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

by Wilkie Martin

  He left Daphne and me alone.

  ‘A cruise will make a nice change after all the walking,’ said Daphne.

  ‘It won’t be,’ I said.

  ‘Cynic!’

  ‘I’m not—I just know what he’s like.’

  9

  Hobbes returned after about half an hour. He was smiling. ‘Everything’s arranged, and it’s time to go.’

  ‘And quickly?’ I said, joking—there was no chance of me going anywhere fast.

  ‘And quickly!’ he confirmed.

  I did not expect he would grab me and sling me over his shoulder like an old sack, though it wasn’t the first time he’d treated me in such a cavalier fashion. My protests that this was no way for an injured man to travel were ignored, and he lugged me outside, where the hospital staff had gathered in awed silence. He deposited me on the back of a small grey yak.

  ‘This is Nak,’ said Hobbes. ‘She’s agreed to carry you. Comfortable?’

  ‘Not really,’ I said, despite the padded saddle.

  ‘How’s your leg?’ asked Daphne.

  ‘Alright, I suppose.’

  ‘Good,’ said Hobbes. He handed us bars of Kendal Mint Cake. ‘In case you get hungry—there’ll be no time for cooking.’

  My stomach groaned. It was already missing its lunch, even though I suspected it would have been tsampa again.

  ‘Backpacks on and let’s go,’ said Hobbes.

  Daphne did as he asked without complaint—she was still in awe of him, despite having known him for a couple of years and having got to know some of his odd ways.

  I thanked the staff, waved, and clutched the saddle as Nak set off.

  Before us was a flat, dusty, grey plain with only the occasional shrivelled plant to break the monotony. Snow-capped peaks hemmed us in on three sides.

  ‘How far away is that meadow where we landed?’ I asked after half an hour of swaying on Nak’s back had made me a little seasick … or it might have been the mint cake I’d wolfed.

  ‘Thirty-five miles, more or less,’ said Hobbes. ‘That’s as the crow flies.’

  ‘And how fast are we going?’

  ‘Nowhere near fast enough to get there on time—it’s more like a hundred miles as the yak walks and it’s mostly up hill.’

  ‘But Dilip will be expecting us tomorrow,’ I said. ‘He won’t stay long.’

  ‘So, we’re making for the airfield in town. I’ve contacted him, and he’ll wait, so he can fly us from there to the airport. If all goes well, we should be in time to catch our flight home.’

  ‘So, how far away is the airfield?’

  ‘That’s also a little over a hundred miles if we walked it.’

  ‘There may be a flaw in your plan,’ I said.

  ‘You mentioned a cruise?’ said Daphne.

  Hobbes grinned. ‘There is a more direct route.’

  She nodded. ‘I get it. We’ll go there by boat. That’ll be fun.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘There aren’t any cruise boats up here. Haven’t you seen the rivers? Nothing could sail up here against the current, and even if it could it would be smashed to matchwood on the rocks on the way downstream.’

  ‘Wooden boats would,’ said Hobbes, ‘but the one I’m thinking of is made of yak hide.’

  ‘That’s no better,’ I said. ‘It’ll be smashed anyway, and we’ll be smashed too, and I’ve already had more than enough of that sort of thing for one expedition … and I’m hungry.’

  ‘I’m sure Mr Hobbes knows what he’s doing,’ said Daphne with sublime, naive confidence. ‘We’ll soon be approaching the foothills where the rivers won’t be quite so wild.’

  I wasn’t as trusting as her. ‘It’s still not going to be what I’d call a cruise—the three of us and that yak in a flimsy skin boat is not my idea of fun. Don’t forget my bad leg.’

  ‘Which matches your attitude, Grumpy,’ said Daphne with a grin.

  ‘Nak, of course, will not be coming with us,’ said Hobbes. ‘Yaks don’t do well at lower altitudes. Three in a boat will be fine—we should be able to buy one in the next village.’ He glanced at the sky, sniffed the air and led us onto a side path.

  Swaying in my saddle with my leg throbbing but bearable, I hoped he wasn’t so mad as to try it.

  But I knew he was.

  After another hour or so, we reached a squalid scattering of twenty or more stone huts lounging around a square of compressed earth that was redeemed by a fragrant, blossoming almond tree in the middle. Several ill-favoured men loafed in its shade, watching with cold eyes and hard faces. Chickens scratched in the dirt, a goat stared from a window, and a handful of wide-eyed children gathered around, watching our every move as if we were aliens just arrived from Mars. At the end of an alley just wide enough for a yak to pass, a river grumbled and roared. On its bank, like giant beetles basking in the sun, lay several small, upturned boats.

  ‘Oh, no!’ I said.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Hobbes with an evil chuckle as he swept me from Nak’s back and sat me on a low stone wall. Nak sauntered across the street to a patch of wiry-looking grass and started grazing.

  ‘What’ll happen to her?’ I asked.

  ‘She’ll find her own way home,’ said Hobbes. ‘She’s a clever beast. And now, it’s time for some haggling.’

  He beckoned to one loafer, a villainous-looking man with a scar splitting his face from brow to chin. The man shrugged, stood up and swaggered over. Hobbes greeted him by sticking out his tongue and smiling before engaging him in a conversation that involved a great deal of gesticulation, posturing and raised voices. At one point the talk turned angry, and the group under the tree got up. I feared trouble, and hoped there wouldn’t be, because the little hospital wouldn’t have room for all of them—the poor innocents had no idea what Hobbes was capable of. Then he handed over money, smiles returned, and peace was restored.

  ‘Isn’t this exciting?’ said Daphne, grinning.

  All I could manage in response was a sickly smile while I fretted about the horrors to come. I didn’t explain my worries—she’d find out soon enough, and why should I spoil her mood?

  Leaving us to rest in the shade, Hobbes sauntered to the river bank, turned a boat the right way up, ensured it was secured to the old jetty, and shoved it into the water.

  ‘Our craft awaits,’ he said, coming back to join us. ‘By the way, those chaps under the tree were the ones who stole our stuff. I have retrieved our passports and this—a souvenir for you.’ He handed me the monk’s flask. ‘I told the chief it was a cure for baldness, and that he had such a fine head of hair that he’d never need it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, and put it into my hairy Yeti bag.

  Daphne stared at the villains and turned to me. ‘It was just as well you fell down that ravine.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, you might have tried to stop those guys, and they might have really hurt you.’

  ‘I was really hurt,’ I said, peeved by her callous attitude to my suffering.

  ‘I know, but they could have killed you and then what would I have done?’

  Mollified, I gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  ‘So, all’s well that ends well,’ said Hobbes. ‘And now I declare boating season is open.’

  Daphne and Hobbes loaded our bits of baggage into the boat—no more than a rickety framework of sticks, with skin stretched over the outside.

  Luxury it was not.

  Primitive it was.

  Hobbes returned, picked me up beneath one massive arm, carried me to the boat and put me down in the narrower end.

  ‘Is this thing safe?’ I asked, appalled that we were trusting our lives to such a tiny, flimsy craft. Perhaps the river wasn’t as mad as the ones I’d seen in the mountains, but it still looked pretty wild to me.

  ‘It’s perfectly safe … ’ said Hobbes, ‘ … until we reach the rapids.’

  ‘And then?’

  He shrugged, and stepped int
o the blunt bit with a cheerful cry: ‘All aboard the Skylark!’

  It dismayed me how much the little craft swayed, and how close was the water. Daphne propped me up with a bag so I could see what was going on and made sure my leg was as comfortable as it could be in such a confined space.

  ‘How are you going to row this thing?’ I asked, looking in vain for oars or paddles.

  ‘No need—with luck, the current will take us,’ said Hobbes. ‘Let’s hope that idol of yours works.’

  I hoped so too, for although I didn’t believe in lucky charms, I knew how hopeless he was in any boat that required rowing. Furthermore, he couldn’t swim, and should he fall in, he’d plummet straight to the bottom. In fact, swimming was the one area where I could bask in superiority over him—I’d earned a bronze swimming certificate at school and, more recently, Daphne had given me lessons in the local pool that had transformed my feeble splashing into near competence. Not that it would help, for when the inevitable smash happened, I doubted my leg would let me swim. Yet, that did not worry me—the rocks would pulverise us long before we could drown.

  Hobbes reached onto the bank and pulled a long wooden pole from a rack. He tested it for weight and balance and nodded. Then, after sniffing the air and gazing at the current, he cast us off, waved at the children, and poled the flimsy boat into midstream.

  There was a moment of calm before the current struck. Then my head jerked back, and we were careering through foaming water, the green banks zipping by in a blur. Like so often when I was with Hobbes, my life was suddenly out of my control. Although I should have been used to it, it didn’t stop the utter terror. Even my worst imaginings had not envisaged the river hurling us along at such a breakneck speed. Daphne knelt by my side, a massive grin splitting her face whenever I turned to check she wasn’t too frightened. Hobbes stood at the back end (stern seemed far too grand a word), wielding his pole like a lancer, fending off rocks and keeping us away from the shallows.

  I sprawled on the bottom, gripping the side with one hand and moaning as spray wet my face. ‘We’ll be dashed to pieces! How fast are we going?’

  Hobbes glanced at the river and then at the banks. ‘I would estimate a little over five miles per hour.’

  ‘Nonsense. We must be doing at least fifty!’

  ‘I don’t think so, Andy.’

  ‘It feels fast,’ said Daphne, her face aglow.

  ‘Hold on,’ cried Hobbes. ‘Boulders ahoy!’

  He jabbed at one massive rock, stepped forward to fend off another, and whooped like a cowboy in the old Western films he loved when the squalid little tub scraped and juddered against some unseen obstacle. ‘This is the life,’ he said.

  ‘It’ll be the death of me,’ I muttered.

  I did what I could to relax, which proved far more effective than I could have imagined, for after perhaps an hour of sheer terror as our flimsy craft bucked, span, sped and lurched, the rocking motion got to me and I dropped off. Or fainted through fear. In any case, when I opened my eyes, it was dark, and I could feel Daphne asleep at my side. Hobbes, silhouetted against the starlit sky, jabbed the pole as if he was a knight fighting off a horde of ogres. I yawned and gasped as a spray of icy water dampened my face.

  ‘Sleep well?’ asked Hobbes.

  ‘Not bad. How long was I asleep?’

  ‘Six or seven hours.’

  ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

  ‘No, we’re about half way. If we keep going like this, I’d estimate another eight hours.’

  ‘Eight hours! With nothing to eat? Is that any way to treat an invalid?’

  ‘Probably not,’ he acknowledged, shoving us away from a rock and spinning the bobbing boat, ‘but it can’t be helped.’

  ‘Is there any more of that mint cake?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. The bandits took most of it—they liked it. Perhaps a drink of water will quell your hunger pangs for a while.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said, more than a little sceptical since I felt empty enough to devour a whole yak. ‘Where’s the water bottle?’

  ‘I gave it to the bandit as part of the price for his boat. We still have a tin mug.’

  ‘How will that help? It’s like saying there’s no dinner tonight, but never mind, here’s a plate.’

  My sarcasm was wasted on Hobbes, who pulled the mug from his string bag and dipped it in the river. The boat lurched as he bent and, for a moment, I feared he might go in. ‘There you go.’

  ‘I can’t drink river water!’

  ‘It’s clean and quite safe … ’

  I took it and sipped. It was icy cold.

  ‘ … unless there’s a dead yak upstream.’

  I nearly spat it out, but chose to believe he was joking. Besides, the water tasted fresh, as if drawn from the first river when the earth was still young, and it tingled on the tongue like soda water. I drained the mug and dozed again.

  Next thing I knew, the rosy glow of dawn was all around. Our little boat still rocked and rolled, though not in a such a frantic manner. Daphne slept on, and Hobbes was still at his post. It surprised me to see the mountains so far behind us, though we were still in hill country. My bladder was crying out for relief—a predicament since I could not stand.

  I told Hobbes, whose swarthy face glistened with a fine film of dew.

  He handed me the mug.

  ‘I can’t use that—we’ll want to drink from it.’

  ‘You can rinse it.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s not nice, is it?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but unless you want to flood the boat, the only other option is that I dangle you over the side. There're risks in that: we might capsize, we might strike a rock when I’m busy, or I might drop you.’

  I filled the mug, tipped the contents overboard, and repeated the procedure. Then I rinsed it out as well as I could. How Hobbes and Daphne managed their lavatorial requirements, I didn’t care to find out.

  The rising sun cleared the hilltops, golden light enveloped us, the temperature rose, and little biting bugs beset me. We were passing through a land of lush green forests, alive with bird song and movement. Not that I cared—my rumbling stomach took up too much of my attention.

  Daphne woke and stretched. ‘Morning. Andy, where’s my coffee?’

  ‘Umm … ’ I responded, confounded by the question.

  She chuckled, sat up and turned to Hobbes. ‘How are we doing?’

  ‘Very well,’ said Hobbes, ‘though the current has slowed. We should be on time if we carry on like this.’

  ‘And if we don’t?’ she asked.

  Hobbes shrugged. ‘We’ll improvise, but I think we’ll make it.’ He began using the pole to push us onward.

  To my horror, Daphne picked up the mug, filled it and drank deeply from the river. I never let on what I’d done in it.

  As the temperature soared and sweat soaked my clothes, we passed a ramshackle village overflowing with goats and scrawny chickens. A small child sitting on the bank rubbed her eyes, gaped, and shouted. People emerged from every house, pointing, waving and yelling as if the circus had come to town.

  ‘What’s up with them?’ I asked.

  ‘They didn’t expect to see anybody on the river,’ said Hobbes.

  ‘Why not? There were plenty of boats upstream.’

  Daphne grinned. ‘I think we’re the first to come down this year.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the river is still in spate with all the melt water. It’s far too dangerous for most. Give it a couple more weeks and it will be relatively placid.’

  Hobbes nodded. ‘According to the old villain who sold me the boat, only a madman would attempt the river at this time of year.’

  I felt sick as I glared at them. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘We didn’t want to worry you,’ said Daphne.

  I gasped. ‘You risked our lives!’

  ‘But we survived,’ said Hobbes, ‘and you’ve slept most of the way, so where’s the harm?’


  ‘Well … umm … ’ It was difficult to argue against this, though I wasn’t happy they’d kept me in the dark, even if it had been for my own good.

  Daphne ruffled my hair and soothed my rattled nerves. Hobbes sniffed the air. ‘We should be there in a little over an hour.’

  We were now drifting on a placid flow beneath a warm sun with the white-capped peaks far behind. Overhanging trees lent us a little welcome shade and the earthy scent of the forest came as a shock after the mountain air. I reached for the camera to capture the scene, but it didn’t work. I guessed the batteries were flat.

  Daphne took a few snaps on her mobile. ‘I’ve got a signal at last,’ she said a few minutes later.

  It was the first sign of our return to civilisation and I could have cheered—the mountains, though awe-inspiring and majestic, were too dangerous. Even so, deep down, I wouldn’t have missed the trip for all the world.

  After about an hour, the reek of decay and smoke warned us that we were approaching a small town.

  ‘We’re here,’ said Hobbes as we rounded a bend. He punted our trusty boat toward a solid-looking concrete and steel jetty. ‘This is where we say farewell to the river. Everybody out and let’s get moving.’

  This time I was expecting it when he slung me over his shoulder. He sprang ashore, sat me on an upturned wooden barrel, and helped Daphne to unload our stuff—so much less than we’d started with. A curious crowd gathered, jabbering in the local language. Hobbes greeted them and spoke to a rotund, dark-faced individual with a mouthful of gold. After a few minutes of gesticulating, the man grinned and led us into the village. The crowd howled with laughter when Hobbes tucked me under his arm like a baby, despite my best efforts to look cool and composed. Daphne walked alongside, chuckling to herself.

  The rotund man led us towards a battered, rusty, black Mercedes with ‘Taxi’ painted on its side in shaky yellow letters. He shouted, and a dozy-looking man emerged from a shack to greet us. Following a few moments of haggling and an exchange of cash, Hobbes placed me inside the taxi. The cracked and discoloured black vinyl of the back seat could have done service as a barbecue, and the hot air felt suffocating with its overwhelming odours of sweat, garlic, spice and farmyard. It all came as a shock after the clean air we’d enjoyed. Our few bits of baggage went into the boot, which the driver tied shut with a length of frayed rope. Hobbes sat in the front, Daphne sat beside me, and the driver hopped in and started the engine.