The Devil in green da-1 Page 17

  'You're the fourth, counting Miller.'

  'Who's missing?'

  'Hipgrave.' Blaine peered down into Mallory's face. 'Any idea what happened to him?'

  Mallory thought of the severed hand. 'That thing must have got him-'

  'Or you could have killed him in the confusion.'

  'I'm not going to kill one of our own!' Mallory protested.

  Stefan's light cough was a signal for Blaine to step back. 'Events have overtaken us while you were away,' Stefan said, with a smile so insincere that Mallory couldn't believe he was even attempting it. 'There are forces in this world… forces of the Adversary… ranged against a resurgent Church. He knows we are once again on the path to be the Guiding Light of the world, and he is prepared to do anything to destroy us.' He made a strange hand gesture as he attempted to choose the right words. 'Security is paramount. We cannot afford for our defences to be breached. We have to be sure you are still guided by the Glory of God.'

  'I'm telling the truth.' Mallory looked from Stefan to Blaine and back, now even more unsettled.

  'We've got people who can tell if you're who you say you are,' Blaine said coldly.

  'Who I say I am?' he echoed incredulously.

  'To ensure you have not been corrupted by your encounter with the dark forces,' Stefan corrected.

  Mallory didn't understand their meaning, but the way they were saying it brought a trickle of cold sweat down his back.

  'We held a grand synod,' Stefan continued, 'and took the advice of some of our Catholic brothers in establishing a new and very limited order of Inquisitors of Heretical Depravity. It has served Rome well for many centuries.'

  'The Inquisition?' Mallory said in disbelief.

  'Oh, don't be put off by Godless propaganda or stories of medieval excess,' Stefan replied. 'The name "Inquisition" merely comes from the Latin verb inquiro — to inquire into. There is nothing menacing about that at all. It is simply a way of gaining information through intensive questioning. By testing the defendant, if you will, through a trial of inquiry.'

  Stefan attempted to sound dismissive, but Mallory could tell what kind of Inquisition the chancellor had in mind, and it wasn't the essentially benign one that the Catholic Church had maintained throughout the twentieth century. Stefan's medieval turn of mind was plain for all to see. 'Cornelius agreed to it?'

  Stefan bowed his head. 'The bishop is not well. The Lord watches over him, but his strength is fading fast. He is in no position to be concerned with the minutiae of the Church's day-to-day running. Our spiritual needs are all that matter to him.'

  'Have Daniels and Gardener been put through this?' The brief silence gave him his answer.

  'This is the proper course of action. We need to be sure there aren't fifth columnists working against us within the brethren.' Blaine sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. 'This Church is the only good thing going in this world. There are a lot of people depending on us. We have to do what we can…' He realised his rambling was giving away his true thoughts and so he repeated, but with different meaning, 'We have to do what we can.' Mallory could see he was speaking from the heart: he believed completely in what he was doing — a soldier chosen to defend the Faith with any means necessary, however unpleasant.

  'What is it?' Mallory still didn't accept the implication of what they were saying. 'The rack?'

  Stefan looked horrified, although there was no heart in the reaction. 'Good Lord, what do you take us for? We have chosen men of integrity for this vital role, devout men who will ask the correct questions, that is all.'

  Mallory looked at Blaine; Blaine looked away.

  Stefan turned to go, obviously eager not to be tainted by the unpleasantness that lay ahead. At the door he said, 'Blaine was right, Mallory — this is a good thing. Everything we do is for the survival of the Church and the greater Glory of God. Answer with your heart and all will be well.' He swept away.

  Blaine paused at the door. 'This isn't personal, Mallory. I think you're an untrustworthy bastard who needs to be kept in line, but I can do that myself. This is about something bigger… keeping the Church safe. I have a responsibility here and I'm going to see it through.'

  'That's all right, then,' Mallory said acidly.

  A flicker of the old hardness shone in Blaine's eyes. 'You're too smart, Mallory. We don't need your type here. We need people who obey, who take orders. That's what the whole fucking religion's about.' The flare of anger had already lost its edge when he was only halfway out. 'Just tell the truth, Mallory. Don't make any rods for your own back.'

  Ten minutes later, three men walked in. They had the smart haircuts and mundanely handsome faces of catalogue models, so bland there was something resolutely sinister about them. Mallory could see instantly why they had been chosen: their floating irises and dead eyes gave away their penchant for dirty jobs.

  The leader, the inquisitor-general as he introduced himself, was called Broderick. He was wiry with red hair and a pasty, papery complexion. His smile was so fake Mallory wanted to wipe it off with one blow.

  He took Blaine's advice and answered truthfully, but they still punctuated their questions with hard knuckles just to let him know they could. At first they asked him about the mission and any encounters he might have had with 'the forces of darkness'. Eventually, though, they merely asked him to repeat the Lord's Prayer. Mallory got it right after a few promptings. He lost consciousness after fifty minutes.

  He was woken with a bucket of icy water that washed some of the blood away. Blaine leaned against a wall, watching him cursorily.

  'Did I pass?' The words came out strangely through Mallory's split lips.

  'We had to be sure.' Blaine motioned to the inquisitors to help Mallory to his feet. 'They used to work for the security services in Belfast. Quite a coup, them turning up here.'

  'Yes, aren't we lucky?' Mallory shook off the helping hands and walked under his own strength. The pain in his ribs made it hard to breathe and his head rang with numerous aches; he had already been at a low ebb after his battles on Salisbury Plain. 'This is the second time you've put me through the wringer. I'm starting to think you enjoy it.'

  Blaine didn't bite. 'I would have thought by this time you'd have learned a little humility, Mallory. Now, you get yourself to the infirmary. I want you back on duty as soon as possible. We need every available hand for defence.' Briefly, his shoulders sagged with the weight of responsibility. 'You don't know how lucky you were getting inside here in one piece last night.'

  The dislocation Mallory had felt on his arrival returned with force. 'What's been going on? Where did all the new buildings come from?'

  Blaine was honestly puzzled. 'What new buildings?'

  'What new buildings! I'm talking about the four million tonnes of stone thrown up almost overnight. The new buildings!'

  Blaine shook his head contemptuously. 'You've had a long night, Mallory — you should have a lie down.'

  'Something's been going on here. The security's been stepped up-'

  'You'll find out in due course. At least I don't have to worry about you trying to abscond any more. You're stuck in here for the duration like the rest of us.'

  Mallory was disturbed by Blaine's reaction to his questions about the mysterious construction that now swathed the original cathedral building. Nothing made sense. The aches and pains reverberating through his body only contributed to the numbing effect of the transformed cathedral so that he felt as though he was floating through a dream. It took him nearly two hours to find the infirmary. A maze of corridors and rooms now linked the cathedral and Malmesbury House, some of them grand vaulted chambers with mighty columns, pristine as if newly built, others so decrepit they appeared on the verge of falling down. Early morning sunlight streamed through holes in the roof and ivy wound around pillars, while rats scurried amongst the shattered stone debris that littered the floor in some quarters. He found enormous deserted chapels, the stained-glass windows casting red, blue, yello
w and green swirls over the altars. He stumbled across the entrance to a subterranean ossuary so packed with bones that they spilled out into the corridor. There were crypts so vast their ends were lost in shadows and halls packed with graven images of men in monk's habits and bishop's mitres, knights and lords, none of whom he recognised. Even more confusing, when he backtracked, the layout of the building appeared to be continually changing: corridors suddenly came to dead ends; rooms he had never seen before appeared around bends. And over it all lay a dense atmosphere — of reverence in the areas closer to the light, of unbearably claustrophobic repression in the dark.

  Occasionally, he met a brother moving about his business and it soon became apparent that, like Blaine, none of them thought anything had changed. Only a supernatural force could have transformed the cathedral in such a manner, though how, and to what end, escaped him. Nor did he understand why he was the only one with clear vision. It made him feel even more apart than he had before, strung out and anxious with nothing to tether him to reality.

  Finally, when he had just about consigned himself to being lost in the maze forever, he found himself inside Malmesbury House, an oasis of calm with its sophisticated decor. He couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that there was an intelligence to the newly appeared building that had presented the correct route to him only when it was ready.

  When he entered the infirmary, Warwick was mixing a foul-smelling potion. After he had decanted the brew into a crystal bottle, he eyed Mallory suspiciously.

  'Fell down the stairs again, I see,' he said judgementally. 'I told you I was not-'

  'I had a meeting with the Inquisition.'

  Warwick's mood became contrite. He motioned for Mallory to lie on the table and began applying some stinging tincture to the cuts and abrasions.

  'What's happened here?' Mallory said, wincing. He gave it one last try. 'Who magicked up the new building?'

  'Don't know what you're talking about,' Warwick said brusquely. He tenderly checked Mallory's ribs. 'No breaks again. Well done,' he added acidly. 'God looks after fools.'

  'The extension to the cathedral?' Mallory pressed futilely. 'All the new rooms?'

  'Did you get hit on the head?'

  'For God's sake, it covers nearly the whole compound now.'

  Warwick helped lever him off the table. 'You'd better go and have a lie down, old chap. I'll mix you up a sedative.'

  Warwick propelled Mallory towards a room at the back. It had a very high ceiling that gave it a restless air, a mood exacerbated by the lack of windows; torches burned in plates atop tall struts amongst the beds that lined both walls. It was too hot despite the time of year, and had the unpleasant aroma of the sick. Many of the men tossed and turned feverishly, though some lay still, as if dead.

  'Mallory!'

  He recognised Daniels' voice immediately. He was propped up in a bed at the far end, waving. As Mallory approached, he could see stained bandages covering the upper-left quarter of Daniels' head.

  Mallory sat on the end of the bed, aching too much to stand any longer. 'What happened to you?'

  'Lost an eye.' Daniels' hand half-went to the bandages, then stopped. 'It caught me a glancing blow, but it felt as if someone had rammed a carving knife into the socket.' His good eye closed for a second.

  'I'm sorry.'

  'We count our blessings, right? I was lucky to get out of there with my life. We all were. Gardener got me back. He's a good man.' He leaned forwards to slap Mallory on the arm with comradely good nature. Mallory winced. 'But what about you!' Daniels said. 'I was convinced you'd shuffled off the mortal coil in your usual iconoclastic, curmudgeonly manner. Should have known you've got too much piss and vinegar in you to give up the ghost, Mallory!'

  'I had a good go, believe me. I got Miller back, too, you know?' 'Really? Thank the Lord. How is he?'

  'He was in a bad way. I thought he'd be in here.'

  'This is the walking wounded. The slackers. They've got another ward for the serious. What about Hipgrave?'

  'Dead, I think. At least, he's not back yet. I found a severed hand. Gardener's in one piece?' Daniels nodded. 'Then it must have been Hipgrave's. I don't think he could have lost a hand out there and not bled to death.'

  'Shame. He was a detestable little shit who couldn't lead a drunk to the bar, but, you know…'

  Mallory nodded, although he had to admit to himself that he didn't feel even that little bit of charity. They sat in silence for a moment, repressed memories of that night suddenly rushing back. Bizarrely, Mallory remembered the smell the most, like a wet dog, though sourer, with a rubbery under-odour.

  'What was that thing?' he asked from his daze.

  There was more silence, and when he looked up, Daniels had tears in his eye. 'Sometimes I think we've got no right to be here, do you know what I mean?'

  'I met someone on the way back,' Mallory began tentatively, not sure how much he should give away. 'They told me something had noticed us.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Some force… I don't know, exactly. I got the sense it was incredibly powerful… ancient. Evil.' He stared at the hissing torch as he recalled Rhiannon's world. 'That thing we met on Bratton Camp was linked to it in some way.'

  'The Adversary,' Daniels said.

  'I don't think so. The way she spoke, this was something else… something even worse, if that's possible. It sounded as if she was saying it was on the other side of the universe… it crawled up from the edge of Existence… but it's moving this way.'

  'It's nothing to do with the Adversary?' There was a dim note of despair in Daniels' voice.

  'I don't know.'

  'Who told you all this?' Daniels asked.

  Before Mallory could answer, they were both hailed in a gruff Geordie accent. Gardener strode towards them, beaming in a manner Mallory had never seen before. 'Bloody hell, lad, I thought you were-'

  'Yeah, yeah, we've just been through all that.'

  Gardener cuffed him genially on the shoulder and Mallory winced again.

  'You landed a few bruises then,' Daniels said, with what Mallory thought was unnecessary brightness.

  'They're from our friends here. The Inquisition. I gather you haven't had the pleasure yet.'

  Daniels looked uncomfortable. 'Sorry, Mallory. I heard about them, but they left us alone. I think they were too surprised we actually made it back… plus my injury…'

  Mallory laughed. 'You don't have to make excuses, Daniels. I know they don't like the cut of my jib. If there's some shit going around, I'm the one who's always going to get the first helping.'

  'Well, as long as you know it, laddie,' Gardener joked.

  Mallory's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. 'What I don't get is what the hell's happened and why nobody will talk to me about it.' He eyed them hopefully, urging them to understand his meaning.

  Daniels and Gardener both looked across the beds uneasily to make sure no one was listening. 'We had the same thing when we got here,' Daniels whispered. 'They don't know, Mallory. They think everything's normal.'

  'They've been affected by whatever caused it,' Gardener said. 'They all think the place has always been like this. I tell you, I tried to explore the madhouse a few times, but it seems as though it's bigger than…' He picked his teeth rather than finish the sentence, so Mallory said it for him.

  'Bigger than the land it's on.'

  Gardener nodded, but didn't meet Mallory's eye.

  'And the layout keeps changing all the time,' Mallory continued.

  Once again Daniels looked unaccountably gloomy. 'I like things to make sense-'

  'Then why are you neck-deep in religion?' Mallory said bad- temperedly.

  '-and there's no sense to this at all. There's no sense to anything in this world any more. No rules. That's the one rule — there are no rules. And I hate it! How are you supposed to understand things if it can all change while you're sleeping?'

  'It's either the Devil's work, or it's God's,' Garden
er said bluntly. 'It's up to us to find out which. Personally, I'd plump for the latter. This is hallowed ground. The Devil can't have any influence here.'

  'Do you think you can come up with a more simple explanation?' Mallory said tardy.

  Daniels lay wearily back on his pillow and closed his good eye. 'Look, we've all got different beliefs here — there's no point arguing amongst ourselves. If we're the only ones who can see the truth, we've got to stick together until we find out what it means.' He gave a low laugh. 'And it's not as if you can run away, Mallory.'

  'Blaine said something along those lines. What's going on?'

  'We're under siege,' Gardener said.

  'The kind of things we saw out on the Plain have moved into the city,' Daniels added. 'Every night they're roaming around the walls, sometimes during the day as well. Anybody who goes out doesn't come back.'

  'Blaine said I was lucky to get back here.'

  'He's right there, man,' Gardener noted. 'I just watched them send out three Blues. They didn't make it to the end of the street. There was something out there like dirty washing lying in the road. It came up, flapping around, like, and they all fell apart. Just like that. All fell apart. I tell you, it made me sick to see it.'

  'But they say the things don't touch any of the city people at all during the day. Most of the time, folk can just go about their business… though they're giving the cathedral compound a wide berth,' Daniels said. 'At night, it's a different matter, though. Anything's fair game then.'

  'Something's going on,' Mallory said. 'I don't believe that cleric we were following across the Plain was real at all. When I saw his face, it looked as if it was… made up or something. I reckon it was a setup from the start, to lead us to Bratton Camp.'

  'Why?' Daniels said. 'So we'd get attacked by that thing?'

  'I don't know. I've just got a gut feeling we've only seen the tip of the iceberg.'

  Before leaving the infirmary, Gardener and Mallory visited Miller. The younger knight was sleeping peacefully. Warwick had patched him up, but he'd lost a lot of blood and he'd need several days' recuperation.