nerys. “I’m not ready to put my faith in a half brick and Ben’s multi-tool.”

  “And the Lord,” added Michael. “We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”

  “Although we don’t know it’s the only exit,” said Ben. “What does the tracker say. Jeremy?”

  Clovenhoof started at his phone. “Oh. Look at that.”

  “What? What?” Nerys urged.

  “My police tweet’s had eleven retweets.”

  “Jeremy!”

  “And @WMPolice have replied.”

  “Fantastic. Are they coming?

  “No, they’re just saying the same old, same old about #thinkbeforeyoucall. I can never seem to get them to play.”

  “And the tracker?” said Michael patiently.

  “Hm. It looks as though the beast has gone in a sort of semicircle. See?”

  Michael craned over and nodded.

  “I think it’s doubling back to another access point. We need to move quickly,” he said. “Ben, you and I will go where it’s heading, and try to get it fastened shut before the beast emerges. Jeremy, can I leave you and Nerys to do this one? I’m sure you’ll find a cut-off just through there. Each group has got light and a weapon.”

  “Knife,” said Ben.

  “Half-brick,” said Nerys unhappily.

  “By the way,” said Ben, angling a thumb at Michael as he addressed the others, “if we’re splitting up and I’m going with Daphne, that means I must be Fred.”

  “Does not!” retorted Clovenhoof.

  “Shaggy, Scoob, see you around,” said Ben, and followed the archangel down the tunnel.

  As Michael and Ben disappeared into the distance, Nerys turned to Clovenhoof, hands on hips.

  “In you go then. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Hang on a minute.” Clovenhoof stabbed at his phone, his face a mask of concentration. “I just tweeted that I was getting wet and wild with my neighbours, and there are some people who want to join in. What do you think?”

  “I think the internet’s full of weirdos. I’ll tell you this for nothing though, none of those people want to come and wade through the sewers. Now get through that door. You’ve got a beast to chat up!”

  Ben and Michael consulted their phones.

  “Good. It’s still in the same place, just through this entrance. Hopefully it’s tired. Have you got the knife?”

  “Yes,” said Ben, feeling less brave now he was faced with the very real prospect of trying to take down a monstrous beast with a two-inch Swiss army blade. “Shall I go and look for something better, like a chainsaw or a rocket launcher?”

  “Have some faith Ben,” said Michael, edging into the smaller tunnel. “Everything’s going to work out just – oh.”

  “What can you see?” hissed Ben.

  “What appears to be a large puddle of vomit.”

  “Nasty.”

  “It looks like mostly crispy pancakes with a side order of GPS tracker,” said Michael.

  “Ah.”

  “Which leaves us with the question, where, actually, is the beast?”

  Nerys was pleased to be able to stand up straight. They had come through a tunnel that was so low they had to crouch down, but now they were in some sort of room with a higher ceiling. Multiple pipes wove through the space, making it impossible to see right across the room by the light of their phones. Gorky jumped onto a pipe and chittered at the dark.

  “How do we close the door then?” asked Nerys.

  “I reckon it’s this thing here,” said Clovenhoof, grunting as he gripped a wheel-shaped handle and struggled to turn it.

  “Are you sure?” asked Nerys. “That looks to me as if it’s part of that pipe there. Actually, at the risk of being dull and obvious, there’s an actual door we can … “

  Clovenhoof’s efforts were rewarded when the wheel suddenly freed up, and the pipe that he was facing disgorged a forceful jet of liquid, sending him reeling backwards. Nerys was struck with three simultaneous thoughts. One was that she’d been right about the pipe and, if people would only listen to her more often, then they might do better. Two was that, although they were in a storm culvert, built for the management of excess rainwater, Clovenhoof had undoubtedly opened a sewage pipe. The eye-watering stench was already threatening to overwhelm her. Three …

  “Crap,” she squeaked, terrified.

  “I know,” tutted Clovenhoof. “I do have a sense of smell.”

  She pointed. They were not alone in the chamber. The beast was approaching the prone form of Clovenhoof. Muscles rippled across its back as it edged forward, tensed to spring.

  Nerys looked all around for a weapon. Was there any value in trying to get it to swallow the paracetamol? By the looks of things, she would just need to balance them on Jeremy’s face, and the hungry beast would swallow them in a flash.

  “Well, hello again! Who’s a beauty, hm? Come here and give us a hug!”

  Clovenhoof was grinning widely and talking to the beast in a cutesy voice that would have made Nerys hoot with laughter at any other time, but now she worried that he’d got concussion. She hunted around in her handbag for those paracetamol.

  “You’re just boisterous, aren’t you, big fella? I know you just want to play. Come on, wrestling match!”

  Clovenhoof clapped, gave a little whistle, and slapped his chest. The beast leapt through the air and landed on top of him, growling and slobbering. It clamped its teeth firmly around Clovenhoof’s throat, shaking its enormous head. Nerys screame
d and pulled her hand from her handbag. She had a perfume atomiser. Great. She held it up and sprayed it anyway.

  There was a momentary sucking and popping noise, which Nerys felt rather than heard, over the sound of sewage rushing from the pipe, and the beast seemed somewhat … diminished.

  It was still there, still a beast, but now it looked like a large and shaggy wolf, not some beast born out of a nightmare.

  “Holy water!” she yelled in realisation.

  The creature was part-demon after all! But hadn’t the touch of her diamante cross, a holy icon, brought the beast out of the little Yorkshire terrier in the first place? Why would holy water have the power now to turn it back?

  She pumped the atomiser again. The beast shrank further, but continued to savage Clovenhoof’s neck like a rabid hyena.

  Maybe it was like electricity, she thought wildly. A small shock was enough to startle and provoke an angry response from it, but a powerful jolt was enough to send it scurrying back, to knock it out completely …

  Nerys continued to spray, but the little bottle was spent.

  Clovenhoof gargled as though he was choking on his own blood.

  “Gghhh-ad boy! Downnggghhh!”

  Gorky did agitated back-flips on the pipe above. In amongst it all, Nerys heard the splash of running feet and warning shout.

  Ben and Michael sprinted in. Ben’s dressing gown cord wrapped around his leg and he pitched forward noisily into the water, disappearing from sight. Michael stared at the sight of Clovenhoof and the now smaller beast thrashing about in the shallows.

  “What the …?”

  “We need holy water!” Nerys yelled.

  Michael frowned and then understood.

  “Jeremy, old boy, I’m afraid this might sting a bit,” he said without a hint of remorse, and plunged his hand into the filthy waters that filled the chamber.

  He then said something. To Nerys’s ears it sounded a bit like Latin. Actually, it sounded more Latin-y than real Latin, a sort of super-Latin, a language that was to Latin what Latin was to normal modern tongues. Whatever it was, Nerys thought it sounded very impressive.

  There was the briefest flash of light and something rippled out through the water from where Michael’s hand touched it.

  “Holy shit!” yelped Clovenhoof, which was, Nerys supposed, an accurate assessment of the situation.

  The beast resting on Clovenhoof’s chest now occupied much less space than it had previously. In fact, it occupied the exact space needed for a miniature Yorkshire terrier.

  Ben came up from under the water, gasping.

  “This isn’t rainwater!” he moaned most unhappily.

  The dog looked at Nerys and gave a small yip of a bark. She picked it up and tucked it under her arm, as she had done with Twinkle a hundred times.

  Clovenhoof hissed in pain as he got to his feet. His already devil-red skin had taken on a deeper, burned tone.

  “That stung,” he grunted.

  “You look like you’ve got sunburn,” said Nerys.

  “No one ever got sunburned testicles before,” Clovenhoof groaned.

  “What’s going on?” said Ben. “Where’s the beast?”

  “Here,” said Nerys, jiggling the little dog.

  “No. It can’t be,” said Ben. “The beast is huge and that’s … that’s … Twinkle.”

  “You know that’s not really Twinkle, don’t you?” said Clovenhoof. “It’s a laboratory experiment. Frankentwinkle. Twinklestein.”

  “Twinklestein,” said Nerys with a smile. “I like the sound of that.”

  “It’s an unholy beast,” said Michael.

  The beast squirmed in Nerys’s grip, and one of its paws expanded and raked the air with huge black talons.

  “He’s not an unholy beast, he’s just a very naughty boy!” said Nerys, rapping it sharply on the nose. “If it does that again, then little Twinklestein won’t get any nice treats when we get home.”

  The claws retracted. The little dog gave a small whine and licked Nerys’s nose.

  “Better,” she said. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

  Gorky swung down from the pipes and landed on Nerys’s shoulder. Twinklestein barked at him, and Gorky tickled him behind the ears.

  “Do you want to sort that pipe out, Jeremy?” suggested Michael.

  “God, yes,” said Ben, confused and miserable. “That smell. What on earth is that smell?”

  Clovenhoof gave a tentative sniff and nodded. “The sewage for this area displays an extraordinary variety. Beef tindaloo, doner kebab and Special Brew are the high notes,” he said thoughtfully, “with a dash of soya and halloumi struggling to keep up. Not a bad party game, this. We should play it more often. It’s just a shame it wouldn’t work on Twitter. Hashtag ‘guess what I ate today’ would be a lot of fun.”

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” said Ben.

  “Come on,” said Michael, and helped the poor man out of the chamber.

  Clovenhoof turned the sewage pipe handle to cut off the flow, but it came away in his hand with a loud clunk. Raw effluent continued to pour forth.

  Clovenhoof shrugged and looked at Nerys.

  “Let’s go with your plan, and close this door on our way out,” he said.

  “That’s not exactly fixing it, is it?” said Nerys.

  “Hey, if nobody can prove I did it, then that’s fixed in my book,” said Clovenhoof.

  They retraced their steps and fastened the steel door across the entrance.

  “So, are you saying that this is the Beast of Boldmere, Nerys?” said Ben, as they made their way to the exit.

  “I think I’d better get it back to the lab and work out what can be done to contain it,” said Michael.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” said Nerys. “The poor little thing is exhausted after all the chasing around. He’s coming back with me for a bit of rest and pampering. We’ll go and get some of the best butcher’s scraps and make him a nice bed.”

  “You might do better with some crispy pancakes,” said Clovenhoof. “Just saying.”

  Clovenhoof lingered in the rain, once they’d climbed out of the manhole. Much as he relished the foul taint that he’d acquired from his immersion in sewage, he recognised that other people would not appreciate being with him in a confined space. He let the water cascade down his body, and sluiced himself and his clothes down to a level that he judged might be acceptable in the Boldmere Oak. He inhaled deeply to savour the lingering scent, and walked the short distance to the pub.

  Lennox raised his eyebrows as he entered.

  “Still raining then?”

  Clovenhoof demonstrated by wringing out his sleeve on the floor. Lennox offered him a stained beer towel.

  “Use that,” he said. “I must say, I’m not a fan of your aftershave today.”

  “Lennox, it’s probably your beer that makes it smell this way. You should be proud.”

  He scraped through his pockets and found a five pound note that came with its own little slurry of unidentified stink. He plopped it down onto the bar.

  “You do know I’m not touching that, don’t you?” said Lennox, looking at the reeking puddle between them.

  “You’re gonna let me have a drink on the house?” said Clovenhoof, his face lighting up with childlike glee. “You’ve no idea how I’ve dreamed of the moment that you’d say you’re not taking my money.”

  “Oh, I’m going to take it, just as soon as you’ve been through to the gents and given it a rinse,” said Lennox.

  Clovenhoof complied, using the hand dryer to blow hot air down his trousers as an additional treat.

  “Ah, Lennox,” he said as he sipped his Lambrini moments later. “There are some days when being soaked to the skin, immersed in sewage, savaged by your mutant offspring, and burned all over is just what you need to make you appreciate a drop of the good stuff.”

  “I get that a lot,” said Lennox as he turned away, polishing a glass.

  Chapter 12 – In
which protests are made, Nerys gets a lot off her chest, and the alarm is sounded

  The Consecr8 church stood at the centre of an area undergoing a transformation. Fifty yards to the south was the leading edge of the Rainbow development, an estate of houses all built in the executive pixie style. Closer, on cleared land, stood the ARC Research Company modules. Earth-movers and a tall static crane stood nearby. On the three other sides of the church were the towerblocks and flats that had once housed hundreds of families but were now almost entirely empty and ready for demolition.

  Almost entirely.

  Nerys knocked on the door of the only flat that remained occupied in the block nearest to the Consecr8 church.

  “Yes?” said the lank-haired old woman who answered the door.

  “Jenny?” said Nerys. “We spoke on the phone. My name’s Nerys.”

  Nerys decided not to add, “We’ve met before. I was loitering outside the ARC lab, disguised as a prostitute, and you scowled at me so I showed you a bit of thigh.”

  “Oh, yes!” said Jenny. “Come in. Watch out for Mr Peppers.”

  Nerys stepped carefully over the grey cat that was pressing up against the door frame. A powerful pet smell filled the hallway.

  “You’re earlier than I expected,” said Jenny.

  “Yes,” said Nerys. “I was hoping that I could make a start on the preparations.”

  A brace of tortoiseshell cats wound themselves around Nerys’s legs.

  “So, what did you say this thing is you’re doing today?” asked Jenny.

  “It’s a protest event. Local mothers unhappy at the church’s attitude to breastfeeding. But it’s a family event. You said we could set up on the lawn.”

  “Absolutely. Happy to help. I refused to move out for that conniving skunk, Malarkey.”

  “I read about you,” said Nerys, side-stepping as a ginger kitten swiped at her from a hallway shelf. “Your own protest against an unscrupulous property developer.”

  Jenny snorted. “Papers made me out to be some sort of crazy cat lady.”

  “Er, really?” said Nerys. “You did say that you’d make bathroom facilities available?”