Lucifer's Crown by Carl Lillian Stewart

Author:Carl, Lillian Stewart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: holy grail
Publisher: Lillian Stewart Carl

Chapter Twenty-four

A calendar by the door of the pub read November 5. According to Rose’s watch, it was just past three. She hadn’t been in Faerie for seven years.

Over the last couple of days she’d experienced seven years’ worth of emotions and about a century’s worth of ideas. She wasn’t sure whether she was closest to a migraine, an upset stomach, or a screaming fit. She’d just met the mother goddess, the genuine article, up close and personal. Be careful what you ask for, Rose told herself. You might get it.

Across the booth sat Thomas Becket, a saint, an immortal being, drinking his tea like an ordinary man. Her teacher, Maggie, sat beside him, still as a mountain right before a landslide. Sex wasn’t the issue with them, although honor was. Not only personal honor, but that of the Story.

Mick sat close beside Rose but was miles away, staring out of the window. Sunlight reflected off snow wavered across his face, reminding her of cold water wearing away stone. Revelation, the Lady had said. That was the issue, too. Rose asked, “You guard the Holy Grail, Thomas?”

“I guard the Cup of the Last Supper,” he answered. “With it the Book and the Stone make the Holy Grail.”

“Oh boy. So that’s why there are legends saying the Stone of Scone is the Grail.”

“Quite so,” Thomas said, and to Mick, “Are you now convinced that the world has gone mad?”

“You know what you’re about,” he replied with half a smile. “Mere mortals like us have to take the evidence we’re given and get on with it.”

“I’m afraid that we must be getting on with it now,” Thomas told him. “The days are short this time of year. In more ways than one.”

“Yeah, and Robin’s got the Book.” From her pocket Maggie produced two index cards and a pen. “Time to coordinate phone numbers, y’all.”

“This here’s the phone number of the flat, this the office. I’ll get me another mobile.” Mick had the long, slender fingers of a musician, Rose noted.

Thomas’s hands were large but deft, the hands of an artist and a warrior both. “The number of my mobile phone. Inspector Gupta. Temple Manor, although if you ring there, remember that Ellen Sparrow might be listening in.”

“That I’ll do.” Tucking the card away, Mick looked tentatively at Rose.

“D. C. I. Mountjoy will be contacting you, I expect. Be very cautious. Whilst I believe in inclusion, I also believe in common sense, and I’m not sure but that Mountjoy has the wrong end of the stick in his investigation.”

The bar maid turned on a television mounted above the shelves of bottles and glasses. An announcer described a battle between Moslems and Hindus in India, then went on, “Freedom of Faith Foundation rallies will be held tonight in Glastonbury, Hull, Manchester, and Dumfries. Coordinator Charles Mather says the Foundation’s growth proves that all people of faith want a return to traditional morality.”

“And what traditional morality is that?” Maggie asked as she slid out of the booth.

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