The Vulture of Sommerset

by Stephen M. Giles

  ‘Pull!’ she shouted. And that is exactly what they did, yanking on Milo’s legs as they landed, the full weight of their descent loaded onto his limbs. The boy cried out as his body stretched, pulled from above and below, but the weight on his legs was too great and the final braid broke under the strain, tearing the rope in two. With nothing to hold Milo up but Dr Mangrove’s ancient hand he slipped easily away. But as he fell towards the tower a curious thing happened – Milo imagined that he passed a large crocodile in mid-air. Even more curious was the fact that the boy and beast were travelling in opposite directions: Milo falling, the reptile rising.

  Down on the platform Isabella and Adele were in no doubt about what was taking place. Just as they dropped to the floor Thorn’s four-metre frame reared up and leaped from the platform, his jaws springing open like a trap. Dr Mangrove did not see the beast flying towards him. Not right away. He was still reaching for the boy, his eyes burning like hot pokers as he watched Milo drop to freedom. Only when Milo had landed in a clumsy ball at the feet of his cousins did Dr Mangrove spot the flying crocodile. The open jaw was coming towards him, rimmed with slick white blades. He reached out to protect his face and his hand disappeared into the mouth of the beast. It was a perfect fit. When Thorn snapped his mouth shut the hand became his – sliced off in a single, clean bite. Dr Mangrove released a howl that filled the sky. Then the crocodile arched back, tail swinging, and dropped away. He landed on all fours at the very edge of the platform as the hand slid down his throat and into his belly. Then the crocodile’s eyes locked shut as he sank to the metal floor.

  When they pulled Dr Mangrove into the helicopter he was still clutching his wrist, looking silently at the void where his hand should have been. There was blood, lots of it, and pain too. But the old man kept his rage to himself. With his remaining hand he pulled out his handkerchief and unwrapped the map. He pressed it to his nose, breathing in the future. First the Panacea. Then the boy. Then vengeance. The Winterbottom One began to move, circling once around the tower then lifting high into the night sky.

  SNOW GLOBE

  As late evening slipped into morning the tempest began to ease. While the rain slowed to a sprinkle a team of doctors and nurses tended to the injured. Mrs Hammer required six stitches and complete bed rest and Aunt Rosemary and Levi were treated for their burns. The children were examined and found to be in remarkably good health considering their ordeal (apart from cuts and bruises). It took a team of ten butlers to carry Thorn back to the house. When the vet arrived and saw the crocodile’s perilous condition he had Thorn lifted onto the dining table and prepared for surgery. ‘He has lost a great deal of blood,’ the vet explained to Isabella, ‘and if we don’t get that bullet out immediately and stop the bleeding the reptile will not survive the day.’

  The operation had been going for over an hour, and there was still no word. ‘How long can it take to remove a bullet?’ Isabella fumed, knotting a silk ribbon the colour of strawberries around her freshly washed hair. ‘I am sure there are better vets in the world but Dr Dawkins was the closest. He’d better be good or I will box his ears!’

  ‘Thorn will be fine,’ said Adele hopefully. ‘You just have to be patient.’

  ‘Where on earth is Milo?’ snapped Isabella. ‘I haven’t seen him since that idiotic detective interviewed us.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Adele. ‘He probably just needs some time to himself. You can’t blame him after what he’s been through.’

  ‘Cousin, we have all been through a great ordeal,’ said Isabella. ‘Need I remind you that we were tied to crates and nearly drowned?’ Then her face softened. ‘How are we to know what he is thinking if he never opens his mouth? Orphans are quiet creatures by nature, everybody says so, but Milo takes the cake. I . . . I do hope he is all right.’

  The girls were in the library and Adele was hunched over a reading table drawing carefully upon a sheet of parchment. She had been there for some time. When her fingers cramped she put down the pencil and looked out the window. A battalion of police cars wound down the long drive heading back into the wetlands. Poor things, she thought. Lying to the police was not something any of them enjoyed, but telling the truth would have been utterly foolish. A stolen map, a body-snatching ghost, a 150-year-old doctor . . . they would all be locked up in the nuthouse if they confessed to such a story. No, the police believed that the whole dreadful business – murder, kidnappings, rising towers – all of it was about the Lazarus Rock. And why would they doubt it?

  ‘Men have done far worse for far less,’ said Detective Dickens as Aunt Rosemary showed him to the door.

  In death Hannah and her precious jewel had been reunited. The police had found the girl, her neck snapped, sprawled at the foot of the tower just a few centimetres from where the Lazarus Rock had landed. In an effort to avoid an international incident the Lazarus Rock was returned to the Winterbottoms with the promise that any mention of that particular jewel would be kept from the press. A lengthy discussion was held about what to do with it, but everybody was surprised when Adele declared that any decision on the Rock’s fate would have to wait. Then she’d whisked the jewel away and disappeared into the library.

  ‘Hannah has been taken home for burial,’ said Aunt Rosemary when she returned to the library after seeing Detective Dickens out. ‘Apparently all the Spoons are laid to rest on the family farm.’

  ‘Buried on a turnip farm?’ said Isabella. ‘I can’t think of a better way for Hannah Spoon to spend eternity.’

  ‘She seemed such a good girl,’ said Aunt Rosemary, shaking her head. The light in Rosemary’s eyes was still dimmed from her days in the secret room, but when they’d finally freed her from that awful chair she’d whooped for joy and hugged each of the children, planting dozens of very wet kisses on their cheeks (which even Isabella did not object to).

  ‘I’m just grateful that the lever jammed,’ said Aunt Rosemary, flopping down next to Adele. She gave a nervous chuckle. ‘What a stroke of luck that was!’

  Adele nodded, quickly turning the parchment over and covering it with her hand. ‘Yes, very.’

  Rosemary began to cry but she was smiling. ‘Adele Fester-Winterbottom, you cannot fool me! I saw you take those pins from your hair and wedge them in the barrel of the lever. The only reason Levi and I are still alive is because you jammed the switch so it could not activate. Oh, Adele, how clever you are! I only wish I could offer you something more than my thanks.’

  ‘You offer me more than that every day, Aunt Rosemary. In so many ways. If I had lost you . . .’ Adele shook her head, unable to finish the thought. ‘Aunt Rosemary, promise me you will not say anything about the hairpins to the others. Not even Levi.’

  ‘Why ever not? I want to shout it from the rooftop!’

  ‘Aunt Rosemary, don’t you dare!’ said Adele, blushing furiously.

  The aunt held her niece’s face in her blistered hands. ‘My lips are sealed,’ she whispered, her enormous teeth gleaming like newly polished bathroom tiles. ‘But I owe you my life and I will not forget it . . . and I will not let you forget it, either.’ Then her eyes narrowed. ‘I saw you deep in conversation with Whitlam when he first arrived. Anything I need to know about?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the girl shyly. ‘And soon you will.’

  ‘And what about your keen interest in the Lazarus Rock?’ said Rosemary, opening the box and staring suspiciously at the priceless treasure. ‘You’ve never cared a scrap for fancy jewels before. What is going on, pet?’

  ‘Soon,’ repeated Adele.

  ‘Spoilsport!’ Rosemary chuckled, and hugged her niece again before setting off in search of walnuts.

  ‘Here’s your lemon tea, miss,’ said Florence Puddle, placing the cup and saucer on the table beside Isabella. ‘Two sugars, just like you asked.’

  ‘What I asked for was iced tea,’ snapped Isabella, wanting very much to hurl the cup at Florence’s head. But instead she added, ‘Never mind, dear, lemon will do nicely.’


  Florence Puddle could hardly believe her ears. ‘Well, if you’re sure, miss.’

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ said Isabella, adding a smile for good measure. It wasn’t easy for a girl like Isabella to smile at a maid who had just served her the wrong tea – especially one with pretty blonde hair – but she did it anyway. If her experience with Hannah Spoon had taught her anything it was that servants were a dangerous breed capable of extreme violence when provoked. With that in mind, she decided the time had come for her to be a little nicer to the help.

  Just as the clock struck eleven Isabella heard the dining room doors open. ‘Thorn!’ she cried, jumping up and racing out of the library. When she reached the dining room the vet was peeling off a pair of bloody gloves.

  ‘We have removed the bullet,’ said Dr Dawkins, pulling down his surgical mask.

  ‘But will Thorn be all right, Doctor?’ said Isabella. She looked mournfully at her crocodile, watching as a nurse fixed a bandage over the stitches in his back.

  ‘The short answer is yes,’ said the vet, scratching the very tip of his pointed nose. ‘In time he will make a full recovery. But Miss Winterbottom, it troubles me deeply that a girl of your age should have such a savage animal as a pet.’

  ‘Savage? Thorn is a puppy dog.’

  Dr Dawkins did not seem convinced. ‘Well, from what I understand your puppy dog bit a man’s hand off last night.’

  ‘Thorn was provoked!’ declared Isabella. ‘And who could blame him? Wouldn’t you bite a man’s hand off if he shot you in the back and tried to drown your mistress?’

  ‘I . . . well . . .’ The vet was speechless.

  ‘Besides,’ continued Isabella, ‘no girl has ever had a finer pet than Thorn Winterbottom, and I will box the ears of anyone who says differently. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be with my crocodile.’

  While Aunt Rosemary tried to soothe the doctor’s fears about keeping man-eating pets in the house, Isabella made her way to the dining table, her steps slowing the closer she got. The reptile’s eyes were closed but as she watched the slow rise and fall of his scaly back her eyes pooled with tears. It broke her heart to see such a proud beast lying there so helplessly, but she was determined not to show it. Thorn loathed pity just as much as she did. When Dr Dawkins had gone and Aunt Rosemary was chatting to Florence about a fresh bowl of walnuts, Isabella bent down and kissed the crocodile softly on his snout. ‘My brave boy,’ she whispered.

  ‘Good lord!’ declared Rosemary, cracking a walnut in her teeth.

  When Milo entered the library it was plain to everybody that something was missing. Namely, his hair. Gone were the long wavy locks shadowing his face, and in their place was a dark fringe which flopped over his forehead and a set of large green eyes looking out upon the world with nowhere to hide. Something else was out of hiding – the three-fingered scar seared into Milo’s neck.

  ‘What a face!’ said Rosemary, squeezing his pale cheeks. ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Milo.’ Then her eyes fell upon the scarlet scar and she whispered, ‘I heard what Mangrove said before he took you away; about the dreams. Did my brother really do that to you, Milo?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the boy. He was tired of hiding. ‘Do you believe me, Aunt Rosemary?’

  She was nodding, tears in her eyes. ‘I do, pet, and I’m so sorry.’ It felt like such a small thing to say about a problem so big. ‘Whatever Silas is doing to you . . . there must be a way to stop him. You will have peace one day, Milo, I promise you that.’

  ‘I hope so, Aunt Rosemary,’ said the boy.

  Isabella thoroughly approved of Milo’s new haircut. ‘You look far less devious now, Cousin.’ But haircuts were the last thing on her mind. She tapped Milo on the arm and pointed across the room. Whitlam had come into the library fifteen minutes earlier and engaged in another lengthy chat with Adele. Now he was talking on the telephone, pacing back and forth in front of the window, while Adele remained hunched over the reading table, pencil in hand. ‘Those two are up to something and I don’t like it one bit. I should warn you, Cousin; Adele was the one who called Whitlam and asked him to come. I accidentally overheard her speaking to him on the telephone. She was whispering but I most definitely heard the words insane doctor, Valley of Brume and race against time.’ Isabella began to tut. ‘She wants to go after that lunatic, I just know it. Chase him through the wild jungles of Budatta and catch him before he gets hold of that stupid plant.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Milo, ‘I know. And I’m going with her.’

  Isabella gasped. ‘Cousin, Dr Mangrove has a feverish desire to rip out your soul – wouldn’t it be smarter for you not to go running after him?’

  ‘I can’t just sit here and wait for him to try again,’ said Milo firmly. ‘Dr Mangrove won’t stop unless we stop him. You were in that chamber too, Isabella. You know exactly what he is.’

  ‘Well . . . yes,’ said the girl reluctantly. ‘But honestly, Cousin, haven’t you had enough life-threatening danger for one lifetime?’ Then her pretty blue eyes lit up. ‘Cousin, how can you stop Dr Mangrove when you don’t know where the Valley of Brume is? That monster has the only copy of the map in existence and without it you have no way of tracking him down.’

  ‘Not the only map,’ said Adele who, much to Isabella’s surprise, was standing before her clutching a sheet of creamy parchment – and she was smiling. Moments later a gathering of battered, bruised and blistered faces stood in a semicircle in front of the library’s soaring bank of windows, looking curiously at the freckle-faced girl.

  ‘When I was little I had a snow globe,’ began Adele. ‘I loved it very much and when we moved to Tipping Point I wrapped it in newspaper to stop it from breaking. A few days later when I got to our new home and unwrapped the globe I found that the print from the newspaper had made an impression on the glass.’

  ‘Cousin, your snow globe story is fascinating, but what on earth has it got to do with us?’ said Isabella with a sigh.

  ‘Let her finish,’ said Milo sternly.

  ‘Actually it has a lot to do with us,’ said Adele. ‘When Dr Mangrove first lifted the Lazarus Rock out of the box I noticed that the map was lying beneath it. For over a century the Rock and the map have been pressed together. Right away I thought of my snow globe and I began to wonder – could the map have left an impression on the Lazarus Rock just like the newspaper did on my globe?’

  ‘And did it, pet?’ asked Aunt Rosemary anxiously, her cheek bursting with walnuts.

  ‘The impression on the Rock’s surface was very faint,’ the girl explained. ‘You have to look very closely to even notice. But it was there all right.’ Adele was smiling shyly as she unfolded the parchment and revealed an expertly copied map entitled Budatta – The Hidden Valley of Brume.

  ‘Bravo!’ shouted Aunt Rosemary.

  ‘You are a true detective, Miss Adele,’ said Levi, the admiration swelling in his voice.

  Milo stepped forward, his eyes trailing over the map. ‘You did it,’ he whispered. Then he gave his cousin a look brimming with new hope. ‘We have a chance now.’

  Adele was nodding. ‘I think so, Milo. I really do.’

  ‘Hold it right there,’ said Aunt Rosemary with a frown. ‘A chance at what?’

  ‘It’s really very simple,’ said Isabella, keen to put a stop to the foolish plan. ‘My cousins want to follow Dr Fathead into the Valley of Brume and destroy him before he gets his remaining hand on the Panacea.’

  Aunt Rosemary was picking walnut shards from her teeth but she did not look shocked at all. ‘I thought as much,’ she said. ‘Heavens above, you children are gluttons for punishment!’

  ‘Don’t try to stop us, Aunt Rosemary,’ said Milo. ‘Adele and I had a long talk and . . . this is something we have to do. Yes, there are great dangers, we know that well enough, but the danger in doing nothing is far greater. For all of us.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Aunt Rosemary, taking everyone by surprise. ‘You are resourceful children wit
h sharp minds and brave hearts and I know I couldn’t stop you even if I tried. And you are right about something else too, Milo; there will be great dangers in the jungles of Budatta, though I know that you children are equal to the task. But you cannot do it alone, which is why I’m coming with you.’

  The whole library seemed to gasp (even the books). ‘You cannot be serious,’ snapped Isabella. But as it happens, she was.

  ‘The night I was taken, when I returned to the house from the great lake and saw that monster standing in the elevator – do you know what I felt?’

  ‘Terrified?’ said Adele.

  Aunt Rosemary was shaking her head. ‘Furious. I was startled, of course, but I was angry. So I ran at him like a bull at a red rag. How dare that hateful old man come into our house and threaten the people I love? The children I love.’ She smiled and popped another walnut into her mouth. ‘That is why I am coming with you.’

  ‘I wish to come also,’ announced Levi. ‘In fact, I believe I could be of some help to you. I have tracking skills and I know something of the jungles in that part of the world.’ His eyes grew cold. ‘And I would very much like to catch up with Dr Mangrove. If you will have me, that is.’

  ‘Of course we will,’ said Milo, nodding gratefully at the butler.

  ‘Welcome to the team, Levi,’ said Adele. And it was a team now, the girl realised, and that thought was like a warm blanket on a cold night.