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From award-winning author Alan Bradley comes the next cozy British mystery starring intrepid young sleuth Flavia de Luce, hailed by USA Today as “one of the most remarkable creations in recent literature.”
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
Eleven-year-old amateur detective and ardent chemist Flavia de Luce is used to digging up clues, whether they’re found among the potions in her laboratory or between the pages of her insufferable sisters’ diaries. What she is not accustomed to is digging up bodies. Upon the five-hundredth anniversary of St. Tancred’s death, the English hamlet of Bishop’s Lacey is busily preparing to open its patron saint’s tomb. Nobody is more excited to peek inside the crypt than Flavia, yet what she finds will halt the proceedings dead in their tracks: the body of Mr. Collicutt, the church organist, his face grotesquely and inexplicably masked. Who held a vendetta against Mr. Collicutt, and why would they hide him in such a sacred resting place? The irrepressible Flavia decides to find out. And what she unearths will prove there’s never such thing as an open-and-shut case.
Acclaim for Alan Bradley’s beloved Flavia de Luce novels, winners of the Crime Writers’ Association Debut Dagger Award, Barry Award, Agatha Award, Macavity Award, Dilys Winn Award, and Arthur Ellis Award
“Every Flavia de Luce novel is a reason to celebrate.”—USA Today
“Utterly beguiling.”—People (four stars), on The Weed That Strings the Hangman’s Bag
“Outstanding . . . [a] marvelous blend of whimsy and mystery.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review), on A Red Herring Without Mustard
“Original, charming, devilishly creative.”—Bookreporter, on I Am Half-Sick of Shadows
•ONE•
Blood dripped from the neck of the severed head and fell in a drizzle of red raindrops, clotting into a ruby pool upon the black and white tiles. The face wore a grimace of surprise, as if the man had died in the middle of a scream. His teeth, each clearly divided from its neighbor by a black line, were bared in a horrible, silent scream.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the thing.
The woman who proudly held the gaping head at arm’s length by its curly blue-black hair was wearing a scarlet dress—almost, but not quite, the color of the dead man’s blood.
To one side, a servant with downcast eyes held the platter upon which she had carried the head into the room. Seated on a wooden throne, a matron in a saffron dress leaned forward in square-jawed pleasure, her hands clenched into fists on the arms of her chair as she took a good look at the grisly trophy. Her name was Herodias, and she was the wife of the king.
The younger woman, the one clutching the head, was—at least, according to the historian Flavius Josephus—named Salome. She was the stepdaughter of the king, whose name was Herod, and Herodias was her mother.
The detached head, of course, belonged to John the Baptist.
I remembered hearing the whole sordid story not more than a month ago when Father read aloud the Second Lesson from the back of the great carved wooden eagle which served as the lectern at St. Tancred’s.
On that winter morning I had gazed up, transfixed, just as I was gazing now, at the stained-glass window in which this fascinating scene was depicted.
Later, during his sermon, the vicar had explained that in Old Testament times, our blood was thought to contain our lives.
Of course!
Blood!
Why hadn’t I thought of it before?
“Feely,” I said, tugging at her sleeve, “I have to go home.”
My sister ignored me. She peered closely at the music book as, in the dusky shadows of the fading light, her fingers flew like white birds over the keys of the organ.
Mendelssohn’s Wie gross ist des Allmächt’gen Güte.
“ ‘How great are the works of the Almighty,’ ” she told me it meant.
Easter was now less than a week away and Feely was trying to whip the piece into shape for her official debut as organist of St. Tancred’s. The flighty Mr. Collicutt, who had held the post only since last summer, had vanished suddenly from our village without explanation and Feely had been asked to step into his shoes.
St. Tancred’s went through organists like a python goes through white mice. Years ago, there had been Mr. Taggart, then Mr. Denning. It was now Mr. Collicutt’s kick at the cat.
“Feely,” I said. “It’s important. There’s something I have to do.”
Feely jabbed one of the ivory coupling buttons with her thumb and the organ gave out a roar. I loved this part of the piece: the point where it leaps in an instant from sounding like a quiet sea at sunset to the snarl of a jungle animal.
When it comes to organ music, loud is good—at least to my way of thinking.
I tucked my knees up under my chin and huddled back into the corner of the choir stall. It was obvious that Feely was going to slog her way through to the end come hell or high water, and I would simply have to wait it out.
I looked at my surroundings but there wasn’t much to see. In the feeble glow of the single bulb above the music rack, Feely and I might as well have been castaways on a tiny raft of light in a sea of darkness.
By twisting my neck and tilting my head back like a hanged man, I could just make out the head of Saint Tancred, which was carved in English oak at the end of a hammer beam in the roof of the nave. In the weird evening light, he had the look of a man with his nose pressed flat against a window, peering in from the cold to a cozy room with a cheery fire burning on the hearth.
I gave him a respectful bob of my head, even though I knew he couldn’t see me since his bones were moldering away in the crypt below. But better safe than sorry.
Above my head, on the far side of the chancel, John the Baptist and his murderers had now faded out almost completely. Twilight came quickly in these cloudy days of March and, viewed from inside the church, the windows of St. Tancred’s could change from a rich tapestry of glorious colors to a muddy blackness in less time than it would take you to rattle off one of the longer psalms.
To tell the truth, I’d have rather been at home in my chemical laboratory than sitting here in the near-darkness of a drafty old church, but Father had insisted.
Even though Feely was six years older than me, Father refused to let her go alone to the church for her almost nightly rehearsals and choir practices.
“A lot of strangers likely to be about these days,” he said, referring to the team of archaeologists who would soon be arriving in Bishop’s Lacey to dig up the bones of our patron saint.
How I was to defend Feely against the attacks of these savage scholars, Father had not bothered to mention, but I knew there was more to it than that.
In the recent past there had been a number of murders in Bishop’s Lacey: fascinating murders in which I had rendered my assistance to Inspector Hewitt of the Hinley Constabulary.
In my mind, I ticked off the victims on my fingers: Horace Bonepenny, Rupert Porson, Brookie Harewood, Phyllis Wyvern. . . .
One more corpse and I’d have a full hand.
Each of them had come to a sticky end in our village, and I knew that Father was uneasy.
“It isn’t right, Ophelia,” he said, “for a girl who’s—for a girl your age to be rattling about alone in an old church at night.”
“There’s nobody there but the dead.” Feely had laughed, perhaps a little too gaily. “And they don’t bother me. Not nearly so much as the living.”
Behind Father’s back, my other sister, Daffy, had licked her wrist and wetted down her hair on both sides of an imaginary part in the middle of her head, like a cat washing its face. She was poking fun at Ned Cropper, the potboy at the Thirteen Drakes, who had the most awful crush on Feely and sometimes followed her about like a bad smell.
Feely had scratched her ear to indicate she had understood Daffy’s miming. It was one of those silent signals that fly among sisters like semaphore messages from ship to ship, indecipherable to anyone who doesn’t know the code. Even if Father had seen the gesture, he would not have understood its meaning. Father’s codebook was in a far different language from ours.
“Still,” Father had said, “if you’re coming or going after dark, you are to take Flavia with you. It won’t hurt her to learn a few hymns.”
Learn a few hymns indeed! Just a couple of months ago when I was confined to bed during the Christmas holidays, Mrs. Mullet, in giggling whispers and hushed pledges of secrecy, had taught me a couple of new ones. I never tired of bellowing:
“Hark the herald angels sing,
Beecham’s Pills are just the thing.
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
Two for a man and one for a child!”
Either that or:
“We Three Kings of Leicester Square,
Selling ladies’ underwear,
So fantastic, no elastic,
Only tuppence a pair.”
—until Feely flung a copy of Hymns Ancient and Modern at my head. One thing I have learned about organists is that they have absolutely no sense of humor.
“Feely,” I said, “I’m freezing.”
I shivered and buttoned up my cardigan. It was bitterly cold in the church at night. The choir had left an hour ago, and without their warm bodies round me, shoulder to shoulder like singing sardines, it seemed even colder still.
But Feely was submerged in Mendelssohn. I might as well have been talking to the moon.
Suddenly the organ gave out a fluttering gasp, as if it had choked on something, and the music gargled to a stop.
“Oh, fiddle,” Feely said. It was as close to swearing as she ever came—at least in church. My sister was a pious fraud.
She stood up on the pedals and waddled her way off the organ bench, making a harsh mooing of bass notes.
KentuckyGranney52
Posted Tue Jan 29 00:00:00 EST 2013
love the book Alan Bradely has found a way to mix Homes, Christy and even Nancy Drew into one mystery solving crime fighter. Love the whit and how he makes you think that you know how the crime is going to end. but then a sudden twist that you did not expect to happen. can not wait to read the others and so hope he keeps writting love his work.
2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.JzFestGalMD
Posted Tue Feb 05 00:00:00 EST 2013
I truly love Alan Bradley and Flavia de Luce. Each book gets better, and I feel as though I know Bishops Lacey intimately. Love the development of the characters, and some of the new characters introduced in this book. The ending is a true cliffhanger, but I will wait patiently for the next installment as don't want anything less than the perfection I have come to expect. I must admit, I would appreciate a Flavia in my neighborhood
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.EmaCross
Posted Mon Feb 04 00:00:00 EST 2013
By far the best Flavia book yet. I could not put it down until I read the entire book. I was not in shock at the end; I have been waiting for this. I can't stand the idea that I have to wait a year for the next book.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted Wed May 01 00:00:00 EDT 2013
These books are the best! I want to go back to teaching and make all these books part of our literature sessions and have read aloud with my students at the edge of their seats! Flavia is such a brilliant character!
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Posted Fri Apr 19 00:00:00 EDT 2013
Flavia is at her best in SPEAKING FROM THE BONES and the family's plight plays no small part. You will find yourself immersed in Flavia's latest adventure while worried about the DeLuces' future. Flavia is up to her second floor bedroom in bodies and suspects and uncovers something very revealing about herself in this story. Bradley has done it again -- Thank you Alan!!!
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Posted Sun Apr 14 00:00:00 EDT 2013
Good as always...this girl is a pip!!
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Posted Sun Apr 07 00:00:00 EDT 2013
I have read each of the Flavia DeLuce mysteries, and they are consistently good fun.
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Posted Sun Mar 31 00:00:00 EDT 2013
This is one of the better books of this series. It is a series that I have enjoyed unexpectedly. The protagonist is a child and the story can be enjoyed multigenerationally. The mysteries are cute and fun.
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Posted Mon Mar 18 00:00:00 EDT 2013
Being new to the Flvia de Luce books starting with the last bok and this one I'm glad I found it. I look forward to reading another addition in the future.Flavia is a wonderful character.
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Posted Fri Mar 08 00:00:00 EST 2013
I LOVE this series. Alan Bradley may you live forever and you too, Flavia de Luce. This 11 year old genius (chemist and super sleuth) is bold and unpredictable.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Sandyb50
Posted Fri Mar 08 00:00:00 EST 2013
I have been fortunate to follow Flavia de Luce's adventures from the beginning - I was hooked by the ex-Girl Guide's narrative as she investigated a mysterious event at her ancestral home - and also by her love of science (especially poisons). Alan Bradley's book is the best of all worlds - a mystery, a "cozy," a family tale - all featuring a plucky young detective and the characters she encounters. His dialogue is spot-on - Flavia comes across as a "real" person, not an on-the-page over-developed 11 year old. And the situations she finds (or gets) herself into are part humorous, part horrible, part I-told-you-so.
I hope that there is a 6th book in the series and that it is published very soon!
Anonymous
Posted Fri Mar 01 00:00:00 EST 2013
I have loved all the "Flavia de Luce" books. These are quirky mysteries because the heroine is an 11 year old chemist!
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Posted Fri Mar 01 00:00:00 EST 2013
I have always loved Flavia's flair for adventure and her compassion for others. Also her clear view of others faults!
Bradly comes thru again.
LWS0
Posted Fri Mar 01 00:00:00 EST 2013
I love mystery novels, and the Alan Bradley series starring Flavia de Luce are delightful in their quirkiness and refreshing. Always a good murder plot, and fun interactions between Flavia and the adults and siblings that people her world. I await the next installation in this series!
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Posted Sun Feb 24 00:00:00 EST 2013
When I was younger, the detective heroine was Nancy Drew. A few years ago in a book store I happened upon the tittle "Sweetness of the Bottom of the Pie." I have been fascinated ever since.
I recommend it to children of all ages, especially girls...the chemistry aspect is phenomenal in accuracy of description and folding it into Flavia's search for identity.
I hope more episodes are in the work's.
0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Anonymous
Posted Sat Feb 23 00:00:00 EST 2013
I've enjoyed all the books in this series, but this one was even more special than the rest. I can't identify what quality sets it apart, but I couldn't stop reading it, chuckled often, and was emotionally engaged throughout. Who could ask for more?
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.I have enjoyed reading this series and found them to be an easy way to relax. Flavia is a hoot. What a great character. This is the best in the series. The writing is better and I definitely recommend getting this one.
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Posted Fri Feb 22 00:00:00 EST 2013
I love this series and purchase the new books as soon as they are out. Just fun reading which I need in between serious books
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Jmnh109
Posted Fri Feb 22 00:00:00 EST 2013
Alan Bradley has created a character in Miss Flavia de Luce that is unique and unforgettable. Eleven-year-old Flavia, wise beyond her years, has the fortune or misfortune to live in the English village of Bishop's Lacey, where, it seems, someone is always being murdered. This fifth installment of her adventures does not disappoint Bradley's faithful readers. There is the requisite dead body, this time found in a crypt of St. Tancred's, the village church, while village parishoners are in the process of exhuming the body of St. Tancred himself. Of course, Flavia is right in the middle of the action, ready to snoop around for clues before the long-suffering Inspector can get to the scene. With the aid of her chemical lab set up in the far corners of the huge manor house in which she lives with her father,two sisters, and faithful handyman, Dogger, Flavis begins to unravel the mystery. Sharp as a tack and quick-witted, this mini-Sherlock Holmes, on her ever-ready bicycle, which she has named Gladys, scours the countryside interrogating the quirky residents of Bishop's Lacey. If you've never read Bradley's series, I would suggest you begin with the first, "The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie." You won't stop until you have finished the latest book. Highly recommended for lovers of a good English country mystery.
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Posted Fri Feb 22 00:00:00 EST 2013
Flavia at her finest!! Harriet's been found. Can't wait for the next one.
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Overview
From award-winning author Alan Bradley comes the next cozy British mystery starring intrepid young sleuth Flavia de Luce, hailed by USA Today as “one of the most remarkable creations in recent literature.”
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
Eleven-year-old amateur detective and ardent chemist Flavia de Luce is used to digging up clues, whether they’re found among the potions in her laboratory or between the ...