Praise for LOOKING FOR THE KING
“This superbly gripping novel about dreams coming true is itself a dream come true. Lewis and Tolkien come alive as real-life characters, playing their sagacious parts to realistic perfection as the protagonists follow their Arthurian quest pursued by deadly enemies. For lovers of Arthurian romance and for admirers of Tolkien and Lewis, this is indeed a dream come true!”
—JOSEPH PEARCE, author, Tolkien: Man and Myth
“A highly engaging historical mystery adventure that brings C. S. Lewis and his friends and ideas to life. Fans of Lewis and Tolkien will love it. I couldn’t put it down!”
—PETER J. SCHAKEL, author, The Way into Narnia and Imagination and the Arts in C.S. Lewis
“The subtitle of this book is ‘An Inklings Novel.’ That claim might seem presumptuous at first. But lo—it is an Inklings novel. My own guess is that Lewis, Tolkien, and Williams would all be mightily pleased with it. All three of them, as it happens, figure as characters in the story, which is Arthurian, but set in the contemporary world—very much in the vein of That Hideous Strength and War in Heaven. The Inklings themselves are flawlessly depicted, as are the two protagonists, a very appealing young man and woman. All Inklings lovers will be highly delighted.”
—THOMAS HOWARD, author, Narnia and Beyond
“Steeped in Arthurian lore, the mystery of the grail legends, and World War II intrigue, this engaging tale of a young man’s search for a hidden relic ultimately uncovers treasure of a far different kind. David Downing’s homage to C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien and Charles Williams succeeds masterfully in bringing these historical figures to life in the midst of an unfolding spiritual thriller. This is a beguiling and enjoyable read—laced throughout with romance, wry humor and questions of eternal consequence.”
—MARJORIE LAMP MEAD, Associate Director, The Marion E. Wade Center, Wheaton College
“Downing sets out to echo the Inklings, and this he has done to perfection. Lewis said that in order to judge something, whether it be ‘a corkscrew or a cathedral’ you had to judge what it was intended to accomplish. Downing accomplishes exactly what he set out to do. It was a lark, a sheer pleasure. If I had any criticism it’s that I was sorry that it came to an end.”
—JAMES PROTHERO, President of the Southern California C.S. Lewis Society
LOOKING FOR THE KING
DAVID C. DOWNING
AN INKLINGS NOVEL
2020 First Printing
Looking for the King: An Inklings Novel
Copyright © 2020 by David Claude Downing
ISBN 978-1-64060-349-3
Paraclete Fiction is an imprint of Paraclete Press, Inc.; the Paraclete Fiction name and logo (wing) are trademarks of Paraclete Press, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Downing, David C., author.
Title: Looking for the king : an Inklings novel / David C. Downing.
Description: Brewster, Massachusetts : Paraclete Press, [2020] | Summary: “A novel set in 1940s England, two researchers set out in quest of the Spear of Destiny, aided by the Inklings”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019048835 (print) | LCCN 2019048836 (ebook) | ISBN 9781640603493 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9781640603509 (mobi) | ISBN 9781640603516 (epub) | ISBN 9781640603561 (pdf)
Subjects: GSAFD: Historical fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3554.O93423 L66 2020 (print) | LCC PS3554.O93423 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019048835
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019048836
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All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in an electronic retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Published by Paraclete Press
Brewster, Massachusetts
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Here lies buried the renowned King Arthur with his wife Guinevere.” Tom McCord studied the marker in front of a coffin-sized rectangle in the grass, outlined in stone.
Or maybe it’s the marker that lies, thought Tom. He knew the story: There had been a great fire in Glastonbury in the twelfth century, destroying most of the abbey and its relics. Pilgrims had started going elsewhere—Tintagel, Malmesbury—until the town’s soothsayer located the supposed graves of Arthur and Guinevere, right there on abbey property. The pilgrims returned—gladdening the hearts of the monks and fattening the purses of local innkeepers and tradesmen.
“If Arthur did not exist,” Tom muttered to himself, “it might be necessary to invent him.” He shifted the pack on his shoulders and took a step back to survey the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey. Between the blue sky and green lawn were scattered acres of fallen stones—crumbling yellow walls, staircases to nowhere, dog-toothed blocks jutting out of the earth. Straight ahead were two halves of a broken arch, reaching up to the sky like supplicating hands. This had been a magnificent edifice once, a city in itself, a fortress of faith. But all that remained were walls without a roof, foundations with nothing to support. It was a splendid ruin, but forlorn too. Like religion itself, thought Tom.
Walking past the broken arch, Tom spotted a stone building in the corner of the grounds that looked like an abbey in miniature, with sturdy buttresses, arched windows and a funnel-shaped ceiling. This was the abbot’s kitchen, all that remained of what once had been a grand palace. Tom strode toward the building and peeked in through its single arched doorway. Inside he saw a dim room where motes of dust swirled and danced in the slanting light. Stepping in, he found one great room under a dome-like ceiling, with cavernous fireplaces, taller than he was, built into every corner. What feasts must have been prepared here! There was plenty of room for a score of workers and dozens of cupboards and tables. He could almost see a great boar roasting on a spit in one corner, a giant stewpot simmering in another, delicate cakes coming out of an oven nearby. Clearly, the abbot did not live by bread alone. The room was nearly empty now, except for a long wooden bench in front of the fireplace nearest the door.