The Vulture of Sommerset

by Stephen M. Giles

  ‘Get him, Cousin!’ she screamed as Adele lunged at the intruder’s legs, tackling him to the ground. ‘Punch him in the face, that usually works!’

  The figure lashed out, kicking Adele in the shoulder and ribs. He freed himself from her clutches, scrambling to his feet. Adele cried out in pain, but refused to let him escape; she crawled quickly along the marble floor and grabbed his left leg with both hands. The villain tried to kick her off, but Adele had him in a death grip, her arms locked together.

  ‘The lights!’ she cried as her body was dragged across the floor. ‘Turn on the lights, Isabella!’

  ‘I’m trying, Cousin!’ Sweeping her hands frantically up and down the wall, Isabella felt for the switch. From out of the darkness she heard the pounding of footsteps coming right at her. Isabella screamed mightily, nearly dropping the doorstop. ‘I warn you, I am armed and dangerous!’

  ‘It’s me,’ hissed Milo, his voice reaching out from the gloom. The boy jumped up and managed to clip the switch just above Isabella’s head.

  The hall of mirrors lit up at once, the light bouncing from the crystal chandeliers to the massive mirror panels as if someone had ripped open the roof and lowered in the sun. Milo and Isabella spun around at the same time and saw their cousin in the middle of the hall. She was lying on her stomach, arms clenched around a man’s ankle, her chin and cheeks covered in grime. Then their eyes swept up and saw the villain standing under the bright yellow glare of the overhanging chandelier.

  He wore a long black coat and was holding a camera fixed to a strap over his shoulder. Adele got to her feet, wiping the grime from her pale knees. When she looked up and saw who her captive was she nearly dropped to the floor all over again.

  ‘Uncle Nathanial . . . what are you doing?’

  ‘I was just . . . taking a little walk.’ His voice was as squeaky as a rusted hinge. ‘Yes, just out walking with my camera. There’s no harm in that, is there?’

  Isabella didn’t move. ‘Father,’ she said, her words crisp and cool, ‘what is going on?’

  ‘Nothing at all, princess!’ he declared confidently, but his eyes looked far less certain. ‘In fact, if you allow me to explain, I’m certain you will see the funny side.’

  ‘The funny side of what, Father?’

  Nathanial let out an empty, rattling laugh. ‘You see, a few months ago I was approached by a newspaper in London – terribly nice chaps. They knew I was your father and they suggested I might pop in and take a few photographs of your life here at Sommerset. Everybody wants to know about the famous Winterbottoms – you are the world’s richest children, don’t forget.’

  ‘You’ve been photographing us?’ growled Milo.

  ‘For money?’ said Isabella.

  ‘No!’ said Nathanial, seeming insulted by the suggestion. ‘Well, yes, but you must understand, I was practically broke after my holiday in Bermuda and the newspaper’s offer was very generous.’

  ‘So you agreed to spy on your own family?’ said Adele, shaking her head. ‘To sneak around taking pictures of our house . . . our lives?’

  ‘You make it sound so ugly,’ said Nathanial with a pout. ‘It’s just a few lovely snaps of you children eating breakfast, walking in the garden, chatting in the library.’ He turned to his daughter and blinked several times until his dark eyes looked sad and sweet. ‘There’s a lovely one of you throwing a bowl at a scullery maid. I don’t think your hair’s ever looked silkier.’

  ‘You didn’t come here to see me,’ hissed Isabella. ‘It was all about the money!’

  ‘Princess, be reasonable!’ pleaded Nathanial, clasping his hands together like a pleading infant. ‘I have tried to get by on the small allowance your man Whitlam provides, but it’s simply not enough. Life is expensive and a man has to eat.’

  ‘I hate you!’ yelled Isabella.

  She lifted the doorstop and flung it at her father’s overly tanned head before running from the room. Nathanial froze, his eyeballs trembling, as the brass bell spun towards him. Desperate to avoid a hole in his skull, Nathanial dropped like a brick and the doorstop roared right over him, skimming the top of his dark hair and rocketing towards a mirror.

  The brass bell hit the centre of the massive glass panel like a rocket. The explosion cut a web of cracks through the glass, sending a shower of jagged fragments into the air. They flared under the light, falling like the hot rain of a firecracker on New Year’s Eve.

  Nathanial began to shriek as the glass fell over him. The camera tumbled from his shoulder and he started to crawl across the hall of mirrors towards the door. When he was free of the falling glass he got up and ran, bellowing the whole time. ‘She tried to kill me! My own daughter tried to kill me!’

  When the room was silent again Milo crouched down and picked up the camera. He opened the back and pulled out the spool of film, exposing it to the light. At least Nathanial would not make any money from his deceitful mission.

  ‘Milo, come quickly,’ said Adele. She was standing in front of the broken mirror, a sea of shattered fragments surrounding her like confetti.

  ‘What is it?’ he said, hurrying over to where his cousin was standing.

  The girl pointed to where the mirror had been. Framed by the jagged outline of the mirror was a dull brick wall covered by a tangle of wires, some old pipes and a grid of beams. On one such beam not far from the bottom sat a twenty-five centimetre silver vulture, its claws curled around the dark wood as if it was a perch.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Milo.

  Adele was smiling through her tears. ‘The Vulture of Sommerset,’ she whispered.

  THE ACCOMPLICE

  The sun had barely peeked above the horizon when the black limousine with the dark windows and the crocodile hood ornament emerged from under the portico and wound its way slowly down the drive, tyres crunching over the gravel. Isabella stood on the piazza behind a bed of Sweet Briar roses and watched the car as it passed down an avenue lined with rowan trees.

  ‘Uncle Nathanial promised he would call you as soon as he arrives in London,’ said Adele.

  She was standing back from her cousin, not wanting to intrude.

  ‘What for?’ said Isabella, never taking her eyes off the limousine. ‘There’s nothing to say.’

  The girl had remained locked in her bedchamber since the incident in the hall of mirrors. Nathanial, rather wisely, had decided it would be best if he left Sommerset at first light. In truth, the vain, greedy little man was terrified that his daughter would throw another doorstop at his head if she saw him again.

  ‘Will you have Whitlam cut his allowance?’ said Adele hopefully. As far as she was concerned Nathanial Winterbottom shouldn’t get another penny!

  Isabella shook her head. ‘Father wouldn’t survive without it. You see, he’s never been able to take care of himself.’

  Adele noticed that her cousin’s long dark hair was tied back in a single braid just the way Nathanial liked it best.

  ‘Once Uncle Nathanial’s had time to think about everything,’ said Adele quietly, ‘well, I know he’ll feel terrible for what he’s done.’

  The limousine passed under a stone arch before winding through a field of poppies, the petals splashed with morning dew.

  ‘He won’t change,’ said Isabella.

  ‘He might. Maybe this whole mess is just what Uncle Nathanial needs – you know, to make him remember.’

  For the first time Isabella turned around and rested her large blue eyes upon her cousin. ‘Remember what?’

  Adele shrugged. ‘That none of it matters without you.’

  Isabella didn’t say anything but something softened in her crisp blue eyes . . . just for a moment. Adele turned and walked back into the house while Isabella stayed on the piazza, her eyes following the long black car until it crossed the bridge and vanished into a forest of willows.

  Milo’s eyeball was enormous. In fact, it had swollen to roughly half the size of his head and he did not seem bothered in the leas
t. Actually, he rather liked it.

  ‘Cousin, please,’ said Isabella, snatching the large magnifying glass from his hand. ‘You look strange enough as you are; there is no need to work at it.’

  Despite the unkind remark, Milo wasn’t angry with Isabella. Far from it. After that awful business with Uncle Nathanial, he was just happy to see Isabella getting back to her old self (which was a nice way of saying she was acting like a complete brat and he didn’t mind at all).

  ‘Vultures are such awful creatures,’ said Isabella with a frown. She was sitting opposite Milo in the sun-filled conservatory holding the Vulture of Sommerset in her hands. ‘Not to mention hideously unattractive.’

  ‘I like them,’ said Milo, staring intently at the silver statue. While it was certainly a fierce-looking creature, Milo felt there was something rather majestic about it. Perhaps it was the arched wings folded proudly like a king’s robe, or the thick beak diving into a menacing hook, or the talons, cocked and sharp. ‘I still can’t believe we found it. Captain Bloom certainly knew a thing or two about hiding things.’

  Isabella sighed and passed the statue to Milo. ‘I always suspected the Vulture was in the hall of mirrors,’ she said grandly. ‘I have a sixth sense for these things, you know. That is why I shattered that particular mirror.’

  Just then Adele entered the conservatory, panting loudly behind the enormous pile of dusty books she had collected from the library. Milo jumped up to help his cousin before the poor girl toppled over. They placed the books on a low table in front of the hearth and began to sort through them.

  ‘Have you found anything new?’ said Adele, opening a thick volume entitled The Secret History of Keys by someone called Wilbur Whistle.

  ‘I checked all over with the magnifying glass,’ said Milo, shaking his head, ‘but I couldn’t find anything unusual. It looks like the claws are the only clue we have.’

  Before they’d gone to bed the night before Adele and Milo had gone over every centimetre of the statue looking for any sign of how the bird might open the vault containing Captain Bloom’s map and the Lazarus Rock. It wasn’t until Adele turned the bird upside down that they’d found something of real interest. The claws. Each claw had a series of ridges etched around it like jagged teeth. On closer inspection they discovered an intricate pattern of square and triangular indentations on all eight of the Vulture’s claws.

  What they were for was anybody’s guess. To try and solve the mystery Adele had dug up every book in the library’s vast collection that related to keys, locks and the anatomy of bird claws.

  ‘Instead of reading all of those silly books,’ said Isabella, popping one of Mrs Hammer’s freshly baked cupcakes into her mouth, ‘why don’t we just give the ransom to Dr Mangrove in exchange for Aunt Rosemary and Levi?’ Thorn nuzzled her leg several times with his broad green snout, so Isabella reach down and scratched his nose (which always produced a growl of appreciation). ‘After all, we have what he wants and he has what we want. It makes perfect sense, if you think about it.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Adele, stealing a quick glance at Milo (who was trying his best to look busy in the pages of a book entitled Keys of the Sixteenth Century), ‘except that if we give Dr Mangrove the Vulture he will be able to open the vault and get the map, which will lead him to the Valley of Brume and the Panacea . . .’

  ‘So?’ said Isabella, popping another cupcake into her mouth. ‘I know he is evil, but does it really matter if old Moonface lives forever?’ Then, just like a light switching on, Isabella remembered. If Dr Mangrove were to get more of the Panacea he could build another Soul Chamber and bring Uncle Silas back . . . using Milo’s body.

  ‘Isabella’s right,’ said Milo softly, closing the book, ‘we have the ransom and it’s only right that we use it to get Aunt Rosemary back.’ He nodded. ‘We should give Dr Mangrove the Vulture.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ snapped Isabella. ‘We will do no such thing. Honestly, Cousin, where do you get these ideas from?’

  Milo looked utterly confused. ‘From you.’

  Isabella got up and joined her cousins at the low table, grabbing some books from the pile and joining the search. ‘Dr Mangrove is a nutter and he must never get his hands on that map.’ She looked at Adele. ‘Don’t you agree, Cousin?’

  ‘Very much,’ said Adele keenly. ‘The Vulture stays with us.’

  ‘Well . . . if you are sure,’ said Milo, the relief brightening his face.

  ‘Of course we’re sure,’ said Adele. ‘Besides, we will not need to bargain with Dr Mangrove. We are going to find the secret room before the deadline is up.’

  Later that morning, after a largely fruitless search through dozens of musty-smelling books, Isabella came to the last of her pile and a frown seeped into her face as she read the faded gold lettering on the cover.

  ‘Cousin,’ she said, looking over at Adele, ‘how is a collection of seventeenth-century Latin psalms going to help us unlock the secrets of the statue?’

  Adele gasped. ‘That shouldn’t be there,’ she said sharply. ‘Don’t open it . . . it’s nothing.’

  She lunged across the table to grab the book but it was too late – Isabella had already opened the cover and discovered what lay inside. The centre of the book had been hollowed out and inside lay a small ivory pistol. Isabella reached in and removed the weapon.

  ‘Cousin,’ Isabella said nervously, ‘is there something you want to tell us?’

  Adele strode into the library and placed the book carefully on the reading table. She took a deep breath and turned back to face her cousins. Milo was staring at her cautiously and Isabella, who was attacking an apple with relish, was regarding her as one might a dangerous criminal.

  ‘It’s really not a big deal,’ said Adele wearily. ‘As far as I can tell the pistol belonged to Captain Bloom. I found it hidden in the book and I kept it. End of story.’

  Adele had explained several times already how she’d stumbled across the antique pistol concealed inside the book of Latin psalms several months before, and she had kept it locked away with all the other strange and unusual things the library had offered up since she arrived at Sommerset.

  ‘Cousin,’ said Isabella, narrowing her gaze, ‘why was the pistol hidden inside the book when you’ve said it had been locked away?’

  ‘I was wondering the same thing,’ said Milo. He walked over to Adele and looked her right in the eyes. ‘What’s really going on?’

  ‘It’s nothing, honestly,’ said Adele with a sigh. ‘The pistol was locked away. But when I learned that Dr Mangrove was the kidnapper, that he was here in this house . . . I got scared.’

  ‘Is it loaded?’ asked Isabella, delighted by the idea.

  ‘Yes.’ Adele looked at the gun sadly. ‘I thought it would protect us.’

  ‘I’m scared too, Adele,’ said Milo. ‘But a gun . . . it’s easy to make a mistake and hurt the wrong person. I think it would be better if you locked it away. At least for now.’

  Adele agreed and promised to secure the gun in the concealed shelf. Isabella was appalled by the idea and demanded that they all head out to the orchard and spend the morning shooting at fruit for practice. When that suggestion was met with disapproval, Isabella plopped down on the couch and bit furiously into her apple.

  ‘I don’t suppose it matters,’ she said, munching like a wildebeest. ‘I doubt even a gun will help us against Dr Mangrove.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Milo, exchanging grins with Adele.

  ‘Well, he dabbles in the dark arts, Cousin,’ she said casually.

  Adele was frowning. ‘You mean magic?’

  ‘Of course! Dr Mangrove has supernatural abilities – surely you knew that.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Isabella?’ said Milo.

  ‘I’m talking about the night this whole thing started,’ said Isabella, sitting up and resting her legs on Thorn’s scaly back. ‘When Aunt Rosemary screamed and we all ran into the entrance hall and that horr
ible black note came floating down, it was clear to me that something supernatural was afoot!’ She took another great chunk from the apple, her cheeks swelling as if she’d been stung by a wasp. ‘After all, if Dr Mangrove had just snatched Aunt Rosemary, how could he be up there dropping that note down? As I recall, Dr Mangrove is a fat creature and I doubt he would have the stamina to be in two places at once.’ She shrugged. ‘Mangrove is a wizard.’

  The most amazing thing about Isabella’s ‘Mangrove is a wizard’ theory was that it actually made a lot of sense. Not the wizard part, of course; Dr Mangrove was ancient (over one hundred and fifty years old) but he was no magician. No, what lit a fire in Adele’s imagination was the idea of Mangrove being in two places at once. In truth, she had never thought about it before. The note must have been thrown from the fourth-floor landing, which was why it had appeared to be floating down from the domed roof above the hall – but how could Dr Mangrove have thrown the note and taken Aunt Rosemary to the secret room all at the same time?

  And then it hit her. She looked over and saw Milo, his face a mixture of curiosity and astonishment. ‘Dr Mangrove had help!’ he suddenly declared.

  Adele was nodding madly, her frizzy hair bobbing about. ‘It fits, doesn’t it? While Mangrove snatched Aunt Rosemary his accomplice was upstairs waiting to throw the note down.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Milo, his excitement growing, ‘and yesterday when Levi was taken and nobody recalled seeing anything strange up on the third floor – well, of course they didn’t!’

  ‘What on earth are you two yapping about?’ said Isabella crossly, throwing what was left of her apple into Thorn’s hungry mouth. ‘I refuse to be kept in the dark. Dr Mangrove is as much my problem as he is yours.’

  With a conspiratorial wave Adele called her cousin over to where she and Milo were huddled beneath the library’s first-floor landing. Isabella’s eyes twinkled as she rushed to join them. ‘What is it?’ she whispered.