Inspector Hobbes and the Common People: Comedy Crime Fantasy (Unhuman Book 5)

by Wilkie Martin

  Hobbes sat cross-legged on top of the rock pile with his eyes closed. Daphne lounged beside him, making notes in her journal. I stared at the patch of sky where I’d last seen the plane. Dilip wouldn’t return for days.

  ‘So, what now?’ I asked.

  ‘We wait for Akar,’ said Hobbes, opening one eye.

  ‘A car? Up here?’

  ‘You didn’t read the briefing notes, did you?’ said Daphne, putting down her pencil.

  ‘I did … sort of … why?’

  ‘Because if you had, you’d know that Akar is our guide.’

  ‘Oh, that Akar. When’s he getting here?’

  ‘When he can,’ said Hobbes. ‘Terrain and climate control the pace of travel in these parts. However, I expect him soon. He’s always proved reliable before.’

  ‘You know him?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Have you been here before?’

  ‘A few times.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, hoping to learn more of his exploits.

  ‘On secret government business.’

  I didn’t push any further. Only a few days earlier, and much to my surprise, he’d taken Daphne and me to a small office in London where we’d signed the Official Secrets Act. As soon as our signatures were on the form, an official informed me that I’d volunteered for a secret mission and would only be given information on a strictly need-to-know basis. Apparently, I didn’t need to know nearly as much as Daphne, who they took to another room for over an hour, leaving me to coffee and biscuits. Still, I would probably have known a bit more had I read the briefing notes rather than skimmed through them as I stared out the window at the busy London streets. Despite this, I had taken away the vital knowledge that I was forbidden from revealing the country I was visiting, and which foreign government had requested Hobbes’s assistance. Failure to comply would result in dire consequences. Still, it was frustrating that the department hadn’t let me know what Hobbes was doing or why he needed my wife’s help.

  While the other two relaxed, I wandered about, doing my best not to pant or to fall into panic. The little meadow, despite a sprinkling of the most lovely, sweet-scented spring flowers I’d ever seen, struck me as an inhospitable and exposed place and the prospect of spending a night there was terrifying.

  I’d reached the topmost edge and was throwing pebbles at an innocent thorny shrub when a huge shaggy face appeared over the ridge.

  Worse than the face were the long, sharp, curved horns, the hump of massive shoulders and the sturdy legs.

  I yelped, though the dark brown eyes were not fierce. They stared at me with mild bemusement.

  ‘Akar’s here,’ said Hobbes, getting to his feet.

  ‘This cow thing is our guide?’ It was insane, even for Hobbes!

  ‘No, you idiot,’ said Daphne with a grin. ‘That, I believe, is Akar’s yak, Flossy.’

  I stepped back nervously as the great beast passed by. As she lowered her head to munch on the foliage, a short, stocky man in a long hide coat, his ruddy face half-concealed by an oversized fur hat, approached in her tracks. He raised his hand and stuck out his tongue—an act of unprovoked rudeness that left me speechless.

  ‘Greetings,’ he said with a BBC English accent. ‘I assume you are with Inspector Hobbes.’

  I nodded as the man reached the top of the rise.

  ‘Greetings, my friend and well met!’ said Hobbes, running up. ‘I trust all is well?’ He stuck out his tongue and shook Akar’s gloved hand.

  ‘Everything is indeed well,’ said Akar. ‘Apart from the business we’re here for, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Hobbes.

  Daphne joined us. When she, too, stuck out her tongue, I began to suspect I’d missed something.

  ‘You must be our archaeologist,’ said Akar.

  ‘Yes, I’m Daphne. Pleased to meet you.’ She held out her hand. Akar bowed and raised it to his lips.

  I, for one, wasn’t impressed.

  Hobbes patted Flossy, who was happily chewing meadow flowers and herbs.

  ‘And who are you, sir?’ asked Akar, smiling at me.

  ‘I’m her husband,’ I said, moving beside her.

  ‘He is Andy,’ said Hobbes. ‘He’s here to help around the camp and to keep a photographic record of our expedition, though I have yet to see him with a camera.’

  ‘It’s still in my rucksack,’ I said. ‘I’ll get it soon.’

  ‘And I believe soon would be a good time to eat,’ said Hobbes as Akar laid down his pack. ‘The days are still short and we need to get moving before the afternoon gets too old.’

  ‘Okay, Chief, I’ll start cooking the tsampa,’ said Akar, taking a battered leather pouch from his pack.

  Hobbes started a fire, using a stash of dry wood and what looked like animal droppings he’d found among the rocks, while Akar tipped a complicated mass of rusty ironwork from his pack, twisted it like a balloon wrangler, and turned it into a tripod. He set it over the fire and hung a blackened kettle of water from it. As I watched, I began to feel ravenous, despite the colossal breakfast I’d enjoyed at the Imperial Hotel in the small market town whose name and location the law forbade me from ever disclosing.

  To take my mind off the interminable wait for lunch, I rummaged through my pack. The camera was right at the bottom, but appeared to have survived the journey intact. I took a few snaps of our party, including rather too many close-ups of Flossy who kept blundering into shot. Then I focussed on the scenery: white-tipped mountains glinted all around, lush valleys lurked far below, a distant ribbon of river glinted, and a vast purple-blue lake appeared to be iced over along one edge. Although my rudimentary photographic skills could never do justice to the magnificence of nature in the wild, I was satisfied with the results.

  Akar crouched over the fire, a sorcerer in the midst of billowing steam and smoke. He poured a pan of boiling water into a pot, chucked in handfuls of a greyish powder and a hefty lump of what appeared to be soft cheese and stirred the concoction with a long wooden spoon. ‘Lunch is served, lady and gentlemen,’ he said, filling four plain wooden bowls with the gunk and handing them out.

  Hobbes said grace, which was his way except when possessed by one of his wild, dangerous moods.

  ‘What the hell is it? Gruel?’ I whispered to Daphne and stared at the greyish-brown sludge in front of me.

  ‘It’s tsampa—roasted barley flour boiled with salted yak butter—a staple food for peasants and travellers up here. I’m sure it tastes better than it looks.’

  ‘God, I hope so! But what if it … umm … looks better than it tastes?’

  ‘Then smile and get used to it, darling—unless you want to starve.’

  It was possible that as food writer for the Sorenchester and District Bugle and as a keen admirer of the culinary skills of Mrs Goodfellow, I’d become a little spoiled. I was used to well-presented food with varied colours and textures, but this gloop was lacking in all three departments. Yet, hunger is a fine relish, so I dipped my spoon and took a tentative taste. The consistency was somewhere between porridge and dough, and it felt gritty on the teeth, though the nutty flavour wasn’t bad. I tried a little more and concluded that it was edible, though it hit my stomach like a lump of lead, and I was unable to finish the whole bowl.

  Hobbes went back for seconds. ‘I’ve missed this,’ he said. ‘The old girl has tried making it at home, but it’s not the same without yak butter and mountain air.’

  When we’d finished eating and had drunk a little water, Akar took our bowls and spoons to the edge of the meadow and washed them in snow. ‘Ready to go?’ he asked as he stowed the stuff back into his pack.

  ‘Yes, we’d better get a move on if we’re to reach the tasam before dark,’ said Hobbes, getting to his feet.

  ‘It’s a nomadic caravan house,’ said Daphne in response to my baffled expression. ‘A sheltered place to camp.’

  ‘Flossy! It’s time for work,’ said Akar.

  The shaggy beast who
’d been relaxing and chewing cud at the far side of the meadow, stood up and sauntered towards us. Akar loaded her.

  ‘What about the rest of our baggage?’ I asked, eyeing the pile that was left.

  ‘That’s for us to carry,’ said Hobbes.

  Although my rucksack was heavier than I’d have wished and my knees sagged, I made light of it as Hobbes hoisted it onto my back. The truth was that Daphne had helped me pack, ensuring I only put in essentials, but I’d sneaked in a few other items I’d thought might prove useful, including paperbacks to read in the evenings. Perhaps that had been foolish. I looked at Daphne’s light pack with envy.

  ‘Could Flossy carry my stuff?’ I asked. ‘She seems to be managing her load without any problem.’

  ‘No,’ said Hobbes. ‘She’s already taking more than her share, and we don’t want to wear her out.’

  ‘Oh, well … just a thought.’

  Leaving the landing meadow, we set off along a stony path that snaked between massive boulders and patches of snow. Akar took the lead, followed by Hobbes. I was sandwiched towards the rear between Daphne and Flossy, who ensured I kept moving—I wasn’t sure she’d stop if I did, and the path was too narrow to stand aside. At first, the going was reasonably smooth and level, but before long we’d reached rugged terrain and were climbing hard. I was soon staggering and gasping. Sweat dripped into my eyes and as I slowed to wipe a handkerchief over my face, Flossy nudged me gently in the back. I nearly fell, and had I done so, I doubted I would have had the strength to get up again.

  How long was this trek? Would I make it or would my racing heart explode first? Why on earth had I asked to come to this godforsaken place? Why was no one helping me? Why weren’t they struggling for air? And why was Daphne not making sure her poor, toiling husband was keeping up?

  Flossy nudged me again, and I groaned.

  ‘Are you alright?’ asked Daphne.

  I shook my head. ‘I can’t keep this pace up. Are we nearly there yet?’

  ‘I doubt it—we’ve only been going for twenty minutes.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Hobbes, turning to see why we’d fallen behind.

  ‘Andy’s struggling,’ said Daphne.

  ‘But we’ve only just started! And the path grows steep soon.’

  My legs and lungs argued that it was too steep already.

  ‘I guess it’s the altitude,’ said Daphne, ‘though his rucksack is really heavy.’

  ‘I’ll take it,’ said Hobbes, and slung it over his shoulder, alongside his own small bag.

  Akar offered me water from a leather flask that was hairy on the outside, like Hobbes’s horrid wallet. After a few gulps, I felt a little better. They allowed me five minutes to get my breath back, and we were off again.

  ‘We need to shift ourselves if we are going to reach shelter before dusk,’ said Hobbes. ‘Are you up for it, Andy?’

  I nodded, unwilling to waste breath on words, though nothing felt right and I wanted nothing more than to lie down and let nature take its course. Although it took all my willpower to place one foot in front of the other, I trudged on, assisted by occasional reminders from Flossy.

  Darkness closed in.

  My nose was cold, though a shell of sublime warmth encased my body. I assumed I was tucked up in bed, waking on a frosty morning, though I couldn’t understand why the bed was swaying and lurching. My befuddled mind jumped to the only conclusion.

  ‘Earthquake!’ I yelled, and opened my eyes.

  I blinked in confusion. It was not yet dark, and what were massive grey rocks and icy mountains doing in our bedroom? As my brain regained some function, I raised my head and saw I was wrapped in blankets and perched on Flossy’s back. Her yak scent was all around—it was sweet and not unpleasant. The peaks to my left shone fiery red in the sunset.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I asked of the world in general.

  ‘We had to put you up there when you fainted,’ said Daphne, coming into view. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Sick. Tired. And I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘Well, never mind,’ said Hobbes. ‘Akar says we’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  ‘Good. It’ll be nice to reach somewhere comfortable.’

  ‘It won’t be as comfortable as all that—the place was abandoned decades ago,’ said Hobbes.

  ‘What’s the point of going there?’

  ‘Because there’s a spring of good water and the walls are still standing—they’ll provide shelter from the weather and other things.’

  ‘What other things?’

  ‘You know—leopards, wolves, brigands?’

  ‘Why did I come here?’ I asked, as my spirits cowered in my boots.

  ‘To protect us from harm,’ said Hobbes, his face expressionless.

  ‘Me? What can I do?’

  ‘You might come in handy as bait,’ he said and chuckled.

  I hoped he was joking.

  At last, Flossy stopped by what looked like a derelict sheep pen. Hobbes plucked me from her back.

  ‘Welcome to tonight’s palatial residence,’ said Akar with a grin. ‘Alfresco dining, sleeping, and ablutions and no mod cons whatsoever. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll see to Flossy.’

  ‘Thank her for carrying me,’ I said. ‘I thought you didn’t want to overload her?’

  ‘We didn’t,’ said Daphne, wrapping a supportive arm around my waist. ‘Mr Hobbes carried some of her load. Come on, let’s find you somewhere out of the wind.’

  She helped me into the flat, grassy space inside the walls and I leaned against a pile of rocks, stretching my legs and trying to appear stronger than I felt. Hobbes unpacked our brand-new igloo tents and winter sleeping bags from the baggage that Flossy would have been carrying had I not been so afflicted. He started setting up camp, pulling the tents into shape and pounding tent pegs into the rocky ground with his fist. I’d camped with him before, so this came as no surprise, but Daphne gasped—she’d rarely seen him in the wild and I was sure she thought I’d exaggerated his weirdness. Within a couple of minutes, he’d got both of them up, ready for occupation. One was for Daphne and me; the other was for him and Akar.

  Akar gave Flossy water and a few handfuls of hay from her load and ensured a ramshackle wall would shelter her from the bitter wind. When satisfied, he joined us and started to build a fire with wood from a pile in a corner.

  ‘We’d better make a good one,’ he said. ‘There’s snow coming.’

  Hobbes, who’d been sniffing out the area, came back between the walls and nodded. ‘And there are wolves upwind.’

  ‘Wolves!’ I cried. ‘Will they bother us? Do we have a gun?’

  ‘Possibly, and no,’ said Akar.

  ‘What do we … umm … do if they attack us?’

  ‘Reason with them,’ said Hobbes. ‘They’ll be alright … probably. If all else fails, grab a stick.’

  ‘To fight them off?’

  ‘To throw so they can go fetch,’ he said with an evil grin.

  At this point, I fell into a trembling fit—I’d never felt quite so helpless before, and I was well used to feeling helpless.

  ‘Calm down,’ said Daphne, hugging me. ‘I’m sure Mr Hobbes and Akar know what they’re doing.’

  I wasn’t.

  My head felt as if it were spinning like a plate in a juggler’s set. I tried to control myself but headache, fatigue and nausea overwhelmed me.

  And then, for some reason, I was slumped on the cold, hard ground with Daphne stroking my forehead and Hobbes, Akar and Flossy staring down at me.

  ‘His altitude sickness is not improving,’ said Akar, frowning.

  ‘What can we do to make it better?’ asked Daphne, giving my hand a squeeze.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Hobbes. ‘I’ve never seen anyone suffer so badly at such a low altitude. He may have done too much too soon.’

  ‘Susceptible people can be afflicted above four thousand feet,’ said Akar, ‘but even then, it rarely happens so qu
ickly. The usual treatment is to give paracetamol for the headache, an anti-sickness drug for his stomach, and to descend for a few days’ rest before a slow climb back up. Unfortunately, we are travelling light and have no anti-sickness medication.’

  I groaned as my stomach churned.

  ‘At least we have paracetamol,’ said Daphne.

  Hobbes looked grave. ‘We can give him some of those, but we can’t descend. We’re on a tight schedule—lives are at stake.’

  ‘What will happen if we don’t go down?’ asked Daphne, biting her lip.

  ‘Bad things,’ said Akar gravely. ‘Possibly very bad.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning,’ I said bravely, panting and feeling as if I’d just sprinted the last mile of a marathon.

  Daphne pushed two paracetamol tablets into my mouth and I washed them down with water from my bottle.

  The wind howled. I hoped it was the wind. I shivered and my comrades’ talk turned into the distant buzz of insects.

  My eyes closed.

  6

  When I woke up, I was inside the tent with Daphne sleeping at my side. Every breath was a struggle and my head felt that it might burst, but at least the nausea had reduced—possibly because I had eaten nothing. My body craved further sleep, but my bladder insisted it was time to get up or to wet myself. I suppressed a groan, sat up, and wriggled from the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag. After a struggle to put on a fleece jacket, I slipped on my boots, not bothering to lace them, and unzipped the tent’s door.