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

by Wilkie Martin

  The world had turned white. It glistened in the pre-dawn half-light. Snowflakes swirled in a nasty wind that threatened to blow away what little breath I had left. I was gasping even before I was on my feet. My balance was all over the place—I felt as if I were on the rolling deck of a storm-tossed ship. Fighting the wind and the dizziness, I lurched away until I deemed I was far enough from the tents for hygiene, and released the pent-up pressure in a cloud of steam. On the way back, I had time to notice the prints patterning the snow all around.

  ‘Wolves!’ I yelled with the last of my breath, and fell face first into soft snow—my flapping bootlaces had tangled.

  Hobbes, dressed only in woollen long johns, burst from his tent. ‘Where?’

  I sat up and pointed at the prints.

  He laughed. ‘Calm down—they’re only kyangs.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wild asses,’ said Akar, running over. ‘Quite harmless if left alone.’

  ‘Why are you sitting in the snow?’ asked Daphne, emerging from our tent.

  ‘I fell.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘My head’s thumping like a ten-pint hangover, and I can’t catch my breath. I’m cold.’

  Hobbes hauled me to my feet and was helping me back to the tent when he stopped and pointed up the rock face opposite. ‘Somebody’s up there.’

  I followed the direction of his finger to where the rising sun lit up a rectangular stone building with rows of dark, square holes. The place was massive and looked almost as if it was a natural part of the landscape.

  ‘It’s an old monastery,’ said Akar. ‘It was abandoned a century ago.’

  Daphne squinted into the brightening light. ‘He’s waving.’

  A man-shaped figure wearing a robe belted at the waist and with long sleeves, was sitting cross-legged by one of the holes. He rose to his feet, bounded down the steep mountain side and stuck out his tongue as he drew near—I’d worked out that it must be a form of greeting in these parts. He doffed his fur cap.

  The excitement was too much. Breathing was too much. The shutters came down again.

  A bitter liquid ran into my mouth. I gagged and fought the strong hands clamping my jaw and pinching my nose. All I could do was swallow the vile stuff. When they let me go, I retched.

  They’d propped me up on a hard bed in a bleak stone cell. Daphne, Hobbes and Akar were at my side. The stranger, his face looking as old as time and twice as hairy, grinned. It took a moment to work out that he was wearing a mask of twigs and fur. He was holding a wooden bowl and spoon—I blamed him for the disgusting concoction.

  ‘Drink this,’ said Akar, handing me a steaming cup. ‘It’ll take the taste away.’

  I took a swig. It lived up to his promise, though I wasn’t convinced it was much of an improvement. ‘What devilish drink is that?’

  ‘Buttered tea,’ said Hobbes. ‘An acquired taste.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ asked Akar.

  I stopped making disgusted noises and grimaces to consider the question. ‘Actually, I’m feeling better … a whole lot better. What did he give me?’

  Hobbes smiled. ‘A mixture of mysterious herbs. Our friend gathers them in a valley beyond the big peak, mixes them with holy water from the Tsangpo river, and brews them up into a cordial. He says it works wonders for altitude sickness.’

  ‘It does,’ I agreed, and turned to thank him.

  He’d already gone.

  ‘He’s not used to people,’ said Akar.

  ‘I’ll thank him later,’ I said. ‘By the way, is there any breakfast? I’m starving.’

  Following a huge bowlful of tsampa, I felt almost miraculously well. In fact, I’d never before had so much energy and clarity of mind. I was delighted the stranger had left me a small leather flask of the stuff.

  After I’d breakfasted, Akar took me down a dusty corridor, opened a creaking wooden door and ushered me into a small walled garden where the overnight snow was already melting beneath a warm sun. Huge bees hummed in blossoming fruit trees and a rivulet tinkled like bells, making music as it meandered through the garden and plunged down the mountainside in a haze of rainbows.

  Daphne was sitting on an ancient wooden bench, a blissful smile on her face. ‘You should take some pictures of this,’ she said and handed me my camera. I did as she asked, for it was a special place. Then we sat together in this earthly paradise, holding hands, lost in thought. Was our masked friend the gardener of this Eden? I could have stayed there forever.

  The garden’s door thumped open again and like a great, ugly ape, Hobbes gatecrashed the bliss. ‘We’re packed, Flossy is loaded, it’s time to shift yourselves … and quickly!’

  Within ten minutes, we’d resumed the trek. My rucksack felt as light as a cloud, and I strode along, keeping up with ease, full of gratitude for the mysterious stranger. I wondered at my newfound vigour, and only later discovered that Hobbes had taken out my books and left them in the monastery. Although our route was rough and steep, I caught myself singing for sheer joy, revelling in the exercise, the meal breaks, and the magnificence of the mountains. I was still going strong when we made camp for the evening.

  The next three days were much the same: waking, eating, walking, sleeping. After a drop of the potion, a few moments of gagging, and a hearty breakfast, I was ready for anything. We climbed steadily higher, the scenery ever more spectacular as the temperature dropped, despite a fierce sun that glared down—Daphne and I were grateful the department had given us tubes of sunblock.

  Late afternoon on the third day, we crested a ridge. A steep cliff glittered and dazzled in the distance.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked.

  Hobbes, who was in shirt sleeves, his heavy tweed jacket slung over his pack, grinned. ‘That’s Khyags-Klung—mountaineers call it “The Unclimbable Glacier”. We’ll reach it tomorrow.’

  ‘And then what?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ll climb it. Our destination is a valley on the far side.’

  ‘Even Flossy?’

  ‘As the briefing said, she will remain at the base with Akar to await our return. Hopefully, that won’t be too long—three or four days at the most.’

  ‘But she’s carrying all our food and a lot of our stuff.’

  ‘Which is why we’ll only take what we need,’ said Daphne.

  I put it down to the potion that I accepted the situation with equanimity. After all, why should I worry when climbing unclimbable ice walls was all in a day’s work for the likes of me? I just hoped Hobbes and Daphne could keep up. Sauntering to what looked like the edge of the world, I gazed out over a torrent roaring through a rocky valley hundreds of feet below, and took a few photos.

  As I turned back, a slight movement caught my eye. A face was staring down from the sheer, grey rock face.

  A spotted face.

  A leopard.

  ‘Look!’ I said, and pointed, as it sprang.

  The beast landed at my side and reared up. Great, shaggy paws thumped against my chest, knocking me onto my back, and before I knew what was happening, the leopard’s face was pressed against mine.

  Daphne screamed.

  The leopard ignored her, and the last thing I was expecting happened—it licked my face and purred. Its tongue was rough, its breath foul.

  ‘Go away at once!’ said Hobbes in his best police voice.

  The leopard rolled across my body, stretching out as if on a sofa.

  Hobbes grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and dragged it off. It snarled and took a raking swipe at him.

  ‘There’s no need for that, my girl,’ said Hobbes, swatting the paw aside. ‘ … and spitting is a filthy habit! Be off with you … and quickly.’ He slapped the puzzled big cat on its backside, growled, and sent it on its way.

  Daphne rushed to me as it slunk down the path. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No,’ I said, amazed, and sat up. ‘It didn’t hurt me. It might have brushed its teeth though—god knows what it had eat
en.’

  Flossy came up and nuzzled my neck, which would have been fine had she not sneezed—I could have done without the splat of yak snot down my jacket, but it didn’t take away my euphoria. I stood up, brushed myself down, and thanked Hobbes.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he said.

  Akar stroked his chin. ‘That was most peculiar behaviour for a leopard—they’re usually rather shy.’

  Hobbes nodded. ‘It wasn’t hunting, so why do that to Andy? And why now?’

  ‘The potion?’ Akar suggested.

  ‘Perhaps, though he has been known to attract cats before. Could I see it?’ asked Hobbes.

  I took the flask from my rucksack and handed it over.

  He pulled the plug, sniffed, and tasted a drop. ’Ugh! That’s nasty—I understand why you struggled.’ He took another sniff. ‘It’s a strange mixture. There are hints of ginkgo and poppy and goldenroot … and something else … ’ He laughed. ‘Catnip!’

  ‘Is that why it attacked?’ asked Daphne, squeezing my hand so hard I yelped.

  ‘It wasn’t exactly an attack,’ said Hobbes, ‘but, catnip does strange things to felines … and to Andy, too—I’ve never seen him so cheerful.’

  ‘We’d better get a move on,’ Akar said. ‘We must reach Arun Da Valley before dark and there’s still some way to go.’

  ‘Why there?’ asked Daphne.

  ‘Because it offers some shelter. There will be a great wind later.’

  ‘Blame that on the tsampa,’ I quipped.

  Akar ignored me. ‘I like your modern tents,’ he said. ‘They are light and convenient, but I hope they’re up to the mountain weather—they look flimsy.’

  ‘They’re tough enough,’ said Hobbes, ‘but we don’t want them blowing away.’ He sniffed the air and looked around. ‘I reckon the storm will be upon us in two hours.’

  Akar nodded. ‘Perhaps a little less.’

  ‘Then let’s get going,’ I said, shouldering my pack and striding ahead, determined to show my leadership qualities.

  ‘Good idea, but wrong direction,’ said Hobbes, grabbing my arm and directing me onto a narrow path I’d missed.

  Our new route was smoother and less steep for the most part, and we made excellent progress. Even so, the huge red sun was barely glancing over the top of peaks when we reached Arun Da Valley. It was not, as I’d imagined, a verdant paradise, but a bleak corrugation in a rare bit of flatness. A ferocious cascade plummeted from a cliff above, tumbled down the slope and disappeared into a narrow gorge at the bottom.

  ‘We’ll pitch the tents under there,’ said Akar, pointing to a rocky overhang.

  ‘That’s too steep,’ I said. ‘We’ll slide out! What’s wrong with there?’ I pointed to a smooth, level area near the water.

  ‘The overhang offers some protection from the storm,’ said Akar. ‘There is none down there, and it’s prone to flash floods, especially in the spring.’

  Daphne nodded. ‘I understand, but Andy has a point—it really is steep under the overhang.’

  ‘It isn’t ideal,’ said Hobbes, ‘but we must endure.’ He sniffed the air and frowned.

  The sky had turned the colour of a livid bruise, and the gentle breeze that had cooled our march was getting fractious and cold.

  ‘The wind’s building and I can smell rain,’ said Hobbes.

  ‘It will be snow,’ said Akar.

  Hobbes shrugged. ‘Sleet?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Akar. ‘We’d better get the tents up—night falls swiftly in this valley.’

  We scrambled down the slope and Flossy led the way to the campsite.

  ‘Looks like she’s been here before,’ I said.

  Akar nodded. ‘She’s a sensible beast.’

  We unloaded Flossy, pitched our tents and carried our gear inside as the sun slipped behind a tall peak, leaving us in a world of shadow. Akar produced a pair of ancient hurricane lamps and lit them.

  ‘What’s for supper?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing until the worst of the storm has passed,’ said Hobbes. ‘There’s no chance of cooking—the fire would blow away.’

  Though I was inclined to argue, I kept quiet, except for my stomach, which grumbled even as my legs relaxed.

  ‘Dehydration is a real danger at these altitudes,’ said Akar, and insisted that we drank from the cascade and filled our flasks.

  The icy water was clean and sparkling with bubbles. I slurped it down, though it made me shiver. Refreshed, we carried our flasks back to the tents as a vicious, roaring wind struck the valley. It would have blown Daphne off her feet had I not grabbed her. A bitter gust of sleet stung our eyes, snuffing out the last lingering traces of daylight and, like desperate moths, we aimed for Akar’s lamps. Hand in hand, we struggled towards the overhang and shelter. Behind us, the valley turned as dark as a midnight coal mine.

  ‘It’s going to get rough,’ said Akar. ‘I advise taking to our tents.’

  No one argued. Flossy retreated to the back of the overhang and munched on the scant grass between the rocks. Daphne and I removed our boots and dived into the tent, which, despite the relative shelter, flapped and jumped in the bellowing wind. Rain or sleet pounded down outside.

  ‘What a storm!’ I yelled.

  Daphne shouted something back but I couldn’t make it out. I retreated into my sleeping bag. She joined me, snuggling for warmth.

  I must have dozed off. When I awoke, Daphne lay asleep with her head on my chest. We’d slid down the slope, and our feet pressed up against the bottom of the tent. The wind had died away and I could hear Hobbes and Akar talking.

  ‘They were checking us out earlier,’ said Hobbes, ‘I could smell them.’

  ‘Let’s hope they make contact,’ said Akar. ‘If they don’t, you’ll have to attempt the glacier without their help, and I don’t fancy the others’ chances—particularly his.’

  ‘Andy is surprisingly resilient,’ said Hobbes, ‘though, I agree, it might be perilous with so much melt water coming down so early in the year. It’s far worse than London led me to believe.’

  ‘It’s been happening for the last few years,’ said Akar. ‘However, let’s not worry too much about something that may never happen. If our friends are aware of us, they might recognise you and come to talk.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Hobbes replied. ‘But first things first—we should be able to get a fire going now. I could do with some grub and a cup of tea.’

  I saw the silhouette of Hobbes leave the tent and wondered who the friends they’d mentioned were.

  Warm and cosy, I dozed again, until Daphne looked into the tent to wake me. ‘Supper’s ready, if you’d care to join us.’

  I did care, and joined the others as soon as I’d flung on my jacket and tied my boots. Supper, eaten while squatting in the glow of the hurricane lamps, was tsampa again. However, I was ravenous and in no mood to be fussy. I wolfed it down, a very different approach to my normal savouring of every mouthful. The tea, of course, was the local type, with a scummy layer of grease on top. Still, it slipped down easily enough and warmed me from the inside out, though, like the tsampa, it wasn’t as hot as I’d expected. I’d finally worked out why—the thin atmosphere up here meant water boiled at a lower temperature.

  As we finished our meal, the sleet returned, so we slipped back into the tents and bedded down for the night.

  Despite worrying that Daphne and Hobbes would struggle to keep up with my newfound energy, if we had to climb the glacier, I soon dropped off to sleep.

  A surprisingly hot sun melted the overnight sleet and snow before we’d finished our breakfast tea and tsampa. We set off and the day’s journey proved uneventful.

  By early afternoon, we were approaching the great ice cliff of the glacier. Melt water gushed from a tunnel at its base, forming a small river before flinging itself over the edge of an abyss, filling the air with noise and colour. Although a ribbon of smooth, flat ground along its side looked suitable for our camp, Akar shook his head and said it was q
uicksand. We pitched the tents in a rocky hollow well above the water.

  Whoever ‘the friends’ were, they did not make contact.

  After our evening tea and tsampa, we sat around the fire, talking. Hobbes came to a decision—we would climb the glacier in the morning. Akar briefed us on what to expect and what to do and, despite my previous exhilaration, I didn’t like the sound of it—Daphne and I lacked climbing experience. I even wondered about Hobbes. Were his hob-nailed boots and wooden alpenstock up to the task?

  With these concerns and the eerie creaking and grinding of the glacier, I was sure I’d never sleep that night, until Hobbes woke us. I pointed out that it was still dark.

  ‘We need to get going before the sun’s up,’ he said, his breath steaming in the lamplight. ‘Climbing on ice can be tricky, but it’s far better than climbing on melting ice. Get a move on, get dressed, do what you have to do and your breakfast will be ready in five minutes. Can you guess what it is?’

  ‘Tsampa?’

  He grinned and nodded.

  We ate on our feet, picked up our packs and equipment, said quick farewells to Akar and Flossy, and started the ascent. Although Daphne and I were well equipped in our mountain gear, wore crampons and carried ice-axes, it felt like a daunting task. The thin, grey, pre-dawn light showed boulder-strewn ice ramparts looming above, awaiting their opportunity to crash down. Hobbes took the lead as we scrambled upwards, warning us of crevasses and thin ice. For me, the worst horrors were the appalling vertical shafts we passed, and the roar of torrential water rising from their black depths.

  And this looked like the easy bit of the climb. In truth, I’m not sure we would have made it to the top had someone not anchored lines of yak-hair rope to guide us. Seeing Hobbes’s smile, I guessed the mysterious ‘friends’ had made contact after all.

  The rest of the climb, though exhausting, turned out to be more of a scramble. The ropes led us through relatively safe places, though we still had to keep our wits about us. When, at last, we reached a precipitous bit, I was delighted by the sight of solid wooden ladders that were fixed to the ice by leather straps. Filled with new confidence and energy, I leapt onto the first rung and stuck fast—a sensible man would have removed his crampons first.