And we're back with another exciting tail... er, tale... xp

Thanks for the great reviews. Hope this one turns out to be as much fun as the last.

Big Game
The Blind Baboon part 1

Soo Lin the Asiatic golden cat was used to all sorts of verbal abuse during her presentation of ancient relics. There was not yet any fixed economy in the animal world, though carved bones and old human coins were in widespread use, and most of the creatures around her in Africa did not understand the practice of preserving things which you could not eat, use to keep cool or to defend yourself with. Still, she managed to eke out a living from her work. Animals gave her morsels of meat, bright feathers and unusual stones and seashells in payment for the privilege of seeing ancient Chinese artifacts both from human and animal history.

When she finished for the day, Soo Lin carefully packed the artifacts away in their boxes and carried the boxes deep into the cave her landlord called the museum. There were other items there from various countries. Few creatures in Africa valued such things very highly, but they did have a few wonderful specimens from Egypt.

Soo Lin heard a cough behind her and glanced over her shoulder to see the young caracal who had been trying to get her attention almost since she arrived in the area.

"Soo Lin," he said, "I've got the remains of a young steenbok hidden by the stream. Care to join me for dinner?"

"As I've tried to tell you," Soo Lin said as patiently as she could, "I'm not your type. Please don't come round anymore."

The disappointed caracal departed and Soo Lin ambled around the cave, checking the artifacts to be sure nothing was missing or damaged. Pausing in front of one of the time-worn statues, she looked up. Her eyes widened in fright.

John was quite proud of the fish he had caught, but now he had a problem: getting it back to Bushbuck row. Simple task, he'd thought. Catch a nice fat fish and be home in time for dinner. I'll be useful in contributing to our livelihood at last. But a jackal was following him a few paces off, and he wasn't sure he could take the annoying creature in a fight, especially not if its mate showed up.

To make matters worse, the jackal kept barking at him. Soon there might be hyenas on his tail, attracted by the noise.

"Come on, kitty, let us have a bite," the jackal taunted, creeping closer.

John paused to snarl at the jackal, but it was impossible to get out an impressive snarl with his mouth full of fish. Damn, damn, damn. He ran on a few steps, but then he felt a nip at his tail. Ouch! Right, that's it.

He dropped the fish and rounded on the jackal. "Get away from me!" he roared. "You insufferable, mangy little dog!" His fears were confirmed when he saw a second jackal bounding toward them through the long grass. No chance now... But he didn't want to give up without a fight.

"Give us the fishy, give us the fishy," the first jackal called.

"Hand it over," barked the second.

"Go hunt for yourselves!" John shouted bravely. "Your mum's a bitch. And your dad's a... a dingo!"

The male jackal growled fiercely while the female actually rolled on the ground laughing.

"Fine," John said in resignation. He nudged the fish forward. "You have that." Bitterly disappointed, he trotted homeward, leaving the jackals to divide his prize.

When he stumbled into the cave, Sherlock was lying on his buffalo hide blanket, looking over some papers.

"You took your time," Sherlock said, not even looking up.

"I didn't get the fish."

"What? Why not?"

"Well, I caught one," John explained. "A nice, big fat one, too. But then I got in an argument with a jackal. Two, actually."

"You fought two jackals?" Sherlock asked in amazement.

"Not exactly. They stood there and I shouted abuse." He looked tiredly around the cave and reflected that it had changed a lot in recent weeks. Sherlock's rising fame had led to nicer furnishings, an upgrade for the telegraph and ID tags for the two of them and Mrs. Hudson. The tags were the lions' way of keeping track of who's who, and who's cooperating with Lionine law. Mrs. Hudson disapproved of them loudly, but she still wore hers when she ventured out of the cave. John and Sherlock often left theirs behind, since they were younger and more confident that they could stay safe without it.

"Take my tag and get something on credit," Sherlock offered. Since he was well-known for being a good hunter as well as a good predator tracker, other preds were willing to share their kills with him on the understanding that he would return the favor later.

"Why don't you just go hunting?" John asked, even though it made him feel guilty. Sherlock provided nearly all the food for the cave's three occupants.

"Not today."

That wasn't much of a reason, but John let it go. "I need a job," he muttered. He had thought the lion hospital was going to take him on, but it had been weeks since he applied, almost a month.

"Dull," said Sherlock.

"Well, where's your tag?" John asked, noting that Sherlock wasn't wearing his either.

"Over by the human blanket."

When John went to fetch the tag, Sherlock got up off the short sabre he'd been concealing and shoved it under the buffalo hide before going to the typewriter sitting by the telegraph. John had started using this new piece of machinery to record Sherlock's adventure with the Yard's old pride leader.

"You've been using the typewriter?" John asked, somewhat offended. "I left the case locked."

"Picked the lock. It wasn't that difficult."

John huffed in annoyance. What an irksome day this has been... "What about that Dhole case? the one with the pup with the diamond marking?"

"Not interested. I sent them a message." Sherlock looked over the telegram he'd received earlier that day.

Hello, old chum. Bit of an upset at the new bank. Hoping you can sort it for me...

"I need to go to the bank."

"What?" John asked. "Sherlock... we don't have a bank. Banks are the stuff of human history, long gone."

"The Royal Pride's building a banking system. Strictly speaking, it's not operational yet, but when the banks open, there will be standardized currency in the world once more. There's a branch up on the hill to the south, beyond the valley. We need to go."

"But... oh..." No less frustrated, John slipped Sherlock's tag chain around his neck and followed the cheetah out of the cave.

John had heard that the lions were building something large on the hill, but the scale of it truly amazed him. It was a proper building with doors that locked, and even windows. That must have taken some chimpanzee or gorilla dexterity. Sure enough, several ape-types were moving around among the lions inside—chimpanzees and baboons, mostly.

One baboon greeted Sherlock with a sort of forced warmth, introduced himself to John as Sebastian Wilkes, and took them into an office.

"So, I heard you've been giving the lions some assistance," the baboon said, going to sit on a cushion behind a low desk. "Jolly good."

"You've been busy, too," Sherlock countered. "Traveling all the way to the rain forest twice in only a few months. Extraordinary."

The baboon chuckled—again, forced. He looked at John. "We were at uni together. Sherlock always did this thing... he'd look at you and know what you had for dinner the night before. We hated him for the way he'd analyze us..."

"Oh, I've seen him in action," John assured him.

"So, I suppose I've got some speck of moss or a rain forest leaf on me somewhere," the baboon said, beginning to look down at his coat for the clue that had tipped Sherlock off.

"No. I... just had a chat with your assistant. She told me."

John didn't recall any such chat. He wondered why Sherlock was lying.

"Well, anyway... hope you can help me figure out our trouble here. There was a break-in."

"What was stolen?" John asked.

"Nothing. Whoever it was just left a little message. I'll show you."

Wilkes took them back into the lobby of the building where many animals were busy building shelves and learning to use cash registers. Behind the main island of desks was a row of animal images showing the various species that had helped to build the bank. Second from the right was an image of a baboon. A streak of yellow clay covered its eyes. Another strange marking of the same color was on the wall nearby.

"The bank was locked up tight for the night," Wilkes said. "All the key-holders had all their keys. There were guards all round the building. We haven't a clue how this creature got in, but if you can figure it out, you'll be rewarded. I have here a credit token that will give you access to ten cuts of meat from the local Royal representative pride, and there'll be a much larger payment when you've solved it."

"I don't need an incentive," Sherlock declared. "This case is actually interesting." He sauntered off.

"He's kidding you, obviously," John said quickly. "I'll keep that for him; just attach it here with his ID tag, will you?" He suddenly realized he must seem like Sherlock's valet, carrying his personal belongings.

After examining the wall message from every possible angle and distance, Sherlock quickly looked around the rest of the building. "Sebastian," he said, as he peered out a window at the side of the building, "there's a sheer drop here at the back of the hill. Was there a guard posted on that side?"

"No," Wilkes answered. "But we've determined that there aren't enough handholds for an ape-type to have climbed up that way."

"Interesting. I've got all I need now. I'll be in touch."

Outside, John said, "You didn't chat with any assistant—you said that just to irritate him. How did you know he'd been to the rainforest twice recently?"

"Did you notice his post?"

"Post?"

"Mail on the desk. A letter from Ecuador. It was tiny and addressed by hand in a very small but neat script. Then there was the jar of sweet gum on the shelf."

"Er... sweet gum can come from places besides the rain forest..."

"What kind of animal lives almost entirely on sweet gum?"

"A pygmy marmoset," John answered immediately, being familiar with the small monkeys.

"Precisely. Sebastian has acquired one as a pet or assistant and keeps a supply of sweet gum for it. But if it's living with him, why would it have sent him a letter? So, he visited the rain forest once, took up correspondence with this little monkey and persuaded it to come stay with him, then he went back to the rainforest to fetch it. A little marmoset would never make a journey that long on its own. Also, Sebastian is looking more fit than I've ever seen him. He was always lazy at school. Must have taken a long journey or two in recent months."

John wondered what sort of school it was that accepted both cheetahs and baboons as students. It must be very posh and expensive.

"Okay, so what do we do now?"

"The message could be seen from only a couple of vantage points besides the main lobby, and only a few creatures came in to do night work. The one who had a good view of the message from his office between twelve and four a.m. and who did not report seeing the message, and who has gone missing from work is one Edward Van Coon, a hyena who is destined to translate for Asian patrons when this bank is up and running."

"So, we're going to find Van Coon?"

"Indeed."

When they got to the cave where Van Coon was known to reside, they found the cave mouth blocked by large rocks, as if there had been a recent rock slide from the hills above.

"These rocks fell very recently," Sherlock said, looking around at them.

"How can you tell?" asked John.

"There was a strong thunderstorm in these hills last night; the path was muddy. But as you can see, these rocks are covered in powder from their colliding with each other. That would all have been washed away."

"So it probably happened after Van Coon left the bank—he might be stuck inside?"

"Van Coon," Sherlock called loudly. "Are you inside?"

There was no answer.

"Well, now what?"

Sherlock paced a few yards away from the cave, then turned, took a running start and leaped up onto the topmost rocks. He knocked aside a couple large ones and soon disappeared into the cave.

"Oh... hang on." John clambered over the rocks at the foot of the slide and began picking his way up the pile. Climbing trees is so much easier. "Sherlock! A little help would be nice. Sherlock, you okay in there? Oi, Sherlock!"

"Don't bother, John," Sherlock's voice came to him at last. "Best get to the nearest telegraph and send for Lestrade. Van Coon is dead."

"He'd just been on a long journey," Sherlock said, looking at Van Coon's belongings as the Yard lions snooped around and finished removing the boulders from the cave entrance. "He has a water bag here with water still in it, but there's a stream only a furlong away. Also another bag... this one empty. Wonder what he used that one for."

"Leftover food?" John suggested.

"Doesn't smell like anything."

"I'll take your word for it."

"What, you don't want to investigate along with me?"

"No, it's just that sniffing the belongings of a carrion-eater doesn't suit my fancy."

Sherlock shrugged. "Well, if I'm right and the message was intended for Van Coon, why couldn't it have been posted, or sent by egret?"

"Maybe... Van Coon isn't always this easy to find?"

"Good, you follow."

"No..." John frowned.

"What sort of message does one want to avoid getting?" He stepped up to the limp hyena and gingerly reached into its mouth to pull out something dark and shapeless. "I think he was being threatened."

"Right, you," said a bossy voice, "I've got this well in hand. You can keep out of my way."

"I sent for Lestrade," Sherlock complained.

"Well, tough," answered the young lion in front of him. "He's busy."

Sherlock offered the... thing he'd found in Van Coon's mouth to the newcomer. "Fine. Here you are, Sergeant."

"It's Detective Inspector, actually. Dimmock. And I know who you are. I heard about your shenanigans with the Hope case, and I don't need you mucking up this scene." He turned to the cadets in the cave. "Right, this here was obviously an unfortunate accident."

"Seems to be the case," John agreed.

"Highly unlikely," Sherlock contradicted.

"Oh?" Dimmock sat on the cave floor and glared at him defiantly. "What makes you say that?"

"Van Coon was killed early this morning; the rock slide occurred immediately afterward—it was intended to cover the death. He was indeed killed by a blow to the head, but not by any falling rock. And just look at the way he's lying on the cave floor—nearly parallel to the entrance, neither on his way out, nor on his way in. Was he just lying there, hoping to be hit on the head?"

"But there's blood on this rock here," Dimmock insisted, indicating a large, watermelon-sized rock. "It obviously hit the victim and then rolled off."

"John?" Sherlock prompted.

A little timidly, John offered, "If that rock had struck Van Coon on the head, it wouldn't just have fatally concussed him. It would have crushed his skull."

"Precisely. And as you can see, it's quite a little wound that killed him. Honestly, I don't know how you can miss such things."

"But... if Van Coon was killed in the cave before the rock slide, how did the killer get back in after to put the blood over here? You said it was completely blocked up."

"Didn't have to. He just had to put some blood on another rock and roll it down inside. Forensics should conclude that the blood on that stone isn't Van Coon's. Furthermore, he was being threatened."

"What?"

"There was a break-in at the bank site on the hill," John supplied. "Someone left him a coded message."

"What sort of animal plans something like this? Who would have it in for Van Coon?"

"Finally," Sherlock said with a small smile. "You're asking the right questions."

[Some weeks earlier]

"There you are," Jim said. "I was beginning to be anxious. What took you so long?"

"Your chimp gave me the run-around," Sebastian growled. "I hope you had a pleasant day."

"I did, but it was dull. I've grown used to you, and Clem is a poor substitute. I see you acquired a pistol."

"Lionpaw, but it will do. And I've sent for a Tigerpaw rifle. Which reminds me—do you deal in arrow poison?"

"I have, from time to time."

"He wants some in trade. And fish."

"I delight in spoiling him," Jim said. "He's a little devil, but so endearingly crafty. I can get the poison for you. I can have someone get the fish as well, if you like."

"I'll manage. But thank you."

"All right. Tomorrow morning I've got to present the feast to the winners. You'll be with me."

Sebastian nodded. So far, no one had made any attempt to cross Jim in any way since the tiger had come into his employ, but there hadn't been much occasion for it. The end of the game might be cause of some trouble from sore losers. It was doubtful, but Sebastian almost hoped for a disturbance. The job of bodyguard had far too much down time for his liking.

"So, what did the imp demand for the handgun?"

"A warthog piglet. I've gotten that for him already."

"Oh." Jim was silent a moment. Then, "Just out of curiosity, where did you catch it?"

"Out on the plain."

"Good," he breathed, sounding relieved. "You see, there's this little valley where a lot of chimps and warthogs live, and I don't permit any hunting there. Those creatures cultivate certain fruits and berries for me in return for protection. It would be bad PR if a piglet got killed. Work, work, work. Very tedious."

"I didn't know you were fond of fruit."

"Not very often, but it's a nice change now and then. And it's very useful for bartering. There will be quite a bit at the feast tomorrow. And before I forget, Miss Adler and I will need some privacy tomorrow night. I'm counting on you to see that we're not disturbed."

"Very good."

Jim smiled. Then he sniffed the air. "I think dinner's on its way up."

Sure enough, a moment later they could hear Clem coming, dragging a carcase along behind him. The hyena dropped his burden at their feet. "There ya go, boss. Nice Thomson's gazelle from the cheetahs. Can I have a bite?"

Sebastian growled at him. "Manners," he said.

"Seriously," Jim agreed.

"Well, I wouldn't ask, but I haven't eaten today..."

"You'll get the bones. Now get out and quit drooling. Out!"

With a cowardly laugh, Clem hurried back down the rocky path.

The two large cats picked the bones clean in little time and then Jim dumped them down to Clem whose strong jaws could crack them open to get at the marrow. Then they groomed each other clean.

It had taken Sebastian a little while to warm up to this grooming ritual, but now it seemed routine. If he forgot, Jim would complain and even pout a little. So he did it to keep the boss happy... but after a while he realized he enjoyed it, too.

"Well, that was a good end to a dull day," said Jim. "Come on." He led the way to the zebra hide where he normally slept with Sebastian beside him, or against him on cool nights. Tonight he snuggled back into the tiger's soft undercoat until his companion took the hint and curled around him, putting one striped foreleg over the leopard's body. "Good night."

Sebastian looked down at Jim's spotted face, serene in the fading light. It was strange to think that that visage struck fear into the hearts of creatures for miles around, and yet here the ruthless predator lay snuggled up like a cub against its mother. It was irresistible. So he didn't resist. He slowly lowered his head and dragged his tongue over Jim's face from muzzle to ear.

Jim hissed in a little breath of surprise, but it came out in a purr.

Sebastian was pleased with this result, but he decided not to push his luck. He laid his head down across Jim's neck and closed his eyes. "Pleasant sleep," he whispered.

[Present]

Sherlock and John went back to the bank to fill Wilkes in on his dead hyena colleague, assuring him that it was not an accident, whatever the lions said. The next day, Watson went back to the Leonine hospital to try applying again. He was very tired of feeling useless, and he made up his mind that this time he wouldn't just see if there were any openings for surgeons. He would take anything they could offer him, even very short hours and very boring tasks.

When he told Molly he was ready to try anything, she directed him to the office of someone called Sarah Sawyer. There he was shocked to see something he'd never dreamed to see so deep in Africa: another ocelot. A female ocelot. He had painstakingly typed up a resume on the typewriter, and he speechlessly held it out to her.

"Good afternoon," she said in a pleasant voice. "Oh..." she took the resume. "Doctor Watson. How nice to meet you. You're here about a position?"

John nodded, not trusting his voice to come out steady.

"Well we are a little short on staff temporarily," she said. "One of our best doctors just had a litter of cubs and has gone away to raise them. Two others are out on leave. Mind you, your qualifications are rather high for a temp position like this..."

"I just... want to keep busy," John said, wishing he could sound more sophisticated. Oh for a deep voice like Sherlock's. "Can use the pay, of course."

"Might be a bit mundane."

"Mundane is fine. It's good sometimes." Everything Sarah said was good. And she was even smiling at him. John realized his tail was twitching spastically as if he were a kit stalking a bird. Oh lord, she's going to think I'm a dunce.

"So, you were a soldier?" she was looking back at his resume.

"Well, yes. But I was a doctor in the army."

"What else can you do?"

"Um... I can send and receive Morse code."

Sarah laughed. "That'll be useful, I'm sure."

When he got back to the cave, Sherlock was sitting on his human-made blanket, staring at the wall.

"I said, 'could you get me some charcoal and paper,'" Sherlock announced, as if continuing a conversation.

John looked around. He was the only one there. Mrs. Hudson must be tucked away deep in the corner of her side of the cave. "When?" he asked.

"About an hour ago."

"You didn't notice I wasn't here?" John was miffed, but he fetched the items anyway. "I went back to the Leonine hospital to see about a job. Got one, actually. Temporary, but still."

"Good. Think you'll enjoy it?"

"Yeah. Great. She's great."

"Who?"

John froze. Oh, crap. "The job," he said rather pathetically.

"She?"

"It."

Sherlock shrugged. "Telegram came while you were out. A wild dog was just found dead. The Yard thinks he fell some twenty feet to his death... but adult wild dogs don't normally fall off cliffs and such. They have too good a sense of self-preservation to go near the edge. Furthermore, the ledge he fell from is in a spot that's very difficult to get to, particularly for canines rather than felines. He had no good reason to be there. I'll wager anything the autopsy will show he was struck on the head before being dropped off that precipice."

"You think it's related to Van Coon, then?"

"I hope so. We need to get to the Yard and discuss it with the lions."

"If that Dimmock fellow's still in charge, he's probably not going to listen."

The Blind Banker is possibly my least favorite, but I think I can find ways to keep it interesting. ^^ If you're liking it so far, please leave a review.