When they rose, they continued down the endless tunnel. After two more hours, they encountered something in the tunnel that they had not seen previously.

An intersection.

Their tunnel split in two.

‘Which way do we go?’ Lily asked. ‘Left or right?’

Jack looked at her, perplexed. ‘I don’t know.’

The Secret Royal World II: Troy, The Royal Redoubt and the Red Horizon Star

Tenedos Island

Aegean Sea near the Turkish coast

27 December, 0900 hours

The seaplane touched down beside Tenedos Island, a particularly nondescript island not far from the mouth of the Dardanelles Strait.

As the crow flies, Tenedos Island is about twelve miles from Hisarlik on the Turkish mainland, the commonly accepted location of the famed city of Troy.

But no tourist buses or boats come to Tenedos. It is a quiet place, strictly for locals only.

Inside the seaplane sat Nobody Black, Iolanthe and Bertie. They had sped here overnight, pausing only to sleep.

On the way, they had checked in with Pooh Bear and Stretch and learned about their daring kidnapping of the royal banker, Sir John Marren, at Salzburg Airport in Austria.

Iolanthe frowned. ‘That was a bold move, gentlemen. Definitely something that no-one in the royal world would have seen coming. But be careful. Marren is a ruthless man. Watch him closely.’

Pooh Bear and Stretch also informed them of the worldwide scattering of the royal families and how those families were fleeing in great haste to three secure locations: Xian in China, Hohensalzburg Fortress in Austria and, the most important one, Raven Rock in America.

‘This is how the rich and powerful prepare for the new world order,’ Nobody said bitterly. ‘They scurry to their fortresses to sit out the storm and wait with bated breath to welcome their new emperor.’

‘Sadly, yes, that’s exactly what it is,’ Iolanthe agreed.

Now, in the light of day, as their seaplane bobbed on the water, Nobody, Iolanthe and Bertie looked up at Tenedos Island.

There wasn’t much to it.

Mid-sized and plain, vineyards lay over much of its sloping terrain. The dry climate was apparently good for grape growing, but it didn’t exactly make the island easy on the eye. It was brown and dry, drab.

A few large white-walled mansions dotted the island’s eastern coast, looking back at Turkey from commanding positions on the hills and bluffs.

The building of these massive estates, Iolanthe said, was a relatively recent phenomenon: wealthy families would purchase a vineyard—a classic trophy purchase—and then build a vacation mansion on the land above it. Many of the grand houses sat empty for eleven months of the year, occupied only by housekeepers and support staff.

The island’s population was less than three thousand.

As he looked up at it, Nobody pursed his lips doubtfully. ‘You’re saying this is the site of the lost city of Troy? It doesn’t really look like the site of a great empire and a famous war.’