The Vulture of Sommerset

by Stephen M. Giles

  Ignoring her aching body she ran speedily through the parterre and in no time had passed into the old woods. The half-light of the storm was smothered under the canopy of centuries-old trees, making it very difficult for Adele to see where she was going as she weaved between the columns of oak. All the while the wind howled madly, ripping leaves from branches and spinning them through the air. The ground was waterlogged and occasionally the girl slipped on a slimy tree root or a jutting rock. Despite the hazards, Adele soon got a feel for the woods, moving rapidly over the muddy earth and only stopping when she lost sight of her target.

  Her head pounded but Adele’s eyes never lost focus, sweeping the woods patiently until at last she found her mark again. He had travelled far and fast and was now some distance away, over where the orchard met the woods. A group of trees had grown up to form a kind of thoroughfare on the outskirts of the forest, carpeted with wild daisies and clover now limp and bent by the storm. The pouring rain and rising mist made it difficult to see clearly, but the cloaked figure was most definitely moving down the thoroughfare towards the house.

  Taking off again, Adele charged across the forest floor as her target walked briskly through the thinning woods. She ran and ran until finally her cramping lungs and exhausted legs refused to carry her any further. Adele came to a slippery halt at the back of the avenue, gasping for breath as she fell against the trunk of a knobbly oak. With despair she realised the distance between her and the intruder was now too vast. He would be inside the house before she reached him.

  The only solution was to bring him down.

  While Adele was not a violent girl by nature (although she had fantasised many times about stuffing her mother into the mouth of a large cannon, pointing it towards the Siberian desert and lighting the fuse) she was determined not to let Dr Mangrove reach Sommerset House. Not if she could help it. With that in mind, and time fast running out, she searched the soupy ground for a suitable weapon and quickly found a fallen branch. It was roughly the length of her arm, thick of girth, and would travel far if thrown at just the right angle. Fortunately Adele was a crack shot, having spent many hours as a child on the moors of their cottage in Scotland throwing rocks at tin cans.

  Closing her left eye, Adele lined up her target. He was just a few paces from the forest wall and would be out of reach in mere seconds. If she kept the branch on a straight trajectory it would pass down the thoroughfare and hit its mark. It would take a miracle for the branch not to clip one of the surrounding oaks and fly off course. She lifted the limb, bringing it level to her shoulder, and shifted all the weight to her back leg. In a single motion she lunged forward and swung the oak branch.

  It spun through the air like a propeller, arching up towards the canopy then curving to the left as it began its descent, cutting the rain like a blade. The branch dropped low and clipped its target just above the ankles, sweeping him from his feet and sending him crashing down to the ground.

  With victory swelling in her chest and her heart beating double time, Adele ran towards the fallen figure. She crouched down and removed the villain’s hood. He was out cold. But that was not what made the air catch in her throat. It was the face she found looking back at her. For the monster she had slain was Milo Winterbottom.

  The soaring walls of the hedge created a dark, narrow tunnel saved from utter darkness by the soft yellow light spilling from the maze’s mouth. A set of footprints carved into the muddy frost plotted the trail behind him. His steps were urgent and clumsy but he never lost sight of his goal – there was a way out and he was heading right for it.

  ‘Hello, child.’

  Milo froze. Each word was a hook holding his feet in place. He struggled to lift his legs but they were as one with the chilled earth. In desperation he struck his legs, willing them to move. He looked around but could not see his uncle. Then the frosted path in front of him began to shift, the icy ground splintering with a tortured groan. The earth trembled, cracking open, as a column of ice, mud and leafy fragments rose up, moulding like wet clay under fingertips into something vaguely human – long bony limbs, narrow shoulders, thin neck, the skull a ghostly mask of jutting cheekbones and empty eye sockets. Then the pallid flesh bled through the frost, melting it away, and the eyes bloomed like black pools of oil and the pale lips parted in an empty grin.

  ‘She is wrong, you know,’ said the ghost.

  Milo would not look at him. ‘Who is?’

  ‘Adele,’ said Silas crisply. ‘There is no secret room, no hidden door. Your aunt is not here. My old friend Dr Mangrove is holding her and that fascinating little butler in a remote location many miles from Sommerset. I’m afraid the only way you are ever going to see her again is to hand over the Vulture.’

  The boy looked into his uncle’s frosted gaze and shook his head. ‘I don’t believe you. There is a hidden chamber and Adele is certain we can find a way in.’

  ‘The girl has excellent aim, I must say.’ Silas pointed at the wall of lush green leaves beside him and when Milo looked he found a small window with frosted glass set into the hedge, and through it he could see a boy draped in a black raincoat lying on the forest floor like a corpse. Hovering above him was a girl he knew very well, her face streaked by strands of damp red hair. She was weeping and calling his name.

  ‘Do not fret,’ said Silas. ‘The injury is not fatal. I should think after the night you have endured, a brief period of oblivion would be a relief.’

  Milo was reminded yet again that the dead man was all-knowing.

  ‘You chose to open the door last night but you were not prepared for what was on the other side,’ whispered Silas. As quickly and easily as a breath is taken in and blown out, the ghost moved down the long corridor and came to rest before his nephew. ‘What you found in that little cottage behind the old woods horrified you. You wanted to run away and never come back.’

  ‘No.’ The boy shook his head. ‘No. I was . . . I was . . .’

  ‘Happy? Relieved?’ Silas laughed. ‘Come now, do not lie to yourself.’

  ‘Shut up!’ yelled Milo, glaring at his ghostly uncle. ‘You don’t know anything!’

  ‘Ah, but I do,’ said Silas coolly. ‘I know that the horror you witnessed last night is just the beginning. There is no hope, no chance for improvement. Crabb told you that but you did not believe him. Not really. But now you have seen the truth for yourself.’

  Milo shut his eyes tightly as if he might be able to hold back the tears. But of course he could not. The truth within his uncle’s taunts filled him with shame. The dead man was right. There was no hope.

  ‘Do not weep,’ said Silas. ‘All is not lost.’ His icy finger lifted Milo’s chin, forcing the boy to look up and stare into those bottomless eyes. ‘I bring hope, Milo. Hope and promise.’

  Milo’s chin began to burn and he yanked his head away. He wanted to step back, to put an ocean between himself and the dead man, but his feet still would not lift.

  ‘Listen very carefully to what I am about to say,’ said Silas. ‘I can help you, Milo. Last night you felt despair and sorrow, but what if I told you there was a way to mend what is broken?’

  ‘I would call you a liar,’ said Milo darkly.

  ‘Then you would be a fool,’ declared Silas, his haggard cheeks rippling like wind on water. ‘When Dr Mangrove finally locates a fresh batch of the Panacea, the miracles will spin from his fingertips. Every ill that has ever plagued mankind will be eradicated.’ He leaned closer to the boy and the certainty in his voice was impossible to ignore. ‘There is nothing that cannot be cured.’

  Milo could not hide his interest. ‘The Panacea could do that?’ he said, the resistance bleeding from his voice. ‘It could cure anything?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Silas slowly. The dead man could hardly suppress his delight as he watched the hope bloom within his nephew’s green eyes. ‘The plant’s power is boundless, Milo, but I must warn you that it does not come cheaply.’ He held up a rakish finger. ‘There is a cost a
nd it is steep. Indeed, many would be unwilling to pay, but you are a noble boy and I am certain that in your case the prize will be worth the price.’

  Milo’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do I have to do?’

  ‘Surrender,’ whispered the dead man simply. ‘That is all. Surrender.’

  Deep down Milo had always known what his uncle would ask of him, but he needed to hear it said aloud. Surrender. That was the price – to give himself over to Dr Mangrove and allow Silas to be reborn in his body. And what of his soul? Well, it would hardly matter. A soul without a home is a feather on the wind, soon blown away and forgotten. Milo looked down at his feet and was surprised to discover they were bare and covered in frost.

  ‘When?’ said the boy, his voice a whisper.

  ‘As soon as Dr Mangrove has the Panacea,’ said Silas. ‘You have the power to unlock the map, Milo. Hand over the Vulture. Help Dr Mangrove find the Valley of Brume. Then once he has brewed the elixir the process can being. When the transference is complete I will fulfil my promise, you have my word.’ He licked his lifeless lips and looked hungrily at the boy. ‘So tell me, child, do we have a deal?’

  ‘Do we?’ said Milo, lifting his head. ‘No, I don’t think so, Uncle Silas. I would sooner make a deal with the devil himself. You offered me your word as if it had value. All you have done since the first day I met you was lie and cheat and destroy. A cockroach has more honour than you do. And if you think Dr Mangrove is going to unlock the map and find the Valley of Brume then you are even crazier than I thought! He will never get his hands on the Panacea. My cousins and I will stop him, just as we stopped you. Soon Dr Mangrove will be history and you will be nothing but a bad dream.’

  A series of small cracks began to etch across Silas’s pale flesh. Rapidly they began to split apart as cold steam seethed from the fissures. Without appearing to move the dead man was upon him, his burning talons wrapped around Milo’s neck.

  ‘You think it is that easy to free yourself from me?’ He laughed dryly. ‘You are me, child. A part of my soul was left behind in you; it is the voice whispering my name in the night; it is the storm gathering in your belly; and soon it will be the thoughts in your head and the very words from your mouth.’

  As Silas’s grip began to close around his neck, Milo’s face flushed a bloody red; he tried to pull the dead man’s hand away but it was like touching a rod of hot iron. ‘This is my body,’ the boy struggled to say, gasping desperately for air, ‘and I am not going to leave it. Not for you . . . not . . . for . . . anyone.’

  ‘Then I will just have to take it,’ hissed Silas, his eyes bubbling like lava. ‘See you soon, Milo. One way or another I am coming home.’

  His searing fingers tightened further around the boy’s neck, crushing his windpipe and squeezing the last breath from his body. Milo’s head began to whirl, his arms dropping away like dead weights, until at last the world went black.

  ‘Milo! Milo, wake up!’

  He opened his eyes, blinking against the rain, and found himself staring up into the familiar warmth of his freckle-faced cousin.

  ‘Milo, are you all right?’ said Adele, looking at him anxiously. Behind her a wall of oaks soared towards the troubled sky.

  Milo coughed, the bile rising up in his throat. He felt a stinging on the side of his neck, like flecks of hot oil popping on his skin. ‘I’m okay,’ he said, taking hold of Adele’s hand and sitting up.

  ‘You were running through the woods,’ said Adele, still horrified by what she had done to her cousin. ‘I thought you were Dr Mangrove. I thought he was heading for the house and . . . Milo, I’m really sorry. I thought I’d killed you.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. This raincoat is big enough for two men; you had no way of knowing it was me. I would have done the same thing.’

  ‘What were you doing out here? Milo, where were you last night?’

  ‘He is coming for me, Adele,’ the boy whispered.

  ‘Dr Mangrove?’ She turned, looking urgently into the forest.

  ‘No. Uncle Silas. He told me so.’

  ‘Uncle Silas is dead,’ said Adele gently. ‘Is that why you were screaming? Milo, he is just a dream.’

  ‘If that is true, then how did I get this?’

  The boy winced as he pulled back a lock of dark hair to reveal three scarlet marks seared into the pale flesh of his neck.

  THE TRAITOR OF SOMMERSET

  ‘You treacherous little jackal!’ roared Isabella as the metal shackle closed around her wrist and locked into place. ‘Unchain me this instant or I’ll –’

  ‘You’ll what – cry like a baby? Scream and shout? Stamp your feet until you get your own way? Ha! It won’t do you any good. You’re not in charge anymore, miss. And just because Dr Mangrove didn’t cut your throat, don’t think he’s changed his mind. It’s only a matter of time, he says. But you’ll die, miss, I promise you that.’

  Hannah Spoon possessed a most unremarkable face, with its rounded chin, plump vanilla cheeks and the sort of dull eyes that never seemed to look upon the world with curiosity or wonder. Yet as Isabella stared into her maid’s face in the murky light of the secret room she found it had been transformed – there were sharp, forbidding edges along her nose and cheeks and a blistering rage in her fierce brown eyes. Even her voice had lost its gentle lilt. The real Hannah Spoon had come out of hiding.

  ‘How could you betray us like this?’ said Isabella. ‘How could you betray me? I thought we were friends.’

  ‘Friends, were we?’ Hannah shrieked with bitter laughter. ‘Don’t make me laugh! I was your slave, not your friend. Every minute of my life, every breath in my body belonged to you. I only existed to keep you happy, and if I failed you punished me with your nasty remarks and endless chores. Fetching things, cleaning up your mess, washing your hair, standing under the hot sun holding your parasol so that your face wouldn’t burn, listening to your nonsense for hours on end, carrying your bags or your hat or your half-eaten apple!’

  ‘How dare you!’ snapped Isabella. ‘I am a very generous mistress!’

  ‘Oh, yes, a regular heart of gold, you have! Like last winter when you made me take Thorn for a walk even though it was thundering something awful outside. I begged you not to make me go out there. And what did you say? It’s only water, dear. I was in bed with the flu for two weeks. So sick I couldn’t go home to see my family for my birthday.’

  ‘Thorn needed his walk,’ said Isabella with her nose in the air. ‘The poor creature had been cooped up in the house for days. Besides, your hair is naturally so wild and coarse I assumed it would shelter you from the rain.’

  Dr Mangrove, who was busying himself at a small desk in a dark corner of the chamber, looked over his shoulder at the maid and her captive. It seemed to please him a great deal to see the girls at each other’s throats and he chuckled softly.

  ‘You’re not sorry for any of it, are you?’ hissed Hannah.

  ‘I’m only sorry that I didn’t flog you while I had the chance!’ yelled Isabella.

  The slap came quickly. Isabella did not see Hannah’s arm lift or the hand sweeping towards her. Yet the sting was unmistakable. Isabella’s head twisted sharply as the palm met her cheek, but she did not cry out. In the moments following it was difficult to tell who was more surprised by the sudden burst of violence – the victim or her attacker.

  ‘You will live to regret that, Hannah dear,’ said Isabella, the tears gathering in her eyes.

  ‘I doubt it,’ hissed the maid. ‘I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. Some days when you were scolding me or talking down to me or making me apologise for something that was your own stupid fault, my fingers would itch. Oh, how I wanted to strike you! But I couldn’t. So I found other ways to hurt you. Like spitting in your food or putting salt in your shampoo.’ She grinned. ‘Has you hair been feeling a little dry lately, miss?’

  Isabella gasped. ‘You evil witch!’

  ‘But my favourite was that dinner party for the duchess and her
stuck-up daughter. You were trying so hard to land yourself an invitation to her stupid Summer Ball. It meant the world to you.’ Hannah giggled and slowly shook her head. ‘I couldn’t let you succeed. Dr Mangrove wanted me to create a ruckus that night so that he could grab your aunt in all the confusion. So I decided to kill two birds with one stone. I sent those frogs into the dining room on purpose. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing when that big toad leaped onto the duchess’s face. I knew they’d never invite you to their fancy ball after that. Oh, my heart was singing all night!’

  Isabella lunged straight for Hannah’s neck but the maid wisely stepped back, knowing that the chain would soon run out and Isabella would be left trying to choke the thin air.

  ‘You black-hearted, blubber-bellied, hog-faced, turnip-farming troll!’ roared Isabella. ‘I can only hope that when you are locked away the judge has the good sense to order the removal of your tongue!’

  ‘Now, now, my dears,’ said Dr Mangrove, patting Hannah gently on the back, ‘you may continue your discussion at a later date. Right now we must get on.’ He leaned close to Hannah, whispering in her ear. ‘Our timetable has moved forward, my dear, and there is a great deal to do before our departure. Leave our guest to her thoughts and let us get back to work.’

  With a final withering glare Hannah Spoon reluctantly turned her back on Isabella and followed the doctor. In the hours that followed the secret room was transformed into a hive of activity. Dr Mangrove busied himself burning notes and papers in a small metal drum. Then he began packing a host of tools and ghastly looking implements into a plain wooden crate. Curiously he also filled it with the granite bricks and heavy stones piled in the corner. When he was satisfied he ordered Hannah to drive a handful of nails into the lid. Occasionally he would have to venture behind the glass wall to fetch a tool or document, and as he passed Aunt Rosemary and Levi, the hostages did not stir or blink or follow his movements with their eyes. They simply sat there in the dusky gloom, blank of expression. It tore at Isabella’s heart to see them in such a state. They looked like zombies!