Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) (32 page)

‘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.

‘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.’

‘When
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.