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From: "Yotna El'toub" <yotna_eltoub@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Strange Case of the Missing Madonna [Yotna El'toub] Chapter six.
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Date: Sat, 20 May 2006 11:10:03 -0400
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{ASSM}  The Strange Case of the Missing Madonna ~ A Holmes &
   Hove adventure Chapter six of several) [Yotna El'toub]
      (MF,FF,MM,MC,NC,magic. Caution: blasphemous)

****************************************************************
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.
________________________________________________________________

***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.
________________________________________________________________



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.


              -------------------------


To be continued...



____________________________________________________________


Foot Notes (C) Yotna El'toub May 2006
________________________________________________________________

I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed
writing it.  As always, feedback is appreciated, since it is my
only payment for my work.

Please address comments to yotna_eltoub@hotmail.com

This story is copyrighted by the author and as such may not be
published, posted or archived on any newsgroup, website, or
server, other than ASSM and ASSTR, without the EXPRESS PERMISSION
of the author. Any reader may archive a copy of this story,
provided the warnings and copyright information is attached in
full.

_________________________________________________________________
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