The Rookery Boxset

by B G Denvil

  It wasn’t raining. They looked at each other. “I shall see if I can summon up a little drizzle,” Peg decided.

  “Alright.” Rosie sighed. “I suppose I should go and search for the silver cup. But if Mother has it, and I go hunting amongst her precious belongings, she’ll carve me into crumbs.”

  “Get someone down there to call her out for a long, concentrated task,” Peg suggested, “to keep her out of the way. Then sneak in. You always make her bed anyway, don’t you?”

  “I did that already.”

  “Well, do it again.”

  Since she wasn’t offering to call Alice away herself, Rosie accepted she was being dismissed, and trotted all the way down the endless staircase to the ground floor, and went to find a friendly soul who would call her mother out of the way. She was wandering the corridors when the front door whooshed open, and a tall thin woman, struggling with a huge feathered hat, a long velvet cloak that seemed determined to entangle itself, three large baskets of belongings, the rattan baskets painted with flowers, and a big fat white bird on her shoulder which seemed nervous and was demanding comfort by pecking the woman’s ear, entered in a flap and flurry, almost sinking to the floor once she arrived indoors.

  She saw Rosie, who had run to help with the luggage. “Oh, my dear girl, thank you,” said the woman. “I should have flown, but I was worried that someone might see me. Of course I didn’t know how your beautiful old house was situated. Had it been in the middle of a town, I couldn’t have dived down the chimney.”

  Rosie was excited. “You’re the new ninety-three,” she said, hauling up the baskets but keeping a distance from the parrot. “Welcome to The Rookery. My mother owns the place, and I’m Rosie.”

  “My dear Rosie,” Edna said at once, “I’m delighted to be here, and I’m delighted to meet you. Perhaps you’ll point me in the right direction?”

  Pointing dutifully, Rosie said, “Top floor. Rooms One and Two. It says so on the doors. You can fly straight up, but I’ll tell my mother, and she’ll follow up to greet you and talk about breakfast and dinner and other stuff.” She had thought of the perfect solution. “I’m sure you’ll want to talk to her at some length. I shall be thrilled to meet you later at supper.”

  Clutching the handles of all three baskets flicking her cloak out of the way and threatening the bird with decapitation unless it stopped eating her ear, the woman disappeared up into the long dark stairwell, feet clicking toes together as she disappeared.

  With another happy skip, Rosie ran to the kitchen. “Mamma, she’s arrived. I mean, Edna Oppolox. She’s delightful but she has a funny bird. White. No, not a pigeon, I mean a real white white, and I’ve never seen such a white bird before. I doubt it will get on well with the ravens, but that’s their problem. I’ve directed her to her rooms, but she says she wants a lovely long conversation with you, to help her settle in and get to know everything.”

  “I suppose so.” Alice sighed. “And plenty of time before supper. But the high numbers can be very arrogant, like Whistle.”

  “She didn’t seem arrogant.”

  Heaving herself from the chair, Alice staggered from the kitchen, grabbed her skirts and flew upstairs. Rosie quickly slipped from the kitchen door, along the outside passage and into her mother’s spacious apartment.

  Rummaging without leaving a trace proved hard work, and Rosie worried a little that her mother might simply use magic to discover who had been in her rooms. But since her mother’s magic was no better than hers, she felt a bit safer and kept looking. She was somewhat surprised to discover four large wooden chests under the large covered bed, which she had tidied herself that morning. But she had never looked beneath before. Now she pulled out the first chest. It was locked with both padlock and spell, and Rosie thought she had no chance of breaking in, but tried anyway. She’d heard spells like this before and knew just two simple answers.

  She said, “I summon this lock to break with a plop, and whatever is spoken, let it be open. So – OPEN.” She’d been taught that as a child and did not expect good results. And yet, with the requested plop, the padlock fell open, and the chest’s heavy wooden lid swept upwards all on its own.

  Rosie stared. It was stuffed full with a thousand papers or more, and she recognised some as having been Whistle’s. So her mother had not torn or burned the magic papers at all, she had smuggled them away and burned something entirely different to look as if she had. Rosie pushed the lid back down and pulled out the next chest.

  This had two padlocks, and Rosie spoke the same spell but without success.

  “Bother,” she mumbled. “What was the other one I used to know? Oh yes, a bit too simple, but let’s try. Hubble, bubble, toil and trumble, kick the lock and make it crumble.”

  She aimed and kicked. The chest flipped open its lid with a jerk, and Rosie stared inside with even more astonishment than she had with the previous one. This chest was gleamingly full to the brim with money, coins of every type from sovereigns and pennies to pounds and guineas. There was a ton of foreign coins with flashes of large silver tokens and big lumps of pure gold.

  Gasping, finding it actually difficult to breathe, Rosie stared at this enormous and unexplained wealth. She supposed that the rent from twenty-one paying guests, with only two simple minded staff to pay out, would give her a reasonable savings chest. But this was more than seemed reasonable, even over two hundred years. Unless, of course, she had created some by magic, which meant they would fade away after a couple of days once removed from their companions.

  With a gulp of utter fear, Rosie removed three coins, one pound each, and a solitary silver token. She couldn’t drop them into her apron pocket in case they jangled, so she wrapped them in her kerchief and stuffed the parcel in her garter at the top of her stocking. Very carefully she closed the chest and pushed it back into place. If the coins faded after a few days, then she had no problem. And surely, stealing from one’s mother wasn’t the same as stealing from someone else.

  Pulling out the next chest, Rosie discovered the problem, since she did not know a third spell of openings. “Just please open,” she said, pleadingly and with both hands raised. To her absolute amazement, the chest slid open. It contained her mother’s clothes. Rosie grinned. Presumably there had been no spell binding it in the first place.

  So to the last chest, but this one refused to open. Rosie tried to pick the lock with her pen knife. She begged, kicked, thumped and pushed. Nothing opened. She said her two spells again, several times in fact, pleaded and demanded, and managed nothing at all. Eventually, having few options left, she returned to the first chest, opened it once more, retrieved a handful of papers to stuff into her apron pocket, closed and locked everything, and hurried from the room. She had searched nothing else, which made her feel a little pathetic, but she had already been too long and feared her mother’s return. Besides, if she was going to hide anything, surely it would have been in one of those four chests. Whether a silver cup sat in the last chest, she could not know, but guessed it was.

  Back in the kitchen, Rosie found it empty. Having no fondness for an empty kitchen, she first climbed the one storey to her own bedchamber and stuffed the stolen coins and parchments under her mattress, wishing she had magically locked chests of her own. Flopping back on her bed, she closed her eyes and tried to make sense of everything that had happened, and had certainly not made sense.

  “Number One,” she said, “my mother’s a millionaire, which is ridiculous. She never gives me tuppence, if she can help it. Number two, she kept all Whistle’s papers, even though she made a big scene of tearing them up and shoving them on the fire. Besides, she’d never understand most of them. Number three, does she ever talk to my father? Number four, who had the slightest motive to kill Whistle? Number five, who has the power to kill Whistle? The only witch or wizard I’ve ever known stronger than ninety-one, is this new arrival Edna. But she’s only just turned up. She may be a whole ninety-three, but she can’t turn time around.
”

  Having almost sent herself to sleep with unanswered questions, Rosie jerked herself awake and sat up, heart pounding. Now she knew what she had to do next. So slipping from her room, she tiptoed downstairs, saw her mother snoozing in the kitchen, hurried past and went again to the back door.

  Definitely no rain. The sun was shining with a sort of special gleam as if it knew something nobody else had realised. Rosie ran across the cobbled courtyard and aimed for the stables.

  The stable building, once large enough for five or six horses, now made two cosy rooms, one for the maid and one for the gardener. The gardener’s room echoed with sun bleached snores. Kate’s room was quiet.

  Having tapped quietly on the door several times without answer, Rosie then whispered through the gap by the door jam. “Kate, dear, no problem. Sleep on, if you like, and if you’re there. I just wondered if you had any other bits of silver. You know what I mean. Even more importantly, do you have any of Whistle’s papers? Do you know that my mother didn’t destroy them after all, even though she pretended she did?”

  After quite some time with no answer, Rosie knocked again. Then she whispered for a second time. “You might be out. I’ll look in the main house. But I’ll come back later.”

  Having felt a bit silly talking to an obviously empty room, Rosie walked back to the main house and trotted every storey in a brief search for the maid, who didn’t seem to be anywhere. She had either gone shopping in the village, or was off on a pleasant walk beyond the trees. So Rosie sat herself in the meeting hall and waited for supper. She realised she had also been asleep, when the noise of introductions woke her. She opened her eyes to the swirling colours of every witch and every wizard meeting the new resident. The swirling of cloaks, pushing in and hurrying out, was the background to every tone of voice, including shouts and squeaks, shrill hellos and deeper goodbyes. There were lots of hugs, cheek kissing and hand clasping. Rosie stood up and joined in.

  “Wonderful to meet such a powerful witch, Mistress Oppolox.”

  “Most impressive, madam. I do hope we get to talk at length soon.”

  “I believe I am the next in line, Mistress Edna, since I am an eighty-two. Not as high as a ninety-three of course, but next in line.”

  “No, you aren’t, Bertie,” said Peg, marching up to Edna. “How dedoo, Madam Edna? I’m an eighty-five, but still a good deal less than ninety-three. We used to have a ninety-one, but he left a few days ago. Nice to meet someone intelligent at last.”

  With a growing sense of familiar friendliness, Edna Oppolox clasped both Rosie’s hands in greeting. “I feel we know each other already,” Rosie said.

  “Those are very pleasant words, Rosie, dear,” Edna replied. “They hold a particular meaning.”

  “Really?” Puzzled again, Rosie smiled widely. There was unlikely to be much close understanding between a fifty and a ninety-three after all. But she liked the light squeeze of Edna’s hand around her own.

  Alice called over the buzzing of the crowd. “Rosie, go and fetch Kate. She must serve supper. I’ve made something very special to greet our new charming resident. Get her to meet me in the kitchen. You can come too, just don’t drop anything.”

  Shrugging, Rosie smiled at Edna and trotted out into the courtyard once again, and across to the stables. Clearly Kate must be back in her room by now. Indeed, she should be in the kitchen ready to serve supper. Rosie again tapped on the door.

  When there was no answer she banged and shouted. “Kate, I’ve been sent to fetch you. It’s nearly supper time, and this is a special one.”

  There was still no answer. So with a very solid shoulder push, Rosie shoved open the door.

  Thirteen

  The body of the young girl lay on the floor, her blood soaking the small blue rug beneath her head. Her loose blonde hair was still sticky and dark, for both sides of her face had been smashed inwards.

  Kate’s body lay on its back, untouched except for the hands, still attached to the arms, but smashed into tiny pieces. Rosie stood a moment, her knees shaking, and her throat closed, refusing to breathe. It took her some moments, but eventually she tottered from the room and carefully closed the door behind her. Then she stumbled back to the meeting hall, and it was only afterwards that she realised she should have searched the room.

  Instead she approached her mother. “Mamma, it’s happened again.”

  “What has happened, foolish girl?” Alice was impatient and strode past her daughter into the kitchen. “I am extremely busy. Where’s Kate?”

  “That’s the problem,” Rosie said, easing into the revelation. “I’m very sorry to say that poor Kate is – dead.”

  Alice stared for a blink and then raised her voice in a tremulous shriek. “She’s far too young to die. Where is she? What happened?”

  Rosie started to explain, and then realised that as she staggered and trembled, she was actually being held up by Peg on one side and Edna on the other. “Can you face it again, my dear?” Peg whispered.

  “I think so,” Rosie whispered back, “as long as you’re with me. I couldn’t go alone.”

  “I shall be coming as well,” Edna nodded. “My first day here is honoured by a mystery of horrible happenings. I can hardly ignore that.”

  Clearly Alice disliked the idea of her new important guest being involved in such a gory business, displeased even more than she was at losing her maid. But after opening her mouth to complain, she quickly shut it again. “Supper is nearly ready,” she muttered with vague hope. “And it’s a special one just for you.”

  “Oh, this won’t take long,” said Edna, and the three women hurried out to the stables.

  Peg knelt, looking at the dead girl’s smashed skull, while Edna bent over the other side. “Horribly brutal,” Peg mumbled. “There are far simpler and cleaner ways of killing someone, especially for a wizard. Why use such extreme measures?”

  “The act of someone with a dark twist,” Edna said at once. “The act of killing may have many motives. But the method used is the choice of a wizard with a leaning to the dark side.”

  “We have none of those here,” Peg insisted.

  “Mm,” mused Edna. “You might, without realising. Some wizards have a dark thread. And some darker wizards hide that side, ashamed of showing it, but are tempted to relieve themselves when they presume they will never be discovered.”

  “You mean,” Rosie asked, “there might be no other reason to kill except for fun?”

  “I believe we have a simple situation here,” Peg insisted. “For there is just one obvious link between Whistle and Kate, and that’s a few of Whistle’s belongings which went missing after Kate cleaned his room for your arrival, Edna.”

  Edna muttered a few Celtic swear words under her breath. “I shall do what I can here,” she said, still bending over the body, “and perhaps you two should search the room.”

  The small room was a mess, but it was not clear whether this signified an earlier search of the premises by the killer, or whether Kate always lived in an untidy muddle. But Peg groaned, “Nothing left, I’d wager. But I shall see what I can find.” And Rosie began to search on the opposite side of the room.

  The destruction of Kate’s body still lay on the central rug when Rosie, Peg and Edna all stood together, admitting that nothing had been found. The room was now even more of a mess, but Peg sighed, “Not a thing, except her own dreary belongings, poor little thing.”

  And Rosie nodded. “I think she had some more of Whistle’s silver. But either she hid it outside the room, or the killer took it.”

  “Unfortunately,” Edna added, “I cannot get a grip on the killer. I sense both anger and pleasure, and I am fairly sure this was the work of a wizard, not some boring human.”

  “But a very powerful one,” said Rosie, feeling sick again. “Because it must be the same one who killed Whistle, and he was too powerful to be killed so easily.”

  “Not necessarily.” Edna sat back on her heels. “If this was one of
your own familiar residents here, no one would expect an attack when a friendly face came to visit. I imagine your Whistle Hobb would have been taken by surprise just as this poor girl was, in her own room.”

  Both Rosie and Peg nodded earnestly. “I didn’t think of that,” said Rosie faintly.

  Edna’s hands hovered just over the body. “I cannot tell you who the killer is,” she admitted. “But your maid certainly knew him. He was almost positively resident here and known to all of you. The meeting seems to have started with a friendly chat. But your maid may have attempted to defend herself when she realised what was coming, since her hands are also destroyed, possibly because she was trying to scratch her killer.”

  “Then,” said Peg with a small clap, “we must look for any one of our wizards with scratches on his face or hands.”

  “Now that,” agreed Rosie, “will be a wonderful clue. Almost proof.”

  “No wizard leaves easy proof,” Peg reminded her. “A strong wizard – even an average one – can eliminate his own bruises and bangs.”

  It was a fine supper for those who knew nothing of the new murder, but since it had been planned for Edna, sadly she was the one who enjoyed it least. She, Peg and Rosie spent a great deal of time looking around the table to discover suspicious scratches on their companions, but eventually Edna thanked Alice for the magnificent feast, didn’t mention that she hadn’t enjoyed it and finally flew to the top floor and her own new apartment.

  No one heard from her until the next morning. Meanwhile, Peg sat under the trees outside, listened to the squawking and screeching flurry of crows as they had their own supper and settled for sleep.

  Avoiding the last few drops of birds’ mess, Peg asked, “Now then. Who would have done such a thing?”

  “Number one, someone who wants Whistle’s latest secrets,” Rosie said, “Two, he has scratches on face or wrists and hands. Three, he’s got a really nasty side. Maybe he does horrible things in secret. Maybe he beats birds and cats. Four, he owns big brown boots and doesn’t bother to clean them. Five, he lives here.”