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

by Wilkie Martin

  Hobbes released me, and we reached the top of the glacier just as the sun topped the mountains. We continued following the ropes until we were on solid rock and there was a clear path forward. After a rest, a drink and a bite of cold tsampa, we marched until we reached a suitable place to camp. Hobbes pitched our tents. He’d brought a small one for himself—I was surprised he could fit into it.

  We rested, and I made supper. It wasn’t that bad, though I was already bored of the tsampa diet. Still, it kept us going—no doubt because it was full of fibre.

  7

  As soon as the light faded, we turned in and I enjoyed a deep sleep. Next morning, we had the usual tsampa—what wouldn’t I have given for a full English breakfast?

  After I’d washed the bowls and spoons in the stream, Hobbes fixed me with a stern gaze. ‘Thank you for that, but this is where we say goodbye. Daphne and I have to visit our friends.’

  ‘And me?’

  ‘You will stay here.’

  ‘But why can’t I come with you? I’ve got a security clearance—I had to sign the Official Secrets Act!’

  He shook his head. ‘As you well know, this entire mission is on a need-to-know basis, and you’ve been told only what you needed to come this far. Daphne received further clearances. Her knowledge and skills will be invaluable in resolving the issue.’

  ‘Sorry, Andy,’ said Daphne, giving me a consolation hug, ‘but I couldn’t say anything.’

  I had no choice—there was no point in arguing with Hobbes. ‘What am I here for? And what do I do when you’re away?’

  ‘Your task,’ said Hobbes, ‘is to protect the tents.’

  ‘From what?’ I asked, feeling like a pet dog left ‘on guard’, by callous owners intent on enjoying a night out.

  ‘From bandits. We’ll need the tents and the baggage when we return.’

  I scoffed. ‘Bandits? Really?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, really, though they haven’t bothered us so far.’

  I’d skimmed over something about them in the briefing notes, but hadn’t incorporated them into my list of potential dangers. Perhaps I’d become complacent, assuming the mountains were peaceful havens, beautiful in their stark way, and that the only dangers came from wild animals … and falling from high places … and raging torrents … and bad weather … and avalanches.

  ‘What if they attack?’ I asked, fear fluttering my innards.

  ‘They won’t try anything in daylight if they see the camp is occupied,’ said Hobbes. ‘So, don’t worry, we should be back before dusk—assuming all goes to plan. Just make sure you don’t go wandering off anywhere and getting lost.’

  Unable to think of a suitably biting retort, I forced a brave little smile.

  ‘See you later,’ said Daphne, her eyes bright with excitement. She kissed me, swung her pack onto her back, and smiled. ‘Take care.’

  ‘You too,’ I said.

  Hobbes picked up a light bag and his alpenstock, and I watched them march away, winding upward between boulders. When they reached the top of a rise, Daphne turned to wave. I waved back, and they were gone.

  I was all alone in bandit country, without protection—unless you counted my ice axe, which I didn’t. Despite Hobbes’s confident assertion that bandits wouldn’t bother me in daylight, I twitched and started at any noise: snatches of bird song, the wind whistling between rocks, a furry bee the size of my thumb buzzing by. Once, I leapt to my feet, hearing furtive movement, but it was just the scurrying of a small rodent. Although there was nothing that should have alarmed me, I took a sip from the monk’s flask and felt up to anything. Should any bandits turn up looking for trouble, they’d get it and regret it! No one stole tents from Andy Caplet.

  As time passed and nothing happened, I relaxed. I was still amazed Ralph had allowed me to come, though I suspected the department could be very persuasive. Ralph’s only request was that I drafted an epic account of the expedition for the Bugle and the department had agreed, providing I avoided any mention of why I was there. I’d already got plenty of suitable material, especially if I embellished the leopard incident, and my bravery in guarding the camp from marauding bandits. I grabbed the camera and headed uphill to get a few suitable illustrations.

  I followed what appeared to be a narrow track, and although I had to scramble on all fours like a beast on the steeper bits, the monk’s potion made it seem easy. After a few minutes, I paused to take a few shots of the tents, miniscule against the backdrop of towering mountains. Eventually, I reached a ridge that dropped away into a ravine. A few stunted, twisted conifers scraped a living in the thin soil, and a small stream rippled and trilled. In the far distance, I could make out a green valley where smoke suggested the presence of people.

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as if I was being watched.

  I turned.

  A leopard was making eyes at me.

  I recoiled. My foot skidded on a sliver of loose rock. Losing my balance, I tumbled into the ravine, crashing down, bouncing, out of control, until the stream’s icy water took away my breath. Gasping, I tried to pull myself out, but pain overwhelmed me.

  A piteous groan woke me. It took a moment to realise it had come from me. When I moved, my left leg throbbed and twinged as if the devil’s own pitchfork had skewered it. I was in a chamber, lit only by the feeble flickering of a small lamp. The silence, the stillness of the air, the rancid, greasy odour and the almost-sweet reek of wood-smoke suggested I was indoors. I could smell unwashed bodies and a weird background taint, reminiscent of Hobbes’s feral scent. A fur blanket covered my body, and I was lying on something I could only describe as a hairy hammock. My clothes were gone.

  Where on earth was I?

  Memories returned: a leopard, a fall, water, cold, and pain.

  Though my guts lurched with fear of what I might see, I hauled myself up onto my elbows and lifted the fur. Someone had bound leather straps around my lower leg, but my calf had swollen up like a rugby ball. A multitude of bruises and grazes adorned the rest of my body, all of them daubed with a stinking yellowish ointment. It was reassuring in a way, for if somebody had done this for me, then they meant me no harm. Probably not, anyway.

  I wondered what time it was, but my watch was smashed.

  ‘Hello!’ I shouted into the smoke that was stinging my eyes. ‘Is anybody there? Daphne? Hobbes?’

  Had their meeting gone to plan? Had they returned, found me in the stream, and brought me here? Where was here? There were no clues. I made a tentative attempt to stand, but the resulting eruption of agony ensured I didn’t try that again.

  A slight movement in the air warned me I was no longer alone. A pair of deep-set, dark eyes were watching from the gloom. As they drew nearer, I saw, as I’d expected, that they were in a face. However, it was not a human face—it was too big, almost ape-like, as were its long, hairy arms. Thick, reddish brown fur, almost as shaggy as Flossy’s pelt, covered its stocky body.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, forcing a smile.

  It appeared to hear, but did not reply.

  ‘Me—Andy,’ I said, tapping my chest.

  It came within touching range, though I kept my hands to myself. Still, something in its expression reassured me—it looked like compassion.

  I stuck out my tongue like a local.

  It responded in like manner.

  ‘It’s jolly good of you to look after me,’ I babbled. ‘A leopard surprised me and I had a fall, you know?’

  It grunted, and I had a flash of inspiration—I knew what it was.

  It was a Yeti.

  And I was cool with that—my experiences with Hobbes had made me accept that such unhuman beings existed. Most were no worse than regular people. Many were better. It occurred to me that Hobbes might have brought Daphne and me all this way to resolve a Yeti problem—he’d mentioned dealings with them in the past, but back then, I’d assumed he was joking.

  ‘Do you speak English?’ I asked in a loud, clear voice.


  It grunted again and, although the deep rumbling tones sounded more like an extended burp than a call, a group of Yetis materialised from the darkness. They gathered around, staring and making guttural noises. Once I’d got over the indignity of being an exhibit, I noticed them as individuals. Some were as tall and broad as Hobbes, while others were about my height and much slimmer. I guessed they were a mixed group of males and females. One, far smaller than the rest, ran from the gloom, making a sound like laughter. It was wearing my underpants on its head. A big Yeti grunted and gave it a playful cuff around the head.

  One of the shorter ones lifted my fur coverlet and stared at my nakedness—I would have squirmed with embarrassment had I been capable. Much grunting arose from the onlookers. The shorter one bent forward and began unwrapping the leather strapping from my calf.

  Although its touch was surprisingly gentle, only an urge to appear tougher than I felt stopped me moaning and screaming. But I had to check the damage, though I feared seeing a compound fracture. Gritting my teeth, I propped myself up. My calf was a mess of swelling and bruising from ankle to knee, but at least it looked straight, and no jagged bones poked out. The worst injury was a long, deep gash that was oozing blood.

  The shorter Yeti gave it a gentle poke, peered into my face and grunted.

  The meaning was clear.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, wincing, and allowing myself a groan for effect, ‘it does hurt.’

  The Yeti nodded and looked sympathetic, just like a doctor, though no doctor I’d seen before had been so smelly or so hairy. I hoped it had washed its hands—or were they paws?

  Doctor Yeti emitted a staccato grunt, and four of the larger ones stepped forward.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I yelled, as they held me down. ‘Let me go. No!’

  Doctor Yeti prised open my wound with one hand and poured in a pungent brown gloop.

  I screamed and yelled and fought and swore and passed out.

  They still had me pinned down when I came round. Doctor Yeti was binding the wound with black wool and yarn, and the pain was not as bad as it had been—it was a hundred times worse, and far too bad to scream about. There was nothing I could do but take it like a man. I whimpered, and as I did, a Yeti from the supporting cast pushed a hollow bamboo tube between my teeth and poured in a bitter potion. Within seconds, the pain receded as if the volume had been turned down, and I was giggling like an idiot.

  They released me, covered me up, and left me in a weird state, halfway between waking and dreaming. At the back of my mind was concern about Daphne, but everything felt far away and all things in my world were wonderful. All worry, fear and pain evaporated as I journeyed down strange, beautiful paths, which a small part of my brain knew weren’t real. Now and again, Yetis would visit, and I would smile and chuckle. Now and again, they’d give me delicious, cool fruit drinks that were so beautiful I wept for happiness.

  I have no idea how long I was out of the real world, but when I was more or less back, an enormous Yeti came to see me. It stared in my face, stuck out its long pink tongue, and grinned before engaging in a bout of grunting with other, smaller Yetis. Although their speech sounded no more coherent than the noises a wild boar had made in Hobbes’s kitchen a couple of years back, it was clear they were discussing something and by the way they kept glancing at me, I could guess the subject. Although paranoid Andy insisted they were discussing recipes for cooking me, rational Andy wasn’t much worried—why would they bother looking after me if they intended to devour me?

  I couldn’t quite shut up paranoid Andy, who insisted that I test my leg to see if it was up to running away. As soon as I was alone, I tried to move it.

  A stab of agony nearly killed me.

  But, the pain receded, leaving me comfortable and drowsy. I dozed and thought I saw Daphne in an enormous cave, lit by electric lamps. She was smiling as she talked to a tall, bearded man, but I couldn’t make her see me and she was shrinking, growing smaller or further away.

  I jerked awake in utter darkness. It took a few moments to understand that I’d been dreaming, or hallucinating, and that I was still stuck with the Yetis. My bladder was full, and I wasn’t sure what to do, because there was no way I could stand up or even turn onto my side, and I was all alone. Even if a Yeti had been to hand, how could I explain my predicament in mime? My bladder resolved the problem by cutting through the niceties and emptying itself. Despite expecting a warm pool of piss to lie in, I heard it trickling onto the floor—my hammock had drainage holes. A little urine would not make the place stink any worse. I slept again.

  When I awoke, I was swaying. The dim, smoky flames of lamps that smelled of hot butter dazzled after the blackness, but I could see my hammock was dangling from a hefty wooden pole stretched between the broad, hairy shoulders of two huge, hairy Yetis. They were carrying me along a rough-hewn rock tunnel. Whatever they had planned for me was happening.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  The grunts in reply might have been reassuring. Then again, they might have been threats. Either way, there was nothing I could do about it.

  The eerie journey continued for hours. At last, while I was puzzling out the mystery of why the flames from the smoky little lamps appeared to be dimming, even though I could see more, we turned a corner into light. We’d reached a wide, open-fronted archway with the dazzling, low, red sun shining right in. Someone had painted the walls with depictions of local animals: wolves, leopards, yaks, things like donkeys, goats, and a great variety of birds. Bizarre little humanoid idols of translucent green stone and weird bowls and jugs that gleamed as if made of gold covered half the floor.

  Moments later, we were outside, and I concentrated on breathing in the cool, breezy air, and expelling the stink of the Yetis’ lair from my body. My stretcher bearers were carrying me along a rough, terrifyingly narrow path with a precipitous drop to a white-watered river hundreds of feet below. I gasped and grabbed the edges of the hammock. The two Yetis made a familiar sound—they were laughing at my fear. Although I tried to relax, nothing could break my white-knuckled grip on the hammock, though I knew it was futile—if one slipped or tripped, we would all plunge to our deaths. I tried not to think about it and failed.

  Although I’d assumed we’d emerged from the tunnel at dawn, it soon became clear that night was falling. After an all-too-brief period of twilight, the lingering tendrils of sunlight slithered away, and I pulled the smelly furs up around my face to combat the chill. I hoped the Yetis could see where they were going, because I couldn’t, but at least, the darkness hid the horrible drop. Myriad stars glittered in an ocean of velvet black, and the swaying and the fresh air were soothing.

  I must have dropped off because it felt as if no time had passed before I made out the faint silhouettes of the mountains again. The Yetis’ occasional grunts sounded more urgent, and I felt them speed up. Soon, the rosy light of early dawn was all around. After a brief exchange of grunts, the Yetis stopped, laid me on a flat area of rock-strewn ground, and bounded away. I turned my head and saw them slip behind an enormous boulder. Then they were gone.

  It wasn’t until I turned my head back that I noticed they’d left me beside a weathered wooden gate set in a crumbling stone wall.

  I lay where I was for a few minutes, wondering what was going to happen next.

  Nothing happened.

  A few minutes later, still nothing had happened and since just lying there seemed futile, I thought I’d shout for help.

  ‘Help!’ I shouted.

  A few moments later, the gate opened a crack and a red, weather-beaten face peered out. The gate shut.

  ‘I could do with some assistance here,’ I cried. ‘I’ve hurt my leg. Can anybody speak English?’

  I had a moment of horror that they would just leave me there, and then the gate opened again. A tall, slim, pale-faced middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense short haircut emerged.

  She smiled. ‘Fancy meeting you here, Mr Caplet.’

 
8

  My jaw dropped into a gormless gape. I must know her, but from where?

  ‘What brings you to these parts?’ she asked.

  ‘Umm?’ It was not the most intelligent response, but the last thing I’d expected was that anyone would recognise me. But who was she? My brain rallied and dragged up a memory of Hobbes’s spare bedroom and a doctor treating me for a fever I’d caught off Violet, the werecat I believed I was in love with. (To be clear, I had only loved her in her human form—I’m not weird.)

  The name came back to me. ‘Doctor Procter!’ I said. ‘I’ve had a fall and I’ve hurt my leg.’

  ‘We’d better take you inside.’ She glanced back at the gate and called out in a language I didn’t understand. Two young men, locals in appearance and dress, ran out, picked up the hammock and carried me into a broad courtyard with a small orchard on one side and a well-tended garden on the other. They took me into a squat, stone structure that looked rather like an old fort, and set me down in a room with whitewashed walls. Everything stank of antiseptic, and everything looked medical.

  With practised gentleness, they removed my fur blanket and rolled me onto a gurney, leaving me cringing with embarrassment—I was still naked.

  Doctor Procter said something and a small woman who’d followed us in rolled a white cotton sheet over my middle.

  ‘Let’s look at that leg,’ said Doctor Procter, picking up a pair of scissors. She cut off the Yeti’s dressing and bent to examine it. ‘It does not appear to be broken. This might hurt.’

  She poked.

  I yelped.

  ‘Excellent,’ she said, straightening up. ‘That suggests there’s no nerve damage. What happened?’