The Power of Dark. Robin Jarvis

      

      First published in Great Britain in 2016

      by Egmont UK Limited

      The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

      Text and illustrations copyright © 2016 Robin Jarvis

      The moral rights of the author/illustrator have been asserted

      First e-book edition 2016

      PB ISBN 978 1 4052 8023 5

      HB ISBN 978 1 4052 8508 7

      Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1732 8

       www.egmont.co.uk

      A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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       The cold dark sea is watching, and vengeance boils the tide.

       A final doom is surging, to drown old Whitby’s pride.

      CONTENTS

       Cover

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Epigraph

ATTACK

1

2

       3

       4

       5

       6

       7

       8

       9

       10

       11

       12

       13

       14

       GONGOOZLING

       Back series promotional page

ATTACK

      The din of Verne Thistlewood’s frantic pursuit echoed down the narrow lanes of the East Cliff. His feet thudded over the cobbles and his heart was hammering in his chest, but all he could hear were the taunts and threats of the three older girls behind him. Verne wasn’t a fast runner. They were almost upon him, and they were vicious.

      Bursting from the lane, he dashed into the open area of Market Place and spun round desperately. Where could he go? Which was the safest way?

      The girls came shrieking after him. Before he could dodge them, they spread out, cutting off his best chances of escape,

      ‘Get him!’ Tracy Evans yelled as they closed in.

      Verne pelted into the only way left, a slim passageway leading on to Fish Pier. This spur of stone jutted into the river. He had hoped he could jump down on to the shore, dart along the sand, then run up the nearest set of steps. But the tide was high and the sand was deep beneath rough, foam-marbled waves that smacked the harbour wall. Verne was trapped.

      Fearfully, he turned to face Tracy and her two cronies, Bev and Angie. Their faces were ugly and alive with aggression.

      ‘What you run off for, Flimsy?’ Tracy asked. ‘I only wanted a chat.’

      Verne edged further along the pier.

      ‘Look at him!’ Bev cried with a snort. ‘He’s shivering – ha!’

      ‘You scared, Flimsy?’ Tracy demanded, stalking closer.

      ‘Don’t call me that,’ the boy told her.

      Tracy’s hand flashed out and grabbed the scarf round his neck. Twisting it in her fist until he choked, she shook him from side to side like a rag doll then shoved him backwards. The boy crashed on to the cold, wet stone. The girls laughed and Bev took out her phone to film it.

      ‘Now you listen,’ Tracy snarled, leaning over him and squeezing his thin face in her strong fingers. ‘If my boyfriend loses any more money in your family’s rip-off arcade, I’ll come looking for you. You got that? How’s he supposed to take me out and buy me stuff without any dosh? I’m not cheap.’

      ‘Could’ve fooled me,’ Verne said bravely as he tried to get up.

      Tracy shoved him down again and slapped him hard.

      ‘Ha!’ Bev squealed. ‘He’s crying!’

      Tracy stood back so that Bev could get a clear view on her phone. Then, with a curling lip, she told Angie, ‘Take his shoes off and lob them in the river.’

      Angie grabbed at Verne’s flailing legs, while Tracy dragged the rucksack from his arms and swung it round to cast it into the waves.

      ‘Leave him alone!’ a new voice demanded. ‘And put the bag down.’

      Verne’s attackers whipped round and saw a younger girl approaching along the pier. The black cloak she wore over her school uniform was flapping madly in the wind and a vivid streak of blue in her hair whipped above her brow.

      ‘What do you want, Wilson?’ Tracy snapped.

      ‘I’ve already told you. Don’t make me say it twice.’

      ‘Get lost!’

      Bev and Angie looked at the new girl uneasily. Lil Wilson was a weirdo. Even though they were older than her, she gave them the creeps.

      ‘Leave it, Trace,’ Bev said, returning the phone to her pocket.

      Tracy bared her teeth. ‘She don’t scare me!’ she said.

      ‘You sure about that?’ Lil asked. ‘Because I’d be really worried if I was you.’

      ‘Why’s that then?’

      ‘You