Chapter 8

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.