Wolfe (2)

Marty looked at Grace. "I guess your theory about him wanting our inheritance is down the tubes." "Owning an island doesn't mean he's not hurting for money. And what about my paramilitary wacko theory? What about the fort?"

"You'll look great in camouflage fatigues," Marty said and climbed into the front seat next to Bertha. Grace got in the back. The veteran Humvee coughed and shook, but finally came to a roaring start. Before Bertha engaged the clutch, she reached into the glove compartment and pulled out two silver chains with square pieces of coloured plastic hanging on them. She gave the blue one to Grace and the grey one to Marty.

"What are these?" Grace asked. "Identification." Bertha pulled out a green tag from the neck of her dress. "We all wear them here." The twins looked at the tags. They were blank on both sides.

"I don't understand," Marty said. "Let me guess," Grace said. "Uncle Travis will explain it to us when we see him."

"That's right. Just put them on for now and don't take them off. That's one of the rules of the island." "What are some of the other rules?" Marty asked.

"Don't wander around the island unless one of us is with you - at least for the time being. If you think you shouldn't be doing something, ask before you do it. Never complain about my cooking. Have fun. And ... well, I'm sure we'll come up with some more rules as time passes. We've never had children here before." She stepped on the accelerator, sending up a spray of gravel.

The twins weren't able to see much on the way up to their uncle's house because Bertha drove the Humvee as if she were trying to outrun a forest fire. The narrow winding road was a blur of green trees. They crossed a bridge and took a hard right on to another road, which led them up a steep hill. At the top, Bertha brought the Humvee to a skidding stop in front of a three-storey house made out of moss covered stone blocks. Parked in front of the house was another Humvee identical to the one they were in, without the bullet holes.

"Your uncle's inside," Bertha said. "I'm going back down to give Phil a hand." The twins got out and Bertha drove away as fast as she had arrived. Grace and Marty stood very quietly for a moment and took in their surroundings. "It needs a good pressure washing," Marty said. "Or a stonemason. But it does look like a fort."

"More like a haunted castle," Grace said, knowing that about the only thing that spooked her brother was ghosts. "I have a very bad feeling about all this. I bet it's filled with zombies and ghouls."

Marty did his best to ignore her. He did not want to think about ghosts and haunted castles. The house sat on a high promontory. Strong winds and salt air had worn away the stonework. To the west was a sheer cliff and an endless span of water with drifting patches of fog above it. "Boy, would I love to hang glide off that!" he said. To the east was a thick forest of trees. On the far side of the island was a massive hill covered with several white spinning windmills. "What do you suppose those are for?" he asked.

"Wind turbines," Grace answered. "To generate electricity." "I knew that," Marty said and turned his attention back to the house.

There were dozens of windows with stone balconies. The slate roof was covered with antennas and several satellite dishes of different sizes.

"He must get every TV station on earth," Marty said. At the boarding school they had not been allowed to watch much television, and when they did, they could only watch shows that Dr Beasel had previewed and approved.

"The front door is wide open," Grace said. "But there's nobody here to greet us. Don't you think that's a little strange, Marty?"

Marty did think it was a bit odd, but before he could respond, a very large raven flew through the front door and headed right towards them. "Watch out!" He tackled Grace and tried to cover her as best he could. The bird veered away from them at the last second. It circled the house twice, gaining altitude with each loop, then flapped out to sea, making a deep quarking sound like a crow with a bad cold.

"Sorry about that." Marty helped Grace up, a little embarrassed at his overreaction. "I thought the bird was going to "

"No, no, it's perfectly all right," Grace interrupted him. Her brother's gallantry and quick wits were two of his best traits and she wouldn't think of criticizing either, even though he had knocked her down and she had scraped her knee.

"Now that was strange," Marty said. "Why would Uncle Travis have a raven in his house?"

"Maybe it was feeding on a corpse," Grace said, brushing herself off. Marty shuddered, then walked up on to the porch and knocked on the door frame. "Uncle Travis? It's Marty and Grace." There was no response.

"Now what?" Grace asked. "I guess we go in."