The Devil in green

Mallory allowed the truck to trundle slowly up to the gates. Disbelief kept his gaze firmly fixed on the unbelievable, monumental construction; nothing, however bizarre, could begin to explain what he was seeing. When he did finally break his gaze, he saw guards ranged all along the walls, crossbows trained on him from several quarters. Everything had changed.

Cautiously, he turned off the engine and wound down the window. 'It's me, Mallory. A knight,' he yelled. 'I've got another badly wounded knight in the back.'

There was a long period of silence before a voice barked, 'Get out!'

Slowly, he clambered on to the flagstones, hands raised.

'Move closer to the gates.'

Two enormous torches blazing on either side of the entrance cast a shimmering pool of light in front of the gates. Mallory entered it tentatively, hoping the mud and blood didn't obscure too much of his uniform. For five minutes, he listened to dim chatter above as the guards debated whether to allow him entrance.

'Look, you can see I'm a knight,' he protested. He spotted a guard he recognised. 'You know me.'

'Not good enough,' the commander of the watch replied.

'What do you mean, "Not good enough"?' His temper flared. 'If you don't let me get my friend inside he might die, and then I'll make you bastards sorry.'

His anger did little good. He was forced to remain there for another ten minutes until finally the gates opened a crack. 'Approach carefully,' a voice warned.

Mallory walked forwards until he could see between the gates. The entire Blue squad waited on the other side, armed with swords and crossbows, a Second World War-era rifle and shotguns. 'What is wrong with you?' he shouted.

The gates were flung open and the Blues surged out and around him. Some ran to the back of the truck. 'He's telling the truth,' one of them shouted back. 'There's an injured knight here.' They picked up Miller's stretcher and rushed it into the compound. Mallory was roughly manhandled inside, too, his protestations ignored. The gates slammed shut immediately behind him, heavy bars drawn across solemnly to seal it.

Mallory looked at these new defences, then at the faces of the Blues. What he saw there made him wary. 'What's been going on here?' he asked.

No one would talk to him, and after a while he gave up asking questions and concentrated on the worries rattling through his mind.

From the gate he was led across a cobbled courtyard through a sturdy oak door with cast-iron fittings into a long stone corridor that hadn't been there days earlier. He had to tell himself again that he wasn't back in the Court of Peaceful Days, for there was something about the architecture that reminded him of that place, although the mood was significantly different.

Under heavily armed guard, they rushed him across tapestry-hung halls and up winding staircases to a debriefing room where he was thrust into a chair with two crossbows trained on him, as if he were not a knight at all, but a spy ready to betray the entire religion. After half an hour Blaine entered, looking tired and irritable. Behind him marched Stefan, proud and resolute. Mallory had had his doubts about the chancellor ever since he had heard the grim relish in Stefan's voice when he told James that the library was off limits; his appearance there only confirmed Mallory's suspicions.

'What's happened to this place?' Mallory blurted.

Stefan eyed him suspiciously before retreating to a corner to watch like a raptor, his hands clasped behind his back.

'All the new buildings,' Mallory continued. 'Where did they come from? You couldn't have built them-'

'Where have you been?' The harsh tones of Blaine's Belfast accent were even more pronounced. His very demeanour threatened violence. 'And where did you get that sword?'

'I found it,' Mallory said, making light of the weapon. 'We can never have too many swords, right?'

Mallory explained what had happened at Bratton Camp, but said nothing of the Court of Peaceful Days. 'I was badly injured, on my last legs,' he continued. 'I was wandering for days before I summoned the strength to make it back here.'

Blaine's eyes narrowed. 'I'm surprised you did come back here.'

'Despite what you might think, Blaine, this is the place for me,' Mallory lied. The tension was palpable and he wasn't going to take any risks speaking his mind. 'Did the others make it back?' he asked.

'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, yellow 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,' Gardener 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.

'You did a good job bringing him in,' Gardener said. 'Couldn't have been easy, the state he was in.'

'I need somebody to be my conscience,' Mallory replied. 'Was it hard getting Daniels back?'

'He was in a bit of a bad way… you know.' He pointed to his temple. 'Losing the eye hit him hard. It'd get any of us, wouldn't it? But he's a good bloke, Daniels, for a poof. He's got a good heart. He'd stand by you when times were hard, and that's all you really need in a mate, isn't it?'

Mallory couldn't disagree. But as he made his way back to his crib, his relief at the four of them surviving was already obscured by his growing worry that unseen events were taking place behind the scenes, with repercussions for all of them.

Blaine left Mallory alone for the remainder of the day. It gave him time to gain some respite from the dull ache throbbing through his body. He ate a bland lunch of vegetable stew in the refectory and noticed that the portions were all markedly smaller. If they were truly under siege, supplies would have to be conserved. He made no attempt to go to any of the services, relishing his disobedience like a boy skipping school; it was a small victory against the oppressive order, but it made him feel good nonetheless. Instead, he chose to dwell on his growing anger, not only with Blaine, but also with the higher Church authorities that had conspired in making what had been a simple exchange — work for food and board — into a thoroughly unpleasant experience. With enthusiasm, he began to plot ways in which he could get his own back.

He took supper with Gardener and was surprised to find two weeks had passed since they had set off on their mission, although he had only seemed to spend a few brief hours in the Court of Peaceful Days. It made him feel disoriented.

One other thing troubled him: the cleric who had wandered into the cathedral that night, setting them on their search for his missing colleague, was now missing himself. Since their last conversation, Gardener had found out that the cleric had spent the night in the infirmary, but in the morning his bed was empty. Common opinion suggested that he had wandered off in a daze, possibly to search for his friend, but the guards at the gate claimed that no one had exited the compound all night. Blaine had punished them anyway. It only confirmed Mallory's fears that they had been set up from the start, but why would such an elaborate plan have been put in motion just to entice a few knights into the danger zone?

After supper, Gardener invited Mallory to stand watch over the gates so he could see for himself what was happening. The mid-October night held a brittle cold and was suffused with the smell of wood-smoke from home fires. On the walkway running around the inside of the wall, Mallory felt a strange frisson looking out on to a city without a single electric light burning. Only a few flickering candles glowed like fireflies in the night. Yet the ghostly light cast by the full moon when it broke from the cloud cover was brighter and more affecting than any street lamp.

Duncan, the captain of the guards, was a middle-aged bearded man with a thick Birmingham accent. He met them deferentially as they walked to a position near the gates. His attitude reminded Mallory of the respect with which the knights were treated throughout the cathedral, but particularly amongst the guards who knew exactly what they had to endure under Blaine's leadership.

'I could swear it's colder in winter since the Fall. Do you remember the snow last Christmas?' Gardener said as they leaned on the top of the wall, looking out across the city. Their breath clouded, and they had their cloaks pulled around them for warmth.

'That's all we need — a new ice age,' Mallory replied.

'What time does it start?' Gardener asked Duncan.

'They're already out there.' Duncan indicated several points along the street, in doorways and deep shadows, but Mallory could see nothing. 'They're like sentries — there all day and night.'

Mallory couldn't understand how he had got past them; had they let him into the cathedral, and if so, why? Gardener sensed what he was thinking. 'Daniels and me came in too,' he said. 'Don't ask me what's going on. Anybody else that tries to get in or out gets both barrels.'

'The other things come at various points during the dark hours,' Duncan continued. 'They try to break down the walls… cause a bit of damage, but never manage anything too serious.'

'That doesn't make any sense,' Mallory said. 'The things we saw out on Salisbury Plain would be in here in no time.'

'They are kept out by the power of the Lord.' Julian, the bishop's right- hand man had come up behind them. He'd tied his long black hair into a ponytail, but that only served to emphasise the worry and exhaustion in his features. 'Or the power of faith, or whatever you want to call it.'

'Magic?' Mallory suggested mischievously.

Julian didn't appear offended. 'Just words,' he said dismissively. 'Different ways of describing the same thing. Whatever you choose, in this new age the power of prayer and ritual has a dramatic and instant effect. Sacred land becomes empowered. Those things can't set foot within the cathedral compound.'

Mallory thought for a second. 'But why are they trying to get into the cathedral?'

'Why, they're opposed to everything we do,' Julian replied, as if the answer were obvious.

'That seems to be the common view.' Mallory made no attempt to hide his plain disregard for this approach.

Julian appeared momentarily troubled, as if Mallory had given voice to his own doubts, but the precentor brightened when he saw James clambering up the ladder to join them. Mallory had not seen the pleas- ant-natured brother since James' secretive meeting with Julian in the refectory.

'How goes it?' James said cheerily. He was red-cheeked and clapping his arms against his sides theatrically.

'Should bloody sell tickets up here,' Gardener muttered.

'I come up here every night,' James said, 'in the hope that they will finally relent. Their patience must wear thin eventually.'

Mallory disagreed. 'Believe me, they're like a dog with a bone. They're not going to leave until we find some way to break them. I presume we haven't got a way?'

'Your commander has outlined several strategies,' Julian began, before dispensing with the PR. 'Nothing that yet looks like a workable solution. But we'll find it, in time.'

'I love an optimist,' Mallory said.

'I hear you've been consigned to the library?' Julian commented to James.

'Ah, yes. You can never have enough guards for dead trees.' James attempted to mask his sarcasm with a smile, but failed miserably. He caught Julian's arm and said supportively and with honest compassion, 'How is the bishop?'

'Forgive me for speaking disrespectfully, but Cornelius is a determined old bugger. He's not going to shuffle off easily.' Julian's face suggested that the situation was graver than he suggested. 'The vultures are still circling, however.'

James' eyes flickered towards Mallory. Obviously this was not a subject to be discussed in front of others. 'If we stand firm, we will abide,' he said confidently.

'Over there.' Gardener pointed down High Street to where shadows were congealing into small shapes, forming lines, ranks. Mallory squinted, not quite sure what he was seeing.

At first, it could easily have been a trick of the dark and the moonlight, but gradually order appeared out of the chaos of the night. The street was filled from wall to wall with tiny figures, though still too lost to the dark for any details to be visible. They remained there, stock still, for long moments until Mallory was convinced that was the end of the manifestation. But then, with no fanfare, they began to move forwards in uniform step, an army in miniature.

Their procession was slow but deliberate. It took five minutes before they reached the crepuscular zone of the light cast by the torches blazing along the wall. As they emerged from the gloom, James gripped the wall with both hands and whispered, 'Good Lord!'

The figures were no bigger than children of five or six, but were obviously fully formed adults. As the light first hit them they appeared burnished gold, but gradually their skin settled on a ghasdy white. From their spectral faces huge eyes stared, wholly black and too-large, so that they resembled alien insects; they looked like things that had lived below the earth for centuries, only just emerging from the dark. Their outfits were elaborate, part armour, part costumes: breastplates and metal helmets echoing conquistador design, the colour of dull brass; scarlet silk shirts beneath, and red cloaks, epaulettes, clasps, gauntlets, belts; the detail was hallucinogenic. One of them held a standard that reminded Mallory of a Roman legion's. On it was some form of alien writing and an image that appeared to form a circle, although it was difficult to discern detail at that distance.

Women stood amongst the ranks, too, their expressions as venomous as the males', and children, too. They all carried strange weapons — short swords, spears tipped with unpleasant-looking hooks, nasty daggers and brutal axes. Some pulled carts, while a few rode on miniature horses. It could have been a picture from some child's fairy-tale book if not for the menacing atmosphere that hung over the whole scene, made infinitely more eerie by the silence of their progress. Mallory didn't hear so much as a footfall or a rustle of fabric.

Within twenty feet of the walls, they rushed forwards, suddenly ferocious, snapping and snarling like wild dogs. Mallory gripped on to the side as the wall and walkway shook. For an instant he thought it was going to go down.

'The hoards of bloody hell!' Gardener said in a strained voice.

After the silence, the clattering of the weapons was deafening. Sparks flew where the swords and spears smashed against the wall's iron plates, now scarred from myriad attacks. The knights and clerics watched with thundering hearts for ten minutes and then the army mysteriously and quickly retreated as if some silent fanfare had been blown, melting back into the shadows as though they had never been there.

'Why do they keep doing that when they know they can't get in!' The anxiety broke Duncan's voice.

Mallory realised he was clutching the rim of the wall so hard his knuckles ached. It was plain there was no escape for any of them; he looked around and saw it in all their faces, though no one would have dared give voice to it.

'Is it always like this?' he asked.

'Nah. Different things on different nights.' Duncan had managed to contain himself and now appeared embarrassed at his emotional outburst. 'In the early days, we had a bunch of bloody loonies on horseback.' His face blanched at the memory. 'Though you'd never seen horses like these, with a pack of dogs running around their feet. They were mean bastards, I tell you.' He caught himself. 'Excuse my language, sirs, but they were.

They'd come at the gates like all hell, and for a time there I thought they might actually break them down. They left after a while… probably realised they didn't stand a chance. Since then it's been one thing after another. I tell you, some of them I can't bear to look at. It's enough to give you nightmares.' He clutched at a gold crucifix at his throat.

'What are we going to do?' Mallory mused to himself.

'We pray for God's guidance, as we always have,' Julian said. 'Life is filled with trials, but with the right approach, we overcome them.'

Mallory studied Julian surreptitiously. Everything about die cleric gave the impression of a modern man — urbane, intelligent, insightful — so it was odd to hear him using a religious language that was almost medieval.

'Will we have enough food to see us through the winter?' he asked.

Julian chewed the inside of his lower lip in contemplation. 'Procedures were put in place the moment we realised we might be in this for the long haul,' he began. His words were so transparent there was no point in Mallory even stating the obvious.

As they stood there, Mallory felt a strange tingling along his spine that forced him to turn. It was instinct, a feeling of being watched, as inexplicable as anything else they had witnessed that night. The areas around the cathedral buildings were a place of whispers, which even the torches placed along the pathways failed to illuminate. It was impossible to determine any sign of life there, but he was convinced someone stood in the gloom, looking up at him. His heart began to beat faster as an uncontrollable rush of anxiety defeated any attempt to dismiss it as a primitive, irrational reaction to the fears of that night.

Just when the sensation became almost unbearable, it faded. A moment later, he saw a figure move across one of the illuminated pathways, but it appeared insubstantial, wavering as if seen through a heat haze. Even at that distance, and with the features hidden by a cowl, he recognised it immediately as the brother who had turned and looked at him during compline shortly after his arrival at the cathedral. As then, he was deeply unnerved for no reason he could explain.

Duncan interrupted his thoughts with a barked warning. A man, weak and staggering, was just passing through the shadows surrounding St Thomas' Church on the other side of Bridge Street. 'Bloody idiot,' Duncan said. 'Don't the locals know not to come around here any more?'

'That's a knight,' Gardener said at the same instant that they all saw the cross glowing through the gloom.

'It's Hipgrave.' Mallory recognised the body language despite the rolling gait.

His confusion at Hipgrave's survival was washed away by the certain knowledge that the captain wouldn't last much longer. Already the shadows behind and around him were beginning to thicken.

'Poor bastard,' Duncan said.

Gardener looked down, sickened. 'I can't see this again.'

Mallory tried to turn away himself, but he was rooted. For a few seconds, he wavered, before cursing, 'Oh, bollocks to it.' He prepared to lever himself over the edge.

Julian caught his arm. 'You're mad!'

'It's the job I chose so I've only got myself to blame,' Mallory replied, still wavering himself.

Gardener gave him a shove so hard he almost rolled over the top. 'Stop gassing about it, then,' he said, joining Mallory on the wall.

The silent acceptance of their responsibility flashed between them in a glance before they clambered over the top, hanging for a second before dropping to the ground. They hit the road running as fast as they could. Hipgrave was so dazed he hadn't seen them.

The miniature army was forming thick and fast, seemingly from the very shadows themselves, the gloom twisting and shaping as if it were Plasticine.

Mallory and Gardener reached Hipgrave together, each taking an arm. Their appearance shocked him from his daze, but he didn't have the strength to speak; his eyes rolled in fear.

'Don't worry, man,' Gardener said to him. 'We'll have you back in no time.'

They both saw that was a lie the moment they started to haul Hipgrave towards the gates. The road was already blocked by the pale black-eyed people.

'I knew I shouldn't have let you talk me into this,' Gardener said.

'Yeah, an old bloke like you should have more sense.' Mallory looked around; the only way out was through the maze of ancient streets surrounding the cathedral compound. 'This way. We might be able to find somewhere to hole up.'

'You heard what they said, you stupid bastard. The only reason these fuckers can't get into the cathedral is because it's sacred ground. Anywhere else and they'll be in like shit off a shovel.'

'Just shut up and run.'

They each slipped an arm around Hipgrave's back to lift him and ran. As they headed into New Street, Mallory realised what they had to do. 'We need to get through to the camp at Queen Elizabeth Gardens.'

'Why?' Gardener grunted.

'Because it's protected, like the cathedral's protected.'

'How can it be?'

'It just is.' Mallory glanced back. The army had rounded the corner in pursuit, their eeriness magnified by their silence and speed, their small stature oddly making them even more threatening. They surged along New Street at a run, spreading out to cover the whole road, weapons lowered for use.

'How do you know?' Gardener pressed. His voice held a note of suspicion.

'I just do.' Mallory didn't meet his eye.

They hauled Hipgrave as fast as they could into the nearby shopping precinct, taking refuge inside W H Smith's, which had been cleared out by looters. The first floor was pitch black, but they managed to find the door into the staff area and then made their way up to the roof. The army at their heels didn't relent, but Mallory's circuitous route got them to a point where they could make a break for the travellers' camp.

It was only then that Mallory noticed something that shocked him. 'He's still got both his hands.' Confused, he grabbed Hipgrave's wrists and held them out so Gardener could see.

'So?'

'I told you I found a severed hand at Bratton Camp. It had to be one of ours. It wasn't there on the way in, but it was when we came out.'

Gardener waved him away; he didn't have time for such things. 'Ah, you've got it all wrong-headed.'

The mystery made Mallory's spine tingle. It hinted at something important just beyond his reach, the difference between life and death, if only he could access it.

When they crashed across the invisible boundary surrounding the camp, Mallory felt for the first time whatever protective force lay there. Outside, the air was charged with tension; inside, it felt so peaceful that he began to calm almost immediately.

'We're safe.' Mallory reached out a calming hand, but Gardener knocked it away instinctively. It was only when the pale-skinned people surged around the invisible boundary before retreating back into the night that he began to relax.

Slowly coming to his senses, Gardener began to take in the unique mood of the camp, the flag with its entwining dragons, the colourfully dressed people cautiously venturing towards them. His face hardened. 'What is this? Bloody travellers?'

'We're safe,' Mallory repeated, recognising the signs of righteousness rising in Gardener's eyes.

'They're not Christians, you know.' Gardener raised his sword menacingly towards the approaching travellers. 'A lot of them are pagans… witches…'

Mallory recognised one of them from the group he brought back with Sophie from the Plain. Scab was unmistakable, with his shock of bright green hair and a T-shirt that bore the manifest colour sense of an LSD user.

'Back off!' Gardener yelled, brandishing his sword. 'Back off!' The expression on his face was so terrifying that the youth blanched and froze in his tracks.

'Gardener, chill,' Mallory said. 'They're just normal-'

'Witches,' Gardener said, with restrained fury. 'Bloody Satan-worshippers. Come on, Mallory, you know the score. They're probably the reason the Adversary is after us. They're probably helping him!'

'You're talking bollocks now.'

Gardener rounded on him, eyes blazing. Mallory could see in them the frightening depth of Gardener's bigotry, fuelled by fear and ignorance. 'What's wrong with you?' Gardener snarled. 'Are you on their side? Is this some kind of trap?'

'We're all on the same side,' Mallory said as calmly as he could muster, 'against that stuff out there.' He waved his hands towards the dark city.

'No.' Gardener was not ready to listen to reason. Mallory's heart leaped as Gardener began to back towards the boundary. One step beyond the invisible line and he would be easy prey. 'The Bible says-'

'Suffer not a witch to live, I know. Fuck it, Gardener, I'm not going to get into some theological argument with you while we've got the Devil at our backs.' Gardener halted; Mallory took a breath, relieved that his blatant manipulation had worked. 'Remember why we're here.' He gently lowered Hipgrave down to lie on the grass.

Gardener surveyed his wounded captain, clearly torn. Finally he said, 'I'm not going to move from here. And if any of them come near me-'

'Fine, fine,' Mallory interrupted hastily before any of the travellers heard Gardener announce that he was going to slice them into bloody chunks. 'You stay here… guard Hipgrave. I'll… I'll…' He shook his head wearily. '… tell the enemy to keep their distance.'

He marched up to Scab who quavered at the insistence of his approach. Mallory shook his head curdy and said from the corner of his mouth, 'Get out of here before he starts spouting scripture.'

There was a split second before the youth registered Mallory's complicity, and then he lightened and hurried away amongst the tents.

*

Mallory and Gardener sat in uncomfortable silence for several hours. Their only hope of getting back to the cathedral was to wait until daybreak, but it was a long time in coming. For some reason no one could explain, Sophie was unavailable, but Mallory managed to get food and some basic medication for Hipgrave.

Eventually, he couldn't contain his desire to see Sophie any longer and went off in search of her. Rick, the dreadlocked youth Mallory had met on his first visit to the camp, was loitering outside the leader's tent under the fluttering two-dragon flag. He sucked anxiously on a joint as he wandered back and forth, jumping in shock when he saw Mallory.

'What do you want?' he said, with drug-fired paranoia.

'Peace on earth, good will to men. Where's Sophie?'

Rick jerked his head towards the tent door. 'She hasn't got time for you. Not tonight.'

'What's up? Big spell? Lots of nude dancing? I'm up for it.'

Rick bristled. Before he could respond, the tent flaps were thrown open and Sophie stepped out. She looked pale and distracted, and Mallory thought she might have been crying. 'I thought I heard your voice.'

'What's wrong?' The sarcasm ebbed from his voice as he responded to her mood.

She took a gulping breath, her eyes widening. He was shocked to see the confidence and control falling from her until she resembled, briefly, a young girl lost in a frightening place. He stepped forwards to comfort her, but she backed off, aware of Rick's eyes on her. He dropped his arms. It wasn't the time, or the place; and prejudice was everywhere. She composed herself quickly, weighed the moment and turned her back on Rick, holding open the tent flap for Mallory to enter. Rick began to protest, but she flashed him a look so ferocious that the words died in his throat. He took a heavy hit on his joint and stomped away.

Inside, Sophie sagged, free from the need to present a front. Though concerned at the extent of her suffering, Mallory was secretly pleased that she made no attempt to hide her emotions from him. He hesitated, then reached out again. She let him place his hands on her shoulders, but didn't fold into him as he had hoped. 'What's happened?' he asked.

She took another breath that blatantly suppressed a sob. 'Melanie's dead.' Her voice was like the wind under the door.

'I'm sorry.' He cursed his awkwardness and inability to express honest emotion, but he couldn't think of anything else to say to connect with her.

She didn't seem to mind. 'She was a good person, Mallory.' She stared into the too-bright light of several candles blazing in one corner of the foyer. 'Goddess, she was the only thing holding us all together.' She pulled away from him, her knuckles involuntarily going to her mouth.

He replaced a supportive hand on her shoulder, and it lost its stiffness at his touch. 'When did it happen?'

'An hour ago. I haven't told anyone yet… except Rick… haven't dared tell them.' She looked up at him with moist eyes. 'She was so strong, Mallory. She had such a clear view of where we were going… what was expected of us… Everyone was relying on her.'

'Don't think about that now,' he said. 'This is the time for grieving for her, for Melanie. Everything else comes later.'

'We don't have that option. There's too much at stake. She wasn't just a friend, she was the leader of everybody here.' She caught another breath. 'They're all here because of her.' There was a long pause, and then she said, 'And now they're going to ask me to take over. But I'm not up to it, Mallory. I'm not up to it at all.'

'Then don't do it. Leave.'

She was plainly puzzled by this. 'I can't walk away. I've got responsibilities now.'

'You're telling me they can't get on without you?' He briefly entertained the fantasy that at daybreak he and Sophie could find a horse and ride away from the increasingly dangerous mess that was growing around them.

'I'm sure they could get on without me, but that's not the point. When you're part of a tribe there are structures in place to facilitate the survival of the community.'

'And you're the wise-woman-in-waiting.'

'My abilities with the Craft are important for everyone here. Melanie invested a lot of time and effort teaching me, and I accepted that role and the responsibilities that went along with it. It would be immoral to turn my back on people who are relying on me.'

She noticed the anxiety in his features and caught herself. 'Listen to me, going on about myself. Selfish bitch. Why are you here? Is there something wrong?'

Her concern triggered pent-up doubts and fears that surfaced unbidden; for the first time in a long while he felt there was someone with whom he could talk honestly. 'We're in deep shit in the cathedral,' he said, suddenly weary. 'Those things have got us under siege… the food's getting low, and I can't see them finding a way out. There's something else going on, too, in the background. I can't figure out what it is, but I don't reckon it can be any good.' His shoulders sagged at the release. 'I think it's going to get really bad.'

She forced a smile. 'What a pair, eh? If this was before the Fall…' She caught herself; there was no point talking about could-have-beens. Yet in her comment Mallory sensed a connection: they were a pair, two people burdened by problems who would rather be a hundred miles away. Together.

The notion was underlined dramatically when she caught the neck of his cloak and pulled his head down to plant a firm kiss on his mouth. It was filled with passion, desperate yet restrained at the same time. It went on for a full minute, and Mallory responded in kind. After so long without female contact, he felt himself hardening instantly, but before it could develop into anything else, she broke the kiss and walked away a few steps.

'That was…' She had taken him so much by surprise he couldn't find the words.

'Life's too short for playing stupid games, Mallory,' she said, lighting another candle to replace one that had guttered out in a pool of wax. 'We both know there's something between us, despite our very obvious differences. There's no time for flirting.'

'So does that mean we're stepping out? His irony was a reaction to the feeling that he had lost control of the situation; and he always thought he was completely in charge.

'It was a recognition of what we feel, that's all. What happens from here is anybody's guess. Quite honestiy, you might get on my tits — a likely prospect given your very unfortunate nature — and I'd be forced to curse you for all time.'

Mallory really didn't know if she was joking.

'Now, thanks very much for the visit, but I've got a funeral to prepare.' She peeked through the flap into the rear of the tent and when she looked back at him tears filled her eyes again. 'Besides,' she continued throatily, 'I would think you'd be pretty much engrossed in sorting out your own crisis.'

'Yeah. Any idea what's happening there?'

'Well, you've certainly pissed off someone in high places. At least it keeps you all in one place where you can't do any more damage.' She couldn't mask her bitterness.

'Don't tar me with the same brush.'

'You wear the uniform. You carry the weapons, eat the food, sleep under the same roof. Don't be naive, Mallory. You might pretend to yourself that you're apart somehow-'

'They're not all bad,' he protested. 'Mostly, they're harmless. Well meaning.'

'Then you ought to do something about the ones that aren't, oughtn't you? I thought you knights were supposed to be the police force of the New Christian Army. Or is it one rule for you, and one for the rest of us?'

Though hardly surprised by the strength of her response after Melanie's death, Mallory couldn't find any way to answer her. Instead, he peered out into the night. The red light of dawn tinted the horizon.

'We might stand a chance of getting back in daylight,' he mused. 'If we're lucky.'

A startled cry followed by angry yells broke out not far away. Instinctively, Mallory knew what it was. He was already out of the tent and running before Sophie could enquire what was happening.

His worst fears were realised as he made it back to the camp boundary. One of the travellers lay face down, unmoving though probably not dead, Mallory guessed. Worse, Gardener had Scab pinned against him, a dagger to his throat. Gardener was overcome with righteous anger.

Mallory motioned to the angry crowd of travellers to hold back, but that only convinced them to turn their rage on him.

'There's no talking to them, Mallory,' Gardener shouted.

Mallory found himself herded closer to Gardener. With a sickening sense of fatalism, he saw Sophie approaching. 'What are you doing, you Geordie idiot?' he snapped.

Scab rolled his eyes in abject fear. As he writhed, Gardener pricked him with the dagger as a warning and he almost fainted. 'They offered me a drink,' Gardener said darkly.

'Good call. After that it would have been lentil stew and then we'd all be on the way to hell.'

'It was a potion. The bastards were trying to put a spell on me!'

'Or maybe it was just a drink.' Mallory was shoulder to shoulder with Gardener now. About thirty travellers ranged in front of them. Some looked scared for Gardener's prisoner; others, who had patently had their fingers burned before, were murderous.

'Look at this one.' Gardener motioned to a pentacle hanging on a chain around Scab's neck. 'Devil-worshippers. The moment our backs were turned, they'd have had us.'

Mallory cursed under his breath; the false propaganda Gardener had absorbed during his evangelical background was unshakeable. At that moment, Scab decided to break free, probably driven more by fear of what might happen than any real desire to escape. He kicked at Gardener's shins with his heels, writhed like a madman and then attempted to yank his head down through Gardener's grip.

In the confusion, his neck was driven on to Gardener's dagger, or vice versa. A geyser of arterial blood arced towards the massed travellers.

The crowd was stunned into silence. Shock locked Gardener's face; Mallory wished he had seen some compassion there, or guilt, for his own peace of mind. Gardener took a step back, examining his crimson hands as if they belonged to someone else.

Mallory reacted instinctively. He stepped forwards and hit Gardener so hard in the face he went down as if he'd been pole-axed. It was undoubtedly the best thing Mallory could have done, immediately deflating the furious rage that had enveloped the crowd and saving them from a lynching.

Instead, the travellers turned their attention to their comrade who flopped like a dying fish in a pool of blood that seemed too big, too dark. Mallory knelt down to help, knowing there was nothing that could be done, but someone smacked him aside and he went over, seeing stars. When his vision cleared, Scab had stopped moving and everyone was staring at Mallory as if he had committed the murder himself.

Sophie threw herself through the crowd, all the grief of Melanie's death erupting in one instant. 'See?' she screamed. 'This is what happens if you do nothing! Nobody has the luxury of sitting on the fence! If you don't stand up for what you believe in, someone always pays the price.'

There was no point in trying to calm her; he was lucky to get away with his life. Gardener was just coming around. Mallory gave him an unnecessarily rough shove that propelled him out of the camp and then collected Hipgrave, who had been slumped in a daze nearby, and dragged him away.

He could still hear the sound of crying, even when the camp had fallen from view.

As they hurried along the road in the ruddy light, Gardener began to say, 'He deserved it,' but Mallory turned on him so ferociously the words died on his lips.

His anger evaporated as he paused at the bridge, aware of the threat that lurked on the short route to the cathedral gates. A guard waved to him from a new section of the walls overlooking the river. His voice floated down. 'Don't move!'

As they waited, a group of Blues ran out on to Crane Street at the turning to North Gate. They were armed with crossbows and longbows.

'What the bloody hell's going on?' Gardener said.

The group's captain barked an order and one of their number moved along the ranks with a torch. As he passed, the tips of the notched arrows burst into flames.

'Looks like it's a cremation for us,' Mallory said. 'And I'd got my eye on such a lovely headstone.'

Gardener grunted, 'I think-'

'I know what they're doing,' Mallory snapped. 'Get your arm around Hipgrave. And I just want to say that if these are the last moments of my life, I really am pig-sick I'm spending them linked to you two.'

There was some communication between the captain and the guard who had moved out of sight near the North Gate. A second later, the guard reappeared and shouted, 'Now!'

Mallory and Gardener moved as fast as they could; Hipgrave's heels didn't even touch the ground. The Blues raised their weapons. Mallory kept his vision trained directly ahead. The buildings on either side passed in a blur, still swathed in shadows, the dawn light only limning the edges.

Halfway along the street, the shadows became movement on either side. Still Mallory didn't look. Fear would take the strength from his legs, threat would deflect his single-minded purpose and there would be little point in standing and fighting. Drained from the night's exertions, his breath burned in his throat.

The smell of something that had lain in damp soil rose up around him. He had the fleeting sense of fluttering wings, frightened birds in flight, of red brake-lights, of a striking cobra and a dog's snapping jaws.

Fire rained down all around them. Heat seared past Mallory's cheeks, brought starburst trails across his vision. The air was thick with the suffocating stink of burning tar.

Something lashed past the back of his neck, the backwash of air suggesting great weight, barely missing him. The sense of pursuit lay heavy on his back, relentless, drawing slightly closer with each second.

Twice he almost slipped on the slick flagstones as they turned into High Street, only righting himself at the last instant. Gardener kept pace, but Hipgrave swung wildly, threatening to overbalance them. The Blues retreated apace, still firing.

And then they were at the gates. The Blues backed in, leaving a small tunnel at their centre. Mallory and Gardener didn't stop until they heard the gates swing shut with a resounding clang, and then came the thunder of something heavy slamming into it.

They dropped Hipgrave unceremoniously. Gardener bowed his head in silent prayer, but Mallory looked up to the lightening sky, breathing deeply in relief.

But then he saw the grim faces of the Blues and the growing desperation of the brethren making their way to prime, and he realised the enormity of the trial that lay ahead for all of them.