Feature Writer: Yotna El’toub
Feature Title: The Strange Case of the Missing Madonna
Story Codes: Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Ma/Ma, Non Consensual, Mind Control, Magic, Historical
Synopsis: Ned and Brighton are invited to help the church regain a stolen icon. The icon has remained hidden for centuries due to its contentious content. Not a tale for the unwary – it will contain blasphemous material
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content
Link: https://storiesonline.net/s/48411/the-strange-case-of-the-missing-madonna
The Strange Case of the Missing Madonna
CHAPTER ONE
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.
xxxxx
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 paper knife 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.
xxxxx
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 inquiring 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, worlds end.”
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.
xxxxx
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.
CHAPTER TWO
His head hung low like a man a slumber. 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 teenage 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.
xxxxx
“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 apologize, 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 rumor 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.
xxxxx
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?”
CHAPTER THREE
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.
xxxxx
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 focused 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.
xxxxx
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 apologize 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 disbelievingly 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.”
CHAPTER FOUR
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 behavior, 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.
xxxxx
Hove had walked briskly on, not even, as was his habit pausing in Green park for his favorite 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 civilization 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 mustache. “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 mustachioed 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 side ward 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!”
xxxxx
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 civilization. The one true and honorable thing the Empire stood for, the only reason for laying one life down; as he so nearly had. No this was tumor, eating at the heart of civilized behavior, 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.
xxxxx
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?”
CHAPTER FIVE
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 realized 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.
xxxxx
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 marveled 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 realized, 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 apologize 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 pretense 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.
xxxxx
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 immobilized, 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.”
CHAPTER SIX
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.
xxxxx
Dashwood sat comfortably among 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 organized this unique service.” Imperceptibly William signaled 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 among 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.
xxxxx
“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 inquiring 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.
xxxxx
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,”
CHAPTER SEVEN
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 flavor 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 apologize most humbly master. I did not realize.” William grovelled.
“Never mind, we just need a diversion – tell me does this ‘partner’ seem an honorable 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 unsavory I trust.” William frowned.
“Unsavory!” 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.
xxxxx
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 focused, 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 disbelievingly 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.
xxxxx
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.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The maid left the room with a curtsy, her cleaning duties complete.
“Mr Holmes where are my manners, please be seated.” Said William, “How do your inquiries 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 paralyzed.”
“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.
xxxxx
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 fueled 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 crenelated lips far apart exposing the most delightful pearl nestled high betwixt them. The thighs descended, all was darkness, pungent flavors 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 marveled at his odd sense of pride. He had made his mistress spend. That was his power.
CHAPTER NINE
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.
xxxxx
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 swiveled 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 defense.
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 agonized 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 realized 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 maneuvered 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.
xxxxx
“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.
THE END