‘I fell into a ravine. It might have been worse if I hadn’t landed in water.’
She sniffed and frowned.
‘What’s the matter? Tell me the worst, doctor—is it gangrene?’
She smiled. ‘No, the wound looks clean, there’s no sign of infection and it appears to be healing. There’s an unusual smell, though. Who’s been looking after you?’
‘A Yeti. I didn’t catch its name.’
She stared into my eyes. ‘Did you hit your head when you fell?’
‘No … well, I probably did … but what are you implying? A bunch of Yetis looked after me and two of them carried me here. They were very hairy and not very clean.’
The doctor smiled. ‘Some local villagers must have looked after you. The traditional ones still wear yak skin cloaks—that would explain the hairiness. You were in shock and confused.’
‘Yes, doctor,’ I said, in case she thought I was mad.
She looked around, saw we were alone, and whispered in my ear. ‘It’s best not to mention our hairy friends when the staff are about—relations between the locals and the Yetis are rather delicate at the moment.’
‘Okay,’ I said.
She resumed her usual brisk voice. ‘I’ll apply surgical strips to keep the wound closed and put on a fresh dressing. It may hurt a bit. When that’s done, we’ll get you to the ward. You’ll need a few days’ rest before you’re back on your feet.’
A few minutes later, my leg a throbbing inferno of agony, but with its wound conventionally dressed, and with me wearing a baggy cotton nightshirt, the two young men carried me to a small ward and laid me on a hard bed. I fell asleep almost at once.
A wrinkled raisin of a woman with gentle hands woke me. ‘Eat!’ she said with a gap-toothed grin.
Taking care not to jar my leg, I sat up. My bed was one of five lined up against the wall and was the furthest from the window. The fierce burning torment of my leg had diminished to a mild soreness while the swelling below the knee was barely noticeable. I smelled food and hoped for the best. The little woman presented me with a large bowl on a battered aluminium tray—I was not too surprised to see tsampa again. But I was famished and, after mumbling thanks, I stuffed my face until I feared my stomach might explode. There was also a glass of water—its sparkling icy freshness, a pleasant contrast to the buttery tea I’d expected.
When I’d finished, I lay back on the pillow and worried about Daphne. Was she worrying about me? My eyes closed.
When they opened again, it was late afternoon to judge by the light, and I’d gained a room-mate, an elderly white man with a deeply tanned face, or at least the bits I could see—the rest of it lurked behind a magnificent white beard and moustache. He was snoring gently in the bed at my side.
Doctor Procter appeared. ‘How are you feeling, Mr Caplet?’ she asked, popping an old-fashioned thermometer into my mouth before I could reply.
‘Mmfeelingoaky.’ I said like a bad ventriloquist.
‘Good.’ She touched my forehead, stared into my eyes and made a note in a battered leather-bound book before removing the thermometer. ‘Still no sign of fever, I’m glad to say.’
‘Good.’
‘How’s the leg?’
‘A lot better, thanks.’
‘Excellent.’ She sat at the end of the bed and smiled. ‘What brought you to this neck of the mountains?’
I was on the verge of telling her when I remembered we were on a secret mission—even if that was all I knew about it. ‘I’m here on … umm … a walking trip with my wife, Daphne.’
‘You’re married?’ The good doctor looked even more astonished than she had been on recognising me outside the gates.
I nodded.
‘Are you here with an organised tour group? I only ask because the guides don’t tend to bring tourists to these parts—there are bandits.’
‘No, there are just the four of us … or five if you include Flossy.’
‘Flossy?’
‘Our yak. Otherwise, it’s just me and Daphne, Akar and Hobbes.’
‘Inspector Hobbes?’
‘Yes.’
‘That explains a lot.’ She smiled. ‘But where are they now?’
I shook my head. ‘I have no idea—I’m not even sure where I am. Daphne must think the worst—they’ll have returned to camp and found I wasn’t there. I should have stayed near the tents, but I didn’t really go that far away.’
Doctor Procter stood up. ‘I’ll mention it to Dolma, our secretary. She’ll work something out.’
‘Thank you, but what are you doing here?’ I asked.
‘I’m on a year’s sabbatical. I always wanted to see these mountains and jumped at the opportunity when it arose. Medical facilities are sparse here, and medical problems are rife. I trust you have insurance?’
I nodded—the department had made provisions for accident or illness.
She glanced at her watch. ‘Good. I have a sick child to visit in the next valley and I must go. I’ll see you when I get back.’
She bustled away, and I lay in my bed, worried, helpless and bored. As evening crept into the ward, the tiny, wrinkled woman reappeared with two mugs and handed one to me—it looked and smelt like British-style tea. She placed the other mug on the cabinet by my neighbour’s bed. The old man woke as it chinked against a glass of water. He sat up, murmured a few words in what I took to be the local language, and gave me a curt nod.
‘Hello,’ I said and took a sip of tea—it was good.
‘English?’ he asked.
I confirmed the diagnosis.
‘M’name’s Twilley,’ he said, his voice brittle and breathless.
‘Mine’s Caplet. Andy Caplet.’
He took a quick swig from his mug and grimaced. ‘It’ll do, but I’d kill for a whisky.’
I smiled and took another sip. It was like nectar after the yak butter variety.
‘What brings you to this place?’ asked Twilley.
I explained my fall, leaving out any mention of Yetis.
He looked sympathetic. ‘I’ve taken a few tumbles in my time—it’s a hazard of mountaineering.’
‘Is that why you’re here?’
He shook his head and took another gulp of tea. ‘I’m afraid my climbing days are long gone. The quack says I shouldn’t even walk upstairs—my heart, you know?’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Just one of those things. Reckon I’m not long for this world, though it’ll be a wrench to leave these mountains. Stayed on after the last expedition and haven’t been home since. Still, mustn’t grumble—life’s been fun so far and I wouldn’t change anything … well, not much anyway. Where are you from?’
‘Sorenchester—it’s a small town in the Cotswolds.’
‘Sorenchester, eh? Name rings a bell. Can’t think why.’
Old Mr Twilley lay back on his pillows, an expression of deep concentration on his face. Within a few seconds, he was snoring again. I finished my tea and fretted about Daphne. Though I was confident Hobbes would ensure her safety, she’d no doubt be distraught at my disappearance. And what if bandits had ransacked the camp in my absence? I fell into a troubled sleep.
Doctor Procter’s brisk voice woke me. ‘Come along, Mr Twilley, it’s time for your medication.’
She was standing over him, an exasperated frown crossing her brow.
‘Shan’t,’ said Twilley. ‘What’s the point?’
‘Because it’s keeping you alive,’ she said.
‘Sorry, but all these damned drugs you’ve got me on aren’t giving me anymore life, they’re just stretching out the little I’ve got left. Whatever you do, the thread of life is going to break soon and I can’t see the point of just being when I can’t do anything. I’ve enjoyed what life I’ve had, but I’ve had enough now.’
The doctor shrugged. ‘I won’t force you if you’re sure—but on your own head be it.’
‘Thanks, doc, much appreciated. How long have I got? Without
the drugs, I mean.’
She shrugged. ‘A week, perhaps a month, but you could go any time if something upsets you.’
Twilley smiled. ‘That’ll do.’
The doctor nodded and turned to me. ‘How are you?’
‘Much better,’ I said.
She checked my temperature and pulse again and smiled. ‘That all looks good. Any pain?’
‘Not much, unless I move.’
‘Excellent. Your leg will take some time to fully heal, but I think the worst is over. I’ll dress it again in a day or two. Goodbye.’ She walked away, her walking boots incongruous below her white coat.
After that exhausting exchange, I thought I might take a nap, but Mr Twilley had other ideas.
‘Just remembered why Sorenchester rang a bell—a chap in a climbing party I led came from there. Name of Squire—Clarence Squire, if I recall rightly. D’you know him?’
‘Umm … no … I don’t think so. I know a Colonel Squire, but I think his first name is Toby.’
Twilley beamed. ‘That’s right—Clarence sometimes spoke of a young rogue of a nephew with that name. The black sheep of the family, as I recall—mucked up his army career and made a living from second-hand cars.’
I nodded and thought back to some dark times at home. ‘Toby Squire is still a rogue, Mr Twilley—I’ve had dealings with him myself.’
‘Now we’re friends, you may call me Piers.’
‘And you can call me Andy.’ I smiled.
Piers continued. ‘Clarence was a good man. Our group was climbing in the Karakorams—must be forty years or more ago. Anyway, a boulder broke free from a glacier and rolled straight at us. I had my back to it and it would have killed me but for Clarence, who shoved me out of harm’s way. Trouble was, it smashed his leg. Gad, the blood! We thought he was a goner, but he was tough. We did what we could, and carried him to the nearest hospital. It was about four days’ march away and Clarence was in a bad way with the pain and an infection. He became delirious, and we thought we were losing him until an old monk appeared out of nowhere and dosed him with some evil-smelling gloop. It kept him going until we got him to the doctors.’
‘What happened to him?’ I asked.
‘They air-lifted him out when he was strong enough. Turned out he was rich—owned half of Sorenchester, I believe. Never heard from him again.’
A deep memory surfaced. ‘I heard that Colonel Squire inherited his estates when his uncle died in a climbing accident.’
‘Poor blighter must have succumbed on the way back,’ said Piers. ‘That’s tragic—he seemed so much better. Explains why he never got in touch though.’ He blew his nose and shook his head.
‘I’m sorry.’ I said, wishing I’d kept quiet.
‘No, don’t be,’ said Piers. ‘Best to know. When he didn’t write, I thought he’d blamed me for the accident.’
He sounded so sad and frail that I tried to change the subject. ‘Umm … why did you stay here?’
‘Liked it. Friendly people. Food’s not bad when you’re used to it. And no one bothers me. Back home there was always someone making fun of my name, but I could be myself here. Worked as an engineer for local projects—pay was terrible compared to what it is in the so-called civilised world, but stuff is cheap. Bought a house, lived well, indulged my passion for climbing. Life’s had its ups and downs, but on the whole, I’ve been lucky.’
Rather late in the day, I realised I’d got another story for the Bugle if I played my cards right. Ralph would be pleased, and it would make up in part for having lost my camera in the fall. ‘Have you climbed with anyone famous?’ I asked.
‘Expect so,’ said Piers. ‘A film star or two, a former president of the USA, the king of … ’
‘Oh,’ I said and chuckled, ‘I’ve just got what you meant about your name! Piers Twilley—it sounds just like Pierced Wil … ’
‘I know damned well what it sounds like. Shut up and leave me alone.’ He turned away.
‘I’m awfully sorry.’ I could have kicked myself.
When I woke next morning, his bed was empty—he’d died in the night. Although he’d not had long left, I couldn’t help suspecting that my thoughtlessness had been the final straw. In fact, I felt so guilty and sad that I almost refused breakfast. Had it been tsampa again, I might well have done. However, when the wrinkled little lady came in and offered me a plate of primrose-yellow scrambled eggs, I felt it would seem churlish if I refused.
Although Doctor Procter checked on me after the little lady had cleared my breakfast things, I was alone for most of the morning, apart from when a cheerful local chap cleaned the little ward with a pungent antiseptic that made my eyes run. There was nothing to do, nothing to read, and nothing to write on. All I had left was to try enjoying my own company, which turned out to be rather boring. I couldn’t help thinking about Piers Twilley and regretting my thoughtless remark, though I moved on to worrying about Daphne. I’d progressed to wondering if it was nearly lunchtime yet when a shadow darkened the window.
I looked up to see a pair of dark eyes beneath a thicket of eyebrows on an ugly, grinning face.
Hobbes had found me.
Two minutes later, the ward’s door opened and Daphne rushed in with Hobbes a respectful few paces behind. I smiled and raised my hand. ‘Hi!’
‘Are you alright?’ Daphne asked, reaching for my hand.
I nodded. ‘Yes, but my leg is sore. It’s not broken though.’
‘I’m just so relieved to see you in one piece,’ she said, tears in her eyes as she bent to hug me.
‘It’s so great to see you,’ I said when she released me. ‘How did you find me?’
‘Lhamo, told us where you were,’ said Hobbes.
‘Lhamo?’
‘The young Yeti who treated your leg. She seemed very kind.’
‘So, she was a she!’ I said. ‘I thought she was. How did she know where to find you?’
‘We were negotiating with representatives of her people.’
‘You know,’ I said, ‘I knew at once they were Yetis.’
Daphne smiled. ‘Well done! I was sceptical about their existence, despite the briefing. But we met them!’
‘Doctor Procter told me to keep quiet about them,’ I said. ‘She said there’d been trouble.’
‘Yes,’ said Daphne, ‘and it would have got worse if Mr Hobbes hadn’t persuaded the parties to compromise.’
‘That was on the day when you were meant to be guarding the tents,’ said Hobbes, looking stern. ‘What kind of job do you call that? Bandits took all our stuff.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, hoping he wasn’t too angry. ‘It wasn’t my fault. A leopard scared me and I slipped and fell. I woke up in a Yeti cave.’
‘Mr Hobbes is teasing,’ said Daphne. ‘Lhamo told us everything that happened. That’s how we found you, though it was a mighty long trek.’
‘Good, but … umm … how? She didn’t seem to know any English; none of them did.’
‘Mr Hobbes is fluent in Yetish.’
‘Hardly fluent,’ said Hobbes, ‘but I get by.’ He glanced at the window. ‘Pleasant though this cosy chat is, we need to get moving.’
‘What d’you mean?’ I asked.
‘We have to be back at the airfield by midday tomorrow,’ said Daphne. ‘Otherwise, we’re stranded for at least another week.’
‘But I can’t walk. And it must be nearly lunchtime!’
‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way,’ said Hobbes with a smile.
That sounded alarm bells. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing, but I need to think how we’re going to proceed.’
He looked innocent, in so far as he could ever look innocent, but I’d had enough experience to suspect he already had something in mind, and that I wouldn’t like it. A thought occurred. ‘If you’re in so much of a hurry, what would you have done if you hadn’t found me in time?’
‘We’d have kept on looking for you, of course,’ said Daphne.
‘We couldn’t leave you behind,’ said Hobbes, though I was sure a guilty flicker crossed his face.
‘Ah, Mr Hobbes!’ Doctor Procter entered the ward with a smile. ‘The way the staff were talking, I thought it must be you. Thank you for sorting out Andy’s insurance and for your donation—it will help us continue our work.’
‘Dr Procter,’ said Hobbes, and gave a low bow of the type that must have been fashionable two centuries ago. ‘We’ve come to collect him.’
‘Of course.’ She turned and smiled at me. ‘It’s been pleasant to see an old patient, and I’ve no doubt we’ll meet again when I’m back home. Look after that leg of yours. Keep it clean and dry and it should heal without any problems. If it hurts or bleeds or if there’s any discharge or fever, then contact a doctor.
‘Goodbye.’ She shook my hand, said farewell to Hobbes and Daphne, and bustled away.
‘Let’s go,’ said Hobbes.
I pointed out a problem. ‘I lost my clothes. All I’ve got is this nightshirt.’
‘What’s this then?’ asked Daphne, pulling a yak-hair bag from under my bed and upending a load of clothes. ‘They look like yours.’
They were, too, and someone had washed them, though they retained a faint smell of Yeti.
I started to dress with Daphne’s help, but my bandaged leg wouldn’t fit into my trousers.
‘I’ll rip it off,’ said Hobbes, causing a gasp of alarm until I realised he meant the trouser leg. He tore a bit off and I tried again.
One-legged trousers on a two-legged man looked weird, but I had no choice.
Daphne checked the rest of the contents of the Yeti bag. My camera was there, as was a tiny figurine of a homunculus carved from translucent green stone.
Hobbes picked it up and grinned. ‘It’s a Yeti idol—it’s a gift for good luck.’
I liked the look of the thing—I’d keep it on my desk at work.
‘And we might need it,’ said Hobbes. ‘I’ve worked out how to get to the plane on time. My plan should work, but a little luck will be helpful.’ He chuckled and slapped me on the shoulder in a way I supposed he meant to be reassuring.
‘What is the plan?’
‘A little cruise,’ he said. ‘But there are a few things I need to arrange first. I’ll speak to Dolma, the secretary—she knows what’s what.’
Inspector Hobbes and the Common People: Comedy Crime Fantasy (Unhuman Book 5) Page 8