I know that this item looks like a dusty old book, and I suppose in practical terms that’s all that it is. I can’t tell you the title of this ancient tome, or even what the book is about – as no one left alive knows. I can tell you that it’s referred to in some small circles as the Caveat Lector – Reader Beware! This is one of the most dangerous items in the Scarlet Vault. Oh, don’t be tempted to open the cover and flip through the pages, don’t even touch it! This book is protected.
Somerset, the Summer of 1967.
The two motionless ravens perched on either side of the iron
gate might almost been mistaken for real birds. Only when Algernon Gervais
pushed the heavy gate between them open and they did not move a muscle was he again
reassured that they were indeed merely exquisite statues, bronze finished in a
charcoal patina. Two gatekeepers, patiently guarding Marcham Manor from thieves
and intruders, he surmised. His face flushed red as he realised, he could fall
into either classification. Later, he’d discover that they were there not to
keep something out, but to keep something in.
Gervais walked through the once immaculate garden – already
going to ruin due to lack of care – and admired the pale brick edifice of Marcham
Manor. He remembered the last time he’d visited, around five years ago now, only
to be rudely turned away by the late Lord Marcham. Stubborn old fool. Still, he
pondered hopefully, things were different now. The manor - and it’s possessions
- had a new owner.
As he got closer to the formidable oak front door, the noise
of dreadful hippy music drifted out at him, as did some rather suspicious smells.
As did the sound of laugher, and the clink of bottles. It was only ten am, for
goodness sake. Everything he’d heard about the decline of the Marcham’s was
true, it seemed. And that was very good for him.
Before he could knock on the door, someone inside let him
in. A pretty teenage girl, hair in braids, a slightly spaced out look on her
face.
She squinted at him. ‘You’re not the law, are you?’
‘Most certainly not,’ he was offended.
‘Oh goodie,’ she smiled. ‘You can come in!’
He accepted the invitation. Once inside the great hall, he
looked the girl up and down, lasciviously. If she was handing out free love that
morning, he would gladly have accepted. But he turned straight to business. ‘Are you Lady Marcham, by any chance?’
The girl snorted. ‘I wish! No, I’m Moonchild. That’s my
given name.’
Moonchild? What sort of name was that?
‘I imagine Clementine’s still upstairs, sleeping off last
night’s revelries,’ she explained. ‘Why don’t you wait in the drawing room? I
expect she’ll come down eventually.’
Gervais coughed. ‘I erm… I’m here about a book. I did have
an appointment with her Ladyship.’
‘So formal!’ Moonchild mocked, leading him into what he
presumed was the drawing room. The space had been converted into an ashram
style boudoir, all drapes and beads. Quite distasteful. Lord Marcham would be
turning in his grave.
A couple of young men, both too blissed out to even
acknowledge him were lazing on pillows.
‘Well, make yourself comfortable,’ Moonchild sort of
curtseyed and left him standing there awkwardly. ‘Big John and Little Mike
won’t bite. See you around, daddio.’
Daddio. Good lord, what was wrong with young people these
days? Gervais eventually summoned the courage to make eye contact with the Big
John and Little Mike. He need not have worried about being forced to make
conversation. Their eyes were glazed over.
‘Peace, man,’ one of them murmured at him from a drug-addled
daze.
He tried to hide his disgust and half-heartedly twisted his
fingers into the peace sign in acknowledgement.
‘Who are you, man?’ the hippy asked about a minute later.
‘I’m Algernon Gervais, young man.’ he answered proudly. ‘I’m
an expert on the occult. Who are you, when you’re at home?’
…
Sometime later, Lady Marcham deigned to welcome him.
‘Ah, Lady Marcham,’ he started.
‘Please,’ she grunted. ‘Call me Clementine.’ Like the
others, the young aristocrat was now a fully paid-up member of the alternative
community. A hippy. Algernon checked himself, hoping his rather square attitude
didn’t rub the girl up the wrong way. He needed to charm her if he was going to
get his way.
‘Algernon Gervais, at your service, madam,’
‘You can drop all the fancy stuff,’ she led him out of the
room, and up an ornate staircase to the well-stocked library. ‘There are no
airs and graces here,’ she informed.
He rather liked the look of the sandy-haired girl, he
decided, not that he’d be able to make anything of it. Far too young. He tried
hard not to stare at her cleavage, exposed by the flimsy tie-dyed summer dress.
He coughed again, the result of smoking too many cigars. ‘As we discussed on
the telephone, there is an item in your late father’s collection I would very
much like to get my hands on,’ he scanned the bookshelves, looking for it, but
his keen eye couldn’t pick it out.
‘Oh, it’s not kept here,’ she cottoned on. ‘Daddy stored it
in the cellar with all his other valuables. I have to confess, Mr Gervais, I’m surprised
by your interest in it, given the more interesting antiques in his collection.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Really, did your father never discuss
the er… value of the text?’
He certainly hoped not, as that would make his acquisition
of the book so much easier – and cheaper.
‘Daddy and I didn’t really see eye to eye, so avoided each
other as much as possible,’ Clementine admitted. ‘I only know he didn’t want
anyone to have it. On that, he was most definite.’
She recalled a childhood memory of her father sternly lecturing
her, finger in air as he spoke. ‘No one must take the book. No one must read
the book. Do I make myself clear?’
She’d laughed, nervously, not really understanding.
Algernon considered telling her of his earlier visit, and
how Lord Marcham had previously denied him the item, but realised that might
not help his chances if he informed her of the fact.
‘And what about you, Clementine?’ he asked slowly. ‘Are you
willing to sell?’
She took a long breath out. ‘Unfortunately, the generous
inheritance I acquired is already slipping away from me,’ she admitted.
This was just as he had hoped. Rumours of the financial
mismanagement of the estate were rife. He had visions of all that lovely money
being spent on parties and alcohol and hashish. Wasted.
Clementine continued, ‘So, regretfully, I must go against
some of my late fathers express wishes. The book is yours, Mr Gervais.’
He guffawed and clapped his hands happily.
‘If you can afford to bid for it,’ she continued. ‘I’ve
decided to auction it off.’
The smile was wiped from his face. ‘But… I understood this
would be a private sale?’
‘Oh, that was the idea,’ she grinned, ‘but since I told the
auctioneers about it, I’ve had so many expressions of interest for it, even a
few solid offers…’
His heart sank. ‘I had thought I was the only person aware he
even owned a copy,’ a nasty thought occurred to him. ‘Many of the people
interested in the text – myself not included – are somewhat questionable
characters. I do hope you haven’t shared your identity or address? It’s a
private, anonymous auction you’ve got planned, correct?’
For the first time, a little sense of worry crept across her
pretty features. ‘I… well, I didn’t think of that. Perhaps I should have, Mr
Gervais.’
He found himself putting a protective hand on her shoulder.
‘Now you must listen to me, Clementine, dear. I’m an expert on these matters. You
aren’t entirely safe while others know the book is in this house. You’ll need
to take great care from now on.’
She stepped back, crossed her arms and pouted. ‘You’re just
saying all this because you want the book for yourself.’
‘I do want the book,’ he accepted, ‘but not out of acquisitiveness.
I just want to read it. Know what the fuss is about. That book is dangerous, Clementine.
I know it, and your father knew it.’
She ran over to the large Palladian window that looked down
onto the garden, stared out and took a sharp intake of air and pressed her hand
against her heart. Gervais walked over and squinted out of the dirty glass,
keen to see what had disturbed her. He saw only the walled garden, slightly
overgrown, and the gate he himself had come in earlier.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, concerned at the frozen fear
on her face.
Clementine stammered. ‘D... Daddy always said the ravens on
the gate would protect his precious book. I thought he was just joking.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Gervais looked out of the window once
more. This time he noticed that the two sentry birds had left their perch. His
head swung back to face the stunned girl. ‘The book, Clementine, where is
it? You must take us to it at once. If
it’s still there!’
That was when they heard the screaming.
…
They rushed downstairs to the scene of the disturbance,
Gervais out of breath when they reached the entrance hall. The front door was
ajar, and as they got closer, the feet of a body sprawled outside across the
front steps became visible. Clementine recognized the sandals – It was
Moonchild lying dead, clutching a raffia shopping bag. The top half of her body
was a mess of blood and hair.
‘Oh god,’ Clementine covered her mouth. ‘What happened to
her?’
Gervais yanked up his trouser legs and squatted next to the
body. The girl was leaking blood everywhere, her skull torn open and – horribly
– her brain was exposed to the air. Were those fragments of it over on the
concrete a few feet away? He shuddered to think.
‘Did she slip and fall, do you think?’
‘I don’t think banging your head could do that much damage
to you,’ Gervais muttered, looking ominously upwards towards the sky. ‘I’d say
she’s been pecked to death, wouldn’t you?’
A bird shrieked above them, and Clementine shuddered. Some
of the other house guests were watching fearfully from a distance, having been
disturbed from their drink and drug induced stupor by the commotion.
Clementine ignored them and pointed with a shaking hand. ‘What’s
that she’s got in the bag?’
Gervais had a strong suspicion, so very gingerly pulled the
bag free of the body and took it inside, watching at all times for the ravens.
He slowly opened the bag and showed her the contents.
‘Looks like your friend here wasn’t really a friend after
all. The girl must have brought forward her plans to steal it from you when I turned
up.’
Clementine broke down in tears. ‘Oh, Mr Gervais, what are we
going to do?’
‘What are we going to do?’ he repeated, ‘I should say that’s
your problem, Clementine. Inherited from your father. Not my responsibility!’
‘But what about the book?’ she shouted, knowing it might
keep him on her side. However disreputable she found him, she was somewhat
calmed by the presence of a senior. A supposed expert on matters of the occult,
though somehow she found herself doubting.
‘You’ll keep it locked away inside this house, if you’ve got
any sense, girl. Forever. Those ravens only attacked when someone tried to take
it away, after all.’
As he said the words, a thought occurred to him. He pushed
the front door closed with his boot. ‘So,
I should be alright if I just take a quick look, shouldn’t I?’ he took the book
from the bag and resolved to read as much as he could. This could be his last chance to satisfy his
desire to know the content, after all. ‘I’m not going anywhere with it,’ he
shouted to any creatures that might be listening outside the door which he
bolted firmly with his free hand. ‘I’m just reading it. There’s no harm in
reading a book, is there?’
As the spine creaked open, Clementine backed away from him.
‘Mr Gervais, I don’t think you should do that,’ she spoke quietly. ‘Daddy
always said that no one should read the book.’
‘No harm in it,’ he repeated confidently, turning to the
first page with writing on it, ‘These occult thingies have rules, you know. As
long as I don’t try and take the book past the threshold, I should be fine.’
His eyes widened as he started to read and understand the
content. He was so engrossed, that he didn’t immediately notice the bird swoop from
where it had been hiding inside the manor house, mighty wings extended, talons reaching
for his eyeballs. It was the last thing he would ever see.
Clementine gasped. Gervais tried to swot the attacking raven
with the book, but it was no mere animal, and the tome struck against metal,
bouncing off. Gervais yelled as the bird claws dug into his face, pressing sharply
into his eyes, creating such incredible pain. He sobbed as his eyeballs were ripped
to shreds and sunk to his knees and forward onto his face. Although he couldn’t
see the blood, he could feel the sticky wetness on his hands, sliding down his
forearms, dripping to the floor. He tried to speak, tried to cry out in pain,
but couldn’t hear his own voice over the sound of Clementine screaming.
The parliament of ravens had judged him unworthy. His
punishment was never being able to read again.
No one can take the book. No one can read the book.
Clementine finally understood the grave seriousness of what
her father had told her, and finally understood the truth of her inheritance –
her family’s mission.
No one can take the book. No one can read the book.
It was quite some considerable effort for the Scarlet
Vault to acquire the Caveat Lector. It was decided that we had to own it for
safekeeping after the deeds for Marcham manor and all its possessions were stolen
from Lady Clementine by unscrupulous property developers. This was in 2019, so the
old woman had guarded it well for five decades.
The ravens didn’t give me any trouble during the transfer…
I like to think that they trust me. Perhaps they are a little afraid of me as
well?
I admit that, occasionally, I have been tempted to take a
peek inside the covers of this mysterious book, but so far, I’ve been able to
restrain myself.
