The Case of the Haematophagous Equine: The Wolflock Cases, #8

By Rhiannon D. Elton

The Case of the Haematophagous Equine is the eighth book in the Wolflock Cases teen fantasy mystery series.

Wolflock never anticipated his journey to Mystentine University would be fraught with danger, but now that he's away from the safety of the Silver Ice Hair, perils lurk around every winding corner. Set with the impossible task of finding a sister lost forty years ago, Wolflock and Mothy chase elusive clues with a driver who only travels at night. Stalked by monsters and plagued by nightmares, what hope do they have of finding an old woman lost to the dense forests on the road to the city?

Worse still, they can't shake the feeling that something is following them.

Something… hungry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rhiannon D. Elton
• Release date: Mar 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9780648763673

Book preview

The Case of the Haematophagous Equine © Rhiannon D. Elton 2022

The Wolflock Cases: Book 8

Second edition

ISBN: 978-0-6487636-7-3 (paperback)

First Edition published July 2017

Second Edition published March 2022

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means— electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by Australian Commonwealth copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

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Cover compiled by Rhiannon D. Elton

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cataloguing-in-Publication information for this title is listed with the National Library of Australia.

Published in Australia by Rhiannon D. Elton and Pelaia Adventures.

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Declaration of Intention

MERRY MEET,

The purpose of the books the author writes is to give representation to as many peoples, creatures, and landscapes as they can. Although written from the perspective of a Caucasian teenage boy, the author hopes to offer a light into the harmony of different cultures and creeds of people. The author’s aim is to promote harmony, understanding and compassion in all areas, while also inspiring readers to stand up against injustice and be critical thinkers in life.

While the author does their best to research, interview and highlight the best parts of people, they are only human and can make mistakes. The author asks you gently educate them by sending them an email in order to discuss anything that may have caused harm to a group of people unintentionally.

The author believes that the cure for ignorance is education, but please approach the topic cordially in order to avoid any knee-jerk cognitive dissonance.

Finally, the viewpoints displayed in the books comes from a particular character and is not necessarily that of the authors. The author seeks to display flaws, growth and human nature on many levels, and hopes that you will analyse the character of the protagonist without adopting any negative behaviour from them.

Merry part, and merry meet again.

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Dedicated to Helen & Nicholas Crowley

Your support from the very beginning brought me to here. Knowing I needed to get these written for you was often the push I needed.

CHAPTER 1

False Start

WOLFLOCK HAD NEVER seen Mothy’s eyes change colour before. He’d only ever seen that they had changed. He looked with desperation into his best friend’s face. At any moment, he expected the weight of their situation to hit him and for the terror he felt to be reflected.

Mothy’s tired grey-blue eyes blinked up at him as he untwisted from the blanket. He still moved too slowly for Wolflock’s liking. Perhaps he hadn’t understood him.

We’ve missed the carriage, he repeated, unable to keep a crackle from bubbling out of his throat.

Mothy’s bottom lip protruded in thought and his eyes sank into a hazel apathy. He melted back into the blankets and covered his face from the midday sunlight.

M-Mothy?

What? he groaned.

We’ve missed the-

We’ll just get the next one. Why are you awake? I’m sore. Go back to sleep.

Dr Qwan snorted and pulled his shoes on. Ah yes. The life of the young. Sleep all day, party all night. Rinse and repeat until age throws you a sign to stop.

Age never stopped you. Charmainette tapped her foot at the door, glancing down the stairs to their sitting room doorway.

Ah, my precious flame. I blame that entirely on the vitality of my good medicine and energetic wife. He pecked her cheek as he passed downstairs, loudly greeting his patient. Merry meet to you, Mr Jorgen. You look how I should feel. Let’s get you a nice thick remedy and get you back home before the children notice, eh?

As they spoke, Wolflock tried to find his shoes, throwing pillows and blankets everywhere. Shoes and satchel. That was all he needed. Surely, they had to be here somewhere.

Ahem, Charmainette coughed, jerking her thumb at the hooks on the wall beside the door.

On it hung his shoes, laced over one hook, and his satchel bag.

I picked them up as we came in. Your friend was using one as a sleep toy.

Thanks. Mothy, for goodness sake! Mothy, get up! Wolflock tugged his shoes on and tied them, throwing another pillow at the cocooned Mothy.

We can’t do anything until we get another carriage. Let me sleep, he groaned.

You are so obstinate! What if it had to stop for maintenance? Or if they’re waiting for us? Or if it’s delayed? I’m leaving you here. If you don’t make it to the carriage in time, I’m going to Mystentine without you.

Mothy stayed still and silent.

With a frustrated huff, Wolflock charged out of the room and out the front door.

The overcast sky did not dull the bright light, but seemed more cutting. Wolflock squinted around to gather his bearings before taking off North down the main road. Tourists and townsfolk milled about, drying fish on racks, and smoking them in outdoor ovens, while children played with the tangled decorations. No one seemed to be working, which irritated Wolflock even more as they chose to casually block the streets he needed to run down.

His heart tried to strangle him as he pushed through the sleepy crowds, tearing his way along the stony roads to the North Gatehouse Stables. Like yesterday, he flung open the doors and hurled himself towards the counter where the youth from yesterday snored, his mousy brown mop of hair on his hands.

Wolflock slammed his hands on the desk by his head, causing the boy to jump awake. Our carriage! From yesterday! Is it still here?

The boy blinked his red eyes at Wolflock as if he were some strange apparition. Two-too? he yawned. At least he had some skills of recollection. Nah. Gone. Fella waited over two hours for you and your friend. Had to get going, though. Sorry. Next carriage is booked to come in next week though. It’s a cargo one. Won’t be comfy sorry.

His square jaw and constant apologising grate against Wolflock.

There has got to be some other way. Is there a carriage in town we can buy? Or a smaller one used for local transport?

Nah, sir. Sorry. You’ve come at a terrible time for gettin’ to the city. Most folks stay here ‘til the end of the season and go to Mystentine just a’fore the Winter. Traffic has a flow, ya know?

Please tell me there is something! Wolflock scanned the boy’s face, hoping for any sign or clue he could use to leverage the transport he needed.

The dullard shook his head, not even giving it a thought. Sorry, sir. You’re gonna just have to wait or organise private transport with someone in town.

Wolflock felt two sensations he was unfamiliar with, yet had experienced only a handful of times before. The first was a cold, sinking feeling of helplessness and disappointment, verging on devastation. The second was a sharp flash of pain through his skull.

Not wanting to let the attendant see him wince in pain, he turned and dragged his feet from the building. The light didn’t help his headache, but he didn’t know where else to go. Part of him wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. Another part wanting to rage down the street screaming for someone to help him. He chose at least trying the former.

He sat on the stairs and wrapped his arms around his legs, pressing his face into his knees to block out the glaring sunlight. The carriage boy was right. Barely any foot traffic made its way this far to the edge of town and not a single person in sight looked ready to leave. He glared at them as they meandered back and forth, swapping food dishes and trinkets, fawning over children throwing tantrums from staying out too late.

Fools. Don’t any of them see I’m upset? At this rate, we’ll not even make it to Mystentine at all and we’ll have to stay in this awful fishing town all Winter. Perhaps I can go back to the Silver Ice Hair... No. That would be worse. I’ll never go back to Plugh if I can help it.

He felt someone flop next to him on the stairs and drape themselves over him.

No luck, Lockie?

No.

Maybe you can use your powers of princely status to charm someone over breakfast. Dr Qwan wants to take us to a place that sells the best late breakfast in Creast, Mothy sighed, leaning heavily on the sulking Wolflock.

It’s not like there is anything else to do. Do you know where this eatery is located?

Nope. I thought you could deduce that. I told Dr Qwan we’d meet him there.

Wolflock stayed silent for a moment, his face still pressed to his knees. If he could pinch the bridge of his nose in mild frustration, he would have, but Mothy’s weight squashed him down.

You know I’m not a homing pigeon, aye?

Oh, I know. I just like to set you up with little challenges, so you feel clever. Using that noggin’ of yours always puts you in a better mood.

Wolflock sighed again. He wasn’t wrong.

And who knows? Maybe we’ll fall into the lap of the biggest puzzle to solve, and you’ll have the best day ever.

Highly unlikely. What information do you have about this restaurant?

Mothy stretched off Wolflock and got to his feet like a marionette being inexpertly operated. I know it’s a small café that has the only steamed buns in Creast. Possibly even all of Shiriling.

All this information from Dr Qwan himself?

His wife said it’s a pokey little café that serves more land meats than fish.

Wolflock slumped and then forced himself to his feet, letting Mothy drag him back to where he thought Dr Qwan’s house was. It wasn’t easy to find again, but the smell of the medicinal herbs they burned and boiled was pungent enough to stand out from the cooking fish throughout town. When they arrived, Wolflock gazed around at the streets. One led downhill to the bay, one uphill to the Eastern border of town, and one to the North.

Dr Qwan has shown himself to have enough foresight to not want to climb a hill before he has eaten. He pointed up the hill. Nor after he is full. He pointed to the bay. His café is likely to be in this direction. Keep your nose alert for anything that doesn’t smell like fish.

The boys walked along the cobblestone street, crossing three lanes and following their noses down an alley. Mothy pointed out an A-frame sign, pointing them toward a café. Wolflock also pointed out the decorative edges of the sign engraved with Xiayahn letters.

Ah yes. Not a language I’m familiar with, but never-the-less, they do a mean breakfast bun. C’mon boys. Dr Qwan tapped both their shoulders, having listened to their deductions. No luck with the cart, Mr Wolflock Felen?

Wolflock sighed through his nose. No. You wouldn’t know anyone who would have a spare carriage, would you? I’ll pay handsomely for it.

Have some food first. I’ll think when this hangover ebbs.

The boys sat in sturdy, hand carved wooden chairs with fur lined cushions. A young boy with Xiayahn almond eyes and brown curly hair served them hot lemon water and honey while they waited for Dr Qwan to order for them at the counter. The café was a hole in a wall, but it had a cozy charm that brought indoor items to the outdoors, making the space feel larger.

Dr Qwan and an older gentleman conversed thick and fast in two different Xiayahn dialects. Wolflock listened and heard distinct notes in their cadences as well as favoured words. Dr Qwan made sharper ends to his words, whereas the cafe owner drew theirs out in a longer drawl. He also heard the universal tones of someone saying, I don’t know that word. Is this closer?

Mothy ran his fingers over his edge of the table and found a board game in a compartment on their table and drew it out, making up his own game for how the pieces moved and beating himself in a spectacular fashion.

Well, that’s it. I’ve lost the farm. Better move onto ship work, he sighed, shaking his head in defeat.

Farm work didn’t suit you, anyway. Why not run away and join the circus? Wolflock offered, sipping his tea.

Mothy leaned back in his chair and pondered the idea. Well... there is that. I could always join a temple. The Temples of Love or the Arts always caught my eye.

Mmm... It may be quite different here in Shiriling. Arts here seem a bit more... rustic. To put it politely.

I wouldn’t call it polite, Mothy snickered.