A Consulting Detective, Ex Army Doctor, and Child Mercenary Walk Into A Room

Chapter 4: The Hounds of Baskerville

"So, the email from Kristy - the missing luminous rabbit ..." said John. "Kristy Stapleton - whose mother specialises in genetic manipulation," I said. "She made her daughter's rabbit glow in the dark?" "Probably a fluorescent gene. Removed and spliced into the specimen. Simple enough these days," I stated. "So?" "So we know Dr. Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is, has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?" Sherlock questions. " ... in fairness, that is quite a wide field," said John.

...

John opens a map. We are standing on a tor overlooking Dartmoor. Sherlock is gazing out over the vast, bleak, landscape. John glances from the map to the moor. "There's Baskerville. And Grimpen Village. That must be - yes - Dewer's hollow." John looks over onto the moor where there's a separate little wooded area. Sherlock takes out some binoculars. There's a big, fenced off area in front of Baskerville. "What's that?" I asked. My eyes were trained to see very far away, so when shooting, I wouldn't need a scope. Sherlock hands John a binocular. John looks, then checks with the map. "Minefield, maybe." Sherlock looks over. "Technically, Baskerville's an army base. I guess they've always been keen to keep people out." "Clearly," Sherlock and I said at the same time.

...

We walk by a tourist group. A huge, snarling wolf's head thrusts itself through a crowd but it's a mask worn by the leader of the group. A group of tourists in walking gear are flocked around him in the pleasant village of Grimpen. One of the tourists shrieks delightedly, and then laughs as the leader removes the wolf's head. "Gotcha! Hope you've enjoyed yourselves, anyway, ladies and gents! If you're with a loved one, I hope you hold their hand. If you're on your own, I hope this was an opportunity to make new friends." More laughter. "Three tours a day. Tell your friends. Tell anyone! Don't be strangers and remember, stay away from the moor at night! If you value your life!" He howls like a wolf. Lots of laughter. The crowd disperses, leaving Sherlock, John, and I watching. The tourist guide packs up his things including a big, homemade sign: a scary looking woodcut of a savage dog and, in writing dripping with black blood 'Beware the Hound!' Sherlock turns up his coat collar. John and I give Sherlock a look. "It's cold," Sherlock protests.

We enter a nicely refurbished pub, a prominent veggie menu. There were lots of lowlights and iron furniture. It's pretty busy too. The landlord is behind the bar, facing John, Sherlock, and I, who were watching the punters. There's a spike with receipts on it next to a lifeboat appeal box. The landlord winks at John and Sherlock. "Sorry we couldn't do a double room for you." John sighs. "That's fine. We're not - here you go." John hands over some money. "Ta. I'll just get your change." He goes to the till. I glance down at the bar and something catches my eye. One of the receipts. I rip it from the spike and pockets it just as the landlord returns.

I was a bit thrown. "Um - couldn't help noticing. On the map of the moor. Skull and crossbones," I said to the landlord noticing the map. "Oh that." "Pirates?" I asked. He laughs. "The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it." "Yeah?" "Not what you think. It's the Baskerville testing site. It's been going on for eighty odd years, I'm not sure anyone's really sure what's there anymore." "What, explosives?" "Not just explosives. Break into that place, you're in luck if you only get blown up - so they say. In case you're planning a nice stroll." I smirked. "Sure. We'll remember." "Buggers up tourism a bit - so thankGod for the demon hound! You see that show? The documentary?" "Quite recently." "God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell." "You saw it. The hound?" I asked. "Me? Nah. Fletcher, the tour guide, has though." He nods to Fletcher who's now having a pint in the corner with some mates. "He runs these walks. Monster walks, you know. For the tourists. He's seen it." Sherlock's ears prick up at this. As he and I watch, Fletcher's phone rings and he heads out of the back of the pug. "Great. Thanks for all of that. I've got to go now."

I went to Sherlock's side. I followed his eyes to Fletcher who was answering a phone call outside. "Are we going to follow him, Sherlock?" Sherlock walked outside and I followed. "No. Tom's got plenty. No. I told him. Yeah. Okay. Bye," Fletcher said into his phone. "Mind if we join you?" Sherlock asks. Fletcher turns to see Sherlock and I standing right next to him. Fletcher shrugs. "It's not true, is it? You haven't seen this ... hound thing?" "You from the papers?" Fletcher asks Sherlock suspiciously. "No. Nothing like that. Just curious. Have you seen it?" "Maybe." "Got any proof?" I asked. "Why would I tell you if I did? 'Scuse me," said Fletcher. He makes to go past Sherlock and I just as John comes out from the pub. "I called Henry -" John starts. "Bet's off, John. Sorry," I said improvising. "What?" Fletcher stops in his tracks. "Bet?" "My plan needs darkness. We've still got about half an hour -" Sherlock said. "Hang on, hang on. What bet?" "Lune and I bet John here fifty quid you couldn't prove you'd seen the hound."

A quick glance passes between Sherlock and I with John. John gets up to speed straight away. "The guys in the pub said you could," said John. Fletcher's eyes light up. "Well you're going to lose your money, mate," Fletcher said to Sherlock and I. "Yeah?" I asked skeptically. Fletcher scrolls through pictures on his phone. "I have seen it. Only about a month ago. It was up by the hollow. It was foggy, mind. Couldn't make much out." "I see. No witnesses, I suppose." "No but -" "Never are." "Wait -" Fletcher brandishes his phone triumphantly. "There!" On Fletcher's screen is a blurred, flash lit image of some kind of huge dog. It's running. And fog obscures most of it. Fletcher scrolls through a few more similar photos. Sherlock snorts. "Is that it? Hardly proof. Sorry, John. Lune and I win." Sherlock turns to go. "Wait, wait! That's not all. People don't like going up there, you know. To the hollow. Gives them a ... bad sort of feeling." "Ooh. Haunted? Is that supposed to scare me?" I taunted. "Nah. Don't be stupid. Nothing like that. But I reckon there is something out there. Something from Baskerville. Escaped." "What? A clone? A super dog?" John asks. "Maybe. God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years. Or putting in the water.i wouldn't trust them as far as I can spit."

"Is that the best you've got?" Sherlock scoffs. Fletcher undoes his rucksack on his back. As he does so, he leans conspiratorially at Sherlock, John, and I. "I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishing but he didn't turn up. Well, not till late. And when he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. 'I've seen things today, Fletch,' he said. 'That I never want to see again.'" Sherlock, John, and I listen, fascinated. "He'd been sent to some secret army place. Porton Down, maybe. Maybe Baskerville. Or somewhere else. And in the labs there, in some of the really secret labs there he said he'd seen ... terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said." Fletcher looks gravely at us. "And dogs. Dogs the size of horses ..." And now he takes something from his rucksack. It's a plaster cast of a dog's footprint. A huge dog's footprint. Sherlock looks chastened. He turns to go. John clears his throat and holds out his hand. "We did say fifty?" I handed John the money while Sherlock reluctantly got out his wallet.