The Vulture of Sommerset

by Stephen M. Giles

  Isabella screamed, which caused Milo to spin around. He saw the blade being held at Adele’s throat and the ancient villain squatting behind her, his white coat caked in dirt.

  ‘Never underestimate an old man,’ he croaked, taking shallow breaths. He looked at Milo. ‘Dear boy, how good to see you. I would appreciate it if you would hand me the Vulture. Adele would appreciate it also, because if you do as I ask her throat will not be sliced open.’

  ‘Don’t,’ gasped Adele, trying to rear back from the blade at her neck. ‘Don’t give it to him, Milo. Take it and run!’

  But the boy was already walking towards them. He stood above Adele and for the first time spotted Levi and Aunt Rosemary through the glass wall. They were staring at him, their tormented eyes smouldering.

  ‘You have made the right decision, Milo,’ said Dr Mangrove. ‘Now give me the Vulture.’

  Milo nodded. ‘Of course.’

  The boy’s face was almost serene, which was why nobody expected him to suddenly launch the Vulture like a missile, hammering Dr Mangrove in the stomach. The doctor buckled over, dropping the knife. Moving quickly, Milo grabbed the Vulture from the chamber floor before helping his cousin to her feet, ushering her and the bird out of Dr Mangrove’s reach. With the wind knocked out of him it took several moments for the doctor to recover, and when he did, the ancient man reached for the knife, rising to his feet. His eyes, two dark opals in a sea of flesh, swept the room looking for his beloved Vulture. So focused was he on the bird that he did not immediately notice that the boy standing just a few feet away was holding an ivory-handled pistol which was pointed at his heart.

  ‘Drop the knife,’ said Milo.

  ‘But of course,’ said the doctor, letting the blade fall from his hand and drop to the ground with a clank.

  ‘Bravo, Cousin!’ shouted Isabella, rattling her chains as she jumped and clapped. ‘Bringing the pistol was a stroke of genius!’

  Adele thought so too, but there was little triumph in her heart. Why had Milo told her not to fetch the gun when he already had it in his possession?

  ‘It seems the tables have been turned,’ said Dr Mangrove, lifting his arms as a sign of surrender and taking small steps towards Milo. ‘Your uncle would be proud. A handgun makes an ideal weapon. It is efficient and ruthless.’

  ‘Stop!’ shouted Milo, teeth gritted. ‘Do not take another step. I mean it.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Standing so close to the boy allowed the doctor to really see him for the first time. His fading eyes began to dance. Milo’s long charcoal locks were the exact colour and length of his uncle’s. And the fire in his eyes was pure Silas. The similarity was remarkable! It was clear that even in death Silas Winterbottom was hard at work. But the question which tantalised the ancient man was this – did Milo know it?

  ‘You hair is longer than I recall,’ said the doctor. ‘It becomes you.’

  The look on Dr Mangrove’s face, the cunning smile, made Milo’s skin crawl. He knew what the doctor was thinking. In truth Milo had no idea why he had let his hair grow long; he had just stopped getting it cut, that was all. But the meaning that Dr Mangrove gave it, looking at him with such vile admiration . . . it terrified him. Milo roughly pushed the hair from his face. ‘Unchain Isabella,’ he said sternly. ‘Then take the bindings from my aunt and Levi and free them from those awful chairs.’

  ‘He comes to you, does he not?’ said the doctor, leering at the finger marks on Milo’s neck. The boy’s face paled as he reached up and felt the bare flesh, quickly sweeping a thatch of hair to cover it. ‘He comes when you sleep, am I correct?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘It is written on your face, dear boy,’ said Dr Mangrove, licking his lips. ‘I have suspected it ever since your time in the Soul Chamber. The transference of souls was well under way when your cousins foolishly put an end to it. But I was certain a door had already been opened. The door to your soul, Milo. And now it is slightly ajar and Silas has a way in. I would even be willing to guess that it was your uncle who branded your neck. He grows stronger.’

  All eyes in the chamber were fixed on Milo, most of them filled with dark wonder. Could such a thing really be true? But the boy himself had eyes only for Dr Mangrove.

  ‘Unchain my cousin,’ he said. ‘Do it now.’

  A strange thing happened as Dr Mangrove stared at the boy; he looked into the dark hollow of Milo’s eyes and for a brief moment glimpsed the truth. It was then that the satisfied smirk fell from his lips. Suddenly eager to cooperate, Dr Mangrove began walking towards Isabella. He reached into his pocket for the key to unlock her shackles and felt the gun press against his back.

  ‘No games, Dr Mangrove,’ he heard the boy whisper.

  ‘None at all,’ said the old man. With the key in his hand he reached for Isabella’s wrist.

  Adele watched as Milo followed behind the old man, his face set in stone. Her head told her to run across the chamber and make sure Aunt Rosemary and Levi were all right, but her heart would not allow it. Something was about to happen. She could feel it.

  The key turned in the lock and the iron shackle split apart. Isabella pulled her left arm free, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘Now the other one,’ she snapped. ‘And hurry up about it, you ghastly old barnacle!’

  Dr Mangrove had his back to the boy, but when he spoke there was no doubt who he was addressing. ‘When exactly are you planning on killing me?’ He turned around, the open shackle still dangling from his hand. ‘This is not just about freeing your loved ones. You are planning to execute me, are you not?’

  There was a pause – and then Milo nodded.

  Isabella gasped and from across the chamber Aunt Rosemary was trying in vain to shout through the thick tape across her mouth. Only Adele seemed unsurprised by the revelation. Maybe, she thought, I knew it all along.

  ‘I know what it is to be hunted,’ said Milo as the pistol shook in his hand. ‘You and Uncle Silas stalked me like an animal – you wanted to steal my body and throw away my soul. My soul!’

  The boy’s grief blew across the chamber like the gust of an angry wind.

  ‘But we beat you,’ continued Milo, lifting the gun. ‘My cousins and I; we beat you and you fled like a coward with a pile of ash tucked under your arm. I thought it was over and I waited to feel happy and safe, but instead I felt more afraid. And then the nightmares came . . . and I knew Uncle Silas wouldn’t let me be. When you returned I finally understood. You will not rest until Uncle Silas lives again. Until he is Master of Sommerset once more. Until he is me.’ He looked at his cousins and then at Aunt Rosemary, deeply ashamed of what they were about to hear him say. But he had no choice and knew it must be done. ‘For this to end I have to kill you, Dr Mangrove. I don’t want to, but I have to.’

  ‘Can you take a life, Milo?’ said the doctor softly. ‘Can you do it? Your uncle had a killer instinct, but from what I understand your father was a gentle man. My dear boy, you must decide who you are – your father’s son or your uncle’s nephew.’

  ‘You should have died a long time ago!’ shouted Milo, trying desperately not to think of his father. ‘It’s only the Panacea that’s keeping you alive.’ He took a breath and steadied himself. ‘You have to be stopped.’

  ‘Milo, are you sure?’ It was Adele. She was standing an arm’s length away, her voice free of scorn. ‘Everything you said is the truth, but . . . are you sure?’

  ‘Well, of course he’s sure!’ snapped Isabella. ‘Dr Mangrove wants to tear out his soul and steal his body – can you blame the boy for wanting to shoot him?’ Her face softened as she looked at Milo. ‘But honestly, Cousin, wouldn’t it be better to just shoot him in the foot and wait for the police? I know for a fact that he has run out of Panacea. Without it he will die of old age in no time at all.’

  ‘I can’t take that chance, Isabella.’ Milo’s voice was breaking. ‘You know what this monster is like – he will find a way to live and then he will bri
ng Uncle Silas back. We would never have any peace. We would never be safe. None of us.’

  And she did know that . . . and so did Adele. Milo was doing this for all of them.

  ‘I suppose there is little point in pleading my case,’ said Dr Mangrove, turning away from Milo and giving his attention to the shackle on Isabella’s right arm. ‘But you must know that your uncle will not rest, even if you kill me. He will haunt your dreams until the day you die.’ He paused, lifting his head. ‘There is a way to stop him. Only one way. Perhaps we could come to some sort of compromise? You spare my life and I liberate yours from the grasp of your uncle.’

  ‘No deals, Dr Mangrove.’ Milo cocked the pistol’s hammer. ‘This ends tonight.’

  Isabella was holding her right arm out to the doctor, but when the old man raised his hand she saw that he was no longer holding the key. Instead, the length of chain from the first shackle was clasped in his fist. She shot out a warning cry but it was too late. Dr Mangrove had struck, spinning around, the chain whirling like a whip and bearing down upon the boy.

  When it was over the doctor could only smile. ‘No, my friend, it begins tonight.’

  THE VULTURE OF SOMMERSET

  From the way he was kneeling before the Vulture, hunched over, hands flat upon the ground, you might have thought he was praying to the silver statue. Certainly that is how it appeared to his prisoners scattered about the chamber. The old man was poised at the very edge of the pit, his head bowed. But in truth there was nothing prayerful in what he was doing. Dr Mangrove swept the dirt from a small section of the ground beneath him, revealing a faded metal plate. It was etched with two imprints pressed into the metal – each bordered by a pattern of square and triangular ridges. Claw marks.

  ‘Your uncle spent a great deal of time and money trying to open this vault,’ the doctor said, picking up the statue and holding it under the light. He gazed lovingly at the creature’s hooked beak and bulging eyes. The hard silvery feathers seemed to ripple beneath the flame, like mercury stirring in a beaker. ‘For half a century we searched for a way in – but alas, my dear friend Captain Bloom was a cunning fellow. He had the Vulture made in Egypt by a man said to possess the power of enchantment. The captain had once saved the man’s life in Turkey and all he asked for in return was a key. A key like no other. Without this Vulture the vault is impenetrable. Any tampering at all will cause the entire structure to self-destruct. There would be nothing left.’

  The captive audience listened with a gnawing sense of doom. Isabella, chained now by hand and foot, sat silently on the floor, her face stained with tears. Across the chamber, Adele was staring out from behind the glass wall like a ghost, haunted and pale, clutching the maid’s cap in her hands. Dr Mangrove had decided it was best to keep the girls apart, so he’d chained Adele at gunpoint to a narrow strip of wall, wedged between her aunt’s electric chair and the wicked machine which controlled it. Beside her, Levi and Rosemary were only just coming around, their heavy lids opening and closing slowly. Fragments of ash, burned hair and skin filled the air around them like a smog. As for Milo, the boy was fixed with rope to a chair beside one of the two large crates bordering the pit. His head was bent, the long locks of hair covering his face like a veil.

  When Milo had fallen to the ground, his hand crushed beneath the whirling chain, Dr Mangrove decided that a lesson was in order. Clutching the gun he secured all of his prisoners then offered Milo and Adele a demonstration of his delightful invention. Three times he pulled the lever down, sending a torrent of electricity into his victims. The children cried out . . . screamed . . . begged him to stop. They watched in horror as Levi and Aunt Rosemary shuddered; smoke rising up, skin blistering. Only when Dr Mangrove had pushed his captives to the brink, their spirits broken, did he turn off the machine.

  ‘I do hope you are fast learners,’ he said grimly. ‘I doubt your aunt would survive another lesson.’

  ‘I will do whatever you want,’ Milo shouted, ‘just don’t hurt them anymore.’

  ‘A fair offer,’ said the doctor, taking his hand from the lever. ‘I confess your cooperation would be most helpful, dear boy.’ He buttoned up his white jacket. ‘Keep your word, do not fight me, and I will allow your loved ones to emerge from this chamber in one piece.’

  ‘You have my word,’ whispered the boy.

  With the deal done, Dr Mangrove made his way to the pit and knelt down. He was on the cusp of the greatest moment in his long, long life, and as he held the Vulture up to the light he felt the torment and longing in his ancient soul begin to ease. All he had ever wanted was to conquer death. To crush it. As a boy of eight he had watched his parents and four sisters die of scarlet fever, utterly powerless to help them. But now Death would have no power over him. In just moments the map would rest in his hands and then he would have it – the location of the Valley of Brume, and all the Panacea he would ever need within his grasp. He would be immortal!

  So enthralled was the doctor by his bird that he did not hear the elevator begin to descend. But the children did, and it tempted them with fresh hope. Help had come at last! Isabella was sure of it. When the elevator stopped and the footsteps came, heavy but not hurried, all eyes flew to the passageway, each one hoping for a miracle.

  By then Dr Mangrove had become aware of the new arrival. He turned to look just as Hannah Spoon swept from the shadows. ‘My dear!’ he cried. ‘You have returned!’

  She was dressed completely in black, the dagger slipped into her belt, her hair swept back from her face. Adele thought she looked like a panther as she strode into the chamber, her eyes feasting upon the captives. ‘I knew you would defeat them,’ she declared, admiring the Vulture. ‘I told those brats they were no match for you, Dr Mangrove.’

  ‘You flatter me, my dear,’ purred the doctor, gently stroking the neck of his silver bird. ‘The children were kind enough to tell me of your capture. How did you escape?’

  ‘Easily,’ said Hannah. She thrust a finger at Adele. ‘After that little fool left me without a dress, Mrs Hammer felt it wasn’t proper for a young lady, even a traitor, to wander around in her underclothes. She took me to my room to fetch a new dress, the fool!’

  ‘You ambushed her?’

  Hannah nodded. ‘She had to untie my hands so I could change. I had the old woman on the ground before she knew what had hit her.’

  ‘Monster!’ shouted Isabella, jumping to her feet.

  ‘You won’t get away with this, Hannah,’ yelled Adele. ‘The police are on their way.’

  ‘The police, miss?’ said Hannah mockingly. ‘Not any more, miss. Not after I called the station and told them there was no emergency at Sommerset. I put on my sweet voice and all. Very convincing, I was.’

  ‘They believed you?’ said Dr Mangrove urgently.

  ‘Not at first. But then I explained how Mrs Hammer had a nasty habit of guzzling the cooking sherry. I said she was always getting drunk and making up fanciful stories about kidnappings and evil scientists. The constable and I had a laugh about it. He even thanked me for saving the police a trip out to Sommerset.’

  ‘Well done, my dear!’

  ‘Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Hannah Spoon,’ said Isabella archly. ‘When the servants realise that we are all missing they will alert the authorities. Then you and Dr Fathead will be locked up in the nuthouse where you belong!’

  ‘We will be far away before that happens, my dear,’ said Dr Mangrove. He took Hannah by the hand and led her over to the edge of the pit. As Hannah passed Milo she could not help but stare. The boy was a weirdo at the best of times but he looked positively ghoulish strapped to that chair, staring out at them so coldly.

  ‘Is he ill?’ she asked the doctor.

  ‘No,’ explained Dr Mangrove with a sigh, ‘merely struggling with his destiny.’

  The old man knelt and Hannah did the same, her eyes quickly fixing upon the etchings in the floor. ‘Is this what I think it is?’ she whispered.

  ‘The ve
ry same,’ replied the doctor.

  He lowered the bird onto the plate, lining up the claws until they slipped into the imprints pressed into the metal. Then he placed his hands on the Vulture’s head and began to press down. The claws sank easily into the intricate grooves, locking into place. A loud hiss like steam rushing from a pipe could be heard beneath the pit. Dr Mangrove took his hands from the statue and sat back on his haunches.

  ‘It begins!’ he cried.

  Hannah stared down into the dank pit. The hissing intensified and then the stone surface began to swell and crack. Thick fractures tore through the buckling granite as large chunks of stone began to crumble like foam, dropping into the darkness below. It took just moments for the entire surface to collapse, leaving in its wake a large round crater rippling with putrid-smelling water.

  ‘Is it a well?’ gasped Hannah.

  ‘No, my dear,’ said Dr Mangrove, ‘it is a marvel.’

  The water began to swell as thick pockets of steam breached the surface, spraying hot gas into the air. Hissing and bubbling like a fiery cauldron, the well seemed on the brink of eruption when two massive wooden pillars began to rise from the water.

  ‘Oh my god,’ whispered Adele, her face pressed to the glass. The pillars lifted ever higher, pulling up a thick length of rope spooled around the middle of a beam running across the top.

  ‘It’s a winch,’ said Hannah. And indeed it was. It took less than a minute all told, but when at last the structure had fully emerged it towered over the pit. Despite its impressive scale the winch was a modest structure: a wooden hoist with a crank on one side and a matted rope which plunged into the cloudy water below.

  ‘How absurd,’ sniffed Isabella, refusing to be dazzled by the edifice before her.

  But when a large burst of steam rushed from around the small crank handle and it began to turn rapidly, hoisting up the rope, even Isabella could not hide her amazement. The beam atop the winch was spinning so fast it seemed to disappear beneath the rope spooling around it. The crank whirled and the well churned and it felt as if the rope was endless. A thick rusted hook covered in moss was the first sign that an end was in sight. It swept up from the dark water, pulling with it a rectangular black box. When the crank came to a stop the box began to swing, the rope creaking and trembling under its massive weight.