Beast of Robbers Wood

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  “Wendell, get back to the store,” the old man said. “Attend to the duties you’re fit for.”

  Wendell Stoneman stood resolutely before man and table and sniggering drunkards. His arms crossed, his brow furrowed, he was the embodiment of English stubbornness, a British Bulldog taken human form.

  “Father, you should be ashamed of yourself,” the younger man said. “Get down from that table right now.”

  “Thank goodness you’re here, Mr Stoneman,” Teype said. “I thought I was going to have to call Delbert or one of those outsider constables to handle him.”

  “You two, make yourselves useful: help my father down from there,” Wendell told Frankie and Dennis. He turned to Teype. “I thought I told you no more than two pints a day for the old man.”

  “But he’s had only one, Mr Stoneman.” Teype pointed to the bar. “And look. He ain’t had but a sip or two from it.”

  “The Old Gods have brought the Beast back to…”

  “Shut up, Father!”

  “Well, they have,” Zoriah said. “The Old gods are mighty.”

  “Sure they are,” Dennis said.

  “Mighty old,” added Frankie.

  “I’m sorry, Mr Teype,” Wendell said. “If there’s damage…”

  “No, nothing broken this time,” Teype said. “I called you afore he got really started. Course, he might not have got a wind up at all if old Henry hadn’t set him off.” He pointed to a corner table where a man in a dark anorak was sprawled. “Afore he passed out, he went on about Lisa Martin going missing and how he heard growls from the forest when he was mending a fence at the Tucker place.”

  Wendell sighed. “Superstitious old fool.”

  Teype nodded, though he was not sure which superstitious old fool the village grocer and postmaster was talking about.

  “Don’t be too hard on your dad, Mr Stoneman,” Teype said. “I think the whole village is in a tizzy over all the fuss about the girl. A lot of them are talking about the…” He lowered his voice so it would not carry to the elder Stoneman. “…the you-know-what in the woods. Got people afrighted, especially the old ones.”

  Wendell grimaced. “Seems it’s all anyone coming into the store wants to talk about. It’s all rubbish.”

  “Yes, but we’ve all growed up with it, haven’t we?” Teype said. “You can’t escape your upbringing, can you? It’s not just the sins of the fathers that fall on all the generations that follow.”

  Wendell glanced at his father and sighed. The old man, now seated with Frankie and Dennis, looked alternately resentful and pouting. The wind had been taken from his sails and he was none too pleased about it.

  “On some more than others,” Wendell said.

  “The Beast!” Henry Barrington, who had been sprawled across his table, face resting in a puddle of lager, suddenly sat up straight. “The Beast! It calls from the heart of the woods! It arises from its hidden temple. I heard it!”

  The handyman’s eyes rolled back into his head and he pitched forward once more into the spilt lager. His glass clattered across the floor without breaking and was expertly scooped up in passing by Patsy, the barmaid. He snored loudly.

  Wendell whipped around. “Not one word, Father.”

  Zoriah Stoneman shrugged, sighed and looked aggrieved.

  Frankie and Dennis lurked behind the old man, growling.

  “You two, shove off afore I bar you for a week,” Teype said.

  The thought of being barred from the local did not phase the two roustabouts, but the prospect of being trapped at home with their respective spouses for a whole week almost struck them sober. Muttering, they relocated to a far table to nurse new glasses and complain about an unfair world.

  Wendell looked at Barrington. “Mr Teype, you should not…”

  Teype spread his hands before him. “Don’t blame me for Henry Barrington anymore than for your dad, Mr Stoneman. I didn’t know Henry was pissed well and good afore he came in, and, besides, his drink is mostly on the table, the rest on the floor. As to your dad, I don’t think it’s any drink what’s got him lathered up.” The publican gestured toward the old man. “You know how he is.”

  Wendell sighed. “Yes, I know how he is.”

  “If you could take him home with you, Mr Stoneman, I would greatly appreciate it,” Teype said. “Darkness is falling and the pub will be filling up, probably more than usual. I don’t need…” He shrugged and smiled apologetically. “Well, you know…”

  Wendell nodded. “I would have been here sooner, but I could not close the store on time.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just as I finally ushered out the last of the gossiping hens, in comes a policeman,” the grocer explained. “A detective sergeant, or so he claimed.”

  “Really?” Teype leaned closer, hoping to snag a juicy tidbit of information. “What did he want?”

  “A tin of chocolate biscuits and a bag of Jelly Babies.”

  Teype leaned back and made a sour face.

  “Exactly,” Wendell said in reaction to Teype’s expression. “His missus is preggers so he was taking them home to her.”

  “Deeping Well?”

  “No, Stafford,” Wendell said. “The constables were brought in from Deeping Well because it’s near, but the sergeant’s out of the Stafford nick, him and the other one.”

  “A chief inspector, ain’t he?”

  “Supposed to be,” Wendell said. “I haven’t seen him and he wasn’t with the sergeant. He might have been waiting in the car, I guess, probably napping. I heard he’s an odd duck.”

  “Do you think they’ll be back?”

  “Stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

  “No trace?”

  “Not a scrap of cloth, not a hank of hair,” Wendell said. “They called off the search in…” He glanced at his now-quiescent father and whispered: “They were traipsing through Robbers Wood with what volunteers they could scrape together. They were also going up and down Flintlock looking for some hint of the Martin girl.”

  “Into the woods?” Teype frowned and shook his head. “Bad idea that.”

  “And a waste of time.”

  “What you mean?”

  “It’s obvious, at least to me,” Wendell said. “They’re not going to find the Martin girl in or around the woods because she’s lit off for parts unknown. Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened. And I hear she has a bit of a wild streak in her.”

  “I don’t know her except to say hi, but her mum’s okay, I’ll say that much,” Teype said. “Good worker when I ask her in.”

  “Probably regrets taking up with that scoundrel Pym,” Wendell said. “Maybe the daughter couldn’t take being around him. He was always a troublemaker, even as a lad. A pity and a shame he didn’t take it in mind to run away from home himself. His dad, God rest his soul, would have paid him to run off.”

  “His mum would have been better to put the tyke in a sack and drop him in the Orm.” Teype laughed. “We can’t see the future, but we all got crystal clear hindsight.”

  Teype turned at a gentle tug on his sleeve. He saw a stranger in the best suit he had seen outside a funeral home. The man had a pleasant face and a soft smile. He put Teype in mind of James Mason, who had been a cinema favourite of his in younger days. The stranger carried an overnight kit slung over his shoulder and a computer bag in his grip.

  “Something I can do for you, sir?”

  “You’re the landlord of the Ned Bly?”

  “That I am, sir,” he replied. “Morris Teype, at your service. How may I help you?”

  “I wondered if I might get a room for the night.”

  “That’s no problem, sir,” Teype said. “Got a nice room at the back. Private. Very quiet. Won’t catch any of the noise from the bar. Nice view to it.”

  “Anything up at the front?” the man asked. “Perhaps something overlooking the high street and the village green. The noise will not bother me. Besides, I like to watch people go about their business, the
ebb and flow of life.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “I don’t know how much ebb and flow you’ll see in Midriven, sir,” Wendell said. “It’s a quiet village.”

  “I’m sure it usually is.”

  “A spot of bother now,” Teype said. “A local girl is missing. As you might imagine, it’s causing a tizzy.”

  “The one you said had run away,” the newcomer said. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but…”

  “That’s all right, sir, nothing secret about it,” the grocer said. He offered his hand. “Wendell Stoneman. I own the village grocery, general store and run the post office.”

  “Arthur Ravyn,” he said, shaking hands.

  “Did you say for one night, Mr Ravyn?” Teype asked.

  “I didn’t say, but it will be at least one night,” Ravyn replied. “I might stay two nights, maybe three. It depends on the circumstances that brought me here.”

  “You just let me know what you want to do, Mr Ravyn, and I’ll accommodate you,” Teype said. “It’s plain you are not from around Midriven, but we Men of Hammershire look out for each other. An ancient obligation, but a serious one.”

  “A Hammershire Man, actually,” Ravyn said. “I was born in Abofyl, at the confluence of the Orm and Dresal.”

  “You’re welcome anyway, Mr Ravyn,” Teype said. “I don’t hold with old feuds. I say, what’s done is done, dead and buried, all put behind us.”

  Ravyn smiled. It was clear from nuances in Teype’s voice that not everything was dead and buried. Besides, Ravyn thought, this was Hammershire, where the past often intruded upon the present and dark currents ever flowed beneath daily life. All too often, the slights of the past were neither forgotten nor forgiven.

  “You said circumstances, Mr Ravyn,” Wendell said. “May I ask what circumstances those are? We get many people passing by, but few who pull up a stone.”

  “I’m sorry, I should have explained,” Ravyn said. “I’m here because of the missing girl. DCI Ravyn, Hammershire CID.”

  Teype and Wendell nodded. Their smiles became forced. They wondered how much the chief inspector had seen and heard before making himself known.

  “I thought you would have been away home with that sergeant of yours,” Wendell said. “I take it that was he who came into the store as I was closing?”

  “The search was called with the coming of dusk,” Ravyn said. “There was no reason for him to stay.”

  “He seemed in a hurry, but I took it as being because his missus was in the family state,” Wendell said. “The sweets he bought.”

  “They do eat strangely, the women do,” Teype added. “And it falls to the men to fetch and carry.”

  “In a rush to leave, he was,” Wendell said. “But not you?”

  Ravyn nodded. “He has a reason to go home. I haven’t so much as a cat waiting for me.”

  * * *

  When Stark returned to the station in Stafford he considered a quick check of his computer. He had left Midriven only an hour earlier, but he knew Ravyn could start a whirlwind among suspects in less time than that. In the end, he decided to check his e-mails at home. He wanted to see Aeronwy and give her the treats he had picked up, but he also feared an encounter with Superintendent Giles Heln. The man’s office window was dark, but that meant nothing, for darkness was the natural habitat of weasels.

  Aeronwy was cross with the lateness of his return, but nothing like she would have been even a fortnight ago. In that time, they had overcome obstacles that seemed on the verge of tearing them apart. It had a taken a letter of resignation, which she herself tore in half, to put them back on track. All she had needed to know was that he loved her more than his job.

  “Jelly Babies?” she squealed. “I love those! Haven’t had them in donkey years. Where did you get them?”

  “Little general store in Midriven.” When she frowned, he said: “Village about an hour from here.”

  She popped one into her mouth and bit down, savouring the jammy flavour. She offered one to him, but he shook his head. He did, however, take one of the chocolate biscuits.

  “We must control ourselves,” she said. “No more of these till after dinner.” She patted her tummy. “Want to make sure the baby gets his proper nourishment.”

  “His?”

  “I was told today we’re going to have a boy.”

  “I thought we decided not to…”

  “Nothing like that, Leo,” she said. “I stopped by the Children’s Hospice charity shop to see what they had in the way of seconds. I started talking to one of the volunteers, eighty if she was a day, and she said we were having a boy.”

  Stark smiled. “And how did she come by that?”

  “Carrying low,” Aeronwy explained.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She again touched her tummy. “I’m carrying the baby low, so that means it’s going to be a boy. Carrying high would be a girl.”

  “An old wives’ tale.” Stark regarded the bump doubtfully. “You’re barely showing.”

  “Typical man,” she said, smiling. “You wouldn’t say that if you had to carry this around with you.”

  “So what else did you do today?”

  “A few shops on the high street, then tea with Mildred, she’s Constable Taylor’s wife, you remember her.”

  Stark nodded. Taylor was a solid copper, and he recalled now that Aeronwy had met the wife at one of her therapy sessions.

  “But you’ll never guess who I met coming out of the tea shop.”

  Stark shook his head.

  “Mr Heln.”

  Stark stiffened, then forced himself to relax.

  “Superintendent Heln?”

  “He’s such a funny little man, I recognised him right away,” Aeronwy said. “You’d never think he was a policeman, being that short, but I suppose it’s different in administration. I thought he was going into the tea shop, but as soon as he talked to me, he walked off. Very odd little fellow.”

  “What did he say?” Stark’s throat felt dry and tight.

  “Nothing much, really, just chit-chat, but he did mention that you were doing well and that there might even be a promotion in your future.”

  “He what?”

  “No need to get shirty with me, Leo Stark.”

  “I’m sorry, Aeronwy,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “That Mr Ravyn of yours works you much too hard, Leo,” she said. “I think it’ll be a good thing when he retires soon.” She paused. “Why are you looking at me like that? Mr Heln said it might be in the offing. Perhaps that’s what he meant when he mentioned your promotion. If a DCI leaves, doesn’t that mean that a DI moves up, creating a vacancy for a smart and competent, not to mention handsome, detective sergeant to move up the ladder?”

  After a moment, he nodded. “I suppose it does.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You know, it’s odd.”

  “What’s odd?”

  “What Mr Heln told me before he left,” she said. “He told me a change in the weather was coming, that a north wind was rising. He said that soon all the open windows would be closed. Don’t you think that’s a very odd thing to say? What does it mean?”

  “Yes, very odd,” Stark lied. “As you said, he’s an odd little man. As to what it means…” He shrugged.

  “Well, let’s put Messrs Heln and Ravyn out of our minds and make this evening ours,” she said. “I’m sure you must be famished after a long day in some godforsaken boondock village.”

  For the second time in a minute, he lied: “Yes, I’m famished.”

  * * *

  “Still, it’s a funny sort of policeman setting up shop on his own when there’s no crime to be seen,” Wendell said. “Far as we know.”

  “I like to stay near a case, till I have reason to leave.”

  “You won’t find her, not even her bones gnawed upon by the Beast.” Zoriah Stoneman leaped from his chair and scarpered to the chief inspector. “Not flesh nor bone nor blood. The
Beast has taken her as his own. What the Beast takes…”

  “Father, that will be quite enough.” Wendell grasped the old man’s arm firmly. He looked to Ravyn. “I’m sorry, Chief Inspector. The events of the day have overexcited my father.”

  “Have you actually seen this…Beast?” Ravyn asked.

  “Seen the Beast?” Zoriah gave a rictus grin, his eyes narrowed to mere slits. “No mortal man can see the Beast of the woods, lest it hunts him. If a man does see the Beast, he is frozen by the fiery eyes, and then death be not far behind. So it is written in the old tales, so will it ever be.”

  “The old tales also mention servitors, people called by the Beast in their dreams,” Ravyn said. “Those who are chosen as such might see it and live, mightn’t they?”

  “You’re a sly one, young man,” Zoriah said. “A sly one.”

  “Please, Chief Inspector.” Wendell pulled at his father.

  “Pardon me, I’m so sorry,” Ravyn said. “I’m afraid I let my curiosity about the legend overwhelm my common sense.”

  “Even if Robbers Wood has anything to do with the girl’s disappearance, not that I believe it does,” Wendell said, “the police are surely not out monster hunting, are they?”

  Ravyn laughed. “No, we’re looking for a more earthly reason for Lisa Martin’s vanishing.”

  “Good luck, Chief Inspector.” He gently, insistently pulled his father along. “Come, Father, it’s time to go home.”

  “But I didn’t get my pints,” the old man complained. He tried to wrest out of Wendell’s grip, to reach his mostly untouched glass.

  “You should have thought of that before you decided to make a spectacle of yourself.” He dragged the old man toward the exit. “Come along, Father, and I’ll get your dinner.”

  “You won’t find her,” Zoriah cried, planting his feet, refusing to move from in front of Ravyn. “Not flesh, not bones. What the Beast takes as its own, the Beast keeps.” He pressed his face close to Ravyn’s. “And she won’t be the last.”

  Wendell pulled his father from Ravyn and dragged the old man across the room. “Father!”