Earnshaw: Witches Brew

By Colin Robinson and Ben Robinson

Earnshaw, the Tiger Tabby, and his new family of animal friends have their parallel world invaded by a group of vicious Humans, bent on attacks on their own unsuspecting, adopted Human family and their animal circle. The ‘pets’ go into battle against an organisation of Poachers and Witches in an alien Human world, as seen through the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cumbrian Tails
• Release date: Oct 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781999760946

Book preview

Published in 2019

by Cumbrian Tales

© Copyright Colin Robinson

Illustrations by Colin Robinson

Paperback Edition ISBN: 978-1-9997609-5-3

Ebook Edition ISBN: 978-1-9997609-4-6

Also available in Hardback and an Ebook.

Cover and Book interior Design by Russell Holden

www.pixeltweakspublications.com

All rights reserved without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

To Simon, Lisa, Grace & Jack

Tracy, Shaun, Cerys & Aneurin

CONTENTS

Red Spies at Night

Herbal Remedies

Coffee Break

Peanuts

A Fete Worse than Death

The Rescue of Angus Macaw

The Black Pimpernel

The Haunting

Evil at the Vicarage

Exploding Trousers

Lammastide Rituals

A Rough Justice

RED SPIES AT NIGHT

The Cat was keeping watch on the three hooded men, none of whom were called Robin, who were attempting to blend into the shadows of the tall, dense beech hedge in the advancing dusk. They were unaware of the Bats whirling past them, harvesting the insects, which they had disturbed. The Cat spent much of his time watching Human activity, trying to understand their strange habits and he could smell a Rat; three of them to be precise and he had a vague feeling that he might recognise them if he could see their faces. The Tabby could see perfectly well in the advancing darkness and his unusually, flat face gave him excellent stereoscopic vision through his wide-angle lenses, making sure that the light was behind him to minimise their reflective properties. Two of the men were armed with short pickaxe handles whilst the other, hunched as though suffering from dowager's hump, was holding a lethal-looking syringe behind his back, the sharp end stuck in a wine cork for self preservation. The Tabby knew that the man was not his old foe, Arkwright, the vet and that their intended victim was probably a Human. He had heard their whispered plotting and recognised their voices. Animal brains had the same auditory region as Humans, which activated to allow them to recognise and distinguish voices; and these voices threatened danger.

The street light, its head bent, was trying to peer over the hedge, in an apparent effort to unmask the intruders. The men were watching a house and the Cat, as might be expected, was curious, nothing escaped his big, all-seeing eyes. The front door to the house opened, creating a sudden pool of light, shrouded by tendrils of the writhing evening mist. The figures shrank back into the shadows, the leaves of the hedge rustling, as though trying to sound a warning, which only the Cat heard. The Humans knew that the house was in a cul-de-sac and were anxious not to become trapped.

Their objective appeared to be the man who exited from the house and set off down the road with an unconcerned stroll; they followed stealthily at a distance, each wearing silenced trainers and using any available cover. It was a small village and the residents were either indoors watching TV out of habit or relaxing in the village pub, indulging their hobby of vilifying the politicians who daily demonstrated all the wisdom and intelligence of dead Sheep. The Cat, with its natural Tiger camouflage, was close behind the apparent villains, unseen; even more curious and now slightly anxious about their intentions, which were obviously unfriendly. Unfortunately, they had allowed their quarry to get too far ahead of them and he had disappeared into the enveloping dusk; a vicious whispering campaign ensued as the trio halted unsure of their next move.

The Cat, of course had seen where the man had disappeared and even anticipated it. The village Post Office was also a general store and had expanded to a small off-licence. Although it was closed and in darkness, the man knew he could purchase emergency supplies, including booze, at the backdoor at anytime, without grumbles or questions asked, especially where cash was involved and there were no VAT witnesses. Even the locals had learned from TV news articles on this somewhat isolated Northern peninsular.

The shadowy trio were still uncertain of their next course of action and were becoming worried and impatient. If they were unsuccessful, they, themselves, were likely to suffer. The man appeared again, out of the shadows, heading towards them. The Cat was close by, watching with interest, his eyesight much keener and unencumbered by a balaclava or dark sunglasses.

The three men shrank further into the deepening shadows of dusk; this time their quarry would not escape their interrogation. There was no one else in sight. They struck silently, without warning.

The target was immobilised, apart from freezing in sheer panic, a hand over his mouth muffled any cry for help. One of them kept watch whilst the others issued dire threats and commenced their initial questioning. The Cat was now very close.

A second man emerged from the narrow ginnel alongside the Post Office, observing the confrontation; after a brief delay he set off towards them at a run, slightly impeded by his clinking carrier bag, shouting that he was the police and for them to remain where they were. Of course it had entirely the opposite effect. The three men attempted to drag their victim away with them to their nearby getaway vehicle. The Cat timed his intervention well. An unearthly scream rent the air, seeming to rise out of the ground in the midst of the struggling group, making their hair stand on end with a shiver, under the constricting balaclavas. It was the Cat's war-cry. The man with the syringe jumped in fright and pain as the Tiger Tabby sunk his claws like daggers into the back of his leg for good measure; he was clumsy, all fingers and thumbs, accidentally jabbing his syringe loaded with horse tranquilliser through the moleskin trousers and injecting the contents into the rump of one of his colleagues instead of their intended victim. It was becoming a disaster.

They had no option but to abandon their prisoner and rescue their semi-conscious colleague, snoring through his balaclava in a sudden drug induced stupor. Swearing loudly, they half-dragged, half-carried him some distance back to their parked vehicle, a true brother-in-arms. The plan was disintegrating and they were frightened of the consequences.

'What was all that about, Fred?' asked the Good Samaritan, 'they won't have got much if they mugged you for you beer money; you've probably just spent it. You're not hurt are you?'

'No, I'm OK, Stan,' gasped the thoroughly shaken Fred, recognising his neighbour, 'and no, I haven't a clue what it was all about; they were just threatening me and asking stupid questions. They were just about to drug me and cart me off somewhere when you screamed, frightened me as well as them, how did you do it?'

'It wasn't me,' replied a puzzled Stan, 'I thought it was you, that's why I ran across the road; I thought you were being mugged.'

'Never mind that,' muttered a trembling Fred, 'I'll feel safer if we get home, then I'll tell you all about it; is that booze you've got clanking in your bag? I could do with a tincture to settle my nerves.'

They moved quickly off up the road, casting nervous glances over shoulders and twitching at lumpy shadows, ducking at low flying Bats, still hunting for insects especially moths. The Cat followed, unobserved. Stanley was his Human provider, somewhat feckless in the Tiger Tabby's opinion and who needed looking after.

They made it back to Fred's house without further attempts at molestation and broached Stan's supplies of alcohol to calm the nerves. Fred was still slightly incoherent and confused, but it could have been the accumulated effects of his evening at the pub and Stan's generous stress calming measure; he turned all the house lights on for a tenuous feeling of security. The Cat jumped up onto the outside windowsill where the top-light was open on the latch and tuned in to the ensuing conversation with his acute aural senses.

Fred was still shaking, his glass rattling against his fluorescing plastic teeth; to Stan's relief, he had decided not to call the police since he had not physically been hurt or robbed and couldn't recognise his assailants; their questions had made no sense to him; the plastic police wouldn't do anything anyway. Stan agreed. He had previously suffered the indignity of being accused of making lewd phone calls to a female magistrate, amongst others, by the village policeman, before the culprit was discovered to be a Parrot with an unusual vocabulary. Furthermore, last winter he had mistakenly accused Fred of burglary and informed the police, during his neighbour's attempt to rescue a stranded black Kitten from his snow-covered roof. He hoped Fred had forgotten.

Meanwhile, fearful Fred was recounting his terrifying experience of intimidation and threats of torture and death; threats to children he didn't know he had, if he didn't reveal the whereabouts of 'the thieving woman from Thorpe in Yorkshire and her sidekick, Eckerslike'. His attackers' boss apparently wanted revenge and innocent Fred was being threatened with being buried alive in the Navy's Noodle Hole, somewhere near Harrogate! Was this a Sailor's Warning? There had been oblique references to 'getting hold of knackers' and the subsequent promise of unbelievable pain. Fred was confused, frightened, pressed his knees together hard and tried to stop his eyes from watering; his cheeks were still squeaking with the effort of clenching them.

Stanley was not confused, just equally frightened, realising the attack had been a case of mistaken identity but said nothing. He needed to get home quickly and left Fred locking up and barricading the doors behind him, but not forgetting to rescue his depleted stock of medicinal alcohol.

The Cat, still keeping watch, made sure his Human got home safely. He was troubled with his own concerns as he slipped unnoticed through the Cat flap.

Stanley and his wife, Ethel, were discussing the new situation in the kitchen; the Cat listened in as he quietly ate his supper.

The family, particularly Stan, had been pursued and threatened with violence ever since his Aunt Matilda had mysteriously disappeared from her home in the secret village of Thorpe-in-the-Hollow, in the Yorkshire Dales, together with her friend, Willy Eckerslike, who worked at the giant National Security listening station at Menwith Hill, just outside nearby Harrogate. A gang, including Russian Spy-Master, Boris Olegovski Ballackoff, known locally as 'Bob' Heathcliffe and his 'hit man', failed Mafia gangster Luigi Gnaccarini, together with two less than intelligent enforcers and part-time poachers, Irish Bill and his partner, Alf, were threatened by the knowledge Aunt Matilda and her friend had acquired. Willy had discovered Boris's whereabouts by triangulating his radio 'squirts' with the help of GCHQ at Cheltenham and another listening station in Wales and had subsequently broken his codes, only then realising that Boris (codename: Wych Hazel) also had a mole inside Menwith Hill. It was time for them to disappear, either voluntarily or not, before he, Wych Hazel, was unmasked and arrested. The Spy Master believed that Stanley and his family must know of the whereabouts of the runaway couple and Willy's hand written notes and diaries containing the information; he was determined to recover both and ensure their destruction in order to safeguard his identity and operations. They could reveal a sensitive web of blackmail, spying activities and data on potential secret warfare research. Boris's own Spy Masters had given him the equivalent of the 'Black Spot'; his radio was no longer active and his 'squirts' bottled up, but Boris feared that he might finish up radioactive if his Russian employers caught up with him.

Via information provided by contacts, the trail had led his ruthless search party to the Furness peninsular, in Cumbria. After several skirmishes, the gang had eventually been put to flight and the Poachers arrested when they had attempted to burgle the house whilst Stanley and the family were out. Their plan had been defeated by a collection of unusual house sitters led by the Tiger Tabby, who had raised the alarm, creating mayhem and causing pain, using animal intelligence and low cunning in the evening gloom to overcome their assailants.

Stan realised from Fred's account of his assailants that the gang were back in the neighbourhood and still active. Luckily for him, it had been a case of mistaken identity; but for Fred, he would now be their prisoner, or worse. The irony was that he knew absolutely nothing; the classified information of the couple's whereabouts was on a need to know basis and Stan did not need to know. He believed that Aunt Matilda and her Willy were in a safe house, being debriefed by the Authorities, although the Spy Master and his associates were still unaware of this, or that they had recovered incriminating computer discs and a laptop, part of the odds and sods Stan had rescued from his Aunt's house and stored unknowingly in his loft. He assumed that the spy-ring had been broken and Boris on the run, but the authorities had them under observation, keeping the gang dangling. Stan was not good at handling stressful situations and these circumstances had made him wonder whether any more of Aunt Matilda's secret evidence was lurking in unexamined boxes of her possessions, which he had stored in the loft and forgotten. Both he and Ethel were extremely worried by this latest turn of events; thank goodness the children were away at boarding school and therefore, there was no need to explain anything to them; Stan always reverted to ignorance being the best policy, and in his case it was probably true. This time he was burying his head in quicksand. If only the boxes could talk. They would need to be extra vigilant over the coming weeks, the gang were sure to try again. Stan was even considering putting a lock on the Cat flap.

The Cat noted that it was often the way with big Humans, they rarely passed on warnings of danger to their litters. How were they supposed to learn?

'At least it seems to prove that Aunt Matilda and her Willy are still out of harms way and not part of the bone yard in Thorpe's prehistoric Navvy Noddle Hole,' muttered Stan, 'otherwise they still wouldn't be looking for them.' (The hidden village was surrounded by peculiar-shaped hills, which were actually ancient coral reefs, whose weathered limestone caves were rich in fossils, although the thought of Yorkshire having once been a Tropical paradise was difficult to envisage).

'Why did the stupid woman have to involve us in her business.' Nevertheless, he raised his glass of newly purchased Australian red wine (called Kangarooge) to the absent, but generous, aunt Matilda and hoped she had somehow emigrated to a new life, Down Under, with, or without, her Willy. If they weren't careful they could all end up a gum tree. He was not intellectually equipped to deal with such problems. It required several generous glasses of the Kangarooge before he was 'considerably' relaxed and his stress levels reduced to coping levels. As usual, he was suffering from indecision as to what to do but was in denial; it was just that he could not make up his mind, like a frog hopping from lily pad to lily pad.

It was not easy for the Cat to understand everything that was happening outside his own immediate environment but he knew from bitter experience that knowledge was the key to his survival. The Tabby, like his Friends, had become an expert in observation and covert listening to 'Human' conversations to glean knowledge; it was particularly informative when they were under stress but not shouting at each other. To the Cat, 'Aunt Matilda's disappearance' was less than tragic; he had only seen her once, very briefly, and knew little about her; his knowledge originating from a Parrot was probably a garbled, inaccurate version – she was a non-person. However, he did know that the people searching for her were a threat to himself and his Friends; he also knew from his trusted Human Friend that the two missing Humans were safe.

Humans lived in a world of their own and rarely took any notice of him as he pretended to be asleep, unless they clumsily tripped over him. Most of their discussions, of course, were completely irrelevant and a waste of time and he did not always understand everything; the misunderstandings sometimes resulted in unusual consequences but he usually understood the gist. He and his Friends also had a secret army of spies and observers to assist in information gathering and analysis.

The Cat was called Earnshaw, after Hermione, the girl who had rescued him from drowning, as an orphan Kitten. He and his Friends sat and perched together in the garden in the warm summer sun, reflected from the waters and sparkling fountains of four pools connected by waterfalls. The Tiger Tabby was trying to decide whether to share his information about his night-time adventures and create nervousness, or whether to leave them in their present blissful ignorance. The group were currently involved in a parochial grumbling discussion about their 'Humans'. They were the RSPCA, an Association of a piebald Rabbit, Scruffy Parrot and two Cats who lived in occasional harmony in a house with a large garden in a small village on the edge of the Lake District. Their 'Humans' and providers consisted of two adults, Stanley and Ethel, with the Twins, Savage Simon (SS) and Terrible Tracy (TT), who were away at boarding school, and a new arrival. Without even so much as consulting the RSPCA, Ethel brought home another yowling infant in a sort of box, to join the household, disrupting everything and upsetting their routine. Earnshaw had arrived in a cardboard box too.

Earnshaw, who was long-haired, part-Persian Tabby with an unusual flat face, was doing most of the grumbling; he considered himself to be the RSPCA's natural leader, a position constantly disputed by each of the others. He had been born in a derelict house in the back streets of Manchester with unseeing, uncaring vagrants and Rats for company, other than his brothers and sisters. Subsequently, his mother's 'Humans' had cruelly tried to dispose of them in the murky waters of Salford Docks. He had been rescued, as the sole surviving Kitten, by a caring passer-by, and taken to an Animal Rescue Centre. Even there, he was not safe and became victim of an abortive attack by ill-informed Animal Liberationists on the Animal Sanctuary, before being 'purchased' by his current 'Humans'. Consequently, it had taken a long time before he would even grudgingly trust any Humans and treated any stranger with deep suspicion, guilty until proved innocent. The rest of the RSPCA had been later arrivals to the family.

All Animals and Birds lived in a parallel world and communicated in a parallel language; they could easily understand and share information with each other, also having the power to communicate beyond the normal human senses, at frequencies beyond the capability of Human ears. They also understood Human speech but considered the Homo Sapiens species to be of lower intelligence because they hadn't learned to communicate with Animals. They obviously found it difficult to learn a foreign language. Humans in their arrogance, of course, believed that they had unique qualities, which put them above Animals and Birds, but these were just more sophisticated versions of traits, which were found in the Animal world – if one cared to look. Still, Humans had some use in providing food and shelter. The gang, however, had learnt to cope with the inter-species communication problem in the shape of the large green and yellow Parrot called Monkton, who had the gift of being able to speak in 'tongues' and could pass on simple messages to the Humans by using his round tongue and great curved beak to make the Human noises, which they understood.

Humans, with their normal arrogance, generally ignored Animal intelligence; unable to read or write, they were obviously illiterate, ignorant and only useful as a source of food or pets. The real problem, of course, which led to this erroneous view, was that they did not have any 'technology' like that developed by Humans. These two-legged pedants believed that since they had bigger brains, they were infinitely superior, and more intelligent, to all Animals, Birds etc. In fact it was the ratio of brain size to body weight, which counted and Animal or Birdbrains had the same basic brain functions as humans, with a few extra advantages for good measure. Parrots were especially intelligent, although the Earnshaw was loath to admit it, even to himself.

Starsky, the large, black and white, piebald Rabbit, was gnawing on an old piece of carrot which had had found on the compost heap, crunching and slurping with his sharp, gnathic protuberances. Earnshaw frowned, believing that the hippy Rabbit was not taking things seriously. Starsky did not care. He appeared to rollick his way through life without worrying too much about the consequences. He understood the Human world better than the others but his view of it was somewhat unusual. It was based on him spending as much time as he was allowed watching TV programmes, especially films, in the lounge until he was kicked out back to his hutch in the garage by the inconsiderate Ethel. Starsky was thoroughly happy and comfortable with his surroundings except for the occasional nightmare or flashback from a previous life disturbing him. He had once been cornered in an underground burrow by a Poacher's ferocious Ferret and had been saved in the nick of time by a Tortoise with a candle on its back, but he still couldn't shake off the recurring bad dreams. He had escaped by the skin of the Ferret's teeth and, finding himself in a garden on the edge of the village, had thrown himself on the mercy of an elderly couple who lived there, until they had become incapable of looking after him properly; meals-on-wheels had refused to cater for him, and so they had given him to his current family as a pet. He listened to Earnshaw with only half of one of his long black ears, savouring his musty, toothsome, over-ripe carrot.

The junior feline member of the gang was a timid black Kitten called Enoch (one of the sons of Cain!), with four white hairs on his chest, who was crouching in an overturned plant pot. He was a naive dreamer with an attention deficit problem and was often left behind by the others' conversations. The Tabby was actually not much older than the Kitten but was several lives more experienced.

All of the RSPCA, and many of their Friends, understood unfairness and had suffered cruelty at the hands of Humans (although with Enoch, it was more a case of the paws of Earnshaw); they had learned how to react accordingly and it did not involve submission.

Monkton, the green and yellow Parrot, had been 'left' to Stanley by Aunt Matilda, when she had disappeared quite unexpectedly with her spy-catcher friend, Willy Eckerslike. The Parrot had accumulated a wide Human vocabulary from Aunt Matilda and her friends during generous drinks parties; fortunately, some of the more rude versions of his songs had been banned with threats from Ethel if the Twins were present. Unfortunately, the Parrot still used some of these words and phrases under the influence of alcohol – another habit he had picked up from Stanley's Aunt. The arrival of Monkton was the unwitting cause of all their problems, resulting in constant surveillance against violent attacks by enemies and malevolent acts against Animals and Birds.

The Parrot had been witness to Aunt Matilda and Willy's secrets and knew the present whereabouts of incriminating diaries, which Eckerslike had not revealed to the authorities, in case he needed a future bargaining chip. Monkton's ability to communicate with Humans had marked him down as a threat to the Spy Master who put a 'contract' out on him, with a price on his beak but Monkton had negotiated his own escape claws. He had narrowly survived a break-in and search of Aunt Matilda's cottage by Boris's bungling henchmen; subsequently suffered the nightmare of being boarded for a while in a Yorkshire Pet Emporium with 'strange pets' for company, before being collected and fostered by Stan. He had been a reluctant member of the RSPCA. But despite being tailed by Boris's henchmen from the Yorkshire badlands and across the Pennines, he remained at large, due in some measure to the ingenuity and bravery and sheer luck of his new Friends. Thus, inadvertently, because of Aunt Matilda, her Willy, the Parrot and their secrets, the rest of them had become embroiled in Boris's ruthless schemes of elimination and recovery of the evidence against him and his organisation.

After a series of prickly starts, the RSPCA had actually grown to respect each other and their individual strengths and qualities. When threatened, they acted as a team with retribution in mind. However, you wouldn't know it if you observed their behaviour or could listen to their mutual insults or the tricks which they played on each other. Enemies underestimated them. They were a clever and efficient team who did not hesitate to recruit help from their Animal and Bird Friends if necessary and even the occasional sympathetic Human (after suitable vetting).

The disappearance of Aunt Matilda had resulted in Stanley 'inheriting' the proceeds from the sale of her estate and her only dependant, (as dictated by her final instruction to her solicitor, prior to her premature re-location) – a high price to pay to secure lodgings for her estranged Parrot. At least it had allowed the now extended family to move from a cramped flat in Manchester to a much larger property in a village on the edge of