She paused briefly at the door to switch on the CD player, then disappeared out into the night. From the twin speakers of the CD player, there spilt the familiar sound of the official Werewolves of Wottenham Wood howling wolf ring-tone.
“How are you getting on there, Fairfax?” I had to raise my voice to be heard over the howls.
“I shall require a few more minutes, Rupert.”
“I can’t believe it,” I said. “I would never have suspected a member of Her Majesty’s Police Force capable of such duplicity.”
“Nor would I.” Urban-Smith’s hand movements increased in speed behind our backs, “but I fear that worse is yet to come. I had rather hoped to face Tripod Jack in an upright position and with at least one free hand.” He continued to tug and pull and twist. “Fear not, Rupert. These cuffs will soon yield.”
No sooner had his assurances been given than I realised that we were no longer alone. Silhouetted in the dull light that spilled from the barn’s open doorway, there lurked a large shape, indistinct and low to the ground, perhaps thirty feet away but moving towards us.
“Fairfax,” I shouted. “Something’s coming.”
“I’m working as fast as I can, Rupert.”
The shape veered off to the right, and a long shadow passed in front of the doorway, cast from one of the external lights. The keening of the wolf continued to assail our ears, and the aroma of chicken wafted about us as we waited for Tripod Jack to claim us.
“Did you see that, Fairfax?”
“No, Rupert. I cannot twist around sufficiently to afford a view of the doorway.”
Finally, after what had seemed an eternity, the wolf’s howls came to an end, and their dying echoes faded, leaving just the sound of our ragged breathing, the scraping and shuffling of Urban-Smith’s yandric efforts and the distant shrieking of a fox.
To this day, my mind can scarcely accept what presented itself to me as I sat restrained and fearful in that barn. As I fought the scalding bile rising in my throat and the vile loathing that threatened to crush my soul in its steely grasp, something atrocious casually eased its front quarters through the doorway and paused, appraising us with suspicion and contempt. The light bounced from its pale yellow teeth and sparkled upon the tiny droplets of moist air that it blew from its flat nostrils, yet seemed to wither as it touched the scaly surface of its snout and torso. Matted, wet browny fur clung to its broad back, and I noticed that most of its weight rested on its right side, for its left leg was no more, replaced by a crude wooden imitation that appeared to have been fashioned from a stout table leg and secured about the beast’s thorax by means of a wide leather belt or harness.
The cruel mouth opened a little to reveal the rest of its pointed teeth and its flat, pale tongue. The beast hissed softly, and I sucked in a deep breath and pushed myself back as far as I could, pulling my feet towards me, trying to increase the distance between us.
“Fairfax!”
“Almost there, Rupert.”
“Fairfax,” I persisted. “I must inform you that your original hypothesis is erroneous; this is no werekangaroo.”
“No need to elaborate, Rupert. I know what we are up against.”
I shook my head in wide-eyed wonderment. “I think not, Fairfax. Not even your extraordinary deductive prowess could have enabled you to predict this.”
“Unless I am grievously mistaken,” he replied evenly, “then what you are currently ogling is a three-legged crocodile with a wooden leg, and wearing a fur coat and giant socks.”
◆◆◆
25. Unto the Breach.
I cannot say whether I was more amazed by the sight before me, or Urban-Smith’s incredible statement.
“But, but, but, but,” I spluttered, in what I fancy was a very passable imitation of a waterlogged outboard motor, “how could you possibly have deduced that?”
“Aha!” he cried triumphantly, and I was hauled unceremoniously to my feet and dragged towards the rear of the barn. “Quick, Rupert. Grab a backpack and stay close. We will appear larger and more intimidating if we stand together.”
“We are still handcuffed to one another,” I observed.
“There is a handcuff key in the side pocket of one of the backpacks. Please hasten to locate it.”
With a deep growl, the great beast shuffled a few inches further inside the doorway.
“I recall that crocodiles have very sensitive hearing,” I said as I frantically pawed at the backpack. “Should we scream and wave our arms?”
“Ordinarily yes, hence the football rattle, but on this occasion, we have encroached into its nest, and it views us as rivals. If we roar at it, we will be issuing a challenge. I suggest you keep your voice low and your movements unhurried.”
“I have the key,” I whispered, and proceeded to unsheathe our wrists.
“Stay close,” he said, and side by side we crept back into the shadows towards the farthest reaches of the outbuilding. “The first thing that we must do,” he explained, “is to make ourselves less appetising. We appear to have been doused in a particularly nourishing brand of chicken broth, and it will take a good sprucing of Stilton to mask it.” He located said concoction and poured a good helping of it over my head and chest, then repeated the process upon himself and the unconscious Cain Upstart. This done, he threw the bottle against the wall a few feet to the side of the barn doorway. The combined sound and aroma caught our prosthetically-endowed interloper unawares, and it scooted backwards with impressive agility and disappeared from view.
“It won’t stay away for long.” Urban-Smith emptied his backpack onto the straw-covered floor and I followed suit. “A quick lesson in crocodiles for you, Rupert. Judging by this one’s weight and the shape of its snout, I would say that it is an immature Nile crocodile. No animal on Earth, save the saltwater crocodile, has a stronger bite. If it seizes you, it will shake you apart, or roll over and over to tear your limbs from you. The muscles that open the jaws however are surprisingly weak. If we can tie its jaws, it will be unable to free them. There is an elasticated luggage strap there. Your job will be to distract it while I endeavour to come around behind it and secure its jaws closed. We can then fasten it to one of the barn’s beams or posts while we summon assistance.”
“Brilliant,” I agreed. “How precisely should I distract it? Poetry perhaps?”
He tutted and pointed to the floor. “The roast chickens of course. Just dance around and wave them about a bit and try not to get snagged. I shall do the rest. Heads up, Rupert, it’s coming back. Pass me the rope and carabiner and start waving.”
Clearly not a fan of strong cheese, the crocodile, Teejay, was a little reticent to enter, but ultimately this was its territory, and it would not shy away from such a brazen challenge to its authority. It shuffled slowly forward, swaying its head from side to side in order to observe its rivals, for Urban-Smith and I had separated, one to each side of the barn. First, a long lingering growl scuttled from its broad throat, and then suddenly it reared its head and unleashed a great roaring bellow, causing me and Urban-Smith to leap back against the wall in terror.
“Good grief,” I cried. “What was that?”
“Off you go, Rupert,” squeaked Urban-Smith, his voice high and tremulous, “quick as you like.”
“Here, crocky-crocky,” I cooed. “Look what I have.” I swung the chickens around in a wide flailing arc, endeavouring to keep one of the vertical timbers between myself and the rogue reptile.
Teejay swung towards me and scuttled a few steps before issuing another throaty warning growl. Behind Teejay, Urban-Smith had unfurled the elasticated strap, and was rolling his shoulders and moving his head from one to the other in order to limber up. He tipped his chin to me in a gesture of readiness, and launched himself towards the crocodile.
His timing could not have been worse; Teejay must have inhaled a particularly fruity whiff of Stilton, for he turned his head sharply to the left just as Urban-Smith committed himself fully to the attack
, striking my friend and colleague a sharp blow to the front of the chest with his great snout.
Urban-Smith rebounded backwards, lost his footing and fell heavily into the wall with an, ‘oof.’ He slid to the floor and rolled onto his side as Teejay shuffled himself about and bellowed with rage. Urban-Smith hastily shuffled in reverse on his hands and knees as the monstrous crocodile squared off and opened its powerful maw in anticipation of the strike.
I had only seconds to act; throwing all caution to the wind, I discarded my chickens and, with a great shout, ran at full pelt and leapt onto Teejay’s back with both feet. I tumbled forwards, grabbed two great fistfuls of coat and opened my legs to straddle the crocodile’s back.
Teejay was deeply unimpressed, thrashing his head from side to side, hoping to catch a stray limb and drag me from him, but I clung on hard with both thighs and managed to hook my left forearm beneath the thick leather strap that fastened Teejay’s wooden limb to his torso, using my other hand to pound him on the head in an effort to draw his attention away from Urban-Smith. Teejay shuffled left and right and shook his tail, bellowing and hissing and snapping his jaws open and closed.
“Fairfax!” I howled. “Fairfax! Throw me the strap.”
Urban-Smith gathered said strap and loosely knotted it. “Get ready, Rupert.”
I raised my arm over my head and he hurled the strap to me. Much to my amazement, I managed to catch it, and I hunched forward, grasping it with both hands and attempting to unravel it.
Urban-Smith grabbed the football rattle and began twirling it dementedly, leaping to and fro and generally trying to keep the crocodile’s head facing forward.
It would appear that the tide had begun to turn in our favour. Teejay was obviously of the same opinion, and elected for a dramatic change of tactics. He dropped his right shoulder, and I lurched forward alarmingly, but rather than throwing me from his back, he continued to drop and barrel-rolled onto his back. The breath was driven from me like a set of bellows as I found myself violently sandwiched between the concrete floor on one side, and two hundred kilogrammes of angry crocodile on the other. The roll continued, and Teejay came to rest upright on his stockinged feet and wooden leg, with me prostrate upon his back, my ears ringing, my head pulsing and my whole body wracked with spasm and pain as I fought to expand my chest.
There was no respite; Teejay dropped again, and once more my world spiralled three-hundred and sixty degrees and I was pounded into the floor for a second time.
I could hold on no longer. As Teejay came up again, I dropped from him and lay spread-eagled upon my back, gazing through tear-stained eyes at the strip light blazing upon one of the roof beams. I felt my diaphragm relax, and I pushed my chin forward and dragged in a great rasping lungful of air, then another and another. I rolled onto my side and tried to right myself, but was immediately thrown back down by a blow from Teejay’s tail, which had blindsided me as he rotated himself clockwise, trying to locate me. I scrabbled backwards as far as I could until I was sat upright against the side wall of the barn, but there was no clear path to the door. Teejay squatted down a few feet in front of me and opened his jaws in readiness of the strike.
I stared at the rows of jagged teeth and the smooth, wet tongue and I thought of Nell and Urban-Smith, and of dear old Blighty, and bangers and mash, and my parents, and Her Majesty the Queen, and Carry on films and Benny Hill, and dusty specialist-magazine emporia, and row upon row of pale, clammy corpses with my gloved hands opening and dissecting them, and of young women in short skirts in Hyde Park when the Sun comes out, and Edna Clearing’s severed head laid upon its side in a beautiful, secluded copse at the edge of the Fernley Road, and I wondered whether I would miss it all when I was gone, and whether my death was to be slow and lingering, or swift and furious.
◆◆◆
26. The Upstart’s Tale
Teejay’s head flicked to the right by several inches as he was struck sharply and with considerable force upon the left side of his snout by a roast chicken. The process was repeated twice in rapid succession, and Teejay swung around to address this latest insult.
Urban-Smith had succeeded in forcing each hand wrist-deep into a roast chicken, and was using them as a pair of impromptu boxing gloves. I was aware that he had boxed at Eton, but this was the first time that I had seen a demonstration of his abilities, and I admired his form as he bobbed and weaved, ducking in and out of range to deliver a series of sharp jabs and powerful hooks to the side of Teejay’s head. Crocodiles are surprisingly nimble, but with his wooden prosthesis and great bulk, Teejay was no match for Urban-Smith’s footwork.
I used the opportunity to drag myself to my feet, and I liberated the elasticated cord and set about unravelling it.
“Any time now, Rupert,” shouted Urban-Smith, unleashing a double jab with his left followed by a swift uppercut. Sadly, not swift enough. The crocodile’s jaws came together with a slapping crunch onto the larger of Urban-Smith’s chickens.
“Quickly, Rupert! Quickly!” cried Urban-Smith with alarm, placing one foot against Teejay’s chin and pulling with all his might, trying to extricate his hand. “Before he can take another bite.”
I rushed forward and pulled the elastic strap over the beast’s snout, then folded the strap and pulled it over again. This accomplished, I grabbed Urban-Smith by the waist and hauled him clear as he shook the remains of the chickens from his hands and wrists.
“You did it, Rupert!” He stooped and retrieved the climber’s rope and we retreated to the doorway. Teejay was shaking his head from side to side and stomping to and fro, attempting to open his jaws. Urban-Smith crept around Teejay’s far side and uncoiled the rope before sliding the end of it along the floor beneath Teejay’s belly. “Grab it and throw it back over,” he instructed. Using the carabiner, he formed a giant snare and threw the rope’s free end over one of the ceiling beams before fastening it in a timber hitch knot around one of the vertical struts.
Teejay performed a few more rolls, but the rope was strong and the barn’s timbers were thick and true and would not yield. After a short time, he gave up the fight and stood in the centre of the barn, breathing heavily and glaring at us with hateful fury.
My blood and flesh had been awash with billowing tides of adrenaline, but this was beginning to abate. My arms and legs began to shake my teeth chattered, and the sweat ran from my scalp and my neck. “I think I need to sit down,” I croaked, leaning against the wall.
Urban-Smith grasped me beneath the arm and led me outside, and I sat on a nearby tree stump with my head in my hands.
“Here,” he said, pushing a roast chicken leg into my hand. “Eat this. You will feel stronger.” As I took my first bite, I was seized with a ravenous hunger, and devoured the rest of the leg with just a few bites. Urban-Smith retrieved the mostly intact of the two chickens from the barn floor, and I busied myself at its tender breast until I felt restored.
“Can you stand, Rupert?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then you had best attend to Cain Upstart.”
I sidled around the edge of the barn and bent to examine Upstart. His breathing was regular and his pulse strong.
“Cain,” I said loudly. There was a loud hiss from behind me and I toppled over onto him in fright.
“Ow,” he mumbled. “Get off.”
“Sorry, Cain. Are you alright?”
“Dunno.”
“Back to normal then,” called Urban-Smith from the barn’s doorway. “Jolly good.”
“Come and help me, Fairfax.” I cast my gaze about until I spied the handcuff keys. “Bring the handcuff keys. We need to log-roll him so I can protect his neck and airway.”
Urban-Smith released the handcuffs, and I supported Cain Upstart’s head and neck as we gently moved him onto his side.
“Ring an ambulance,” I said sternly. “He’s going to need an x-ray and some stitches at the very least.”
While Urban-Smith summoned the ambulance, I covered U
pstart with a blanket and tucked the second one behind his head for comfort.
“You smell like a blocked toilet,” said Cain Upstart. “Have you messed yourself?”
“It is Stilton essence,” I replied haughtily. “It was supposed to repel your pet crocodile. I will have you know that my bowel control is exemplary.”
“They are on their way.” Urban-Smith had rejoined us. “Inspector Mallow too.”
“Is Teejay alright?” asked Upstart.
Urban-Smith and I craned our heads towards the great reptilian killer.
“He’s not best pleased, but other than that, he is fine,” I said.
“Do one thing for me, Doc.” A tear rolled from the corner of Cain Upstart’s eye and dripped onto the dusty floor. “Don’t let anything happen to Teejay. None of this is his fault. Please keep him safe. Please.”
“We shall do what we can,” I said noncommittally.
“Promise me. Please.”
“Alright, Cain. I promise. We shall do whatever we can to protect him.”
“Tell us, Cain,” said Urban-Smith, “where did Teejay come from? How did you come by him?”
“I’ll tell you,” sniffed Cain Upstart. “I’ll tell you everything.”
*
“Ever since he was small, Adam had problems. He had that ADHD thing, though back then we just thought he was a bit thick. He was rubbish at school, always falling out with the teachers and acting like a twat. It drove Mum and Dad mental, but I s’pose he couldn’t help it. He found it hard to concentrate. The only thing he was interested in was ghost stories. Ghosts and monsters, anyway. Picture books, stories, TV programmes, anything about ghouls and vampires and stuff like that, he lapped it up.
“After he left school, he had a few different jobs, nothing special, until one day he fell off a ladder and broke his ankle. Well, he was laid up for weeks, so Mum bought him a guitar. For the first time ever, he actually sat and learned something without getting bored or fed up. He played with it for hours, and by the time his leg healed, he’d decided he wanted to be a musician.
The Werewolf of Wottenham Wood Page 21