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    Super Sleuths and the Black Castle: Super Sleuths, #4
    Super Sleuths and the Black Castle: Super Sleuths, #4
    Super Sleuths and the Black Castle: Super Sleuths, #4
    Ebook82 pages1 hour

    Super Sleuths and the Black Castle: Super Sleuths, #4

    By E.M. Clarke

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    About this ebook

    The Super Sleuths are back... and so is the evil Prince Igor.

    In the heavy, warm mist, Mud Town shimmers. Grey buildings frown over the deserted streets. Darkness and silence reign with an iron fist. Even if the inhabitants of Mud Town should stir in their sleep, they would not look out of their tightly shuttered windows. No one wants to be a witness to what is happening outside, no one wants to see the dark forces which are gathering in the deep of the night. 

    Can the Super Sleuths overcome this new threat. Will Milo, Zelie, Zav, Sofie and Sam take down this new evil from Prince Igor and his motley pirate band?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLexi
    Release dateNov 20, 2019
    ISBN9781393228356
    Super Sleuths and the Black Castle: Super Sleuths, #4

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      Book preview

      Super Sleuths and the Black Castle - E.M. Clarke

      Super Sleuths Book 4

      ‘The Black Castle’

      ––––––––

      by E M Clarke.

      ––––––––

      Read famously by Lexi on all good podcast venues such as https://Acast.com

      and https://ApplePodcasts.com

      ––––––––

      Visit us at

      https://supersleuths.net

      and investigate our interactive map of Sandlandia.

      Contents;

      Chapter 1:

      Prince Igor Returns 

      Chapter 2:

      Hoodwinked! 

      Chapter 3:

      Sleuths on the Case:

      Chapter 4:

      To the Caves. 

      Chapter 5:

      Bin Men.

      Chapter 6:

      The Hidden Door.

      Chapter 7:

      An Unexpected Ally.

      Chapter 8: 

      Ana is Missing.

      Chapter 9:

      News from the North 

      Chapter 10:

      The Prophecy.

      Chapter 1:

      Prince Igor Returns 

      In the heavy, warm mist, Mud Town shimmers. Grey buildings frown over the deserted streets. Darkness and silence reign with an iron fist. Even if the inhabitants of Mud Town should stir in their sleep, they would not look out of their tightly shuttered windows. No one wants to be a witness to what is happening outside, no one wants to see the dark forces which are gathering in the deep of the night. 

      And then, movement. A boat materialises, dark shapes slowly distinguish themselves from the black snaking river which glistens in the moonlight. A rope is flung to shore, a man in heavy boots and a dark sweeping cloak catches it, ties it securely to an iron ring. Three cloaked figures move to the side of the vessel and disembark silently. The only sounds are the steady lap of water against the dock and the creak of the rope as the boat strains against the current of the dark river. Snakes slither over the pathway, forked tongues hissing, leading the figures from the dock to the ruined palace, its crumbling walls jagged in the moonlight. The figures mount the steps, move towards the decaying throne room. At either side of the room, lines of Jaca face inward, their crocodile smiles bright and white in the dim light, their yellow eyes gleaming with malice.

      Watching.

      Waiting.

      They hiss in anticipation as the cloaked figures move between their guard of honour toward the throne at the far end. The lead figure is bulky, swathed in black, his face hidden. But his creatures know him for their leader and open their deadly jaws wide in recognition. ‘Hiss!’

      On a dais at the far end, next to the throne stand two figures, one immensely tall, the other tiny, both with their arms outstretched in a salute, their faces gleaming with triumph. Count Zuto and Countess Rosina Contuti are delighted. 

      ‘Hail Great Leader!’ they cry, fists crashing through the air as they salute again and again. Around them, other figures stand, other arms are raised in unison, voices chorus jubilantly, ‘Hail Great Leader!’

      The cloaked figure leading the group newly arrived in their boat nods as he strides down the room, accepting this reaction as his due.

      He has returned.

      They could never have stopped him.

      At last, he was assembled once more with his most trusted servants. And this time he would not fail. Slowly, he ascends the throne, turning around to face his audience, flinging off the dark, voluminous cloak as he does so to reveal himself richly garbed in purple trimmed with gold, rings covering his fingers. Fitting attire for a prince. 

      Then.

      ‘Caw! Caw!’

      A huge white bird soars in through a window, wings stretched, vicious beak curving in mid triumphant cry.

      ‘Caw! Hail Great Leader!’

      The man on the throne stretches out a lordly arm and the bird lands smoothly. He raises his arm for silence, and his audience fall quiet immediately. The Jaca watch, sharp teeth shining.

      ‘I have done the impossible!’ The man cries, his voice echoing around the chamber.

      ‘I have escaped the prison on Isla Diabolo - yes, my friends. I have escaped the inescapable. Or so they thought!’ At this he lets out a rasping gargle of triumph, greeted by further cries of celebration from his rapt audience. 

      ‘I, Prince Igor, son of Prince Percival, proud to be the heir to the House of Barbosa will not be imprisoned!

      Will not be silenced!

      Will not be defeated!’

      Another roar of support greets this, boots stamping on the floor, the bird caws, the Jaca hiss. 

      ‘But I could not have done this alone.’ Igor's vice is lower now.

      ‘No, my trusted friends have never wavered in their loyalty. They helped me to reclaim my freedom.’ He gestures to the other two cloaked figures who had arrived with him, who are now prostrate on the ground before the throne, faces on the floor and arms thrown out in front of them as proof of their servitude.

      ‘Rise, Ferenc,’ Igor intones, pointing to the man before him.

      ‘Rise, Festia,’ he commands, now pointing at the woman. Both figures obey, wolfish faces sharp against the shadows.

      ‘Thank them!’ Igor cries, and the chamber fills once more with claps and stamps, cheers and yells of triumph. 

      Ferenc smiles and bows. His angular face is hungry, his restless eyes catch the glance of his sister, the Countess Rosina, whose eyes gleam in the half light. A flash of understanding glimmers between them. They are of one accord, united in their pursuit of evil. Festia‘s thin lips are bared in what she believes is a smile, but her teeth are yellow and her eyes dead and cold. Her claw like hands grasp her husband’s arm as she stares at the cheering supporters, never at rest, calculating, plotting relentlessly. 

      ‘Our plans are well advanced,’ continues Igor once the cheering subsides.

      ‘The Countess Rosina will use her special brand of dark magic against our foes, those fools in Sandlandia who insist on challenging my rights as king!’ An ugly red flush is creeping up Igor’s

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