“Lord God Almighty, I claim your promises!” he cried out. “Help me, Lord! Have mercy upon me!”
What Charles did not know, could not know, was that this battle took place outside of human time. No one else at the table heard his cries or noticed his distress—save one man. Henry MacAlpin not only heard the voices, he felt the war rage in his own spirit, and when he opened his eyes, the scene before him caused the viscount’s knees to weaken, and he nearly fell as he rushed towards his friend.
He could see the other men at the table, their heads bowed, some with hands touching; yet no one moved. Even the flames in the hearth had frozen in place, looking like a painting. In fact, all aspects of the material space seemed lackluster and perfectly still, as though nothing but a photograph; a pale imitation of life.
Sinclair, however, had grown brighter, more intensely coloured as though only he was real in this extradimensional space.
But Charles was not alone.
Salperton could see dense clouds of interference, as though a dark force enrobed the besieged duke. Stepping towards the spiritual battlefield, his vision sharpened, and he discerned multiple sets of wings. A huge, shining being, shaped like a glittering dragon, formed the centre of the chaotic maelstrom, and its long tail wrapped round Charles’s chest, as though to crush the breath from his victim’s lungs.
“I will not join you!” Charles shouted. “I belong to Christ, not you! Help me, my King! I claim your promises!”
Henry reached for Sinclair’s hand, touching the fingers, and instantly he could feel the raging turmoil seething through his friend’s heart and mind. He could hear the Dragon’s rasping voice as though it raked through his own soul.
It was though he and Charles had become one.
You cannot deny your blood, boy, whispered the demon. Find me and discover the power of that ancient blood!
“In the name of Christ Jesus, I call upon the Lord’s protection for his servant!” Henry shouted boldly.
The Dragon’s head turned, and a pair of cruel eyes focused on the viscount.
I know you, son of Scotland. I saw you in the Realms of Stone. You dared to challenge my authority! What a foolish, little Scotsman you are. Shall I tell you what I did to your mother?
Images of torture tore into Henry’s mind: his mother tormented by diabolical visions and cruel whispers, racked with pain and endless suffering. But he refused to yield to the pressure.
“Hear the Lord’s word, Demon!” he challenged the Shadow as he began to quote from Psalm 86.
“Give ear, O Lord, unto my prayer; and attend to the voice of my supplications. In the day of my trouble I will call upon thee: for thou wilt answer me. Among the gods there is none like unto thee, O Lord; neither are there any works like unto thy works.”
The Shadow’s form faltered, and a brightness emerged from behind it, passing through the violent storm’s swirling blackness; as if a second great being now controlled the field of battle.
“All nations whom thou hast made shall come and worship before thee, O Lord, and shall glorify thy name,” Henry continued. “For thou art great, and doest wondrous things. THOU ART GOD ALONE!” he ended in a shout.
The bright presence whitened into the form of a man, and Henry perceived a fiery sword within its right hand. The being’s face shone like polished brass, and his limbs radiated a thousand colours as though made of prisms.
“Step back, Henry,” he heard God’s messenger say.
The flaming sword swung in a wide arc, and the Shadow cried out, the storm and darkness gone in a blink, as though hurled through a hidden doorway.
Instantly, the air returned to Charles’s lungs, and he began to breathe once more. The duke opened his eyes and saw Henry’s confident face; felt his comforting hand, holding his tightly in a fierce grip.
A voice whispered in both men’s minds: “Fret not, sons of the Most High. The day of the evildoers and the workers of iniquity soon ends. They shall be cut down like grass and wither as a green herb. Rest in the Lord and wait patiently upon him. Do not fret because of wicked men. Evildoers shall be cut off, but they that wait upon the Lord shall inherit the earth. The enemy sought permission to sift you, Charles,” he told the recovering duke softly. “For you and your sons will alter the shape of the world. This is not the final battle. The enemy bargains for you, Charles Robert. He seeks to devour you, but you are never alone in this fight. Trust in the One with the nail-scarred hands. He commands his host to stand beside you. We are ever at your side.”
The being’s brightness lessened, and for the briefest second Henry recognised Anatole Romanov.
Immediately, the material world emerged as dominant. The fire’s flames began to flicker and dance, the clock to tick, and the chest of each man round the table expanded and contracted with natural breaths. Time moved forward, and the room’s subdued hues returned to normal.
The entire battle had taken place in the infinitesimal space between the ticks of a clock.
“Thank you, Lord God Almighty, for aiding your servants,” Henry said, continuing the prayer for the duke. “We are grateful for your kindness and tender mercies. I thank you for your loyal servants who surround us on this field. I pray for my friend, Charles, that you would continue to uphold him and surround him with your mighty warriors. Grant us, his fellow servants, the resources to aid him in the battles ahead. Grant us vision, wisdom, and strength of heart. Fill our hands with purpose and our hearts with love for mankind—and lead us along your chosen path, dear Saviour. We humbly ask all these things in your name and for your sake, my King. Amen.”
The fellowship’s members looked up, their faces filled with questions. Martin spoke first. “What just happened? Henry, how did you move so quickly? And Charles? Are you ill? What’s happened?”
Henry was checking the duke’s pulse, urging him to sit. “Your heart is racing, Charles. Please, take the seat. Mr. Baxter, might we have a glass of water for the duke?”
The butler had already stood, ready to help his friend, and he filled a crystal glass and handed it to Haimsbury. “Do you need to lie down, my lord?” he asked with deep concern.
“No,” Charles managed to reply, his breathing laboured. His ribs ached, and his limbs responded slowly to command. The supernatural battle had left physical bruises. “I just need a minute,” he told them. “I feel as though I’ve run a hundred miles. The same as the night I chased after that demon through Henry’s Woods.”
Baxter remembered the night all too well. The stallion, Ambrose Aurelius, had been drained of blood by an unseen foe, and Sinclair had raced after it for ten miles—in an impossibly short space of time—and then boldly challenged the spirit creature.
With his fingers still on Sinclair’s wrist, Henry counted again. “It’s slowing. It may help to lie down, if only for a few minutes.”
“I’d rather sit, Henry. Please, everyone, let’s begin the reports.”
Aubrey had sensed nothing during the encounter, but he realised something quite terrifying must have occurred.
“Whatever just happened here is beyond the capacity of most of us to perceive; however, the Lord has filled one of our chairs with a man who has eyes to see into that darkened mirror and discern the hidden actions of both sides. I’ll offer a full report of our current investigations in a moment, but first, I’d like Henry to tell us what he witnessed.”
The viscount remained standing. He placed a hand on Sinclair’s left shoulder. “In the thirty-four years I’ve walked this earth, I’ve witnessed some quite miraculous events. As a boy, I perceived what my mother called angels, walking and speaking to one another within our home. Usually, these beings were gentle and kind; but despite that, my father feared for us. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, and thought us both mad, to be honest. Most husbands would have committed my mother to an asylum, but Father kept her close, shut up in her rooms.”
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br /> “And you?” asked Aubrey.
Henry grew quiet for a moment, strain showing upon his face. “He avoided me. You see, he couldn’t even imagine the world Mother and I saw so clearly. It made me doubt my own sanity for a time, but Mother told me it was a gift. That my vision set me apart. I never asked for this ability, yet I begin to understand why it exists; for it allowed me to rescue Elizabeth from a prison within another realm. And today, it’s given me eyes to see a battle that might have weakened any other man’s faith. But Charles Sinclair is stronger than any man I’ve ever known. He became a battleground, with warriors from both sides grappling for his heart and soul. I saw them and I heard them. I think it all happened in the blink of an eye, perhaps outside of time; for the rest of the world had frozen. None of you moved. I imagine, to you, nothing occurred; although you can see the consequences of Charles’s battle.”
“Indeed!” declared Martin. “Clearly, our duke has fought a great fight. And I fear these occurrences will only continue.”
“So the messenger told us,” Charles answered, his colour improving. “I’m fine, Henry. Thank you for your aid.”
Paul asked, “Henry, are these entities still here, or do we now meet as men only?”
The viscount resumed his chair. “Presently, I see nothing, but that doesn’t mean we’re alone. We meet in a material space, but it’s my firm belief that we interact within unseen rooms. The Lord’s guardians keep watch upon us. I sense nothing evil or disruptive here now. Only peace. And such sweet peace it is!” he added, his eyes filling with tears as his own heart slowed.
Charles nodded. “Thank you, Henry. The Lord brought you to us for a reason, and we begin to perceive it. Tomorrow, we celebrate the incarnation of God Almighty as our Redeemer. Is it any wonder that the enemy might choose to engage us now? These intrusions—in fact, all these recent crimes—are intended to lure us away from our true goal, but we must not be duped! Rather, let us look to our purpose, gentlemen. To the path ahead, with our hands upon the plow, looking neither to the left, nor to the right, but ever onwards—our eyes fixed upon Christ!”
The table erupted into shouts of praise and agreement.
Kepelheim stood. “If I may? What we’ve witnessed here are but the remnants of warfare. We dull-eyed others lack vision, but it is not our purpose to ‘see’. Each of us serves our Lord with gifts unique to him. Henry has entered our circle as a guardian and watchman. Charles is our leader, and if I may choose a chess metaphor, he is our king. Elizabeth is our queen, and Henry acts as one of the knights, whilst Paul serves as the other. Perhaps, Mac and I are bishops who seek to convey spiritual truths from written records. Now, lest you other wonderful men conclude you serve only as pawns, let me remind you that pawns can make or break a game. In some cases, a pawn becomes your most powerful weapon.”
“So long as we do not sacrifice our queen,” Charles interjected. “Martin, chess is an apt comparison, for all humans stand upon that eternal board, but the difference in the two sides is this: The black assembly, representing darkness and evil, enthrall and bind the men and women upon their side. No piece, regardless of rank, has autonomy, for each is subject to the whims of that infernal chess player—the hidden hand behind human actions.
“However, God’s side, the white, allow his hand to move them. We are not slaves, but willing participants in the match! We cooperate rather than capitulate. Therefore, our rank and position on the board is determined by God’s plan. Trusting in that plan is a choice, made daily. We must continually walk in his light, study his word, follow his commands, and lift him up for all the world to see! That is our mission, gentlemen. To bring Christ’s light to darkness. If the Dragon thought to frighten or intimidate me, then he knows nothing of the Sinclair sinews. They are strong and unyielding, for the blood that strengthens me comes not from any ancient race, but from the bleeding hands of Christ alone!”
Again, shouts of ‘Amen’ and ‘Praise the Lord’ rang throughout the magnificent library, echoing upwards into the lofty, stained-glass dome three storeys above, where a white owl watched from its perch near the edge.
Kepelheim wiped tears from his ageing eyes. “I wish your dear father were here,” he said. “But I’m certain he watches from the throne room, cheering you on, Charles. The board is now set, my friends, and we chessmen take our places. We look to our human king and seek his commands.”
Sinclair swallowed hard, for the notion of being called a ‘king’ touched numerous strings within his heart, sounding a discordant tone. “I seek no such title, nor do I seek a throne, but one may await me. Gentlemen, I trust everyone at this table with my life. As such, I need to tell you of a conversation I shared with our gracious Lady Stuart. All of you know her true title?”
Every man nodded.
“On the rail journey from London, we had the train to ourselves, for the most part. Four of James’s men guarded the doors, and six others sat near the back, but overall, she and I had three hours to talk privately during that long, snowy journey. We discussed a question she asked me weeks ago. I explained that my commitment to that decision depends entirely upon the support of you inner circle members. James has given me his opinion and his support. All I need is yours.”
Every eye fixed upon Haimsbury—as though, this moment were the culmination of all their centuries of work.
“Did you say yes?” asked his cousin.
“In a way. Allow me to explain. When I first met with this good lady in private some weeks ago, her easy manner and frankness took me by surprise. She’s a formidable queen beneath that heavy crown, but in the quiet of a drawing room, she becomes a woman of sparkling wit and deep political convictions. She even asked about my views on Christian faith. I shall continue to sound her out on this and allow the Lord to lead those conversations.”
The air grew still, and the background noise from the rest of the house—servants talking, music from Adele’s piano, dogs barking—all stopped, as though the world took a breath.
Charles, too, inhaled deeply, praying inwardly as he spoke. “My friends, the queen has asked me to assume the throne upon her death.”
A feather dropping would have sounded like a hammer blow, so heavy was the silence. The young duke could see each man’s concentration, his mind at work, sorting through the possibilities of so major a shift in England’s monarchy; imagining how it might affect the ability of the inner circle to continue its mission; what it might mean for future generations.
Finally, the earl rose to his feet. “My friends, we need not offer a joint opinion, for I suspect each of us foresees both positive and negative consequences. Charles, when must you give the queen your final answer?”
“Thursday morning, when I take her back to London.”
“Then, may I suggest we consider it privately until then—speaking of it in whispers, only to one another. We’ll meet again in this room on Boxing Day to vote.”
Charles nodded, grateful for the suggestion. “Yes, I think that’s the best solution. Now, let us leave this weighty issue and review our current responsibilities. Each of you belongs to the ICI, and most also serve in the Intelligence Branch. Therefore, it’s up to us to solve several riddles. Paul, if you’d be good enough to give the first report? Then, we’ll hear Reid regarding the London situation. Oh, but before we do so, Cousin, perhaps you could address any questions about today’s wedding.”
The earl took a beat before speaking. “When Charles announced his engagement to our beloved duchess, I never imagined I’d be sharing similar news before the year was out. It probably seems sudden to all of you, which it is, but I believe it’s the right thing to do. Two nights ago, Cordelia Wychwright was sexually assaulted.”
Ed MacPherson gasped, for he’d heard only scraps of the story. “Is this verified? Was it this fellow Wendaway again?”
“No,” answered the earl. “Though she’s said little since arriving here,
Delia told James a great deal when he first spoke with her. In fact, she told him more than she realises, I think. Delia’s come to trust my uncle; as do we all. Here is how it stands. Cordelia’s father left her a furnished home and the a modest fortune to operate it. James believes the new baron, Captain William Wychwright, wants to control this inheritance through a forced marriage to one of his disreputable friends.”
Reid’s hand went up. “Forgive the interruption, Lord Aubrey, but Duke James asked me to look into both men. Wychwright’s friends, I mean. Both have form with the Met, and been bailed out multiple times by their fancy lawyers. Interestingly, one of those lawyers is a retired QC named Wentworth.”
“As in our missing Cambridge man?” asked Aubrey.
Reid nodded. “His father. This Wentworth didn’t negotiate the release directly but influenced it through a letter to the Home Office. Charles, you’ll be interested to learn that Wychwright and his friends are all members of the Silver Spoons Club at Cambridge. As are Lionel Wentworth and the late Peter Patterson.”
Charles blinked, his mind adding this bit of information to the complicated puzzle. “The Spoons were mere rumour, or so I thought. I never realised they actually existed! Sir Thomas, I want you to find a circle member with Trinity connexions and ask him to investigate this club. See if they have dealings with any Redwing members.”
“I’ll get on it right away, sir,” Galton answered, taking notes. “But you might ask Seth Holloway. He teaches at Cambridge.”
“I will,” Sinclair replied, “but I want a circle member to verify anything Holloway says. He’s still a suspect in Patterson’s murder.”
“But he can’t have killed Collinwood, Charles,” Paul interrupted. “Besides, Seth’s not a killer; he’s a victim.”
“We’ll speak of this privately. Go on, Edmund. What more do you know of Treversham and Brandt?”
Realms of Fire Page 48
