‘Are you alright there?’ asked Hobbes from above.
My taut nerves snapping under the shock, I shrieked like a girl in a horror film until his hand clamped on my mouth to shut me up.
‘It’s only me,’ he said, ‘calm down and relax, alright?’
I nodded and he released me.
‘What are you doing in that there briar patch?’
‘Trying to get out,’ I said, breathing hard, yet acting cool, until, an incautious movement resulting in a scratch on my neck, I yelped.
‘I’ll give you a hand.’
Grabbing my wrists, he lifted me straight upwards, so that I could just see his face, which being upside down, led me to believe he was holding onto a tree branch with his legs.
‘Just hang in there a moment,’ he said, ‘until I find somewhere to put you down.’
I felt a swift, smooth motion as if he was sliding along a branch.
‘This’ll do,’ he said, swinging me to one side and letting go.
Anticipating a long drop, I braced myself, rolling like I’d seen gymnasts do when I hit the ground, realising I’d only dropped a few inches and was lying on a soft litter of leaf mould and moss. Hobbes gave me a hand up.
‘What just happened?’ I asked, ‘I mean … I don’t get it, it was confusing.’
‘OK,’ he said, ‘I was just arresting the first panther when you threw yourself onto the second one. Though it was brave, and I didn’t think you had it in you, it was also a bit foolish.’
I tried a devil-may-care shrug.
He continued. ‘I’d just got mine tied up, which it didn’t seem to appreciate, when I realised the other one had the better of you. I came back to help, but there was no need; the werewolf got there first.’
‘So that other thing was a werewolf?’ I asked, shivering.
‘Yes, which was lucky for you, because I might not have made it in time.’
I gulped, imagining hot, rank breath on my face, teeth tearing into my soft flesh. It didn’t take much imagination, after what had happened to Henry Bishop. ‘But what cried out? Was it the … umm …?’
‘The werewolf,’ said Hobbes, ‘caught his foot in a wire snare. I’m going to have to have another word with Skeleton Bob about his poaching.’
‘Is it … he … alright? The werewolf?’
‘I expect he’s got a sore leg but he managed to release himself and limped away. Dregs went with him.’
‘Will Dregs be safe?’
‘I expect so. The two of them seemed to be getting on very well.’
‘Good … umm … Can I see the panther you caught?’
‘I’m afraid not. It escaped.’
‘How? Weren’t your knots any good?’
‘My knots,’ said Hobbes, ‘were fine. Unfortunately, someone cut them.’
‘How?’ I asked, intelligently.
‘With a knife, a very sharp knife.’
‘Who would do such a thing?’
‘Someone with a sharp knife who wanted to release it. Now come along, we ought to investigate.’
‘What about Dregs?’
‘He’ll find us, but if you’re worried you can look for him. He went that way.’
Though I suppose he pointed, it was still too dark to see, yet, possibly, not so dark as it had been. I weighed up my options: I could search for Dregs, who was quite capable of looking after himself, on my own, in a wood full of werewolves and panthers, or I could stay where I was, on my own, in a wood full of panthers and werewolves, or I could follow Hobbes. Though none of them really appealed, the latter meant I’d at least have Hobbes with me.
‘I’ll come along,’ I said. ‘Just don’t go too fast.’
‘I’ll try not to. Follow me.’
The rain returning, showing ambitions of becoming a deluge, I pulled up my collar and set out after him, a hopeless task, since after a few moments I couldn’t see or hear him anymore. At first, I jogged in the direction in which I guessed he’d gone but after banging my knee on a fallen log, I resorted to slow walking. After a tree stump had barked my shin, I decided I might as well use it as seat.
A twig cracked, leaves rustled and something was breathing heavily. I sprang into an alert crouch, facing – I hoped – whatever was approaching. After a few minutes, my knees starting to hurt, I had to stand up straight as something solid smacked into the backs of my legs, knocking me headlong into the ground with a soggy thud. Shocked and winded, raising my hands for protection, I felt a soft, wet tongue lick them and hugged Dregs’s soggy fur, nearly crying with relief.
‘Good dog,’ I said, clambering to my feet with difficulty on account of the exuberant licking. When he shook himself, showering me, I didn’t care and grabbed his collar as he bounced about me, feeling safe, which was foolish.
‘Stay!’ I said in my best commanding voice. ‘The two of us might as well just hang around here until Hobbes gets back.’
Unfortunately, on hearing Hobbes’s name, he set off to find him, his lunge taking me unawares, the collar tightening around my fingers, dragging me behind. Though I managed to keep up for a few steps, I soon realised it was extremely difficult to run in a crouch. How Dregs managed to keep going without choking, I had no idea. At last he stopped running and, groaning, muttering what I’d like to do to him, I managed to wrestle my hand from his collar.
‘I thought you were supposed to be following me,’ said Hobbes.
Though I ought to have been used to such shocks, I wasn’t. ‘I tried,’ I said. ‘I thought you were going to be slow.’
‘I was, but you were slower. You’d have been faster if you hadn’t stopped to play with the dog.’
‘I wasn’t playing … umm … did you find the panthers?’
‘No, I lost them by the road. I don’t know how they got away, but something very strange is going on.’
‘You’re telling me?’
‘Yes. It’s puzzling, because it’s not difficult to track large animals through woods.’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘And it should be even easier on a road, but they just vanished. I think there must have been a human with them but the scents were confusing.’
‘Perhaps the human put them into a van and drove away.’
‘That’s plausible,’ said Hobbes, ‘because a vehicle had been parked by the roadside not so long ago.’
‘Why,’ I asked, ‘would someone take panthers into the woods? It could be really dangerous.’ Puzzled, I scratched my head, dislodging a number of leaves, as well as something soft and wriggly that made me shiver. Something smelled really bad.
‘For exercise, maybe,’ said Hobbes, ‘but something smells wrong – and I don’t just mean you. For future reference, rolling in fox dung is not effective with cats, who hunt mostly by sight and hearing. Smell is secondary.’
‘I’ll try to remember that,’ I said, assuming nonchalance, trying to rise above the stink, which seemed to be all over me, stomach-turning and disgusting.
‘Well,’ said Hobbes, ‘the lass won’t allow that sort of fragrance into the house, but I know somewhere you can wash. Follow me …. Is this slow enough?’
‘Umm … a little slower might be better.’
He took us through the woods as the rain clouds drifted away and the stars twinkled. With the prospect of a wash and going home to bed, I began to feel more cheerful, until I caught another whiff of myself. Dregs, on the other hand, finding me a source of delight, danced around, sniffing and whining with excitable good humour.
‘What about the werewolf?’ I asked, trying to divert my attention from the stink. ‘Was it badly hurt?’
‘No,’ said Hobbes, ‘I don’t think so. They’re as tough as old cow tails.’
‘I wonder who it is?’
‘I have a pretty good idea.’
‘Who?’ The night sky, glimpsed through a gap in the canopy, was definitely less dark.
‘That would be telling. I’ll let you know when I’m sure.’
‘Wh
en will that be?’
‘Soon … now mind this stile. It’s slippy.’
He vaulted over while Dregs squeezed between the old planks of a tumbledown wooden fence. I scrambled after them, jumping down into the soft grass of a meadow, the woodland scents soon replaced by the great smell of sheep, at least when the fox dung wasn’t overpowering everything.
‘Where are we?’
‘This is the edge of Loop Farm,’ said Hobbes, striding forward. ‘Henry Bishop’s, or, rather, Mrs Bishop’s place is just over there to the right.’
‘Where can I wash then? Isn’t it too late, or too early, to disturb people?’
‘You won’t disturb anyone, unless you yell too loudly.’
‘Why would I yell?’ I asked, more than a little wary.
‘Because the water will be cold.’
‘What water?’ I asked, wariness turning to worry. I hung back, but not far enough.
‘This water,’ he said, seizing my shoulders, lifting me above his head and throwing me.
The water was cold: bloody cold. Going in backwards, I rose, gasping, to the surface, where he allowed me a couple of indignant breaths before dunking me again. I came up spluttering, seeing that he’d chucked me into a big, metal trough.
‘Now let’s have your coat,’ he said, ‘and I’ll give it a good scrub.’
‘But …’
I never had a chance to argue, for he unbelted and unbuttoned my coat, whipping it off, dunking me again before I could react. Grabbing the side of the trough, I tried to haul myself out, still gasping.
‘One more time should do it.’
The last thing I heard before going down for the third time was his chuckle.
‘Well done,’ he said as I emerged, puffing. ‘Give yourself a good rub down.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘I’m afraid so. I’ll try to get some of the pong out of this.’
He began scrubbing and beating my coat against the metal sides of the trough. The water, once I was over the initial shock, didn’t feel so bad, so I stayed put, rubbing at any dubious areas on my clothing, as Dregs joined in the jolly romp; cold water possessed none of the terrors of a warm bath.
‘That’ll do for now,’ said Hobbes, lifting me onto the grass.
Dregs leapt out and delighted me by shaking himself all over Hobbes, who, shrugging it off, wrung the water from my coat. While Dregs rushed about, rubbing against the grass, I stood and dripped, seeing the distant blue-grey outline of hills standing out on the clearing horizon, hearing the birds chorusing from the woods and hedges.
‘It’s all very well,’ I said, ‘but how am I going to get dry?’
‘Like this,’ said Hobbes, his grin bright and clear, as he grabbed my wrist and ankle. ‘Your very own spin dryer.’ The world turned into a blur and I became aware I was yelling, with a mixture of indignation and exhilaration.
When, at last, he set me down, I tottered sideways for several steps like a drunkard, fell over and lay laughing in the grass. Hobbes sat next to me, Dregs flopping on my feet, as a pink glow over the hills heralded the dawn. Within minutes we were bathed in brittle, golden light, a fluffy mist lending an air of softness to the farmland. Across the glistening fields, I could see the festival stages had been set up. If the weather held, it looked like we’d be enjoying a great festival, despite the music.
‘That,’ said Hobbes, in a thoughtful voice, ‘was a great night out.’
Looking at my sodden, grimy clothes, the scratches on my hands, I thought of how I’d been bruised and terrified.
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,’ I said, intending sarcasm. It didn’t come out that way and I realised, I really wouldn’t have missed it. Nevertheless, as the sun’s warmth touched me, a great tiredness settled in my heart. I yawned, my head nodding, Hobbes’s voice seeming very distant.
‘C’mon, Andy, grab your coat, it’s time to go home.’
Forcing myself to stay awake, I got to my feet and followed him, smiling as Dregs scouted ahead, his tail wagging happily, knowing just how he felt.
16
With a yawn and a stretch, I came awake, my hands sore, the rich aroma of oxtail soup pervading my room. Since I was in bed, with no memory of getting home, I guessed Hobbes must have put me there. Sitting up, I examined a selection of scratches that mapped the events of the previous night.
‘Good afternoon,’ said a heavily accented, guttural voice.
‘Bloody hell,’ I squeaked.
Milord, back-lit by sunlight, half-moon spectacles glinting, sat hunched on a three-legged stool by the window, a pile of my clothes at his side. He nodded.
‘Is it afternoon already?’ I asked, hoping a show of normality would mask my bemusement and shock.
‘Yes, it is past noon.’
‘Gosh, I must have slept like a baby.’
‘No, this time you were not wearing a nappy.’
Bemusement turning to embarrassment, I tried to camouflage it behind a weak laugh and a question. ‘How come you’re always repairing my clothes in here?’
‘Because you are always damaging them. You have become a great source of employment, for which, I thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I mean to say … umm … why do you do it in my room? Haven’t you got a workshop?’
‘Of course, but Frau Goodfellow does not provide for me when I work there.’
‘That is a good reason.’
Leaving him to it, for the soup was demanding my attention, I got up, dressed in the bathroom and trotted downstairs.
The old girl was cutting bread. ‘Hungry, dear?’
‘Ravenous,’ I said, sneaking a slice of bread when she turned for a plate.
‘Good, but we’d better wait for the old fellow.’
‘Is he at the station?’
‘No, he’s at the hospital.’
‘Is he alright?’
‘He’s fine, apart from some nasty scratches on his hands.’
‘I’ve got a few of those and they don’t half sting,’ I said, holding up my hands, showing them off.
‘They look like gardening scratches,’ she said, peering. ‘The old fellow’s came from a panther’s claws.’
I was ashamed of trying to play up my pathetic collection of injuries.
‘I gather you boys had some fun last night?’
‘Yes, I suppose it was pretty exciting, or was when it wasn’t terrifying. But, if his scratches aren’t serious, what’s he doing at the hospital?’
‘You remember Mr Binks was arrested for assault?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well, the man he is alleged to have attacked died in hospital, so now it’s a murder and the old fellow’s on the case.’
‘Oh no! Does that mean he’ll be late for lunch?’
‘Not likely,’ said Hobbes strolling into the kitchen.
Dregs padded after him, flopped into his basket with a sigh, and was asleep within seconds. Late nights could obviously be too much for dogs, as well.
‘Glad to see you up,’ said Hobbes. ‘D’you know you sleep like a baby?’
‘Only when I was ill. I don’t always wear nappies, you know.’
He laughed. ‘I mean you suck your thumb.’
‘Umm … it was probably scratched. But do you know what’s happening with Featherlight?’
Hobbes, taking his place at the table, sighed. ‘He’s in a real pickle. I’ll tell you after I’ve had my dinner.’
We feasted on the magnificent soup and fresh crusty bread before adjourning to the sitting room. Hobbes, having taken a slurp of tea, rested his mug on the coffee table.
‘Featherlight,’ he said, ‘has been charged with the murder of the unidentified man who passed away in hospital this morning.’
‘Does he still deny it?’
‘Yes, though the evidence appears to be against him.’
‘What evidence?’
‘To start with, no fewer than twenty-three people witnessed an altercation
between Featherlight and the deceased gentleman at the Feathers on Saturday evening. All agree that Featherlight punched him, put him in an armlock and dragged him outside. Approximately five minutes later, he was discovered unconscious in the alley by the side of the pub.’
‘That would appear to be pretty conclusive.’ I said. ‘So why does he keep denying it?’
‘He denies assaulting the man, who he says called himself Mike, or Mickey, but admits punching him.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘He claims the punch was in self-defence. He also admits putting him into an armlock and escorting him from the premises.’
I snorted. ‘Escorting him from the premises? Is that what he said?’
Hobbes chuckled. ‘Remember, he had been talking to a lawyer. What he means is that he thumped the man and threw him out.’
‘In front of twenty-three witnesses.’
‘Most of them entirely credible. They include Kevin Godley and Billy Shawcroft. They’ll all stand up in court, if it goes there.’
‘How will anyone be able to see Billy in the witness box?’
‘Steps will be taken,’ said Hobbes.
‘But it sounds like Featherlight’s not really got a case.’
‘On the face of it, no.’ He stroked his chin. ‘However, there are some points that may be in his favour. Firstly, all the witnesses agree that he only punched the victim once when inside the pub, yet the man had received a thorough beating when he was found.’
‘But he could have dragged the poor guy down the alley and done it.’
‘True, though he’d have had to be quick and Billy is sure he was only outside for a matter of seconds. Of course, Featherlight can be surprisingly fast, in short bursts.’
‘I know, I’ve seen him in action once or twice and he can be quite frightening.’ I paused, as if to think and, to my surprise, a thought occurred. ‘Who found the victim? If they found him only five minutes later, they might have seen or heard something.’
‘Excellent,’ said Hobbes, ‘you’re thinking well. A group of lads out on a pub-crawl found him and appear to have acted quite responsibly, despite being inebriated. One of them called for help on his mobile while the others did what they could to assist until the ambulance turned up.
Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) Page 24
