Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman)

by Martin, Wilkie

  ‘Why? What did he do?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I know,’ she said. ‘Years ago, when the old fellow had a week’s leave and we visited the Count, he told me something of what had occurred. The Count is a charming fellow, by the way, with lovely white teeth; you’d like him. During the war he was a French Army lieutenant and was marching back from the front with his section when a shell struck the duckboards, throwing them all into liquid mud. Men would often drown if they fell in and that would probably have been their fate.’

  ‘It must have been horrible,’ I said, shuddering.

  ‘It must have been, and all of them would probably have died had the old fellow not been passing and pulled them out. Afterwards, an officer reprimanded him for losing his boots.’

  ‘That’s typical!’ I said, clicking my tongue.

  ‘It wasn’t really; he only lost them once. He seemed to hit it off with the Count, who ever since has expressed his gratitude with wine. That’s about as much as I know, dear.’

  ‘Thank you. I sometimes wish he’d talk more about the war.’

  ‘He won’t. He hardly ever says much about it these days. He reckons there’s too much going on now to waste time on ancient history. Even so, he did once try to trace his ancestors but gave up.’

  ‘He was adopted, wasn’t he? Did he find anything?’

  ‘Not that I know. Well, I can’t stand round here all evening; I’ve got my Kung Fu to get to. We’ll be looking after security during the festival. See you later, dear.’

  She walked away, leaving me with Dregs who, having taken a leaf out of Hobbes’s book, was lying on his back in his basket, an idiot grin on his face, emitting gentle snores. Leaving him to it, I hobbled through into the sitting room, wishing my feet weren’t so sore, wondering if I could really let Hobbes give Felix the wine. If he did, I might yet have a chance with Violet, though, I couldn’t help thinking that Felix would still detest me. In that case, he’d be the only winner.

  I sat watching telly until the old girl got back, her face pink and shiny. Then, after a cup of cocoa and yet another antibiotic tablet, I went up to bed, sleeping as if I hadn’t already slept for most of the weekend.

  Next morning at breakfast, I sensed, once I’d filled my stomach enough to take notice of anything other than bacon and eggs, that Hobbes, the Bugle open but unread before him, stirring his tea and sucking his finger, was lost in thought. He stared at the ceiling apparently finding great interest in its network of cracks as I launched an attack on the toast and marmalade.

  ‘There’ll be no moon tonight,’ he said.

  ‘Won’t there?’ I asked, brushing crumbs off my chin.

  ‘No, and furthermore, there’ll be heavy cloud cover.’

  ‘That’s no good,’ I said. ‘It’ll probably rain.’

  ‘Yes, and it will be very dark in the woods.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ I wondered where he was heading.

  ‘Which means those cats won’t be able to see so well, which might give me a chance to nab them.’

  ‘Are you sure? I thought cats could see pretty well in the dark.’

  ‘They can, but it will be very dark tonight, which might be to my advantage.’

  ‘Might it? Won’t it be dark for you, too?’

  ‘Of course, but that will not be a problem.’

  ‘They’ll still be able to hear and smell you, won’t they?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll be able to hear and smell them.’

  ‘So, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Think about it. By the way, I think something else is out there, something that might interest you.’

  Something in the way he said it made my skin crawl. I could still see the creature in the lightning flash. ‘What?’

  ‘Something rare and rather exciting, I think.’

  ‘Yes, but what?’ My nerves tightened.

  ‘Though I’m not entirely sure.’

  ‘Please tell me.’

  ‘I think we have a werewolf.’

  ‘No!’ I said, unwilling to believe him despite what I’d seen.

  ‘Yes. Right, I’m off to work.’ He rose from the table, leaving me open-mouthed and shaking.

  ‘But what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Nothing, unless anyone makes trouble. Goodbye.’ Calling Dregs, he left me to my thoughts.

  I sat at the table, shaking, convinced he should be doing considerably more than nothing. Perhaps I was prejudiced, and he had insisted werewolves weren’t dangerous, but I couldn’t help feeling he should be raising a mob with flaming brands and pitchforks to destroy the monster. The merest glimpse had filled me with dread and I’d discovered how easily fear could turn to hatred. I wanted the thing dead so I would feel safe. Whether there was a genuine threat didn’t matter.

  15

  Mrs Goodfellow took a break from washing the dishes to stand beside me and look sympathetic. ‘Are you feeling poorly again, dear?’

  ‘No,’ I said, trembling, ‘he thinks there’s a werewolf.’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, isn’t it exciting?’

  ‘Exciting? It’s terrifying.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s wonderful news. It would be lovely if they could make a comeback round here. I miss them; we used to have such fun.’

  Either the old girl and Hobbes were quite mad, or I was.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘we used to have great times with old Wolfie. I wonder who the new one is? Wouldn’t it be funny if it was someone we know?’

  ‘Hilarious,’ I said, grimacing, the very idea giving me the creeps.

  ‘They’ve probably just moved into the area.’ She chuckled. ‘How long have you been in town, dear?’

  ‘Long enough. I’m no freak.’

  ‘Of course you aren’t, dear,’ she said.

  ‘Umm … good. So long as that’s clear.’

  ‘We ought to go out one night, see if we can find it and make friends.’

  ‘Well, not tonight, then. He said there’ll be no moon.’

  ‘That might make it a bit tricky for the likes of us, but it won’t be a problem for him.’

  ‘What I mean is there won’t be any about. Don’t werewolves only come out when there’s a moon?’

  ‘Of course not, dear. People believe such silly things and I think this myth came about since werewolves were most often spotted when the moon was out, so people assumed they only came out then.’

  ‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’

  ‘The thing is, dear, if you’re going to see anything at night it’s likely to be under the moon, ideally the full moon – because of the light.’

  ‘So they do come out at other times?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So, one might be out tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I decided I wouldn’t be out that night.

  It came as some surprise to find myself trailing through Loop Woods, a few hours later, wondering why I’d changed my mind so easily. I’d made my first mistake after finishing supper when I’d mentioned to Hobbes that Dr Procter had been round and pronounced me fit and well, so long as I was careful.

  ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘do you fancy coming out tonight and having a go at nabbing those big cats?’

  Though the sane bit of my brain, stunned for a moment, did not fancy it at all, my crazy mouth had already made my second mistake by saying, ‘I’d love to’. The third mistake had been when the sane bit of brain, trying to get me to change my mind, wanting me to say no, had discovered that my crazy mouth was still refusing to cooperate. I could blame no one but myself.

  It was already getting gloomy, an occasional fine drizzle a hint of what was to come. Anticipating heavy rain, I was wrapped up in an old mac and a flat cap, both Mr Goodfellow’s cast-offs. Dregs led the way, his thick, dark hair a match for any weather. Hobbes sauntered at my side, wearing his tatty old raincoat, carrying a canvas bag and a chair from the kitchen. I was still more than mildly miffed he hadn’t let me take one as well.

/>   ‘Why couldn’t I have a chair?’ I asked. ‘It might be a long night and I don’t want to be sitting on damp ground.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, I know a tree that’ll give good shelter and be an excellent vantage point.’

  ‘So what’s the chair for? To give you a step up into the tree?’

  ‘No. What I’ll do is give you and Dregs a hand onto a safe branch and scramble up afterwards.’

  ‘So what is it for?’

  ‘For the cats. I’ve seen how lion tamers do it.’

  ‘But you’ve never tried?’

  ‘There has to be a first time for everything.’

  ‘And what’s in the bag?’

  ‘A bullwhip. Lion tamers apparently use them, though I’m not sure why.’

  I was getting a bad feeling about this venture and perching in a tree in darkness was no longer top of my worry list. ‘But after you’ve successfully tamed it …’

  ‘Them,’ corrected Hobbes.

  ‘Or them … What are you going to do then?’

  ‘I’ve put a couple of dog collars and leads in the bag, so I expect I’ll be able to work something out.’

  ‘Have you actually thought this through?’

  ‘No, improvisation is half the fun.’

  Shaking my head, thinking it was more like madness, I kept with him, though it seemed that even Dregs, who was keeping within touching distance, was nervous. Hobbes loped through the quickly deepening gloom, his chair and bag slung across his back, his knuckles brushing the leaf mould, stopping now and again to sniff the air. A bird fluttered to its roost, giving a low warble, and that, besides the scuff and stumbling of my feet and the rustling of Dregs’s paws was all I could hear. As usual, I was amazed how Hobbes, even with his great clumping feet, could move as silently as an owl when he wished. The breeze strengthening, the sun nearly down, I wished I’d put on a jumper. Pausing to get my bearings, I tried to come to terms with being there, thinking that, although on a warm, sunny afternoon I wasn’t averse to a gentle stroll in the woods, with the night falling, hard, heavy clouds threatening torrents, dangerous animals about, I’d rather have stayed at home.

  ‘Keep up,’ said Hobbes, ‘or you might get lost.’

  I put on a spurt, having no intention of letting that happen.

  Hobbes, stopping abruptly, held up his hand. ‘Come here,’ he whispered, ‘and quietly.’

  As Dregs stiffened and bristled, Hobbes reached out and grabbed his collar. My mouth felt dry, as if I’d been force-fed cream crackers; I couldn’t even gulp, a sick feeling of cold fear filling my stomach.

  ‘Shhh!’ Hobbes murmured, ‘over there, by the fallen tree.’

  A giant tree trunk, moss covered and cracked, lay in gentle repose, gradually returning to the soil. Hearing what sounded like a cough and something purring, my mind said run, but my legs just shook. A grunt, as if from a man, was followed by a series of chattering squeaks and I suppressed a gasp as a sleek, grey animal with a black and white striped snout and small white-tipped ears gambolled into sight. Another launched itself over the tree trunk and the pair of badger cubs conducted a play fight, rolling and scrabbling in the leaf mould, driving away all of my fear. I’d never before seen wild badgers, apart from dead ones by the side of the Pigton Road, and hadn’t realised how much I wanted to. A few moments later, a larger animal, the mother I supposed, ambled into view, rooting under the dead tree with powerful paws, grunting and coughing.

  Though I would have been happy to stand and watch for hours, Dregs whined in a tone that meant he wanted to play, Mother Badger barked a warning, and all three trundled into the undergrowth.

  ‘Oh well,’ said Hobbes, smiling, ‘we’d best get on’.

  He loped away, leading us into denser woodland as the evening turned to night-time, any starlight being smothered by the trees and a sodden blanket of cloud. When an owl hooted, I felt Dregs jump. Raindrops pattered into the silent woods; I heard them long before I felt them.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Hobbes, patting the trunk of a tree that was barely visible in the darkness. His bag rustling, he squatted on his haunches, spreading something on the ground.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I whispered.

  ‘Putting down some bait; Mrs Goodfellow bought me some marrowbones.’

  ‘Will they work?’

  ‘We’ll see. Right, you two need to be out of the way.’

  Before I could even think of objecting, he grabbed me round the waist, launching me upwards. Though I flailed in panic, I landed gently on something broad and solid. Groping around, I felt how a couple of sturdy, horizontal boughs, having interlocked, had formed a sort of small platform. I didn’t know how high I was, what was above or what was below. All I knew was that I was up a tree and that I might just as well have been blind.

  ‘Hold on,’ said Hobbes, ‘here comes the dog.’

  ‘You can’t throw him into a tree,’ I said, reaching for some sort of handhold.

  I was wrong. Dregs, landing beside me with a surprised yelp, sniffed around and proved he was made of sterner stuff than I by curling up as if to sleep.

  ‘Where are you?’ I called down to Hobbes.

  ‘Up here,’ he said.

  ‘Eh? What?’ Jerking back, staring blindly into the canopy, I nearly lost my balance.

  His hand grabbed my shoulder, steadying me. ‘I told you to hold on. Do as I say, and keep quiet. We may be here for some time.’

  Finding a twisted cable, some sort of creeping plant that felt solid, I looped it round my left hand and sat still, as the rain started for real with a sound like a thousand tiny drummers and, though the leaves sheltered me and my cap kept off the worst of it, heavy dollops would, from time to time, explode into my face. My trousers, growing soggy, clung coldly around my legs. Though Dregs sighed every now and then, Hobbes might have sloped off minutes or hours earlier and I wouldn’t have known; the concept of time seemed meaningless. Huddling against the rain as best I could, I wished again I’d stayed at home, deciding that almost anywhere was more comfortable than halfway up a tree in the rain. My bottom growing numb and wet, I wriggled in an effort to find a more comfortable position, letting out a soft groan.

  ‘Shhh!’ Hobbes hissed by my ear, clamping his hand across my mouth to stifle the gasp rising to my lips. ‘Something’s coming,’ he whispered and was gone.

  I held onto my precious creeper, waves of fear crashing through my body, scared that he hadn’t said what was coming, giving me no clue as to whether it might be panthers, or a werewolf or just the badgers returning. Those next few moments rated well up my top ten most terrifying experiences. I couldn’t see, all I could hear was rain, I was perched God knew how high up a tree, and all I could smell was the earthy scent of leaf mould and the stink of wet dog. When Dregs, all of a sudden, pressed his cold nose into my neck, I jumped, losing my grip, plummeting. In such a crisis, my brain must have worked faster than normal, because it had time to remember Hobbes’s warning, to suppress a shriek, and still wonder how much I’d hurt myself when I hit the ground.

  Instead of actually hitting the ground, I landed astride something soft, if not as soft as a man in my position might have wished. The thing snarled, twisting away from me and, despite the shock, all I could do was whimper, clutching my delicate parts, dropping to my knees. Two green eyes flashed and, by some trick of the light or of my imagination, I could see it clearly: it being a big, black cat. Judging by the way it was thrashing its tail, I’d annoyed it; judging by the way it was limping, I’d hurt it.

  Strangely, I wasn’t quite as scared as I had been in the tree. Perhaps the pain had something to do with it, but my fear of the dark unknown proved even worse than what was before me. It wasn’t rational, of course, for anything has more potential for harm than nothing, and a big cat has more potential than most things. Neither was it rational to kneel there thinking such thoughts when I should have been fleeing for my life.

  At last, I legged it, though not for long as
I ran headlong into a spiky bush. Disentangling myself, I turned to face the panther. It was poised to spring.

  ‘Whoa! Here, kitty, kitty,’ Hobbes shouted from a distance: too great a distance.

  As the panther leapt, I dropped and curled into a ball, my hands covering my face, an instinctive reaction that I doubted would help, yet the panther never touched me. Its great paws landed by my head and it ran. A moment later, something dark, hairy and heavy hurtled past, followed by Dregs, barking, with Hobbes bringing up the rear, bounding after them, almost silently.

  I climbed back to my feet, trembling, sore, feeling horribly out of place. Not far away, something angry was growling and spitting and I wondered how many panthers infested the woods. The sounds of the chase were receding into the distance when an animal yelped in pain, a piteous sound, but it wasn’t Dregs or Hobbes.

  Though my first instinct was to run towards it and help, I didn’t dare turn my back on the growling, spitting thing, hoping Hobbes had trapped it, fearing he hadn’t, that the panther was winding up its fury before tearing me into little pieces. The tree I’d been in felt like sanctuary, though I doubted any panther would have trouble climbing it.

  If I’d only had a light, I wouldn’t have felt quite so vulnerable, yet the darkness had returned. I could see nothing. As a genius idea popped into my head, I plunged deep into the spiky bush, convinced nothing would be able to get at me, besides the wicked, scimitar thorns that raked my hands and face and stabbed through my trousers. It was fortunate my heavy mac, as impenetrable as chain mail, protected my vital organs. Despite superficial scratches, I was safe, but stuck.

  The woods suddenly becoming uncannily quiet, except for the steady drip of rain-rinsed leaves, I tried to control my breathing, listening as hard as I could. Something was panting to my right and not far away I made out the faint rustling of furtive footsteps, heading to my left, towards where I’d heard the growling. I stayed put, the thorns giving me little other choice, all my senses on alert, as minutes rolled by like aeons and my nerves stretched.