Strange Dominions: a collection of paranormal short stories (short story books) by David Calvert Page A

you?”
    Jenny flinched and turned to see the darkly dressed figure of a clergyman standing in the aisle.
    “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.
    In her eyes he saw the hauntingly familiar look of unresolved grief. He sat next to her and proffered a friendly hand, greeting her with a pleasant, almost boyish, smile.
    “The name’s Tremayne. The Reverend Anthony Lucas Tremayne, to be exact. I’m rector Phillips’ replacement,” he said, his face broadening into a cheerful grin.
    She took hold of his outstretched hand. “Mine’s Jenny.”
    “I couldn’t help noticing your fascination with Arken’s local hero. He’s quite an interesting character, don’t you think?”
    “Is he? I’m afraid I’ll have to take your word for that. History isn’t exactly my strong point.”
    “Oh, indeed he was. Did you know that for centuries he was said to be the founder of this church?”
    “No, but as I said before…”
    “Of course; history isn’t your strong point,” he recalled, adding, “The truth is he was actually a crusader who fought in Alexandria and Syria. Unfortunately, he suffered a serious head wound in the latter campaign and was shipped back to England, and then on to Arken. The poor chap became quite deranged at the end and died.”
    Jenny’s thoughts wandered from Edmund to a more recent and intimately tragic history.
    Mistaking her abstraction as a sign of disinterest the young cleric apologised for having disturbed her and made to leave, but was forestalled by her insistence that he carry on.
    “I’d love to,” he replied, glancing at his wristwatch, “Unfortunately, I have to keep a prior appointment. Perhaps we could meet at the rectory tomorrow to continue our chat,” he suggested. “Lord knows, I’ve had little chance to get acquainted with my flock.”
    The airy interior of the rectory came as a welcoming respite from the excesses of the midday sun and Jenny could not help but feel a little envious of the Reverend at having such a shaded sanctuary. Unlike his predecessor, the young cleric insisted that the formalities of his office be set aside, preferring simply to be known as Lucas. Jenny was happy to oblige him; she found the use of such titles pretentious at best. That he was also more enlightened than his predecessor was evidenced by the numerous scientific journals, which adorned the bookshelves.
    “I got the impression from you yesterday,” she began, “that there was more to the story of Edmund D’Lyle.”
    “Yes there is,” He relaxed into his armchair and took a sip from his iced tea. “During my researches into the last crusades I came across a document bearing his name. It was written by Philip De Mezieres, Chancellor to Peter the First of Cyprus. He and the King were responsible for the organisation of the 1365 crusade. They came to London to secure the help of several English knights, one of them being Edmund. As you know, he eventually returned to England and died. That he lived as long as he did was entirely due to his companion. She apparently travelled everywhere with him.”
    The painful memories of her past began to reassert themselves. Jenny knew only too well the wretchedness of losing loved ones. In the midst of her thoughts a single word – ‘misericord’ – brought her back to the present.
    “I was just saying as how it is something of a mystery to me,” Lucas said, in response to her question.
    “Oh! Why is that?”
    “Well, according to my records the effigy is supposed to be holding a misericord in its hand. True misericords were used to put an end to the suffering of battlefield victims. Their name is derived from the Latin for ‘pitying heart’. However, these were a special honour bestowed upon the knights by the King for their efforts in the crusades. Edmund’s is missing – jewel and all.”
    “Didn’t Rector Philips fill you in on what happened before you took over his duties?”
    “No. His departure to the mainland was