The Devil in green da-1 Page 21

  'We are at war, Mr Mallory,' Stefan replied, 'for the very future of Christianity itself. We cannot afford insipid liberalism. Woolly ideas that appeared to work when times were good do not hold now.'

  'You believe the future of Christianity should starve rather than allow contact with the corrupt?' Mallory said.

  'Of course not.' Stefan moved his hands behind his back. 'You are sure this camp is protected?'

  'Yes.'

  'You have been there yourself?'

  'I have.'

  Stefan nodded thoughtfully; Mallory felt there was a wealth of unspoken comment in that simple movement. Stefan turned to Cornelius, bowing his head deferentially. 'I feel this is a matter we should discuss in private, your Grace,' he said. His body language suggested Mallory had not only been forgotten, he had already been dismissed.

  'We can't test what he says,' Julian said. 'We should just do it. What other options do we have? We need to start digging immediately.'

  Stefan smiled coldly. 'In private,' he repeated.

  Blaine caught Mallory's eye and nodded sharply towards the exit. As Mallory left, the door closed firmly behind him.

  The light was already starting to fade as Mallory made his way across the lawned area of peaceful walks and sheltering trees now enclosed by the transformed cathedral buildings. The air was cool and damp and fragrant with nature, and the garden would undoubtedly have felt tranquil if not for Mallory's growing awareness of troubling events developing just beyond his perception.

  He found Daniels sitting on a bench with a young man who appeared to be hanging on Daniels' every word. The brother was in his late teens, with an open, good-looking face and long brown hair that framed it in such a way that he appeared almost angelic. Daniels was telling some tale in a voluble, entertaining way, and they were both engrossed, as much with each other as with the story. From their body language, half-turned towards each other, Daniels' arm stretching out along the back of the bench, it was clear there was an attraction between them.

  Daniels spotted Mallory and called him over with a wave. 'Mallory, meet Lewis. He has this misguided belief that our leaders know what they're doing.' Lewis smiled bashfully.

  'Don't spoil him with your cynicism, Daniels.' Mallory slumped on to the bench next to them.

  'They established the knights,' Lewis said shyly. 'That was a stroke of genius. All the brothers know you're going to be our saviours.'

  Daniels and Mallory exchanged glances. 'Better start praying,' Mallory said drily.

  'You're filled with the power of the Lord,' Lewis pressed. 'With belief and hidden knowledge and…and… bravery.' He looked from Mallory to Daniels adoringly.

  Mallory watched the stars start to appear in the dark blue sky. He had never expected things to go this way at all. He'd been running away to a simpler life, not trying to find even more responsibility, more trouble and suffering.

  'Thank the Lord for the knights,' he said sardonically.

  Mallory was the first to the refectory, and took a table for them in a quiet corner. Miller joined him soon after, with Daniels and Gardener arriving together. Daniels was in unusually high spirits, enjoying some mocking banter with Gardener who responded with dry wit and an impassive face. Mallory had overheard Gardener defending Daniels to one of the fundamentalist brothers who had been objecting to something or other in a bigoted way. Daniels, too, had been steadfast and loyal in support of Gardener, especially when Mallory had complained about the events in the travellers' camp.

  'Evening, Cyclops,' Mallory said as Daniels sat down.

  Daniels wasn't perturbed in the slightest. 'You're just jealous because I've got this chick-magnet eyepatch, you bony-arsed white boy.'

  'And it's no use to you at all,' Mallory said.

  'It's a benefit to all of us, Mallory,' Gardener said, dunking his bread into his bowl of vegetable soup. 'If I come up on his blindside I get to the food before he takes his greedy bastard portions.'

  'Man-sized portions,' Daniels corrected. It was a lame joke now that the kitchen staff had cut the rations to subsistence level.

  'I feel guilty about this,' Miller said, looking around. 'It's as if we're plotting.'

  'We're not plotting against the authorities,' Gardener said with his mouth full. 'If anything, we're plotting for them. We're the only ones who can see everything's changed here, so we're the only ones who can decide if anything needs to be done about it.'

  'I'm wondering if Stefan's got something to do with it,' Mallory said.

  'Stefan? He's the chancellor,' Miller said naively.

  'I don't trust him. He's manipulative. He's got some sort of scheme going on here — I think he reckons he can take over from Cornelius.' Mallory could see the whole room from where he was sitting. It was slowly filling up, but he was mostly paying attention for Blaine or Hipgrave.

  'He's certainly a slippery character,' Daniels said, 'but doing something like this? How could he? How could anybody?'

  'Somebody made it happen,' Mallory said. 'I don't think it's a random manifestation.'

  'Look, we don't even know it's a bad thing,' Gardener noted. 'Maybe it is what I said… God's will, a miracle. That's no crazier than all the other stuff going on. Maybe that's the way of the world now — little miracles before the Fall, bloody big bastard miracles now.'

  'He has a point,' Daniels said. 'There's been no sign that it's anything bad.'

  'Not yet,' Mallory said. He prodded at the unappetising chunks of indistinguishable vegetables. 'But if you're right, why are the spirits growing restless?'

  Miller told the others about the ghost in the kitchens that morning. 'It's not a one-off,' he added. 'Down at the workshops they're all talking about it. Spooks all over the place. Old bishops, canons, scaring the stuffing out of people. It's getting worse, they say.'

  'Like I said, the dead are growing restless.' Mallory looked around the table. 'In this world we're stuck in, we need to start thinking with a medieval mindset — not hard in this place. Signs and portents. We've got unquiet spirits. Something's bothering them. The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.'

  'They know something we don't,' Daniels said.

  They all fell quiet for a long moment while they pushed their food around their bowls. It was Gardener who spoke first. 'We wouldn't have spooks rising up if we were living in a miracle.' He didn't raise his eyes from the table.

  'Those things that have put us under siege… this…' Daniels motioned to the building around them. '… you really do think it's linked?'

  'In some way,' Mallory said, 'but I'm betting it's not in as direct a way as you're saying. Those things can't get on to Church land… that's why they're pinning us down here. So I don't think they could have caused the cathedral to change.'

  Before they could debate the matter further, Julian walked in, looking brighter than Mallory had seen him in a long time. He marched to the centre of the now-busy room and climbed on to one of the long tables. 'I have an announcement,' he said in a voice that barely contained his joy. 'The bishop… Cornelius… has turned the corner. He's on the road to recovery.'

  Mallory recalled how frail the bishop had appeared earlier; it was implausible that his health could have improved so quickly.

  'We should all pray for his swift return to form… and for the guiding hand of Saint Cuthbert.' A whisper ran around the room at the mention of the sacred relic that had invigorated the small community. 'Yes, it's true. We transported Cornelius to our most holy relic earlier. The response was phenomenal. Strength flowed into his limbs, his eyes grew bright, his voice firm and confident. The sickness that had been tainting him for so long drifted away like mist in the rays of the sun.' Emotion overcame Julian so that he had to wipe his cheeks with the back of his hand. 'Cornelius is a remarkable man,' he continued, speaking from the heart. 'He held this community together in the earliest days. His vision guided us when we were at our weakest, when many were thinking of abandoning the
Faith in those black days. Cornelius. All Cornelius. He has led us to this point where — current difficulties notwithstanding — we are on the verge of once again leading the Church, and God's Word, out into the world.'

  He stared into the rafters thoughtfully before continuing. 'He probably wouldn't want me to tell you this, but he originally refused to be taken before the Saint Cuthbert relic. He felt it would be better for our morale if he fought and overcame the illness himself. He is an unselfish man.' He shook his head slowly, almost talking to himself now. 'Sadly, that was not to be. This afternoon he slipped into a coma… one from which it appeared he would not recover. The decision was taken then to transport him to the relic in the hope that he would be freed to continue his mission with us. And so it was. Praise the Lord.' He wiped his eyes once more, stepped down and swept out of the refectory.

  There was a moment of silence before the room erupted in cheers and cries of 'Hallelujah!' Only one man failed to join in the celebrations,

  Mallory noted: Stefan, who had walked in halfway through Julian's speech. Though he forced a smile when any of the jovial brothers appeared in his line of vision, his face was dark.

  Blaine had instigated a shift-rota of cathedral patrols for the knights. It was clearly a propaganda exercise to provide the illusion of security.

  That night it was the turn of Mallory and Daniels. They started their rounds just as the night office was beginning at midnight. The cathedral was ablaze with candles, the golden glow reaching up the walls until it was swallowed by the thick shadows engulfing the ceiling far overhead. They stood at the back, letting the seductive sway of the plainsong move their emotions like a tidal swell. The combination of light and sound, of emotion alive with the subtle nuances of voice, had more power than its component parts.

  They eventually dragged themselves into the cloisters, the singing now ghostly through the walls. Yet silence and stillness hung over the square, so that at first they didn't dare speak; even their footsteps on the ancient stone sounded too loud. The open central area was a pool of moonlight that made the enclosing corridors appear even darker.

  As they approached the chapter house, Daniels coughed self-consciously. 'Sorry. I just wanted to hear my voice.' He laughed in embarrassment. 'Look at me — an educated, sophisticated, just all-round modern guy and I'm afraid of ghosts.'

  'We never really leave behind the children we were,' Mallory replied. His own hand rested on the carved dragons of his sword. 'Besides, these days it's probably smart to be scared.'

  'Stops you being blase,' Daniels agreed. His eyes darted around. 'You know what I miss? Clubs. Music… new stuff, you know… and lights. I used to love clubs, went two or three times a week with Gareth.'

  'Yeah, I miss music,' Mallory said, 'and the football, movies, nipping out for a curry after the pub…'He thought for a second. 'Getting a train, buying a newspaper on a rainy morning, maybe picking up a Mars Bar with it-'

  'I hate Mars. Like eating sugar and glue.'

  'Buying a new book from your favourite author…'

  'You could go on for ever.'

  'It's the stupid little things that get to you the most.' Mallory took a deep breath. 'And what do we get in return-?'

  'We get a life that's never boring.'

  The new structure began beyond the cloisters, the stone darker, more worn, as if thousands of feet and hands had trailed over it across thousands of years. Mallory still didn't like walking around the place. The constantly changing layout of corridors and stairs and rooms unnerved him — he couldn't get a handle on the floor plan at all — and there was an unsettling atmosphere that hung in the air like a bad smell.

  They passed into a corridor that ran amongst a series of dormitories where the echoes were disturbingly distorted. Halfway along, Daniels caught Mallory's arm and hissed, 'What was that?'

  'Didn't hear anything,' Mallory replied. His footsteps were still reverberating several seconds after he'd come to a halt.

  Daniels' eyes had widened until the whites appeared to glow. 'It sounded like someone calling my name.'

  'You're a big nancy-boy coward, Daniels,' Mallory joked. 'You're scaring yourself.'

  'No, it was definitely-'

  He was cut short by a rustling sepulchral whispering that swept along the corridor like a breeze. Goosebumps sprang up on Mallory's arms. He could have sworn it was calling his name.

  'It's just Gardener playing tricks on you,' Mallory said. It sounded feeble and unconvincing the moment he voiced it.

  'It was my name,' Daniels stressed, looking up and down the deserted corridor. It unnerved Mallory even more that they had both heard something different. 'We should investigate.'

  'Yeah, right,' Mallory said. 'Like I'm going to be a character in Scream Ten.'

  'It's our job,' Daniels said. 'We're supposed to be protecting everyone.'

  'OK. Off you go, then. I'll wait for the scream of agony. And when it comes I'll break with tradition and not come after you to find the bloody chunks. Go on. I'll be here, enjoying myself.'

  'You're a bastard, Mallory,' Daniels said nervously. His sword rang as it slid out of the scabbard. He began to make his way back down the corridor.

  'You're really going?' Mallory said, surprised.

  'It's our job, Mallory.' He disappeared into one of the rooms.

  Mallory waited for ten minutes until he started to grow bored and then sighed and marched off to investigate. Except the doorway through which Daniels had passed now led into an alcove barely big enough for him to squeeze inside.

  'Daniels?' he said tentatively. An unconscious shiver ran down his spine and he quickly backed into the centre of the corridor. The silence was almost unbearable; he could feel his chest tightening as anxiety insinuated its way inside him. Although he felt stupid doing it, he drew his own sword; the hum as it came free was almost comforting.

  He had found through irritating experience that retracing one's steps rarely worked, so he pressed on along the corridor. As he neared the end of it, a cold blast of air brought him to a sudden halt; it was as if someone had opened a long-closed door. A second later, the whispering rustled along the walls again; it sounded like frozen lakes, like the tomb. And he was convinced it was calling his name.

  He debated going back, but he couldn't be sure that whatever was there wasn't behind him. Oddly, his growing apprehension steeled his resolve.

  At the end of the corridor, a short flight of worn steps led up to a deserted chapel. They were the night stairs, a regular fixture in monasteries allowing the monks to make their way speedily from the dormitories to the services so no time was lost for devotion.

  He had his foot on the bottom step when a shape loomed up at the top. At first he thought it might be Daniels until he recalled the knight hadn't been wearing his cloak. The figure wore the black habit of a monk, the cowl pulled low over a shadowy space that hid the face. With a sudden wash of cold, he realised it was the same person he had seen twice before; except it wasn't a person. On the previous occasions, he had tried to convince himself it was one of the brothers; now he couldn't hide in that illusion. It took a step towards him; the whispering wrapped around it.

  Mallory felt an overpowering dread coming off the figure that left him rooted, his limbs as cold as ice, his neck and back hot; it was his mind's natural revulsion to the supernatural. It was no ghost, he was sure of it, but he had no idea exactly what it was, only that it reeked of otherworldly threat. Yet how something like that could walk the hallowed ground escaped him.

  He backed down to the corridor and levelled his sword at it. His action didn't deter its measured progress down the steps. His name echoed around him, the word insubstantial, the sentiment cold and hard and unyielding. It said, Here is something that wants you, that will stop at nothing to get you.

  He considered striking out at it, but if the blow was futile it would leave him too close; it would be able to touch him and the thought of that was more than he could bear. As it closed on him, his
dread increased until he could no longer look at the darkness where the face should be. It was more than simple fear of the unknown; a part of him somehow knew that here was a revelation too awful for him to accept; here were all the things he was frantically escaping.

  And then he was running back down the corridor, through rooms unimaginable, waiting for the building to let him out into the night.

  Mallory eventually found Daniels waiting outside the chapter house an hour later. The lauds of the dead was filtering through from the cathedral.

  'Well, thank heavens for that,' Daniels said tartly. 'I thought I was going to have to send in a search party. Did you enjoy your rest period?'

  'I tried to find you. I couldn't get out of the place.' It had taken Mallory a long time to shake off the effects of what he had seen, and he certainly didn't feel like raising it again with Daniels.

  'This place gives me the creeps.' Daniels looked uncomfortably towards where the transformed building began. 'It felt as though it was herding me out of there. I'd be a happy man if I didn't have to go in again.'

  Mallory followed his gaze. 'I'll second that. But I bet you any money that if we want to find out what's happening here, that's exactly where we'll have to go.'

  The announcement was made the following day: digging would commence on November die first after plans had been drawn up and preliminary excavations opened. The haste to begin underlined the seriousness of their predicament. An uproarious outpouring of relief and optimism followed. The brothers flooded out of the cathedral into a light drizzle, eager to believe that the worst was over and they could get back to their primary mission of rebuilding God's kingdom.

  By nine am the rain had become a downpour, the skies so slate-grey overhead that in the oppressive shadow of the new buildings it almost seemed like night. Water cascaded from the mouths of gargoyles to gush noisily on the stone flags, or spouted off the ends of roofs to catch unawares any brother foolish enough to walk too close to the walls.

  Classes continued for most of the knights, excepting the elite Blues whom Blaine appeared to think no longer needed tuition. They were rarely seen by the other knights, always busy on some mysterious task Blaine had set them deep in the sprawling body of the cathedral buildings.