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Holmes The MidBells Curse: Holmes, #8
Holmes The MidBells Curse: Holmes, #8
Holmes The MidBells Curse: Holmes, #8
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Holmes The MidBells Curse: Holmes, #8

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A curse has been activated.

Big Ben has been struck.

Holmes and Watson are sent to discover what happened.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 15, 2018
ISBN9781386224433
Holmes The MidBells Curse: Holmes, #8

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    Book preview

    Holmes The MidBells Curse - Michael John Light

    Chapter One: The Tower’s Curse

    REALLY, HOLMES, THIS is just not my cup of tea. Or even glass of water if you want to get down to it. Watson complained as he and Holmes tread up what seemed an endless series of narrow, spiraling steps that led to the top of the Tower of Big Ben.

    Holmes smiled. Really, Watson, a bit of exercise won't hurt one bit.

    This isn't exercise, its torture. Huffed and puffed Watson.

    Ahead of them the Keeper of the Clock as he was known to all who visited or worked there looked back with a big grin on his face. Sir, your muscles will tighten and stretch and get stronger eventually.

    Yes, if I live long enough to come back again. Watson growled.

    The Keeper chuckled and then said. Ah, here we are.

    He reached a landing and a huge door. He fit his key into it and shoved. The door opened wide to reveal a room of immense proportions. Even Watson, still huffing and puffing, became quiet for a moment as he eyed the spectacular giant gears and mechanisms that ran the massive clock.

    Impressive. He said.

    Holmes nodded.  And this relic of history is important to us all.

    Right you are, sir. The Keeper agreed. He tipped his cap to Holmes and then waved at the giant gears. I make sure each and every one of these is kept oiled and precisely timed. He led them along a landing and then climbed to a new level where there were times inscribed on wheels that turned within other wheels. These here make sure that old Big Ben keeps on ticking and right on time.

    Watson eyed the older man. His craggy face and reddish nose glowed with enthusiasm. Surely a very good choice for his job, Watson thought.

    Never missed a second even?

    Not one. The Keeper said, nodding his head of thick blonde hair. Not in my lifetime.

    In another? Watson asked, dogging him.

    The Keeper turned to look Watson in the eyes. There are tales.

    Yes?

    But no matter. That was a long time ago.

    The Keeper started to climb to the next level up, which would give them a view of the massive gearbox behind the external clock face. Holmes stopped him with a light touch. Humor me. What tale?

    The Keeper wiped at sweat on his forehead and his eyes began to drift off into his memories.

    Watson's Journal

    I AM A BIT HESITANT to reveal this story, but after all these years it must be told in some form. It had been buried under so much red tape, that not even a new King or Queen could unravel it.

    As I sit on my balcony overlooking the pleasant hills of Winchester in Hampshire, I am reminded how so much that is dark and dreary in man's life is quickly forgotten in the wilds of nature, which gives precedence not to man's conceits, but rather to God's beauty. The brisk Autumnal winds are hardly felt by me. I have a lap blanket over my legs and a tumbler of hot tea and lemon at my hand. So how can I be at a loss of any kind?

    Mrs. Hudson is inside now knitting shoes for the new baby of our

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