Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) (31 page)

‘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.

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.