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{ASSM} The Strange Case of the Missing Madonna ~ A Holmes & Hove
adventure Story) [Yotna El'toub]
(MF,FF,MM(suggested),MC,NC,magic. Caution: blasphemous)
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WARNING: This story will contain situations and explicit language
of an adult nature and should be read only by those of a legal
age to do so. If you are a minor or object to stories of an adult
nature, LEAVE HERE IMMEDIATELY. Legal age local to the author is
18+ please abide to your own local laws.
Please note and understand the content codes for this story. The
characters portrayed in this story are just that, characters in
my story. Any similarities to real people are purely coincidental
and unintentional. The characters and situations portrayed are
pure fantasy; the author is keen to state that in reality adult
sexuality should remain only in the adult world.
Please do not allow or cause this story to fall in to the hands
of minors.
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***AUTHOR'S NOTE*** Due to the subject matter this Holmes and
Hove adventure will contain not only sex, but blasphemous
content. I have no desire to upset people or their deeply held
belief's, so if this is likely to upset you; stop reading *NOW*.
If you continue to read despite my warning my conscience is
clear, as *YOU* have made a free choice.
________________________________________________________________
***Summary***
Ned and Brighton are asked to recover a stolen icon for the
church. The icon has remained hidden for centuries due to its
contentious content. Shadowy organisations are moving towards a
future that threatens the very fabric of society.
________________________________________________________________
Ned sat quietly waiting for daylight to creep into his darkened
receiving room. The sole source of light was the occasional,
rhythmical glow of Holmes's churchwarden. A soft footfall made
Holmes turn his head slightly to the right, he silently nodded at
the shadowy figure.
"I say old chap, up with the lark aren't we?"
"Before Hove. No dawn chorus. Anyway darkness suits my mood."
"More bad dreams? What ails you so?"
"Brighton, it is best left."
"Really? Is it? This drains you Holmes, makes you maudlin. These
dreams, and that damnable pipe!"
"The pipe is my solace, my retreat Brighton. Without it..."
"Without it... You would confide in me, your friend." Hove
replied quietly.
"Hove, you know. You were there."
"I was and the dead are now gone. Try as we might, we can not
change history."
"The dead are very much alive... In my dreams Hove, I see each
and every one of them. Every soldier I failed." Ned's voice
faltered.
"You failed no one! The strategy failed, the General failed, you
sir, did not!"
Holmes smiled and then shielded his eyes from the gas mantles
which Hove lit. Soon the room was bathed in a yellow light. Hove
spoke once more. "It is always darkest just before the dawn.
Something will come along to solve your melancholy mood."
"You are a good egg Brighton. I trust you are right. Now how
about some tea? Hmmm, that will wash away the dreams."
"Tea, capital. I will see if cook is awake." Hove started to walk
towards the door.
"I suppose a camp brew is out of the question then? There is some
fresh mint in the yard."
Hove laughed as the mention of mint tea swept away the years.
"Yes sir, Captain Holmes, one brew coming up." Hove stood to
attention and saluted.
"Dismissed," barked Holmes, in a mock order. His mood began to
dissipate behind his grin.
-------------------------
The day wore on. At half past seven precisely the mail arrived.
Hove dutifully picked it up. "One here marked for your immediate
and personal attention, dear chap."
Holmes stirred from his armchair for the first time that morning
and crossed to his desk. He retrieved the envelope, "Written by a
confident hand..." Ned slid the paperknife between the flap and
the unknown wax seal. Once open he unfolded the letter and read
it to himself with increasing interest.
'Dear Mr Holmes,
I write to ask your assistance in a most delicate matter. I am
the vicar of Saint Peter's Church in the town of Henley. Our
church is one of the oldest in the locale, being listed in the
Domesday Book and since those early days, we have been charged
with the care and protection of an ancient icon. To our eternal
shame, we have failed in this regard; Tuesday last, the vestry
was broken into and the icon seized. The fact that it was the
only thing taken causes me great concern. If this has been stolen
for the reason I suspect, then we are all in great moral danger.
I can not and will not attempt to describe the icon, save to say
that what it depicts is an outrage to all god-fearing men. If you
forgive my presumption I will visit you to discuss this in person
on Monday sixth of May. I will be arriving in Paddington at
Eleven-fifteen, and I will travel by cab to your premises at 2C
Chester Row in Belgravia. I hope for you forbearance with my
presumptive plans.
Yours sincerely.
William Carter Pearson.
Reverend of St. Peter's Church, Henley-upon-Thames.'
"Hove we should prepare for a visitor, a cleric wishes to engage
our services."
"A cleric? What can the church need from us?" asked a slack jawed
Brighton.
"For once I am unsure myself, but there are some minor clues in
the letter."
"The letter was addressed to you Holmes..."
Ned waved away the protest. Hove read the letter and then cocked
his head to the left, as was his habit upon being confused.
"What on earth can this icon depict?"
Holmes shrugged.
-------------------------
The long room echoed the shuffling steps in muted tones. Soon the
hushed group was fully assembled. They stood erectly with their
flowing robes stilled in the silent air. One stepped forward from
the ranks, confidently he made his way to the rear of a mock-
altar. Once there, he reached up and grasped an unseen cord. An
intake of hallowed breath sounded around the room as dark eyes
gazed upon their prize, drinking in the depravity depicted.
"Brothers, the 'Madonna’s fall' is back with us. The true
depiction of Mary succumbing to our dark lord’s caress. Few know
that Joseph sired one less of his 'mortal' children than he
thought. Jude was the child of our own dark lord, the founder of
our ancient tribe and the head of the 'illuminati'. Let us
celebrate our lord's possession of god's whore. Bring the girl!"
Two more brethren appeared through the door at the far end of the
chamber. Between them a woman garbed in a white tunic struggled
furiously. She stilled momentarily when her eyes fell on the icon
and then her panic increased. It was to no avail; resistant as
she was, she soon stood before the altar. It was then she noticed
the bulge distorting the front of the robe of the brother behind
the altar. Her scream rent apart the still air.
"No, no you can not! Please have mercy..."
Her voice was stilled as soon as the brother’s hand anointed her
head, the foul water was dragged across her forehead in the shape
of an inverted cross. She stood still, feeling the urgent,
unwanted desire course through her. She was determined not to be
led into temptation. Then the chanting began.
"Our father, who art in hell,"
Clarice moaned as her nipples hardened into stiff peaks.
"Feared be thy name, thy kingdom come,"
Clarice felt the flow of want spill down her thighs.
"Give us this day our darkest need,"
Clarice felt her clitoris part her lower lips in insistent
erection.
"Support us in our trespasses, and smite those who trespass
against us,"
Clarice moved her hand toward the red hotness between her thighs.
"Lead us into temptation, and deliver us through evil,"
Clarice pumped her thighs thrusting her wet folds against her
enquiring fingers.
"For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory,"
Clarice ripped the top of her tunic with her free hand and
plundered her swinging breasts savagely.
"For ever and ever, worldsend."
Clarice threw herself onto the altar spreading her limbs and
pleasuring herself lewdly. A moment later the brother mounted
her, stabbing his hard gnarled pego deep within her. With
relentless unbridled passion the brother’s glans pounded against
Clarice's virgin womb. Together the carnal couple acted out the
despicable act shown on the icon.
Around them the brothers fumbled under their distended robes,
gradually they walked towards the altar continually reciting
their obscene 'Lords prayer'. At the moment of passion each
brother ejaculated, depositing his seed on the writhing woman.
Eventually the brother astride Clarice dismounted. He turned to
his dishevelled brothers.
"The Whore of Nazareth is reborn!" He called; his brothers broke
into wild celebration.
Clarice sat up on the Altar and observed her servants with a
lascivious grin. She stood, ignoring the streams of semen that
streamed down her lithe body. In a voice dripping with forbidden
delights, she spoke.
"All it needs for evil to prosper is that good men do nothing. No
man, good or evil, can resist me. Our victory is assured!"
The unnatural orgy began in earnest.
-------------------------
The Reverend walked the few steps to the door of 2C, he paused to
read the brass plate beside the door.
'Holmes & Hove Private Investigators'.
He sighed, gathered his resolve and tapped on the door. The man
who answered the door was slightly shorter, and possibly younger
than the Reverend. He certainly had an air of military
confidence.
"Ah, the Reverend Pearson I presume?" He paused, waiting for the
confirmatory nod and then continued, "Pray join us, can we offer
you some refreshment after your journey?"
"A tea would be most welcome. Mr Holmes?"
"No, sorry allow me to introduce myself, I am Brighton Hove, his
partner." Hove extended a hand and passed his calling card to the
Reverend.
"I see. My business is with Mr Holmes, Mr Hove. I do not wish to
appear rude but..."
"I'm sorry to interrupt you but Mr Holmes has made me aware of
your circumstances."
"He has! How very unfortunate, I had hoped..."
"Our discretion is assured, Reverend Pearson."
Pearson nodded and walked towards the receiving room, two paces
behind the striding Hove. Once he entered the room he was greeted
by a slightly more mature and taller gentleman.
"Mr Holmes?" He asked.
"Indeed, Ned Holmes at your service, Reverend Pearson."
"I had imagined someone of greater maturity." The Reverend
stated.
"As had I, maybe it is a young man’s world after all." Holmes
smiled.
William Pearson chuckled and a smile graced his face for the
first time in days. "Let us hope that we young men are up to the
task. An onerous task as it turns out."
"Tell me more. I was very intrigued by your letter." Holmes
indicated a chair to the Reverend and duly sat in his own. Hove
followed suit, sitting between Pearson and Ned on a less
resplendent chair with a pressed cane seat.
"I am happy to tell you more Mr Holmes, alone in confidence."
"Brighton and I are partners, what one hears - we both hear
Reverend Pearson." Holmes replied, with a kind smile.
"I understand, but this is a most unusual case. The fewer that
know of it the better."
"Then you have a choice, either tell us both, or neither of us.
Those are my terms of business."
"Very well, needs drive, needs drive."
The Reverend began his long and sorry tale. There were many side
discussions and exclamations of surprise. As the conversation
wound towards its close, Pearson produced an envelope.
"What the two of you are about to see, you must disclose to no
other man. Ever."
With shaking hands, William Pearson withdrew two pieces of paper
from the envelope. One was the size of a normal letter, the other
the size of a calling card. With an uncertain motion William
turned over the largest piece of paper.
"Good god! That is an outrage, an abomination." Hove gasped.
"Yes, you see the reason for our concern. This tears at the very
fabric of our faith."
Calmly Holmes interjected. "I would rather see what is on the
smaller piece of paper, if you would be so kind?"
With an air of repugnance William flipped over the card. Written
on the card was one sole phrase.
'Monks of Medmenham’
Holmes sighed. "As I suspected. We are indeed in deep water. I
accept the challenge of this case, in the full knowledge of the
risks."
"God bless you my son, this is to aid you on your way. My prayers
and heartfelt thanks are with you."
William rose. "I have matters to attend to back in my flock, good
day gentlemen!"
Hove escorted the Reverend to the door and from there to his cab.
Pearson gazed out on the busy streets with wonder and concern.
How could so many survive in this overcrowded place? What hope
was there for their immortal souls? He sincerely doubted there
was any. The city lacked the refinement and hope of his home
town. William sighed, maybe he should move - reside where god was
so clearly needed. Deep in thought, he made his way towards
Paddington station. He was interrupted by a beggar.
"Penny for the flowers - Sir?"
William reached in to his waistcoat pocket to retrieve some
change. As he dropped it into the girl's extended hand his eyes
met hers. As they did William's immortal soul fell into the dark
depths of Clarice's bottomless, soulless eyes.
-------------------------
His head hung low like a man aslumber. His craggy, pale features
were partly hidden by the robes loose hood. He stared intently at
the dark surface of the wooden table before him, his lips moving
in a silent incantation. The door opened and she entered.
"Well, do you have news?" He asked, without moving.
"I have news Brother Dashwood. The foolish Reverend has employed
a private investigator, he wishes to recover the 'Madonna'."
"Excellent, so he believes in our subterfuge - we can use this.
An investigator you say, that is of no concern. Our plans are
bigger than one man, one country, or even one continent!"
Dashwood smiled manically.
"Yes brother, we will crush them. The cleric is strong though, he
has a true faith."
"Faith is good, we just need to shift the object of it, and we
shall have him. He will have no recollection of the meeting?"
"No mental recollection, I did leave him with a reminder of our
meeting though."
Dashwood roared his approval "You took the Vicar! You had the man
of god?" he guffawed.
"Oh yes, and he has the passion as well as the faith. He needs
some training in the ways of lust, but he shows real promise."
"So he is marked and vulnerable?" Dashwood asked.
"Marked yes, but strong. It will take time and resolve to weaken
him."
"Clarice, you have done well. But your skills of dark seduction
are for a more select audience. Do not waste your time on this
fool."
"Brother, I sense he is a strong one. A worthy addition to our
flock."
"Worthy maybe, but not influential. Our aim is higher Clarice."
"I have needs Dashwood. Needs you gave me, I demand diversions."
"And I have one for you. One I selected personally."
Dashwood snapped his long, bony fingers. A panel slid back and
two hooded figures emerged, between them stood a teenaged girl.
Dashwood nodded, and the trio walked forward.
Another nod and they stopped. Dashwood smiled briefly, he clicked
his fingers once more. The brethren each grasped one shoulder of
the girl's tunic and pulled, the garment fluttered to the floor.
The blonde girl's barely mature body was exposed to the cold cave
air; her nipples puckered.
"But she is a woman, I have not taken a woman." Whispered
Clarice.
Dashwood smiled sardonically, and closed his eyes for a moment
of intense concentration. When his eyelids pulled back his eyes
had taken on an electric blue hue. "Do as thy wilt shall be the
whole of the law!"
All hesitation left Clarice, she walked directly to the shivering
girl and brought her hands up to cup the generous globes of her
bosom. Insistently her fingers tugged at the indolent tips.
The girl sighed, shifting her weight slightly and parting her
trembling legs. Clarice fell to her knees, bringing her mouth
close to the girl's navel. At the touch of Clarice's tongue the
girl's stomach drew back. "Oh nooo..." she gasped. Her hands did
contradict her words and fell to ruffle Clarice's auburn hair.
Encouraged Clarice swept her tongue down in long, liquid arc's
targeting the fine patch of fair hair. Succulent lips met
crinkled labia and fused.
Reluctantly Dashwood walked away from the charming tableau,
indicating to his brethren that they should follow. The chamber
they left was soon filled with gasps and tender cries.
-------------------------
"Well Holmes! That was incredible. Do you believe him?"
"Which part of our discussion do you reference Hove?"
"All of it I suppose, is he a madman? - That picture was just -
impossible."
"The icon is possible, his description of its qualities I doubt."
"Ah you doubt what it depicts?" Brighton sighed.
"I really can not comment, I am a man of science, not of
religion. My rational mind tells me that the icon is not
indestructible. Logic tells me that no inanimate object is
capable of renewing itself."
"But the Reverend told us of its survival through fire, storm and
attack. Whatever happened to it, the following day it was all
ways renewed, untouched by events - no matter how extreme they
were. What does that tell you?"
"It tells me there may be more than one icon." Holmes smiled.
"More than one? I do not understand."
"Let us surmise that the illuminati have a vested interest in the
propagation of this blasphemous untruth. They would have the
resources to replace a damaged icon with a duplicate, knowing it
would only add to the images repute."
Brighton grimaced. "Holmes this is too much, how do the
illuminati come into this?"
Ned wrapped an affectionate arm around Brighton's shoulder. "I
apologise, I am not making myself very clear am I?"
Brighton shook his head. "As clear as mud old chap. Maybe the
lack of clarity lies in my mind?"
"You know who the 'Monks of Medmenham' were?" Holmes asked.
"Indeed, the Hellfire club, but that tomfoolery was done with a
hundred years ago. Ned, it is history."
"Now, I am not as certain as you of this, there was a rumour that
Sir Francis met with the illuminati during his 'grand tour' of
Europe. If that is the case the Hellfire club could have had
their blessing. The fabled 'Monks' may have passed on but the
illuminati are still with us. Still waiting."
"Sir Francis?"
"Sir Francis Dashwood, 15th Baron le Despencer - the founder of
the Hellfire club. A club fabled for its orgiastic and satanic
rituals."
"But was he not..." Hove gasped.
"Chancellor of the Exchequer, yes he was. Only one place removed
from the Prime Minister. Such is the power of the illuminati."
"My god! Only one more question Holmes."
"Of course, ask away."
"Who are the illuminati?"
Ned laughed heartily. "The illuminati originate from Bavaria,
they consider themselves the 'illuminated ones'. The holders of
the ultimate truth. The hidden force behind world powers.
Misguided and dangerous fools, but a real force for evil in the
world."
"And we have agreed to take them on?" Asked Brighton.
Holmes nodded, his expression was grave.
-------------------------
The Reverend sighed as he hung his hat on the coat-stand in the
hallway of the vicarage, it had been a long day. His housekeeper
walked from the kitchen and smiled briefly before speaking.
"How was your journey into London Reverend Pearson?"
"Awful, do you have any idea of the moral turpitude in that dark
City. It is disgraceful. Henley is much more godly Mary."
"I do not doubt it sir, I have never seen the attraction of the
City."
"No, nor should you be tempted Mary. I value your soul too much,
and so should you."
"Have no fear William. Now, some supper after your trials?"
Pearson smiled. "How can I resist, although I do not want to
become as portly as my father was Mary."
"Good food did him no harm, no harm at all."
"No I am aware of that Mary, it was the consumption. I had no
intention to suggest anything else."
Innocently Mary moved forward and tapped William's stomach. "Skin
and bone, just skin and bone." She joked, but her laughter died
on her lips. Even as an innocent it was obvious to her that her
touch had enflamed the normally docile Reverend. He moved
swiftly, and kissed her roughly. Mary pulled away in terror.
"I am so sorry Mary. I have no idea of what came over me. I
apologise profusely."
Mary just trembled, as confused by her own response as she was by
William's lust.
"I will pass on supper Mary, and go straight to my bed. Please
put this far from your mind. It will never happen again,
goodnight."
William walked to the stairwell and ascended the stairs wearily.
In his bedroom he undressed swiftly and he was just pulling his
night-smock over his head when he saw it. Beside his bobbing
erection, just to the right of his manhood was a raised reddened
circle.
He touched it warily, running his finger tip over its surface.
William winced at the dual sensations of pleasure and pain.
Something made him frown and he moved closer to the mirror to
examine the wound. Gingerly he pulled back the wiry hairs for a
clearer view. There he saw it, reflected and inverted, but there
could be no doubt, it was the first of the three sixes that
formed the mark.
The Reverend William Pearson felt his blood run cold.
-------------------------
Dashwood entered the ante-room. He nodded and took his place at
the head of the table. He spoke in a reverential tone.
"We here assembled vow our lives to Satan, death unto death. Say
I, Albert Dashwood."
"Say I, Ralph Vansittart."
"Say I, George Hogarth."
"Say I Theodore Potter."
"Say I, Frederick Duffield."
"Say I, Ernst Thomson."
"And I, Peter Whitehead."
Dashwood spoke once more. "We the Monks of Medmenham, sons of the
Hellfire club salute you dark lord. Watch over your brethren."
"Well?" Said Vansittart, impatiently.
"All goes to plan, except for one small detail." Replied
Dashwood.
"Small details are important man! What is it?" Barked Hogarth.
"The Reverend managed to hire a private detective prior to
Clarice finding him."
"His name? Address? He must be despatched!" Said Duffield.
"Details we lack at this point brethren."
"Then Clarice must be issued forth to deal with the unruly
priest."
"My feelings too. Are we agreed?" Asked Dashwood.
"We are!" Came the resounding reply.
"Then let us project." Ordered Dashwood.
The seated brethren joined hands and tilted their heads backwards
in silent exultation.
-------------------------
Clarice writhed atop the girl, her head wedged between the
sullied maiden's legs; just as securely as was the maiden's head
between hers. Her mouth worked on the soft folds, probing,
nibbling - finding the spot. Clarice was rewarded with a warm
draft of fluid which she drunkenly guzzled. And then...
Coldness, darkness, the rushing of wind. Madly her spirit flew,
high above West Wycombe, then veering steeply it swept away to
the south.
Clarice's world came back into focus. She was elsewhere.
As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness she could make out
the room. It was a bedroom, but not one like her own. No this one
was bare, austere in comparison. Her ears pricked up, she sensed
the heavy breathing. Creeping forward she found the source, the
Reverend Pearson lying on his crumpled bed, his night-smock
around his neck as he urgently manipulated his turgid organ.
Clarice smiled and then bent to take William's manhood in her
warm mouth. The questions could wait, at least for a while.
-------------------------
Mary woke early, as was her way. But this day she did not rush to
rise. She lay still, swaddled in the twisted sheets, her mind
consumed by the fierce embrace that William had laid on her last
evening. She knew he should not have given into his temptation,
but she forgave him that easily.
She was however harsher on herself. She had been brought up to
know better. She knew the fate of the adulteress, yet it was not
the warning fires of hell that warmed her blood. No to her shame,
it was William’s urgent touch. The thoughts faded as soon as he
spoke.
"Come on Mary, move thy self, or you will be late for the
Reverend." Thomas chided from the bedroom door.
"I may not go to the vicarage today Thomas my love." She
replied.
"Why are thee ill Mary?" Thomas asked, his grey eyes showing
naught but concern.
"I am..." Mary coughed, "I am unsure if I should ever return
there Thomas."
Thomas crossed the room and sat on the edge of their bed, he
stroked back his almost white hair with a trembling hand. "But
why? Has something happened?"
"A valuable icon has vanished from the vestry."
"Why should that concern you," Thomas paused, "Surely they do
not
think you took it?"
"No, nothing like that. It is just that since the theft the
vicarage seems unwelcoming, even evil."
"Mary I am shocked. How can you, of all people, say such a
thing?
No, this will not do. If you leave now you will be suspected. I
forbid it!"
"Please Thomas, I know my own mind in this." Mary protested.
"I have spoken Mary, and as your husband and your elder I know
better of these things. You will do as I direct you, and no more
of this foolhardy attitude."
So saying Thomas reached over and picked up the bible that sat
beside his side of the bed.
"Now let me see, yes, yes this is it. Read here Mary and be
guided, see Proverbs 'If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy
strength is small'." Thomas smiled down at Mary patiently.
"Yes Thomas, I see." Mary said quietly.
"Good! The answer to all things is in here Mary. We shall
speak of this no more. I must go now; the farm will not tend
itself." So saying Thomas rose stiffly and limped towards the
door. "Maybe this day the Lord will even loosen my aching
bones."
"I pray it is so Thomas."
"You are a good wife Mary, try to avoid the petulance of youth
and you will surely prosper." Thomas smiled indulgently and
closed the bedroom door.
Mary sighed once, deeply, and then rose to face the day ahead.
-------------------------
Holmes paced steadily, puffing deeply on his beloved pipe. His
brow was furrowed with the effort of his consternation. Hove
looked on expectantly, as he knew the symptoms well. As if to a
cue Ned stopped pacing, turned and focussed his steady gaze
on Brighton.
"This is our plan of campaign. I will go to the library and study
the texts on the illuminati and the notorious Hellfire club. I
want you to go to the Cartographer in Regent Street; there you
will acquire the most detailed maps you can of Henley, West
Wycombe and Medmenham. Both modern day maps and also maps drawn
in the late Eighteenth Century."
Hove nodded.
"We need to understand our enemy if we are to defeat him."
Holmes murmured.
"And regain this accused icon, eh what, old boy." Added
Brighton.
"Forget the icon Hove, it is but a diversion. A device to fool
the uncertain follower. All it does is help the illuminati in
their quest to rule us all. Gain the mind of man and his heart
will soon follow"
"Yes, precisely - my thoughts entirely Ned. So we destroy the
icon, and free them!"
"You miss my point, we must expose the icon for the subterfuge
it is. We must undermine the mind games of the illuminati. It is
the only way, and somewhere there is a clue how to do it. The
clue is what we must find and soon - for I fear the game is
afoot."
Brighton scratched the back of his head with gusto.
"I think I will just go and get these maps Holmes and leave
you to puzzle this one through."
"Excellent, yes do, do. Oh and Brighton - be careful."
"Really Holmes I doubt if a map shop contains too much for me
to fear. Toodle-pip old bean."
Holmes did not reply, he had begun to pace once more.
-------------------------
William Pearson was in top form. He had slept like a top and
now he ate a hearty breakfast. He shifted his seat back a
little and pushed his almost empty plate away, he then drained
the last of his tea with relish.
"You are very quiet this morning Mary, are you quite well?"
"Quite well Reverend, I am just a little upset about the events
of last evening." Mary said shyly.
"Really, what events would they be Mary?"
"Surely you remember?"
"How can I remember anything, when I arrived home you had
already departed for the day."
"Departed, but..." Mary's reply was cut short.
"No need to apologise Mary. I was extremely late back. I did not
expect you to wait for me." William paused, "Still I must away
now, tempus fugit Mary. Oh, and please, give my regards to
Thomas when you see him."
Mary slumped down in William's vacated chair, just as soon as
she
heard the front door close. Tears streamed down her face, did
she
imagine last night she wondered? Or was William being
insufferably cruel? He did seem very different. Was she going
mad?
Her fevered brain stopped in its deliberations. Someone was
singing. Someone was singing upstairs! Slowly Mary made her way
up the staircase, avoiding the creaky steps. Steadily she worked
her way towards the sound issuing from William's bedroom.
"Early one morning, just as I was rising,
I heard a sweet maiden in the valley below,"
Mary gazed unbelievingly at the naked back of a woman wearing
only her drawers. She sat before the mirror of William's
dresser, and brushed her auburn hair vigorously.
"Oh, don't deceive me, Oh never leave me,
How could you treat a poor maiden so!"
Without warning the woman turned and looked directly into
Mary's eyes. With a flick of her eyes the temptress encouraged
Mary to look lower, and feast her senses on the smooth hillocks
of her breasts. Without a word the woman rose and moved to the
bed, where she reclined. She raised a lazy hand and beckoned
Mary to her side.
Mary felt her legs respond, despite her mind and soul; she
stumbled toward the succubus. Once at the creatures side Mary
stiffened, her body attempting to rebel against the fingers that
stole under her dress hem and slid upwards along her calf.
The vision spoke.
"I am Clarice, and we shall be friends. Close friends."
Mary tried to turn, to run, to resist, but something in the
voice held her still. It was the feeling of Clarice's hand on
her thigh that broke the trance. At last she could move!
Mary bent forward and took Clarice's hard right nipple bud
between her lips. Somewhere deep in Mary's mind a verse from
proverbs echoed.
-------------------------
He sat far back in his cab seat, he was travel-weary. But at
least he was on the jpurneys final leg. He gazed out at the thick
London fog and shuddered. Even through the yellow haze he knew
where he was; this was Threadneedle Street, they had made good
time.
"Hya up! Gwan now..." Called the driver in his impenetrable
accent.
The carriage swung to the left and rattled over the cobblestones
of Finch Lane. At once he realised where he was headed. 'The
George and Vulture' he thought, and smiled wryly, 'So
traditional, so predictable, so very English.'
He stalked into the bar and saw that his host was already there.
Without hesitation he walked to Dashwood. When he spoke he could
barely contain his irony.
"Where else brother, where else." His smile was easy and
deceptively warm.
"You would rather we met at the caves?" Asked Dashwood, his face
a mask of concern.
"No, not at all. This place has a longer tradition than the
caves,
Dashwood - it seems appropriate."
"Good, I would not want to offend you..." Dashwood waited for
his
guest to supply his name.
"You have not, and you may call me Membre Sancti." His guest
replied.
"One of the inner circle, I am honoured Membre Sancti." Dashwood
templed his fingers, blowing on them lightly.
"Indeed, due to the importance of your mission to the brethren.
Mind you, should you fail the response will be more immediate
and
less respectful."
"As is understood. How may I assist?"
"I need news of the diversion."
"It progresses well Membre Sancti, the girl is convinced and our
cover is in place. We have one issue to settle prior to making
our move."
"Which is?" The guest scowled.
"The disposal of a private investigator, nothing to concern the
circle, I assure you."
"May I hold your hands Dashwood?"
"Of course." Dashwood separated his fingertips and dropped his
now dry hands into the gloved hands of his guest.
The Membre Sancti closed his eyes and gripped Dashwood's hands
in
his vice-like grip. Dashwood grimaced, partly due to his crushed
digits, but mostly due to presence of another in his mind.
Eventually the examination ended and the guest opened his dark
eyes.
"Your heart is true to the brotherhood, but your mind is too
certain. Keep this investigator alive, the brethren may have a
use for him."
"But we have decided on our action." Dashwood protested.
"No. Let me be very precise with my English. The fact is you had
decided. The decision is revoked!" The Membre Sancti brought his
gloved fist down on the table with enough force to temporarily
silence the public house chatter.
Dashwood went to swallow, but he lacked the spittle. Meekly he
nodded.
"Here are your orders, follow them to the letter. Use the dark
arts as you must, but be aware these are just our disguise. Do
not make the mistake of your forebears and let them seduce you.
That way lies death, not salvation."
"Of course, I obey." Dashwood bowed his head.
"Now my indulgent brother, I am tired - are my rooms prepared."
"They are indeed Membre Sancti, to the letter of your stated
requirements."
"That is most gratifying. Farewell - for we shall not meet in
the
morrow, my task leads me onwards Dashwood, always onwards."
"I understand your grace, goodnight."
The tall man stood and made his way to the stairs, he did not
look back.
"You are in room..." Dashwood's voice was stilled by the
dismissive wave of the Membre Sancti's right hand.
Neither of the men noticed the interest paid to them by a
gentleman who sat beside the stairwell. He did not draw
attention
to his presence in any way, he just quietly and thoughtfully
smoked his pipe.
The tall man reached the first floor, and walked unerringly to
the third door on the right in the low corridor. He opened the
door
and looked towards the occupied bed. He smiled when he saw the
locks of curly dark hair covering both the identical pillows.
Dashwood was good to his word. The Membre Sancti crossed to the
bed and roughly pulled back the covers. His eyes feasted on the
two erect man stalks that, as yet, stood untouched.
For the first time since leaving the inner sanctum the Membre
Sancti removed his fine leather gloves.
-------------------------
William had spent most of his day completing the preparations
for the forthcoming baptism of baby Howlett, soon to be Martha
Howlett. He always enjoyed the process of welcoming a new small
soul into the family of god. Even this could not maintain his
mood, as gradually the memory of the previous night returned to
haunt him. William recoiled when he recalled his barely-
provoked attack on Mary. What must she think of him? The poor
woman must have felt he was denying her this morning, what a
Judas he was!
The Reverend locked the door of the church and sullenly walked
away. At least Mary would be gone now and he need not face his
sin. Cowardice had persuaded him to put things right in the
morrow. His mind turned to the cause of his behaviour, he was
certain that this had something to do with the accursed icon.
Since he’d first laid eyes on it, he had detested it. William's
mind took him back to that fateful happening in his childhood.
The night had been wild, storms lashed at the vicarage and the
insistent tapping of the branches on Will's window had filled
his head with unwanted images. In his young mind, witches flew
and the dead whispered from the adjacent graveyard. A loud peal
of thunder was the final straw. Will left the scant comfort his
bedclothes had provided, and headed off to find reassurance.
His quest eventually led him to his father's study. The room lay
in darkness but Will could just make out his father's figure. He
stood on this side of his desk facing the window, his head bowed
as if in prayer. Will hesitated, he did not want to interrupt his
father's commune with god, even at his tender age he understood
its importance. That was when the lightning struck and young
Will learnt of the icon.
Multiple flashes of intense blue light rendered a nightmarish
scene; the icon, the virgin Mary, the beast, his obscenely large
appendage, the look of hatred in his father's eyes. More flashes;
the staccato motion of his father's hand, his grotesquely large
organ. The spurts that issued from it. The pool of seed on the
icon. Will fled, his young mind sure that he had just seen the
devil incarnate, both in the icon and in his beloved father.
Will never spoke of this; neither as a child nor as an adult.
Over the years he saw his father's health fail; the doctors
called and named the illness, consumption. But William knew that
although the name was apt, it was not the disease that consumed
his father, burnt his youth and laid him to waste.
No, he knew the true source. He had seen it. The irony became
complete a year ago, when finally his father’s brave struggle
ended; William took over his job and his responsibilities. One of
these was most sour; to guard the very icon that had corrupted
and killed his father.
William stopped walking; he had reached the door to his manse.
He opened it, and crossed more than one threshold.
-------------------------
Hove had walked briskly on, not even, as was his habit pausing in
Green park for his favourite stroll up Constitution Hill. No, on
this day, Brighton strode on by making his way rapidly along
Piccadilly soon he turned left, finding his way through to
Saville Row and finally into the heart of Regent Street.
His pace slowed, he was unsure of the precise location of the
shop but he was fairly sure it was a quarter of a mile or so
further, on this side. He scoured the shop fronts as he walked,
then he spied it - just the other side of Prince's street; J
Brown and Brothers, Purveyors of Fine Maps, Charts and
Astronomical instruments.
Brighton smiled, his sense of direction had not failed him, it
was innate, but Infantry training and the pressure of the Sudan
had honed his skill to perfection. He sighed, damn it all, he was
getting as bad as Ned, the Sudan and the Mahdi were long gone.
This was civilisation not the killing fields of Abu Klea. Sadly
he shook his head and crossed Prince's Street.
Once in the shop he approached the vendor, a largish gentleman
with a handlebar moustache. "I wonder if you can assist me. I am
looking for maps of a very specific area of Buckinghamshire.
They must be highly detailed. Oh, and before I forget both
ancient and modern. The places of interest are West Wycombe,
Henley and..." Before Brighton could complete his list the
moustachioed man did.
"Medmenham! How odd. Very specific but identical to the last
gentleman. What a co-incidence."
"Incredible yes. Erm, the last gentleman was?" Hove felt the
hairs on the back of his neck bristle.
"Behind you, the man browsing at the London Street guides. If
you will excuse me I will just retrieve your maps."
"Yes thank you." Hove replied, then stole a sideward glance at
his fellow customer. An unremarkable but clearly foreign chap,
squarish forehead and lantern jawed. 'Could be a Hun' Hove
thought to himself, suddenly Brighton found himself staring
directly into the man’s intense, dark eyes. He blinked once, and
the man had diverted his gaze concentrating on the guide once
more. Hove thought it odd that he had not taken his gloves off to
do this, surely it would be easier?"
"Here we are Sir, six maps just as requested." The shopkeeper
did a quick mental calculation, "That will be £2.11s.6p and one
farthing, please."
Ned reached for his wallet and smiled, he handed the shopkeeper a
£5 note. Hove heard the bell on the shop door sound, he glanced
around and noticed the Germanic man had left. He made up his mind
in an instant and rushed to the door himself, ignoring the
surprised shopkeeper’s cries.
"Sir! Sir, your change!"
-------------------------
Holmes was gleeful, he enjoyed nothing more than perusing books
and discovering gems of information. As an only child, books ad
been his one constant companion, they taught him and provided
his fertile imagination with lands, indeed whole worlds to
explore. Yes he truly loved books, even so, some of the works
he delved into today taxed him sorely.
The woodcut illustrations of demons and rituals abhorred him. Not
the practices so much, for he thought it very unlikely any of
this was true. If anything he was a little ambivalent about god,
but as for the fallen angel and hell, these were just tales to
scare the uncertain. No, his abhorrence was for the darkness that
resided in the human, and the fact that it could be communicated
so effectively to others, slowly eroding their morality.
The morality he, and all others, depended on for civilisation.
The one true and honourable thing the Empire stood for, the only
reason for laying one life down; as he so nearly had. No this
was tumour, eating at the heart of civilised behaviour, cut it
out - or surely it would spread. Ned suppressed a shudder of
revulsion at the very idea.
Ned’s next read was more enlightened, a treatise on the 'Knights
of St. Francis'. Reasonably it pointed out that the 'Knights' of
Francis Dashwood were men of standing, in politics, the arts and
society. As such these men may have a liking for fine wine and
women, but that the occult stories were mere fantasies created
by the press of the time and subsequently, the product of
nothing more sinister that jealousy. Although this cheered
Holmes somewhat, it did add weight to the theory of the
illuminati being involved. For the illuminati and power went
hand in glove.
Holmes lent back and pinched the brow of his nose, for the faded
print had taken is toll and his head thumped in furious pain. He
concentrated to clear it, decisions were needed, fast, correct
decisions. Tonight he would visit the 'George and Vulture' the
public house where the Hellfire club had been conceived. If
nothing else he could gain some background, maybe into the reason
for the destruction by fire of the first pub that had born that
name.
Holmes stood and made his exit from the library. Once outside
he lit his churchwarden. Magically the pain in his head
subsided. 'And Hove thinks this is bad for me, tsk tsk!'
Thought Holmes, as he walked off to find a cab.
-------------------------
Brighton burst through the Cartographer's doorway and out onto
Regent Street almost colliding with a mature matron.
"Sir! Please have some care." She grumbled.
Brighton muttered his apologies before rushing off in the
direction of Buckingham Palace. He left a very irate woman in
his wake.
"Really, these young people! Just what is happening to manners
these days?"
She was left to wonder, as Brighton in his hurry, was already a
good fifty yards away. He dropped his pace slightly as he got
within yards of the 'Hun'. Hove puffed happily, this was his
chance to do some real detection, the sort Holmes would approve
of. He calmed his urgent breathing and kept a few pedestrians
between himself and his target. His stealth was pointless, as
his perceptive target was already award of his presence.
The walk was uneventful, the man crossed at the end of the
street, to the far side of Piccadilly. Hove wondered idly if the
unknown man was heading for Hove's home base. The idea of course
was foolish. He was proved wrong when the gentleman turned left
into Green Park. Hove increased his pace to avoid his quarry
slipping away.As he entered the park, Hove realised he had
failed. The man had simply vanished!
Hove was lifted off his feet, a strong right arm wound around his
waist and a gloved left hand sealed his lips. The smell of fine
leather drifted up his nostrils. A second later he was dragged
into the bushes at the park entrance.
"So my fine friend, what is your fascination with me?" A soft
Germanic voice whispered in his ear.
The hand finally relaxed to let him reply, his feet however
still dangled.
"Fascination, Sir I have no idea of what you mean! Unhand me
now."
"Oh, an innocent are we?" The voice cracked into a nasty laugh.
"Let me see you, I am going to release you. If you attempt to
flee, I will kill you Sir."
For some unknown reason Hove did as he was told, he stood facing
his assailant.
"Most pleasant, restful on the eyes. And my, Sir you are well
proportioned, are you not. Now be so kind as to undo your
britches for me..." Asked the assailant.
The very suggestion broke through Hove's daze.
"I shall not, the very idea. We have laws in this Country Sir!
We..." Hove's voice was cut off in it's entirety by a dismissive
wave of his assailant's right hand.
"I know of this despotic Countries opinion of me and my 'kind'. I
know of the music halls and the outrageous jokes you make of us
'Earnest's'. But as ridiculed as we are, we can frighten more
than the horse's, Sir. Your cruel Country has something I want
and I shall have it. You have got something I want, and I shall
see it. Now!"
Brighton found that his mouth would not move, he could not
emote the words that burned in his mind. To his horror however
his hands would move, and unerringly they proceeded to undo his
britches and extract his flaccid organ. The man moved towards
Hove and without shame he gripped the shaft of his man-stalk.
"Very solid and attractive, but I am sure it can be encouraged
to blossom." The man spoke quietly.
The assailant tightened his grip and began to manipulate
Brighton's pego with easy strokes. Hove died inside, but in spite
of his feelings his member responded to the experienced touch
and reared up. The frequency of the gloved hands motion
increased, causing Hove to tremble as his desire and erection
grew.
Now the assailant laughed cruelly, "Oh dear, I think you will
disgrace yourself Sir, how very unfortunate." The hand now nipped
and relaxed, as it polished Brighton's stalk with urgent
friction. Hove felt his shame approaching, try as he might,
however hard he fought he could not prevent it.
As Brighton grimaced, long streams of his seed shot forth,
coating the surrounding leaves with a thick white deposit. He
never recovered to feel the enormity of the sin against him, for
as he swayed in the midst of his pleasure, a heavy hand clubbed
down on the back of his neck. The world as viewed by Hove swam,
and then darkened.
"Farewell Sir, I have what I needed, and you are without whatever
it was you desired." The man smirked, "Just as with you, I shall
take your Country and all I desire from it."
The man wiped his gloved hand with his handkerchief before
continuing his stroll. A few minutes later he had a view of
Buckingham Palace from the peak of Constitution Hill. He waited
while a couple strolled by him, he touched the brim of his hat
briefly in apparent respect. Once alone he spoke his oath.
"I, a member of the Sancti of Illuminati, vow to undermine Her
Britannic Majesty and usurp her Empire. Or die in the process!"
He stepped back and continued to stroll, he had some time
before his meeting with Dashwood. Wherever it was to be. All he
knew was he must meet his carriage at the entrance to Green
Park at seven o'clock on this very eve.
-------------------------
Mary walked down the stairs, on this journey she used much less
care than she had on ascent. She saw the look of abject horror on
William's face, as he drank in the vision that was her nakedness.
Mary did a very simple, but seductive thing. She turned on the
stairs and then she looked over her shoulder, just before she
started returning to the upper floor.
William followed her, with his eyes to start with and then his
body. As his foot settled on the lower step, a loud hammering at
the door halted him. Only duty encouraged him to turn and answer
the door. When he did, he was face-to-face and eyeball-to-eyeball
with the last person he wanted to see.
"Thomas, how can I help?" William asked.
"I am sorry to disturb thee Reverend, but Mary has not arrived
home yet. Is she within?"
William did not hesitate, his mind was set. "No, Thomas, she
left maybe an hour since. I hope you find her soon."
Thomas blinked, then nodded and walked away, his shoulders
slumped.
William closed the door gently, and rushed to the stairs. Once
there, he bounded up them three steps at a stride. He swung open
the bedroom door and wandered towards the hedonistic tableau
before him. Clarice lay spread-eagled on the bed, her legs
dangling loosely to the floor. Mary was in a supplicant pose
between them, her mouth and tongue productively occupied.
William raised his cassock and freed himself. He knelt
behind Mary and consummated his hot desire.
-------------------------
Holmes arrived home late, tired but satisfied. He not only had a
better idea of the illuminati's plan, but his research in the
library had turned up a clue. A clue that fitted in nicely with
the unwelcome, be-gloved visitor. Yes, it had been a productive,
if inordinately long day. As Holmes relaxed he realised there was
no sign of Hove - or indeed the much needed maps. Well it was
late, maybe Brighton had done the sensible thing and gone to bed.
Holmes yawned, that now seemed a capital idea, he would retire as
well. Ned walked to the front door and securely bolted it. Weary
of the day, he trudged up the stairs to his lonely bedroom.
-------------------------
Things were much more active at the manse. Clarice had withdrawn
and prepared to leave the vicarage. She would have already left
had she known her destination, but she had no defined plans. She
had expected guidance but even when she concentrated none was
forthcoming. She relaxed and turned her attention to the coupling
of the two young lovers. Their mutual lust was impressive, they
had explored and penetrated each other for hours, but their
enthusiasm was undiminished.
Mary knelt on all fours while William ploughed her furrow with
glee. His left hand steadied himself against her buttock whilst
his right dug long fingers into her rear passage. Clarice
marvelled at how quickly the innocents became debauched, it was a
testament to Satan's power. She felt her own quim contract at the
very thought of her masters name, idly she wondered what her
reward would be. The obscene details that filled her head
encouraged her to rub her thighs together in appreciation.
She dimly realised, through a curtain of desire, that the room
was becoming light. How could it be dawn so soon, had she really
gazed on at the fornicators for so very long? A shaft of sunlight
crept between the window shade and the frame; its presence
answered her question. She had! A loud rapping sounded from
downstairs. The sensual couple ignored it resolutely and
continued their love making at a pace. When the rap sounded again
Clarice decided to investigate.
She opened the door to a smirking Dashwood.
"How are things progressing? Is our Reverend initiated in the
carnal arts?" He asked.
"More than initiated, immersed I would say. Both him and his
housekeeper..." Clarice replied.
"Housekeeper? Was that strictly necessary?"
"As I have said before. I have my needs!" Clarice snapped.
"Indeed, but we do not want to create a fuss in the village."
Dashwood growled.
"Do not forget who I am! I am the re-incarnation..."
"I apologise profusely. Please accept my humble apologies."
Dashwood urgently added.
"Accepted, do not forget again. I may not be so amenable."
Clarice warned.
Dashwood nodded, he then followed Clarice into the manse. As he
walked, dark thoughts ran through him. 'I shall delight in
personally removing her delusions of grandeur once this pretence
is over. Remove them I will, with relish and delight; should she
want it or not.' When Clarice turned, Dashwood beamed a
sycophantic smile.
They sat in the study, Clarice behind the Reverend's polished
desk and Dashwood schoolboy-like before it.
"Do you think the Reverend will do as you direct?"
"Once he has had his fill of Mary he may." Clarice replied.
"Now is the time to find out, I want him to summon his detective
here."
"Why do we want to encourage this investigator?"
"The illuminati requires it. That is enough." Dashwood replied,
his annoyance showing.
"As maybe. What if I do not agree?"
"Do you agree?"
"I see no reason to object."
"Then let us get it done, now that you have decided, my lady."
Clarice smiled widely at Dashwood’s apparent deference.
"Now we have established who is in command."
"Quite so." Dashwood nodded. He made a mental note that Clarice
needed disposing of sooner rather than later.
-------------------------
Holmes woke after an unusually peaceful night. Humming merrily he
started down the stairs. He stopped humming when he heard an odd
rustling against the door. Cautiously Ned edged towards the door
and unbolted it - carefully. Slowly he opened it. He jumped as
Brighton's body slumped into the hallway.
"Good god! Brighton! Are you all right?"
Brighton looked up at Holmes from the floor.
"I have the maps..." Brighton stuttered.
"To the devil with the maps. What has happened to you?" Holmes
knelt, and supported Brighton's swaying head.
"I was accosted Holmes, accosted by a man I followed..." Hove
coughed, spluttering a little blood onto his white collar.
"Let me get you to a chair old man, that and a snifter should
sort you out."
Minutes later Hove sat swallowing a large slug of whisky, his
hands trembled slightly less. Ned gazed down at him with concern.
"Are you able to tell me now my friend?" Ned asked, kindly.
"I shall relate my tale, but there are details I will tell no
living soul. On this you will have to bear with me Holmes."
"Of course Brighton, tell me what you will."
As Holmes listened to Brighton's story, he wondered at both his
friend's state and his reluctance to tell his whole tale. Ned
could not understand what would affect Hove so deeply. He was a
man of spunk normally, not one to be so easily cowered.
Then as Hove related the attack in the park, it occurred to him.
The substances he read about could account for Hove being
immobilised, and his omission was clearly related to something
unspeakable that had occurred during his immobility. Ned's eyes
narrowed and hardened.
"This man with the gloves, can you describe him?" Holmes asked.
"Germanic, square templed with a deep lantern jaw."
"And his gloves, did they smell?"
"Yes leathery, musty - I suppose."
"Musty you say, can you describe it better?"
"Like leaves, damp autumn leaves." Replied Hove.
"Just as I suspected. You were drugged."
"Drugged! By Jove, how?"
"Plant extract, you in your panic, inhaled the fumes deeply. That
is almost certainly what stopped you moving."
"Lord, can drugs do that? Could they also..." Brighton's voice
tailed off.
"Yes, drugs can cause a lot of side-effects, loss of voluntary
muscle control - without affecting involuntary control."
Brighton looked confused.
"Which means?"
"That you may not be able to move, but your body may still react
to stimuli..." Holmes raised an eyebrow.
"Really!" Hove smiled weakly, "Not that anything of that sort
happened to me - of course."
"Oh, indeed - of course not."
"Well old chap," asked Brighton more brightly, "what is to be
done now?"
"Tomorrow, when you have had some time to recover we travel to
West Wycombe. I think these caves require some investigation."
"Excellent, and if I find that bounder. I will re-balance
things."
"Oh, I do not doubt it Brighton. I do not doubt it at all."
Chuckled Holmes.
-------------------------
Dashwood looked on in dismay, as Clarice tried to persuade
William and Mary to stop fondling and attend to her commands.
Finally he snapped and dashing across the room he dealt a back
handed slap to Clarice. The slap sent the surprised woman to the
floor. William stopped manipulating his housekeeper's quim and
looked at the interloper aghast.
"Enough! It is time to work, do you all understand. I am not a
patient man." Dashwood shouted.
Clarice rose unsteadily to her feet, and then glared at Dashwood.
"You fool, you will pay for striking me!" She railed.
"In what way whore? You have no power. You are but a plaything
for us."
"I have power! I flew here as a witch, did I not?" Clarice
grumbled.
"You have no idea, do you? Without our illuminated knowledge you
would be nought," Dashwood pulled in his breath noisily, "Now be
quiet woman!"
Clarice looked to the heaven's and summoned her assumed powers.
Turning she glared once more at Dashwood and let out a terrible
curse.
"Wither this annoying upstart away! I, the whore of Nazareth
demand it!"
Nothing happened. Clarice repeated the spell, once more nothing.
Confused she slumped back to the floor, her eyes flickering as
she tried to comprehend her apparent impotence.
"Good, now sit there and think about things - while I organise
events." Sneered Dashwood. He turned back to the trembling
couple.
"Now, good sir you will stop your love-play and summon the
detective here. Do you understand?"
"Yes, yes - how? Do you want me to write to him?"
"No, send a telegram - the Post Office in Henley has a
Wheatstone's, if you leave now - he should have it today."
"Yes, now of course, when do you want him to come?" Asked
William.
"As soon as possible, tell him it is urgent. Tell him the very
Empire is at stake."
"Yes, shall I take Mary with me?"
"No, I have need of her here." Smiled Dashwood.
"Ne.., need of her, in what way?"
"In a way you need not know Reverend. Now get dressed, and run
along." Dashwood waved his hand dismissively.
"Yes, m-master at once." William scurried away to retrieve his
hastily discarded garb. In minutes he was gone.
Dashwood kicked Clarice impolitely with his foot.
"Slave, I have needs," He smiled wickedly, "I have the need to be
entertained."
"How may I serve you master?" Came the bleak reply.
"I would like you to service Mary whilst I watch. Not too
repugnant a task I expect?"
"How? How should I service her master?"
"With your hands, I will guide you."
"Yes master, as you say." Clarice rose and walked to the bed, her
hands fell between Mary's thighs. There they fluttered.
"Enter her with a finger..." Dashwood sighed.
Clarice complied, slipping her first finger deeply into Mary's
stretched slit.
"More, more fingers - harder." Dashwood croaked.
Skilfully Clarice wiggled her fingers deep into the chasm of
Mary's quim. As she pushed harder she felt the bluntness of the
mouth of Mary's womb.
"More, hand - urgh, more..." Grunted Dashwood, his glistening
eyes bulging.
The motivated slave folded her thumb in towards her palm, she
pushed against the mounting resistance. Her hand stuttered and
then slid fully inside Mary. Clarice felt the damp walls suck
against her plunging fist. Mary bucked wildly causing the mouth
of her quim to open and close around Clarice's pumping wrist.
Dashwood groaned as his convulsing organ freed its load into his
britches. He felt the satisfaction of power rip through him. He
was ready, he was ready for anything.
-------------------------
"Holmes, Ned! - We have a telegram... From the Reverend."
Ned took the scrap of paper from Hove. He read it silently until
he reached one phrase.
"...the very Empire is in danger. Please attend me as soon as you
can, there is much I can not tell you in such a public way."
"It sounds incredible Holmes, can it be true?"
"Yes it is. I overheard them last night. The one who assaulted
you inferred as much."
"Good grief, we had better pack Holmes!"
"We shall stick to the plan my friend. I fear we shall need you
to be in fine fettle. We can expect a fight. I just hope we can
stop them."
Brighton blinked, in all the years he had know Holmes he had
never heard him express doubt, not about anything. This was
serious.
-------------------------
He liked this area, it was to be much preferred to the smog and
bustle of London. During his walk he could sense the centuries of
work that had gone on here. Dashwood's folly in converting the
ruined Norman church into the golden ball adorned 'St.
Laurence's' had been preceded by real work.
Prior to the eccentric Francis Dashwood, the caves had been a
chalk mine, digging into the very substance that formed the
rolling hills; long mounds that extended all the way into the
aptly named High Wycombe. Before chalk was carved from them, the
miners had extracted a very basic building material that was
still greatly in evidence locally; flint - walls and houses
glistened with its dark, knapped faces.
During all this time and longer they had waited, now finally
there was a window of opportunity; this time they would seize it!
This small country laid claim to nearly a third of the world, now
that power would transfer to worthy leaders. Leaders who would
cull the weak and the imbeciles, enslave the unworthy, and permit
the truly enlightened to rule this so far misguided Earth.
He had one simple task to complete and that would ensure the
ceremony was effective and impressive; as was surely necessary.
The great and the good would soon assemble in these caves. There
they would be witness to the apparent wonder of the icon and the
blackest of arts.
More importantly they would see they very thing that each of them
lusted for most - power. They would be seduced into membership of
the club, as a way of meeting their own desires, but unknowingly
they would satisfy but one desire; the noble desire of the
illuminati.
Blinking, he gazed upwards at the arched structure over his head,
then his eyes lowered and settled on the entrance to the tunnel.
His gloved hands pulled his cloak around his solid, but hunched
shoulders. Then he lit the oil-lamp and descended into the
hallowed earth.
-------------------------
Dashwood sat comfortably amongst his co-conspirators, all
gathered around the high altar. He gazed past the stalls and the
choir screen out into the nave. The pews were filled, some were
merely local gentry, temporarily needed for resources and
ensuring acquiesce in the immediate area. Mixed in with the hoi
polloi were significant individuals, some destined to become
disciples; others mere slaves. Running his eye quickly over them
he could see, Wingate, Sykes, Reverend Storrs, Milner and Samuel.
More like an assembly before the Queen than a local vicar!
Dashwood smiled at that thought, one day they would assemble
before the Queen, and then - succeed her. Behind him in the apse,
the chantry door opened and the Reverend walked in in solemn
silence. Beside him draped from head to foot in a flowing black
robe was Clarice. Albert was surprised, but pleased, to see the
authority that now virtually shone from William Pearson; his
transformation from humble parish priest was almost complete.
William stood directly in front of the 'monks' and addressed the
assembled.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in sight of our lord
to celebrate a truly wondrous event." William paused, "This poor
wicked child has been turned from the path of the devil, and
shown the light of the lord. She had been seduced into the
darkness by a local coven, before being saved by the noble
Knight's of St Francis, who are seated behind me."
Polite applause rippled through the church.
"In praise of this godly act I have organised this unique
service." Imperceptibly William signalled with his right hand. As
one the seven seated 'knights' rose, their long white robes
flowing around them. Heads held high they walked forward, as they
did their rank split, and four moved to stand to the left of
William, three to the right of Clarice.
"Each knight wears a ring with the seal of our holy church on his
hand. The seals each contain a fragment of the very cross our
lord was sacrificed on. His blood and pain shed for us all!"
William raised his eyes to the arch of the transept, "It was this
power that saved this once foul creature from the bowels of
hell!"
The Reverend addressed the hushed assembly once more.
"Such is the power of the rings that each monastic knight wears
gloves to protect themselves from prolonged contact with the
relics. Otherwise they would be exulted and become angels at the
lord’s side. As much as they each long for this, their work is
here, on earth amongst us sinners.
Each of you has been invited to this ceremony to bear witness to
the salvation of our dear sister. Due to your own good works you
are to receive the blessing of the Knight's of St. Francis."
William smiled, and took one step forward.
"As I call you, in groups of seven, please step forward and kiss
the seal on one of the knights rings."
"Viscount Samuel, Sir Mark Sykes, Sir Reginald Wingate, Reverend
John Storrs, Viscount Milner, Sir Henry McMachon, Earl
Kitchener..."
The summoned rose, and moved forward for their blessing. All eyes
were on them. Including one uninvited pair that stared out from
the darkness of the porch, close to the north door. Silent and
resentful the lone figure crouched and waited.
-------------------------
"I say old chap, I know I do not usually question you. But are
you sure we are doing the right thing?"
"Indeed Hove, quite sure. Pray tell me, what thing would you have
me do?"
"Surely we should be attending to the Reverend in his hour of
need, rather than gallivanting around and visiting caves?"
"Certainly we should, but I for one - would rather avoid a trap.
What say you Brighton?"
"A trap, by heaven! Are you sure?" Asked Hove.
"No, I may indeed be wrong, but even so there is something in the
cave we must retrieve first old boy."
"Ah, I understand." Hove thought for a second, "What would that
be Ned?"
"Why an icon my dear fellow, an icon." Holmes tapped Brighton on
the chest.
"So we can destroy the accursed thing!" Hove smiled.
"No, so we can prove it is not what it is claimed to be."
"Oh, I see," once more Brighton paused, "How?"
"When we find its wicked sister; the other icon."
"Other icon?" Hove asked.
"Never mind, Hove it is more important now that we move on
without delay. Are you quite recovered from yesterday's events?"
"Yes I am, but thank you for enquiring old bean." Hove smiled.
"Then let us move on." So saying Holmes handed one oil lamp to
Hove and lit the other.
Together the two investigators entered the hell fire caves.
-------------------------
He flexed a cramped leg, it had taken an age for each of the
congregation to receive their blessing. Now the Reverend moved
towards the altar, he bent and retrieved something from under the
cloth that draped it. It was not until the vicar had finally
positioned it that he could see clearly what it was. It was some
form of picture, he was far too far away to see its detail, but
it was obviously very precious. Why else would the vicar have put
on gloves before handling it?
He decided he had been mistaken, it was time to slip away and
continue his search for Mary elsewhere. As he slid his hand up to
grip the handle of the door the Reverend began the Lord's Prayer.
Out of deep respect Thomas halted his exit.
"Our father, who art in hell," "Feared be thy name, thy kingdom
come,"
Thomas's blood froze, he listened in mounting anger to the
travesty, the mockery that was uttered by William Pearson. His
eyes filled with tears of anger as he watched Albert Dashwood
stride up to the high altar - and invert the cross. The door of
the chantry opened once more, and Mary, his Mary, walked out. She
was dressed as he had never seen her, in a sheer silk robe that
was gossamer thin. Her womanly delights were veiled but overly
visible to all present.
Behind her a line of young women Thomas recognised from the
village filed out, all were similarly clad. One girl walked up to
each of the self-appointed 'Knights' and raising his robe took
his upright member into her mouth. As Thomas watched, his own
member traitorously beat against his thigh. The next act though
stilled it at once, and shocked him to the core. Mary walked up
to the woman in the black robe and lifting its hem plunged her
face betwixt her splayed thighs.
Thomas ripped his eyes form the depravity, only to observe more.
In the pews men openly handled their own and others swollen
organs. It was too much - it was all far too much! Thomas gripped
the door handle and fled from the church, his mind reeling. He
was now certain of only one thing. He Thomas Green would stop
this pestilence, or perish in the attempt!
-------------------------
He stopped at the stream, took off his gloves and placed them
with care on a small plinth that had been carved from the
limestone wall. He gazed at the rough face that had been hewn
from the chalk above the plinth. In the dancing light of his oil
lamp it seemed to reflect his own distress. Although he was not
unfit, the years of plenty had softened him, this proved to be a
more arduous descent then he had imagined. He lent low and
gathered the waters of the Sytx in his hands and scooped liberal
quantities over his perspiring face.
He looked up over the small expanse of water to the darkness of
inner temple beyond. He knew the icon awaited him there. Drying
one hand on his cape he dug it deep into pocket and confirmed the
vials were still safe. Swiftly he swung his still damp face
around.
"Who is there? What fool follows me?" he cried. Then he stared
intensely into the blackness beyond the reach of his lamp. Had he
imagined the noise? Was his sharp mind now playing tricks on him?
He could not take the risk; urgently his fingers sought the
precious vials and deposited them beside his gloves for safety.
He stood and peered back into the darkness. He saw the paleness
of a face, when he recognised it he roared with cruel laughter.
"My fine friend from the park, still following your master then.
So what is it my well proportioned Englishman are you back for
more pleasure?"
"I shall kill you for your impudence! You devil..."
Hove broke free of Ned's retraining hand; he raced towards the
mocking man. His failing fist swung past its mark, and the enemy,
still laughing gripped Brighton's neck between both his bare
hands. With a savage twist, Hove was flung to the ground, the air
whooshing from his compressed chest. The membre sancti stared
down murderously as Hove choked. Too late he saw the other man; a
shadowy figure dashed past him, towards the inner temple.
"No!" Roared the distressed strangler. He threw Hove away
violently, ignoring the crack the young mans head made against
the wall of the cave. He rushed forward to engage the other,
bringing he face into intimate contact with the substance of his
own gloves. Struggle as he might he could not hold his breath and
the musty fragrance filled his lungs. While he was still able,
the membre sancti gripped his assailant in a bear hug and lifting
him bodily, turned and threw him back toward his companion.
Holmes landed beside Hove with a mighty thud. Unable to move for
an instant Ned could only witness Hove’s brave attack. Ignoring
the blood that flowed from his head wound, Brighton staggered
forward to protect Holmes. The membre sancti raised his fist to
aim a mighty blow at Hove.
It never landed, the outraged Illuminati froze, holding his
violent pose perfectly. His eyes darted this way and that, but he
was clearly temporarily paralysed. Hove took his chance and
drawing back his arm used the last of his strength to plant an
accurate blow centrally on the wide lantern jaw.
The membre sancti toppled backwards into the river and
disappeared in the flow. Breathing hard Brighton dropped to his
knees. "Holmes are you all right?"
"Thanks to you my noble friend I am, what of our assailant?"
"He is gone, the river took him, and it is welcome to the
blighter..." Hove swayed, and collapsed.
Ned moved swiftly to his fallen comrade’s side. Quickly he
established that Hove was still breathing, just stunned. He
picked up an oil-lamp and extinguished the other two. Then Holmes
retrieved the gloves, which he donned, before handling the vials
and icon. Puffing Ned returned to his fallen friend. Gently he
sat a bewildered Brighton up.
"Come old friend, let us away to our hotel and get you some aid.
Are you quite able to walk?"
"I think so, old boy." Hove muttered.
Together, one supporting the other, the team of investigators
made their way back towards daylight and air. They left the
membre sancti to his well-deserved, damp, dark tomb.
-------------------------
Mary sighed, her breath warming Clarice's open quim; the former
housekeeper relished the rewards of power. True, she serviced
Clarice like a paid whore, but others, her underlings - worshiped
her a similar way. Soft lips closed around the tip of each of her
ample breasts, and a most delightful nibbling brought her nubbin
close to spending. She even celebrated the writhing tongue that
probed her trembling buttocks, darting insistently across her
darkened rosebud.
Dashwood gazed on, his bulbous eyes drinking the debauched scene
with very apparent relish. Carelessly he drove his pego into the
wet mouth that worshiped him. William was less comfortable, but
still happy to be of service to his master. He gagged as the hot
seed poured down his throat, he disliked the salty taste, but the
other taste compensated. Reverend Pearson had discovered just how
much he enjoyed the flavour of power. He even managed to smile as
Albert withdrew his now flaccid organ from between his bruised,
slimy lips.
"Now, sweet William, we should prepare for our guest's arrival,
your detective should be with us soon." Dashwood cooed.
"Yes, Holmes and his partner should be with us by now, perhaps
they are waiting for the morrow?"
"Partner? Why have you said nothing of this previously! It is the
detective the illuminati desire, not his hangers-on."
"I apologise most humbly master. I did not realise." William
grovelled.
"Never mind, we just need a diversion - tell me does this
'partner' seem an honourable fellow?"
"Yes, I would say so - he seemed very gentlemanly when attending
to me." Pearson answered.
"Excellent," Dashwood cackled, "then we shall provide him with a
damsel in distress, Mary should play the part well. But you must
too, do you understand dear boy?"
"No, what are you suggesting? Nothing unsavoury I trust." William
frowned.
"Unsavoury!" Albert guffawed his derision, "not compared to what
you have already undertaken. You just have to strike her -hard,
she will do the rest. I shall brief her."
"Strike Mary! Sir, I object - I am no woman beater."
Dashwood grabbed Pearson by the throat, he drew him close -until
their noses almost touched. He gazed his contempt into the vicars
shocked orbits.
"You, William will do as you are told. No more, and certainly no
less. Do not dare to fail me!"
"No, master. I understand master..." William coughed.
Dashwood threw Pearson to the floor violently.
"With power comes responsibility sweet William. You would do well
to remember that."
William said no more, he just nodded his submission.
-------------------------
The night wore on, and a disgruntled individual slowly extricated
his body from its trap. In total darkness he stumbled on,
splashing water in his blind wake. His unprotected hands clawed
their way along the walls, at last he found an opening. Shivering
he drew his body from the water and onto the gritty bank. There
his sore right hand struck something metallic - a lamp! Urgently
he rummaged in his pockets for his tinder box, he just prayed it
was dry. A second later a warm yellow light burst forth -
temporarily he was blinded.
His tired eyes slowly focussed, the first thing he saw was the
empty plinth, and then another lamp laying on the caves floor.
Events started to come back to him, in desperation he swung
around, almost falling. Clumsily he staggered into the inner
temple - the icon was gone!
"No!" Ripped from his parched lips.
He had to get to the surface soon, find the icon and rectify this
mess. Just then the lamp spluttered, and darkness returned.
Cursing his luck the large man groped his way back to the other
lamp, soon it was lit. He stared down unbelieveingly at the damp
oily patch soaking into the cave floor. He shook the lamp in his
hand, nothing - it too was almost empty.
"Damn this country and its feeble-minded inhabitants!" He
screamed to the glistening walls. His rage echoed and returned to
him, a mockery of his original outburst. Urgently he started back
towards the entrance, fifty yards later the lamp was hurled aside
as it too became useless. He crawled on regardless, ignoring the
cobs of flesh that were torn from him by unseen outcrops.
Pain and frustration almost defeated him, but his purpose drove
him on. He had given it all up for this, his home, his love, his
life. All was expendable in his need for, thirst for - more
power. Delirium took his mind back through the years, back to his
small farrier’s shop in Bavaria. Above the door hung his old name
'Hans Bueller', once more he could hear his wife's voice call him
to his tea. He walked into the cosy kitchen, and gazed down
lovingly at the small boy. Franz returned his warm smile.
Tears flowed from Hans's eyes, but with a supreme effort of will
he pushed the past away. Back to where it belonged. It was too
late, all had been forsaken, and all was gone. Long gone. At last
he fell through the entrance to the caves. Although dawn had just
arrived hailing the coming day, the exhausted, broken man
collapsed - into a deep, restorative sleep.
-------------------------
Hove whistled merrily as he walked along the country track.
"Glad to see you in such good form this morning Brighton, I
feared for your health last night." Holmes said cheerily.
"Takes more then some damnable Hun to bring me down Holmes, my
old chap."
"I wish I had your outlook on life Hove, my take is somewhat
darker."
"Now do not get maudlin again, we have nearly cracked this case."
Hove smiled.
"Ha! There you go once more, the eternal optimist." Holmes
quipped, "Still I must say it is a splendid day."
The friends walked on a few hundred yards in merry conversation,
before things took a very odd turn. A wild man stepped out in
front of them, he brandished a broken branch -which he thrust at
them with gusto. He growled and grunted incoherently for several
seconds before beginning what became a tirade of abuse.
"Now I have yea! Not so clever now are you, you damnable
heretics. I may be but an old man with a staff, but David slew
Goliath did he not! I may die in the process, but I shall take
one of yea devils to hell with me, I'll venture!" He snarled,
"Devil got your tongues - come now demons say something!"
"I'm sorry sir have we by chance trespassed on your land. If you
would forgive us, we are not locals." Holmes replied calmly,
without ever taking his eyes off the pointed end of the wavering
staff.
"I know you are not locals, I am no fool. You were here for the
Sabbath in the church. You carry the signs sir, the gloves you
wear and that package you carry with such care."
"Sabbath at the church! Hove I fear we may be too late..." Holmes
quietened, as the pointed staff dug into his chest.
"Back, back you devil. Yea do not fool Thomas!"
Hove strode forward and grasped the staff, with a hard, sudden
twist he ripped it from the elderly mans grasp.
"That sir is enough! Kindly threaten us no more." Brighton
barked.
The outraged man now did a very odd thing, he fell to his knees
in tears. "Forgive me Mary, yet again I have failed both you and
the lord. Do as yea will demons, life holds no thrall for me any
more."
Holmes bent forward and gripped the distressed man by his upper
arm. Gently he helped him to his feet. "Please Thomas, calm
yourself, Hove and I will do you no harm. Whom, by the by, is
Mary, pray tell?"
"Mary, my poor lost wife, was the housekeeper to Reverend
Pearson." Thomas trembled, too afeared was he to lie.
"Reverend Pearson, Thomas - we are in his employ, to stop this
dastardly undertaking."
"To stop it? I thought he was central to it?" Thomas asked, slack
jawed.
"No, he knows of the disgrace it could bring. He has asked us to
recover the icon." Hove replied.
"Icon? Yes, yes I saw that - but you have it sir. In the cloth."
Thomas added pointing to Holmes.
"This is but a copy, but you say the icon was at the church last
night?"
"Aye, at that awful ceremony."
"Listen Thomas we will lay all of this to rest, but we need your
help." Holmes said.
"Help, why should I help? You could be demons."
"We could, as you say, be demons. But ask yourself a question if
that is the case."
"What question?" Asked Thomas bleakly.
"Why are you still alive?" Asked Holmes.
Thomas blinked.
"How may I assist sir?" He asked.
Holmes smiled, "Good man, follow us."
The mismatched trio walked on towards the vicarage, Thomas
pausing occasionally to point out the way.
-------------------------
His eyes opened and stared angrily at the sun high above him. He
had much to do, Hans went to get up - every fibre and sinew in
his abused body protested. Groaning he slowly straightened his
back, then he reached into the deep pocket of his cape to find
the maps. But he drew his hand away, wincing in pain. He looked
down at his ragged hands, he cursed the Englishmen with
vehemence.
Carefully extracting his map Hans orientated himself and headed
of steadily, if uncomfortably, to the south. As he walked the
mulled over the plans, by now the Reverend would have held the
first Sabbath as he had directed Dashwood. They were close to the
pinnacle, soon the membership would swell and the illuminati's
power would filter into each level of government. They were so
close, but these meddlesome investigators now had the evidence
they needed.
Hans clenched his teeth and ground one ruined hand into the palm
of the other, he needed the pain - to drive him on. As he pounded
his fist, he would pound the interlopers into dust. Then and only
then would he get the recognition he deserved, and the power -
the power to rule this despicable island. Then they would pay,
they would all pay!
-------------------------
Holmes and Hove approached the door to the manse.
"Be wary my friend, things may not be all they seem." Holmes
warned.
Brighton nodded sagely. He then rapped the door knocker with some
force. A few seconds passed before the door was opened by a young
woman.
"Welcome gentlemen, is the Reverend expecting you?" She asked
politely.
"Most certainly, he contacted us and asked us to arrive as
quickly as we could. My card, miss."
"Mr Holmes, yes my master is expecting you, please come in."
Holmes walked beside Hove, in the way he had, he noticed that his
young partner was smitten with the housekeeper. He whispered to
his friend "Old boy, I do believe that is Thomas's spouse."
"Indeed Holmes, and why should that concern me?" Brighton said,
innocently.
"No reason." Holmes replied, smiling inwardly.
"May I present Mr Holmes & Mr Hove from London, Reverend." Mary
said.
"Thank you Mary, could you clear away the breakfast tray please."
Mary crossed the room and picked up the tray, unfortunately her
grip was not secure - the contents fell spreading rapidly across
the Reverends previously tidy desk. Pearson rose, his face dark
with embarrassment and anger, he took one step and swiped his
hand viciously across Mary's face. The girl reeled backwards from
the force of the physical rebuke. Hove dashed forward to rescue
the tearful girl.
"Sir, you are a cad! That was clearly and accident. What sort of
minister strikes a young woman thus."
"The girl is clumsy sir, I lose my patience with her. I will
thank you not to question the way I correct my staff."
Hove went to reply, but was corrected by a sideward glance from
Holmes. Mary slumped in Brighton's arms.
"I think I have a touch of the vapours." She groaned.
"And it is no wonder if you ask me. Where is your room? I will
take you to recover." Hove enquired, his eyes full of kindness.
"On the second floor, as long as my master permits.." She
answered.
William's waved dismissively.
"Take her, she is of no use to me." Then he reached up and pulled
on a bell cord.
Hove collected Mary in his arms, and walked with her to the door,
he paused and glared briefly at the Reverend. His opinion of the
cleric was writ deeply in the frown on his face. Skilfully he
manoeuvred his way into the hall, ignoring the kitchen maid who
passed him hurrying on her way to the Reverend's study.
He walked to the stairs and swiftly scaled the way to the second
floor, limply Mary indicated the third door on the left. He
opened the door with his elbow, and swept into the room. On the
bed before him a Sapphic orgy was in full motion. In a single
movement Mary slipped from his arms and joined her sinful sisters
on the bed.
"What the devil..."
Hove's words were cut off by Dashwood's gloved hand clamping over
his mouth and nose.
-------------------------
The maid left the room with a curtsey, her cleaning duties
complete.
"Mr Holmes where are my manners, please be seated." Said William,
"How do your enquiries progress?"
"Slowly, with discretion, as always. Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Not at all, please there is an ashtray on the table. Slowly you
say, that is disappointing."
"Is it," Holmes puffed away liberally, "is it really
disappointing to you?"
"What a very odd question, yes it is I had hoped for great
progress. After all, your fee..."
"Is very reasonable, considering the risk Hove and I have been
put to. The reason I ask is that you seem somewhat changed. I
thought you may have altered your mind or allegiances?"
"My only allegiance is to god, and I will thank you not to
question it!"
"You do seem oddly temperamental. Never mind, maybe this will
calm you." Holmes reached inside his cloak and retrieved the
package from its hiding place. Careful to handle it only by its
wrapping he placed it on the Reverend’s desk.
"But, it can not be! How can you have the icon..." Pearson’s
voice drained away.
"When you used it in a Sabbath only last night?" Asked Holmes,
smiling.
"Yes, but how can you know?" Gasped William.
"I know many things Reverend, but I choose when I reveal them."
William reached forward to grasp the icon.
"I would advise you to wear these first, it is impregnated." So
saying, Holmes threw the membre sancti's gloves on the table, "It
is fresh from the caves in West Wycombe and although its 'power'
may need attending to, it could still affect you through touch."
Blinking his disbelief away Pearson donned the gloves and
unwrapped the icon. When he saw it he gasped. "But how?" Like a
possessed man he tore across the room to his book case, there he
removed a false row of six apparently thick tomes and levered up
the box lid. His trembling hands withdrew the contents, a small
package topped by some familiar looking gloves. He threw the
gloves to one side and took the icon to his desk, there he
unwrapped it and stared in horror at the two identical images.
"How, how? How, Mr Holmes can there be two?" William asked.
"Two? There are many more than two Reverend. There are as many as
are needed." Holmes replied.
"What?" Asked Pearson, his mouth hanging open.
"The icons only exist to persuade the unwary of their power -and
thus the power of the 'Illuminati'. But the icons possess no
power, beyond that which is applied to them."
"Applied to them? In what way?"
Holmes took a deep draw on his pipe and withdrew the vials from
his pocket. He placed them on the Reverend’s desk, well within
his reach, but far beyond the pastors. "Plant extracts of the
most dangerous kind. These innocuous liquids are potent mind
altering substances. Swallowed, inhaled or adsorbed through the
skin they will cause hallucination in the sanest of men." The
bowl of Holmes's churchwarden glowed savagely, "Hallucination and
desire is produced by one extract and paralysis by the other,
combine the two in differing proportion and you can convince
anyone of anything."
"So the visions, the passion?" William's eyes widened.
"All induced, and all, but all, false. Of course such powerful
substances are addictive, and over a lifetime highly toxic."
Holmes smiled warmly, "Which is one of the real reasons for the
gloves - protection."
"There are other reasons for the gloves? I thought they protected
the image." Pearson asked.
"Protection from that applied to the false icons, and as weapons.
The gloves gave you have been impregnated on the outer layer with
one extract at high dose. Held over the face so the victim has to
inhale the noxious fume, once done for sufficient time - the poor
soul is temporarily paralysed."
"Good grief, that is barbarous! You mean, all I was promised -all
I saw, was illusion?" Pearson asked.
"Indeed, just smoke and mirrors, dear Reverend."
"And these substances are addictive and toxic?" Asked William his
eyes hardening.
"I have this on the good authority of my friend, Dr Oliver Thomas
of the Royal Society. Even in small quantity, if the exposure is
frequent these extracts are fatal."
William's mind flew back through the years, to the image of his
father abusing himself, one hand on his organ - and the other
bare hand on the frame of the icon. He shuddered with revulsion.
"The most important side-effect for the illuminati is however, I
believe - paranoia. This they use to create an unholy lust
for..." Holmes did not finish the sentence, the Reverend however
did.
"Power... Tell me one thing Holmes, if you were to imbibe these
substances unknown to the illuminati and without guidance?"
"I think they would most likely slowly drive you to insanity."
"As they do. I have seen it. My own beloved father," William
raised a hand to wipe away the tears forming at his eyes, "tell
me Holmes - how can I help you stop these monsters?"
Ned thought for a second, for his decision now could prove vital.
He decided to trust William, not on the basis of logic -but
purely on the hatred he now saw burning within the Reverend
Pearson.
-------------------------
Hove lay spread-eagled on the undulating bed, silently berating
the women who so efficiently divested him of his clothes. He
heard their giggles of delight when finally they exposed his
throbbing manhood. Then the fingers fell upon him, feather light
touches from many soft female hands. Internally he writhed
wishing the poison had taken away the sensations as efficiently
as it had the movement.
A face appeared above him, it was Mary. She smiled warmly and
brought her soft lips down upon his frozen ones. The very warmth
of her embrace melted his heart, and yet fuelled his desire. He
felt the warmth of her pudenda slip over the top of his pounding
member, and the delicate lips dragged against his stalk in
frictionless abandon; he was fully home.
In a graceful arch Mary swept her body away from him and began
her undulating dance of desire. Despite the poison, or maybe
because of it, Brighton could feel every soft, wet detail of the
young woman's body even as it ground unwanted passion out of his.
A butterfly tongue hovered, lapping, dancing between Mary's quim
and his stiff shaft. Hove opened his eyes in wonder, this was a
truly new sensation, he struggled to hold on to his seed. His
determination was strong he would not spill it again, under such
a foul trance.
He screwed his eyes tightly closed and breathed hard, the moment
passed. When he opened his eyes he saw only one thing. He stared
directly at an open quim, he had never seen one in such detail.
The beauty astounded him, perfect symmetrical lips glistened
before him, between them a dark coral passage beckoned - luring
him. Fingers descended and drew the crenulated lips far apart
exposing the most delightful pearl nestled high betwixt them. The
thighs descended, all was darkness, pungent flavours mixed with
delicate perfumes. Ambrosia rained down to fill his thirsty
mouth.
Brighton lost his desperate battle, his mighty organ began to
twitch and deposit the first blast of his seed deep within Mary.
He could feel her own response, she reached crisis - he marvelled
at his odd sense of pride. He had made his mistress spend. That
was his power.
-------------------------
Two sets of eyes watched the Reverend avidly from their separate
locations. Wherever he was headed, two things were clear, his
haste and the determination in his step. Neither man felt
inclined to prevent his passage. One then made his move, in his
haste the Reverend had been negligent, the door to the manse was
ajar. Thomas watched as the dishevelled man broke from cover and
headed for the door. This was one passage he would challenge.
Thomas tore his way through the bushes and thrust his pointed
staff deeply into the crouched man’s behind.
"No, yea do not demon. I have you now, yea will not assault Mr
Holmes nor stop his noble crusade. Feel the disgust of Thomas
Green, yea foulest of beasts." With this final word Thomas struck
the interloper once more, much as he would skewer a suckling pig.
This final insult was too much for Hans, he abandoned his quest
to turn savagely on the elderly man. Smashing the staff to one
side, he brought his knee up violently and accurately under
Thomas's chin. Thomas crashed to the ground like a felled oak,
insensible. Hans stood over his crumpled form and raised his
large boot over the fallen man’s head. He never brought it down.
"Why should I give you an easy death Thomas Green? I doubt you
would do the same for me. No, I shall remember you and return.
Your death will be one I relish." So saying Hans turned and
limped towards the door that swung invitingly in the breeze.
With some difficulty he mounted the steps and dragged himself
into the hallway. Hearing a door open, he hid behind a large
potted aspidistra and waited. A man whose form he recognised
emerged into the hallway, he glanced this way and that before
speaking in a raised voice.
"Hove? Brighton, old chap, are you around? I have finished with
the Reverend, we should leave now and examine St. Peter's!"
Hans growled inwardly, if only he had known that this was the
detective - he would not have prevented his demise. His scholarly
master had warned him of this man and his meddling ways. Well he
would put an end to it, here and now. Hans flew out from behind
his cover and rugby tackled Holmes to the inlaid floor.
"Today Mr Holmes, is your last on earth!" Snarled Hans.
"I see a night in the cave did not improve your countenance, or
temper." Holmes joshed, before swinging his elbow in a wide arc.
Hans ducked, but too late - Ned's elbow ploughed resolutely into
his left temple. It sent him flying back into the welcoming
branches of the aspidistra. Before he could recover Holmes was
away, vaulting up the stairs three at a time.
Dizzy and cursing Hans followed in a plodding pursuit. Painfully
he made his way to the first floor and he diligently searched it
to no avail. Grimacing he continued his unwanted ascent.
-------------------------
Holmes edged his way along the roof with caution, for some reason
he felt insecure at heights. He would find an open window, then
find Hove and then tackle this brute. He tried to convince
himself this was a workable plan, as he nervously edged around
the corner of the manse. Hopefully his subterfuge in taking a
diversion through the landing window would hold his pursuer for a
while. He froze momentarily, as he remembered that on his flight
he had neglected to close the sash behind him.
Uncharacteristically Holmes uttered a silent curse.
Ned approached a window and carefully peeked around its edge.
When he saw the bedroom occupant’s activities, he almost lost his
grip, heart thumping Ned glanced down at the solid flagstone's
below, that was just too close. He positioned himself more
securely and looked back through the window. A group of women
were ravishing some poor chap, while Dashwood gazed on, and a
black-clad woman bounced actively on his extended pego.
One of the women shifted and realisation hit Holmes like a
hammer, if that was Mary then the man must be...
"Hove, Hove - help, let me in!"
Hove turned and looked directly at Ned, his eyes oddly
unconcerned. The fool even waved to him, before burying his
resplendent organ back into Mary. Holmes heard a noise behind him
and turned, to his dismay he saw his assailant breeching the apex
of the corner. He was no more than three yards away. The large
man puffed a repeated threat.
"Today Mr Holmes, is your last on earth!"
Ned scurried away as best he could, but he was not as sure-footed
as his pursuer. The distance between them closed. The large man
was now level with the window. Suddenly the sash flew up and a
hand emerged to grasp his ankle. He teetered and slumped, his
back and shoulders now hanging over the roof’s perilous edge.
"You! Must you follow me everywhere? This is your last mistake,
my fine fellow..." Snarling Hans drew back his heavy boot ready
to deliver a fatal blow. Before he could, the hand released his
ankle, and for an instant the membre sancti hung in mid air. Then
as all heavy things must, he headed downwards, for a rendezvous
with the flagstones.
"Bye old bean, nice knowing you." Quipped Brighton, before poking
his cheery head through the open window, "Sorry Ned, I was a bit
distracted, are you quite well out there?"
Ned edged his way towards Brighton's extended hand, and soon he
was inside; facing Dashwood eyeball to eyeball.
The game was afoot.
-------------------------
Thomas was rudely wakened by a hefty thud bedside him. He opened
his eyes and stared for a long second at the sky. Where was he?
He looked in the direction of the noise; sprawled out alongside
him was a man.
Slowly the recollection and the pain returned, the man laying
beside him, that was his assailant. Thomas went and collected his
staff before flipping the unconscious man on his back. He was
amazed by the amount of injury he had caused with a simple staff.
It was clear that the demon was dead.
"Aye, see devil, even an old man can smite thee with god's help!"
Just to the right of the demon lay a small pocket book, Thomas
retrieved it and flicked through the pages. The strange symbols
made no sense at all, clearly this had been written in the
language of hell itself. Thomas slid the book into his pocket
for safe keeping. Then he knelt beside his fallen foe and
uttered a short prayer.
"Lord, forgive this beast, be it ever so fell & foul. Please
grant its soul peace. Amen."
Thomas stood and walked without hesitation to the manse and
entered. The hallway and ground floor were unnaturally quiet,
even so, Thomas cautiously searched the area. Eventually his
quest brought him to the twin icons. Thomas gazed at the
depravity depicted with true hatred. He picked up the gloves.
His decision was made. He would not suffer these images to exist.
He smashed the frames on the desk and tore the canvas from them.
He shredded the despicable depictions with ease. He inadvisably
ignored the dust that flew up around him. Coughing through the
haze of particles, Thomas began to laugh manically. The drugs
began to take their effect.
He stopped giggling when something flickered past him, just out
of the arc of his vision. He swung around quickly, facing into
the room. He watched incredulously as garishly hued Imps formed
in the walls -and then dashed out into the room as if to taunt
him.
His confused mind turned to Mary. He must not let the spawn of
hell find her. Upstairs, she must be upstairs - Thomas ran out of
The Reverend's study followed by a horde of bickering,
argumentative imps. He upped his pace and for a man of his years,
flew up the vicarage's stairs.
-------------------------
Dashwood struggled to pull on his gloves, never once taking his
eyes from Holmes. "I know you from somewhere! You have been
trailing me, Dashwood paused, "You were at the George and
Vulture. So you know something of my history."
"Yes, and I am not impressed - it seems you are as foolish as
your forebears," Holmes sneered, before slapping Dashwood hard
around the face, "Sir, you are a cad. I challenge you!"
Just as Holmes had calculated, this provoked Dashwood into a
rage. Impatiently he cast aside his gloves and launched himself
at Ned. Brighton grasped the gloves and threw them with all his
force far through the window.
By the time he swivelled back - a life and death struggle was
going on. Dashwood repeatedly smashed Holmes’ head into the
skirting board. As Brighton dashed to his friend’s aid, he was
struck by the incorrigible contrast between the carnal wrestling
on the bed and Holmes’ desperate defence.
Before Hove could intercede, Ned struck back. He had managed
to force his legs under Dashwood. With a mighty roar he
straightened them into Albert’s unprotected stomach. The
surprised attacker was launched across the room. For a brief
instant, the carnality on the bed was stilled by Dashwood's
unexpected arrival in the very midst of it. Then he disappeared
in a sea of curves and legs, the giggles raising a tone in their
intensity.
"Get off me you whores, I have no interest - our enemies are
upon us!" Screamed Dashwood.
Unfortunately for Dashwood, Thomas had arrived on the landing. He
was just in time to hear the agonised outburst. He headed
directly toward the third bedroom on the left of him. What he saw
there pushed him over the edge of sanity.
To his hallucinating eyes, he saw Satan himself cavorting with
his
lustful demoness's. Then one demoness turned to face him and he
realised his error; this was no child of hell. No, it was an
angel with Mary's face - and Satan was trying to ravish her!
With a terrible roar, Thomas launched himself bodily into the
tangled throng. Naked demoness's reared away from him, leaving
his way clear for an assault on Satan himself. To his eternal
dismay the Lord of darkness was too cunning for him. The Devil
grasped the angel and used her to shield himself. Then Satan
bellowed his rage.
"Get this madman away from me! What is wrong with him? His eyes!
- Save me."
Thomas gently manoeuvred the angel to one side, before targeting
his hand accurately - his aim was true. Despite the burning pain
he felt, Thomas gripped hard and closed his fist securely. He,
Thomas Green, had the Devil's own distended genitals trapped in
his tight hand.
Satan screamed, clearly trying to summon his foul kind. In
immediate response, a wise Thomas twisted his wrist as hard as he
could. The Devil released the angel and attempted to flee. Even
hampered as he was, by having an irate farmer attached to his
most sensitive nether parts, he managed to escape the bed. Slowly
the Lord of pain crawled to the door.
Dashwood painfully dragged himself and Thomas out onto the
landing. Albert rained blows down onto the old man’s head and
shoulders, but the stubborn fool clung on grimly. The forced
strangulation of Dashwood’s testicles was intense, and finally it
crushed them to a pulp. Albert winced and felt his grip on
reality fail, the world started to darken.
Holmes recovered from the stupefying events first and dashed out
to try and prevent Thomas from emasculating his shrieking foe.
Ned
caught up with the oddly coupled pairing and attempted to calm
Thomas.
"Thomas, I do not think our friend will escape. You may let go of
him now."
"I have the devil by the tail Mr Holmes, you and Hove just keep
the imps away from my angel."
"Thomas, calm now they are just girl's - they will not harm
Mary."
"No, not the demoness's, fool! The imps that came out of the
walls when I destroyed the foul images." Thomas groaned.
Holmes looked more closely at Thomas, his hair and face was
coated in fine dust.
All became clear to him in an instant.
"When you destroyed the images you inhaled a poison Thomas. The
things you see are not real."
"Not real? Then why does he struggle so." Thomas asked, before
tugging violently on his hand hold.
Dashwood barely reacted, for he was part-way into a swoon.
"Just let him go, you have trapped the Devil well Thomas. Hove
and I will take care of him now. You should attend to the angel."
"My Mary, the angel - yes. You are right Mr Holmes."
At once, Thomas stood and walked calmly to the bedroom. He left
Dashwood comatose and a mere shadow of the man he once had been.
Hove joined Holmes and stared down at Albert Dashwood, whose
form twitched slightly at their feet.
"Well, I think he is not too much of a threat, old chap. Nasty
thing that!"
"True, remember this event well Brighton. Noxious substances have
a habit of catching up with those who abuse them." Ned sighed,
and lit his pipe, "A salutary lesson for us all."
"Indeed, most wise." Coughed Brighton.
Hove heard a call from below.
"Mr Holmes, Mr Hove I'm back, with the police!"
"Up here Reverend!" Hove replied.
"Hove?" Asked Holmes.
"Yes, old bean."
"Perhaps you could dress, and encourage the ladies to do
likewise. Before our guests arrive?"
"Well I will be jiggered, I totally forgot." Laughed Hove.
-------------------------
"It would seem that although Mr Holmes and Mr Hove have cleared
up the mystery about the icon - with some notable, erm, handiwork
from Mr Green - we are still left with a number of conundrums."
Said the Reverend Pearson, as he peered over his newly polished
desk.
"I would agree. We are less than clear about several things."
Holmes frowned.
"Well to me it is all as plain as day," said the portly police
Sergeant, "We have stopped a nasty conspiracy to over throw the
throne. The culprits are either dead, captured or being sought
at this very moment. We should be very pleased!"
"The defilers should rot in hell!" Added Thomas, who was still a
little twitchy.
Mary closed her right hand around his, part for his comfort and
part for hers.
"Well if not hell, Oxford Gaol should suffice. Mind you I would
not be surprised to see them all swing. Treason against the
crown, the gallows may be busy." The Sergeant whistled between
his teeth.
"I am sure your men will round up the other six conspirators
quickly Ambleforce, but what of the instigator? What do we know
of the real force behind this the Illuminati?" Asked Holmes.
"Well they are foreign sir, which is outside my jurisdiction. But
if they step foot in England!" Ambleforce's chops waggled with
threat.
"But we have no idea who they are, how are we to know if they are
here, or indeed anywhere else?" Asked Hove.
"Precisely, excellent question." Holmes nodded.
"This might help, but it is written in the Devil's own tongue."
Thomas held up the pocketbook, "I took this from the dead demon
outside."
Holmes took the notebook and glanced through it with interest. He
then passed it to Sergeant Ambleforce. "That may hold some clues,
if you get some code breakers on to it."
"Looks like a lunatics work to me. No there is nothing worth
wasting police time on here." Ambleforce pronounced, stroking his
mutton chop sideburns, "Keep it as a memento if you wish sir."
"I should like Mr Holmes to have it Sergeant. I am sure he will
investigate it thoroughly." Smiled Thomas.
Ambleforce harrumphed his annoyance and handed the pocket book
back to Holmes. "I will not detain you gentlemen any longer. I
must away - urgent 'real' police business. I am as always your
humble servant."
"Goodbye Sergeant, and thank you!" Called the Reverend to the
closing door.
"Now to more mundane things, gentlemen," William spoke softly,
"what are we to do with the girl's?"
"Send them home I suggest." Said Holmes.
"Yes, but how do we explain the 'events' to their parents?"
"Well I doubt if they will say too much themselves, under the
circumstances." Advised Brighton.
"Hove has a point. Just apologise for delaying them with extra
church duties."
"All night?" Said William, his mouth agape.
"Well they did know it was a special service?" Asked Holmes.
"Hmm, perhaps..." William mulled over the suggestion.
"Or you could explain the real circumstances." Suggested Hove,
helpfully.
"Ah no, I think on this occasion Mr Holmes may have a better
solution. But what of Clarice?"
"What of her," asked Hove, " send her home as well."
"Clarice was a ward of the Parish, she has no home," William
sighed, "but under the circumstances, I can not recommend she
stays here."
"I have some friends in Oxford, I am sure the ladies I am
thinking of would happily house her. They are both of excellent
character - I will vouch for them personally." Suggested Holmes.
"Excellent, but I have concerns about her travelling to Oxford
alone after her recent ordeal."
"Then worry no more Reverend, I shall use it as an excuse to
visit
my old friends, Ruby and Constance. I will make a fine break
after
this unseemly affair." Holmes smiled wistfully.
"As long as it is not too much of a chore for you, I will
accept."
William nodded.
"It will be a pleasure, a pure pleasure." Holmes replied.
"Well then all that remains is for me to thank you, and hand over
the church's payment - together with our eternal gratitude to
your good self and Mr Hove."
"Most gratifying." Holmes nodded.
The meeting disbanded with polite nods. As Holmes closed the door
behind himself and Brighton, he overheard one last comment.
"Reverend Pearson, I am afraid Mary will not be staying with you
either. Not due to any fault on your part. But the situation
makes it improper," Thomas paused, " In any case we are to start
a family, so my beloved wife will be needed at the Green farm."
The oak door cut off William's reply.
"Well then Holmes, back to Oxford for us then!" Ventured
Brighton.
"More accurately for me. I need you to return to London, Hove.
Take this Pocketbook to Oliver, see if the Society can break the
code."
"Quite so, I will see you in a couple of days then?" Brighton
asked.
"It could be a little longer. I want to make sure Clarice is well
bedded in before I take my leave." Holmes said, trying not to
smile.
"Of course, abso-bally-lutely, after this dashed mess. I
quite understand, old boy."
Holmes lit his pipe. As he puffed away merrily waiting for
Clarice to appear, he wondered. Did Hove actually understand? He
suppressed a light chuckle.
-------------------------
"Holmes! I thought you had become lost, old bean. Capital that
you should arrive now. I have just this very morning received a
letter back from Dr Thomas."
"Excellent news Hove, but may I get in the door first?" Joked
Ned.
"Indubitably. Sorry old man!" Chirped Brighton.
Half an hour later Holmes sat at his desk examining both the
letter and the returned notebook. "Well they have cracked the
code, but it is up to the two of us to effect the translation,
Hove - we may as well start." Ned reached in his pocket and
found his churchwarden.
"Before we do Ned, I am dying to know, how did Clarice settle
in?"
"Ah, yes the delightful Clarice, very well bedded I would say
Brighton. Ruby and Constance send their regards."
"Bedded?" Hove smiled, "I believe you mean bedded in, it is
unlike you to confuse your words Holmes." Hove laughed.
"If you say so Brighton, if you say so." Nodded Holmes, "The
translation, hmm..." He puffed away impatiently.
"Of course." Hove sat besides his mentor.
The hours passed and many names were deciphered along with
their level and importance in the ranks of the Illuminati.
Holmes was like a man possessed, or rather a man desperate to
find something.
"Shall we break for lunch Ned, I am quite famished, I am sure
you are too?"
"We don't stop until I have found him, he must be here..."
Holmes muttered.
"Who old chap, who are we searching for?" Asked Brighton
perplexed.
"We will see, my friend we will see."
Their heads went down once more. Eventually Holmes sat back
and sighed.
"Do you realise what you have just spelt, one letter at a
time?" He asked.
"Ned, I am quite unsure who I am anymore, let alone what I
spelt."
"Read it for yourself Hove, I won't spoil the surprise."
Brighton read out the words with growing enthusiasm.
"Membre Sancti Primus: Alphonso Burgabiter - Well, I will be
jiggered!"
-------------------------
The End.
Coming soon... 'An unfortunate event at Deddington Manor'
A Holmes and Hove mystery.
________________________________________________________________
Foot Notes (C) Yotna El'toub May 2006
________________________________________________________________
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