Inspector Hobbes and the Blood: A Fast-paced Comedy Crime Fantasy (unhuman) (42 page)

We
drove back to Blackdog Street at a funeral pace to avoid jarring Hobbes, who
was limp when we carried him inside, placing him on the kitchen table like a
huge turkey. Rocky, grim-faced and intense, assisted by Mrs Goodfellow,
performed a variety of gruesome operations. I went to check on Phil, who having
long since fled the gory scene, was slumped in the corner of the sitting room
with Dregs, both looking mournful and blinking, presumably due to the effects
of the pepper spray, but they appeared to be weeping. I returned to the kitchen
where Billy busied himself with tidying up my bloody leg and applying stinging
antiseptic to all my bumps and grazes. It was over an hour before Rocky finished,
stitching Hobbes up with what appeared to be leather shoelaces, straightening
up with a percussive rattle and, I hoped, a hint of a smile.

'Is
he alright?'

The
olde troll nodded.

'I
reckon 'e should be just fine,' said Rocky, with a sudden grin that lent his
time-smoothed face the illusion of softness, 'yet it was a close thing. You did
well to get to me so quick, cos 'e wouldn't 'ave lasted much longer. And 'e was
lucky she was a bad shot and ran out of ammo.'

'Wouldn't
it have been better to get him to hospital?' asked Billy

'Not
at all, young man,' said Rocky. 'They really wouldn't know 'ow to deal with 'is
… Well, let's just say, 'obbes would be beyond their experience.'

'Umm
… how did you know what to do?' I asked.

 Under
the table stood a bucket brimming with blood-sodden rags. Not so many days ago,
it would have made me sick.

'Aye,
well, I 'ad to patch 'im up last time 'e got a belly full o' lead – at Arras it
was. The sawbones reckoned 'e was already a goner, cos 'e was so full of 'oles
but 'e was one o' my lads, so I did what I could to 'elp and saw 'e wasn't like
the rest of 'em. 'e pulled through then and 'e'll pull through now.'

A
weight lifted from my soul and, though his big hand was covered in gore, I
shook it.

'I'm
only glad I could 'elp. 'e's a goodun. Now, I'll wash myself and we'll take 'im
upstairs to bed. Then I must get back to my field, if your little friend
wouldn't mind giving me a lift?'

Billy
nodded.

'Thank
you, young man. I'll stop round tomorrow and make sure all's well but 'obbes is
as tough as old boots. 'e'll get better, though it'll take a few days.'

We
carried Hobbes to his bed and Mrs Goodfellow tucked him in. Though he lay as
still as a corpse, his face greenish, his soft, regular breathing was
reassuring.

Rocky
and Billy left together and Phil took himself straight to the police station to
inform them he was no longer missing and explain why they should pay an
immediate visit to the Witcherleys, leaving me alone with Hobbes and Mrs
Goodfellow.

'Why
does Rocky stand out in his field?' I asked, as she smoothed the sheets.

'It's
just that his sort …'

'Trolls?'

She
shrugged, stroking Hobbes's brow. 'His sort enjoys communion with the earth.
They say they like to stand and think, though mostly I reckon they just like to
stand. They're good at it. Still, Rocky has a talent for patching up wounds and
the old fellow reckons he was a damn fine sergeant in his day – excuse my
language. Now, you'd best have a wash and get some sleep. You've had a rough
day, too. I'll sit with him.'

'Thanks,'
I said, for the church clock was striking two and I'd been stifling yawns for
over an hour. As I started towards the bathroom, a thought stopped me in the
doorway. 'D'you know, you're the only one who didn't ask why I wasn't wearing
my trousers.'

'I
expect you had your reasons. Now, hurry up, have a wash and turn in.' She
smiled.

I followed her advice and very soon, and just
in time, pulled myself into bed. Billy had been lavish with his first aid,
covering me in a patchwork of plasters, bandages and antiseptic cream.
Everywhere was sore and the bite in my neck throbbed even more than the wound
in my leg. Despite this, I fell asleep in no time.

Something
was tapping at my window. Getting up, drawing back the curtains, seeing Narcisa
floating out there, her purple robe flapping like wings in the spangled sky, I
shuddered and was trying to shut out the sight when her dead eyes met mine. She
smiled, two rows of sharp wolf's teeth glinting in the starlight, pointing a
blood red fingernail at the window. My neck burning, pleading with her to leave
me in peace, I shook my head, yet had no power to resist as it opened. She
glided in on a chilling breeze, clutching my hand, her grip so cold it burned,
her glazed eyes staring into mine. I was paralysed as her thin lips, scarlet in
a ghastly, white face, opened to speak and I knew, when they did, I would
become like her. I heard words as if from a great distance …

'Wakey,
wakey, dear. It's nearly eleven o'clock.'

I
jerked into consciousness, my heart thumping. I was in bed.

'You
were having a bad dream. Never mind, it's a fine bright day and your breakfast
will be ready in ten minutes. Look sharp. I've laid out clean clothes for you.'

Narcisa
wasn't there, just Mrs Goodfellow and Dregs, who'd been licking my hand. At
least, I assumed it had been the dog. The curtains being drawn back, winter
sunlight drenched me and I did not crumble into dust. My stomach grumbled to
confirm I wasn't undead and, in the rush of relief, I whooped like an idiot
before remembering Hobbes.

'How
is he?'

'Not
so bad now.'

She
smiled and there was something strange, yet oddly familiar, about her. She had
teeth in her mouth: the same ones I'd had stuck in my neck. I tried to ignore
my horror.

'He
had four mugs of tea,' she continued, 'and Sugar Puffs for his breakfast and
now he's sleeping like a kitten. He said you saved him from the beast.'

'The
beast? Narcisa?'

'I
think he meant you saved him from himself. Now come on.' She left, taking the
dog, now, to my delight, fully recovered.

After
washing and dressing, I limped down to the kitchen for a cooked breakfast as
delicious and necessary as a breakfast could be. Finishing, I brushed the
crumbs from my front as Mrs Goodfellow started on the dishes.

'I
was really glad to see you last night,' I said. 'How did you find us?'

'Well,
dear,' she said, picking up my plate, 'when you weren't back for your supper, I
thought I'd better find you, so I called the station, who said someone
answering to your description had run amuck in Fenderton with a dangerous dog,
and I was just getting ready to leave when poor Dregs came home in a terrible
state. I had to clean him up first. What happened?'

'Mrs
Witcherley pepper sprayed him, which probably saved me, because she'd run out
when it was my turn.'

Mrs
Goodfellow nodded, tight-lipped, scrubbing the frying pan furiously. 'That new
curate gave me a ride on his motorbike. He's got nice teeth – nearly as nice as
yours, dear. He dropped me off in Fenderton and I was wondering what to do next
when a ratty little fellow ran from the big house, screaming like his pants
were on fire. I reckoned the old fellow sometimes has that effect on folk, so I
took a look inside. The fat man was snoring his head off and I searched all
through the house without finding anyone sensible. Someone had muddied up the
stair carpet and I was looking at it when I heard noises from the cellar and
went downstairs.'

'You
got there just in time. The dagger was far too close.' I took a deep breath.
'I'll dry. Where's the tea towel?'

'Thank
you, dear. There are clean ones in the drawer.'

Choosing
one with a nice view of the Blacker Mountains, I began wiping a mug. 'Who'd
have thought Narcisa would be killed by her own dagger?'

'She
wasn't killed, dear.'

'But
it stuck in her head, didn't it?' I hung the mug on the mug tree, where, clinking
tunefully against another, it knocked off its handle. I pushed the evidence
behind the packet of Sugar Puffs.

'No,
only her ear. It pinned her to the table thing. She started moaning, trying to
pull it out when you were away, so I had to give her a little tap to quiet her
down. She's in hospital now, under police guard, more's the pity. After what
she did to my boys, I'd like to have words with her.'

'She
bit my neck and I was scared I'd become a vampire like her.' In fact, I was
still nervous in case the change had merely been delayed.

Mrs
Goodfellow, spitting out Narcisa's teeth into her hand, held them up to the
light. 'With these? No, dear, she's no vampire. The real ones don't go in for
all the Gothic nonsense, they don't need daggers or rituals and they always
have lovely, gleaming, pearly whites. They shed the old worn out ones and new
ones pop up, a bit like with sharks. I've got some in a jar – I'll show you
later if you like.'

'Thanks.'
I smiled, drying the last plate and stacking it on the dresser. 'Umm … is
Sorenchester normal? I mean to say, is it worse than other places, you know,
with all these ghouls and trolls and vampires and things?'

'I
don't know quite what you mean. They're just folk, same as you and me, though a
bit different, like the old fellow and Rocky. Most of 'em are no worse than
anyone else and some are better. However, you're correct in thinking there are
more round these parts than most places. That's because of the old fellow. He
polices them fairly and they know there'll be no trouble unless they break the
rules and, just as important, they know just what'll happen if they step too
far out of line. He might appear soft-hearted to you, dear, but he can be quite
strict when he has to be.

'Thank
you for helping with the dishes. Now, I've got to take the dog for his walk and
then I'd better get down to the shops.' She smiled. 'I'm right out of garlic.'

Life went on and I never developed a taste for
blood.

Hobbes
was very quiet and weak on the first day of his recovery, sleeping most of the
time, waking to drink lashings of tea or Mrs Goodfellow's ginger beer. By the
second day he was a little more alert, though his voice had diminished to a
soft grumble I had to strain to hear. Not that he spoke much, relying on nods
or shakes of his head to respond to questions. Now and again, furious growls,
as if someone had kicked a wasps' nest, would explode from his room when Mrs
Goodfellow gave him a bed-bath or fussed too much. I looked in from time to
time, though it was clear he was only tolerating me. I think he was embarrassed
at being seen in such a frail state.

Over
the next few days, Mrs Goodfellow surpassed herself in preparing feasts fit for
a king, though I can't imagine how she got her hands on swan and sturgeon. To
start with, Hobbes ate comparatively little, so Dregs and I were well-stuffed
with leftovers. Now and again, always after dark, Rocky turned up to check on
progress, to eat crumpets and to express quiet pleasure at his patient's rate
of recovery. His visits ceased after the fifth evening.

As
my injuries healed, Dregs and I enjoyed long walks in Ride Park. One day, cashing
in Rex's cheque, I paid off my debts. What little was left over, I offered to
Mrs Goodfellow for my keep but she refused to take it. As a gesture of thanks,
I tried to fix the loose floorboards in the loft and don't think I did too much
damage.

One morning, from Tahiti, came a postcard,
reeking of cigar smoke. I read it, though it wasn't for me.

Dearest
Wife,

It's
been nearly ten years since I went away to find myself. I now find myself in
Tahiti where I have founded a naturist colony. So far I'm the only one. One day
I hope you'll join me.

Your
loving husband,

Robin.

The
mystery of why he no longer required clothes was solved, though why they were
such a good fit was still baffling. When I handed the card to the old girl she
read it, chuckling.

'He's
quite mad, you know? Still, I think he's happy.' She stuck it into a scrapbook
with many others.

Hobbes
began to sit up in bed with the aid of pillows, even getting up for short
periods, though he was shaky and soon became grumpy. Still it was clear he was
recovering at an astonishing speed – but, then, he was Hobbes.

On
occasion, he received visitors. Though there weren't many, he seemed to
appreciate them, especially a plump old guy called Sid who wore a black cape
and had the whitest teeth I'd ever seen. Like Rocky, he only turned up at
night. Superintendent Cooper paid a visit one afternoon. I'd expected someone
fierce, whereas she was plump and motherly; she stayed with him for over an
hour and he was thoughtful when she left.

One
morning Phil came round, and it came as a jaw-dropping surprise when he
introduced a tanned and fit-looking young man, who'd just returned from
Hollywood, as Tom, his boyfriend, a nice enough chap – not my sort of course. I
was happy for them. Admittedly, this was partly because it seemed to have
removed one major barrier to Ingrid, or so I thought until Phil handed me an
envelope. My delusion lasted until, opening it, I found an invitation to her
wedding.