The Calling
Chapter 3

“What!?” roared the King. He stood from the throne and towered above the Knight kneeling at the foot of his throne. The knight gazed up at his King and winched at ferocity in his eyes and quickly lowered his gaze away. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Yes, my liege” he stammered, “I saw it for myself”

The King stepped from the throne and placed a gauntleted hand on the shoulder of the Knight, “Rise Lord Kay and tell me what you saw”.

Kay stood and stood before his King and looked up from the floor, taking in the regal figure before him. The King stood in full ceremonial dress, bequeathed in lavish robes and jewellery. The light from the torches scattered around the hall bounced and reflected off the small jewels set deep into the golden crest perched around the flowing dark locks of hair on the King’s head.

“My liege...forgive me” begged Kay he said staring into the King’s brown eyes.

“No... forgive me Lord Kay, the information that you partake is not your fault. But please thoust must tell me what you have seen”

“It was Lancelot my Liege...of that I am certain” he glanced around the room as he spoke as though guilty of the admission to the King. “I saw him entering the bedding chambers of the Queen”

“You are certain...”

Lord Kay nodded and winched as King Arthur roared toward the ceiling before collapsing back into the throne. “My Guinevere...” he whispered almost inaudibly, “Guinevere”. He shook his head sadly and placed his hands on the arms of the throne, a look clouding over his features. “Give me your sword” he commanded Lord Kay.

“My Liege?” Kay queried.

“Your Sword, Lord Kay. Give me your sword!” Kay frowned and placed his hand on his sword, locked deep within the scabbard hanging around his waist. “Give me it man!” he demanded, “I shall not use Excalibur on a slur like Lancelot!“, he thrust his hand out toward Lord Kay who knelt at his feet once again and withdrew his own sword from its scabbard and held it aloft toward the King. Anger flashed over his face as he held the sword in his hands for a moment and consider the Knight before him. “Begone Lord Kay, you can retrieve your sword another day” he said through gritted teeth, then he stormed through the hall and squatted at a heavy curtain hiding the corridor beyond.

“Lancelot!” he roared down the corridor as he gripped the handle of the sword in a vice like grip. The sound echoed down the corridor, bouncing off the walls and disturbing the resting vermin hidden in crevices in the castle.

Francis stirred from his position on the floor of the shower cubicle, water pounding on his body. A sudden pain gripped his back and he tentatively reached a hand around his body and gingerly touched the sore area. He couldn’t feel anything and shook his head to clear the confusion in his mind. The water from the shower splashed over his face and Francis rubbed his eyes and cast his gaze around the room. There was no sign of the woman, but he knew she had been there in the room with him. Not just the room, but the shower. He remembered the mixture of shock and excitement before he had passed out. A tinge of embarrassment flushed over him as he suddenly recalled collapsing backwards during the exchange, before several questions flooded his mind. Who was she? how did she get in? where was she now? and was he going mad? In his heart of hearts, Francis knew there would be no way that a naked woman could have got into the shower let alone the flat, but still the sound of her voice echoed in his head and the smell of her invaded his nose. He took in a strong sniff and could smell the faint odour of...apples? He shook his head and forced himself to his feet and tugged at the shower controls, turning off the flow of water through the nozzle.

“Francis! Francis!” came a woman’s voice form outside the door, “Are you still in there?, what are you doing?” demanded the voice. “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing...not in my home, my boy!”

“Mother!” snapped Francis, “I’m not...I’m fine, just washing”

“Still” she snapped back.

“Go back to bed Mother, I’m alright” he called through the door, covering his body with the large red towel hanging over the radiator by the door.

“Go back to bed!” she howled, “go back to bed! it’s almost Eight O’ Clock!” she called as she banged on the door. “You’re going too late for work...if your Father were still here...”

Eight O’ Clock? how could it be so late. Francis looked around the room in confusion. He had been in here for over three hours, he didn’t understand what was happening to him...the woman? He frowned and ran his hands through his hair. He could hear the strained voice of his mother filtering through the door, but there was something else...another voice, not the woman but another...a man’s. “Lancelot!” it stormed faintly then drifted off through the ether of the steam in the room.

“Yeah! well he ain’t is he!” he snapped back through the door unaware of the rest of his mother’s sentence. “He walked out years ago didn’t he!” Francis immediately regretted his words even before he had finished speaking them, and guilt weighed heavily on him as he heard a gush of emotion from the other side of the door followed by footsteps rushing down the hall. He cursed inwardly and opened the door and peered through the darkened hallway. “Mother...” he paused to listen, “Mother” he attempted again, “I’m sorry” he whispered into the air and closed the door and moved further into the bathroom. He leaned on the sink and gazed at the clean white porcelain basin and cursed loudly at his stupidity. He cast his gaze at the mirror above the sink and frowned as the glass was covered by a condensation sheen over the surface of the mirror. He raised a hand and swiped at the glass wiping away great portions of moisture and peered at the face gazing back at him from the mirror.

Francis recoiled in horror as the face which gazed back at him from the reflective surface wasn’t his own. He didn’t recognise the face and he could feel a sensation of panic rise through his body as the face of an elderly man gazed back through the glass and cast a shadow on the wall behind him. He stepped away from the sink and thrust his body toward the door, desperate to escape the nightmare which his life was becoming. He pulled at the handle and pulled the door, casting a quick glance back into the room and into the heart of the mirror and into the eyes of...the eyes of...the eyes of himself. He stopped himself from moving out of the frame and peered at the mirror and at his own face. He grimaced and clutched his face, feeling a pounding on the inside of his skull and his world swirled out of focus. He placed a hand on the patterned wallpaper to steady himself and struggled along the hall toward his room, “Mother!” he called out meekly, “Mum”. Darkness enveloped him for the second time in a few hours.

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