‘Be respectful,’ Miller hissed.
Mallory began to mop up his gravy with his bread while gently fantasising about pizza.
‘And that is Gibson,’ Daniels said, pointing to the last imposing figure in the group. He must have been twenty-five stone, with a comically jolly face that appeared to be permanently on the point of a guffaw. His cheeks were bright red, his hair tight grey curls; large silver-framed spectacles surrounded eyes fixed in a humorous squint.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Mallory said, ‘he’s the Canon of the Pies.’
‘The treasurer, actually. Looks after all the ornaments, vestments and gold plate tucked away in the vaults.’ Daniels smiled as he ate. ‘But he does oversee the kitchens as well.’
‘So we’re in their hands.’ Mallory didn’t attempt to hide his dismissiveness.
‘Them and their advisors,’ Gardener said gruffly. ‘There’s a whole bunch of arse-kissers following them around, whispering in their ears. Keeping them informed, supposedly, because the top dogs don’t have time to spend finding out what the rest of us are thinking. But the arse- kissers are guiding them, really. They’re the power behind the throne.’
Daniels snorted. ‘Oh, not that routine again! You’re only upset because they’re not whispering about you.’
‘It’s true. You’ve got to watch out who you’re talking to round here. Everybody’s got some sort of thing going on.’
‘Thing?’ Daniels shook his head and sighed.
‘Come on, you know it’s true,’ Gardener said. ‘This whole place is split down the middle. The modernisers think we should build on the state the Church had reached just before the change, make it acceptable to modern thinking. The traditionalists want a hardline approach. Everybody’s plotting.’
‘Well, as much as I’m enjoying your comedy double-act,’ Mallory said, ‘I don’t think I can stare at these vegetables any more without gnawing on my own arm.’
‘You should eat it up,’ Gardener said, cleaning up the last of the gravy on his plate. ‘You’ll be desperate for it tomorrow when Blaine’s got you scrambling over that assault course.’
‘It’s not as if you’ve got anywhere to go,’ Daniels said. ‘It’s compline next, or had you forgotten? You’ll soon get used to realising you have no time of your own.’
Mallory rocked back in his chair. ‘You know, this place is just too much fun.’
Despite Mallory’s disgruntlement, the atmosphere in the cathedral was deeply affecting. Outside, dusk had fallen, the darkness licking over a chilly landscape freed from electric lights. Inside, the stone walls basked in an ethereal golden glow from hundreds of candles. Incense and tallow smoke cocooned the worshippers who stood shoulder to shoulder along the nave and the quire. The plainsong rose up, filling the vast vault with a mesmerising, heady sound that reached deep into Mallory, tugging at emotions he barely thought he still had. It was a single voice made by hundreds of people, simple and pure yet powerful on so many levels. Mallory glanced over at Miller to see tears streaming down his cheeks.
Briefly, Mallory felt a sense of belonging that put all the unpleasantness of his past life into the shade. Perhaps there still was a chance for him: a fresh start, although he’d long ago given up that childlike whimsy of believing that some Higher Power took enough of an interest in the ants that swarmed the earth to give them a second chance. The fleeting hope, that weak thing he thought he’d scoured from his system, was a simple by-product of the perfect confluence of music and moment, he told himself. But still, it tugged at him.
He was examining the odd thoughts pulled from him by the intensity of faith when his concentration was broken by a figure he could just glimpse on the edge of die congregation, slightly ahead of him and away to the left. His face was obscured by his black cowl pulled far forwards, unusual in itself as everyone else there went bare-headed. But there was no other reason why Mallory’s attention should be drawn to him so powerfully that he couldn’t look away. The figure was still, his shoulders slightly hunched. He didn’t appear to be singing, merely watching or perhaps listening, deep in thought.
Mallory couldn’t understand why the figure made him feel uneasy, or why the tingling that had started in the small of his back was slowly spreading up his spine. Some deeply buried part of him was trying to break out of his subconscious to issue a warning.
As he watched for some sign that would give him an explanation for his reaction, the figure began to turn towards him, as if he sensed Mallory’s eyes upon him. Inexplicably, this filled Mallory with dread. He didn’t want to see the face inside that cowl.
He looked down at his hands, then up towards the altar, and when he did finally glance back, the figure was gone.
Outside in the night, Mallory tugged Miller away from the uplifted worshippers streaming back to their huts for a few hours’ grace before the whole round started again. He found a shadowed spot next to the cathedral walls and said, ‘Let’s hit the town. We can dump our uniforms and explore. There’s got to be some life out there. Maybe we’ll find someone who’ll take pity on us and buy us a beer.’ He knew his bravado was a response to the sobering but stupid fear he had felt in the service.
‘Are you crazy? You heard what they said - being caught without the uniform—’
‘We’re not going to get caught.’
‘—is a punishable offence. And we’re not supposed to go out of the compound after curfew. I don’t even know if we’re supposed to go out there at all.’
‘I told you, we’re not going to get caught. Who’s to know? Don’t you want to find out what your new neighbours are like?’
Miller protested fulsomely, clearly afraid of jeopardising everything he felt he’d gained, but Mallory chipped away at him on the way back to their quarters so that by the time they arrived, Miller reluctantly agreed to the secret foray.
Daniels and Gardener still hadn’t returned, so they quickly changed into their street clothes and slipped out. ‘How are we going to get away?’ Miller hissed as they flitted from hut to hut.
‘I had a look around earlier. There’s a spot not far from the gate where we can slip over the wall. When we come back we can give the guard some bullshit about being on a secret mission or something. He’s bound to let us in.’ Miller didn’t look convinced, but he allowed himself to be swayed by Mallory’s confidence.
The camp was still as they made their way past the gate. But before they could climb the ladder to the runway around the top of the wall, the sound of running feet and frantic raised voices rapidly approached from the other side. Mallory pushed Miller back into the shadows.
An insistent cry hailed the guard. Mallory couldn’t make out what was said, but the guard responded by hand-winding an old-fashioned klaxon before opening the gates.
Nine knights rushed in through the widening gap, the blue flash on their shoulders clear in the flickering flame of the torch mounted above the gate. Their swords were drawn as they constantly scanned all around with their army eyes. They were in a terrible state, their uniforms torn and charred, their bare skin covered with cuts and bruises; some had bound deeper wounds with makeshift bandages torn from their shirts, the material now stained black. Their faces were grim with determination.
In the middle of the group, two knights hauled what Mallory at first thought was burned log. It was only when he saw its rolling white eyes that he realised it was a man, his skin seared black; Miller turned away from the smell of cooked flesh. The knight was still alive, but he wouldn’t be for long.
The ones at the rear gathered around one of their number who had a wooden box clutched tightly to his chest. They drove hard into the compound then yelled at the guard to close the gates.
A group of five men hurried from the direction of the cathedral to meet them. The only one Mallory recognised was Stefan, his balding head gleaming like a skull. Ignoring the suffering of the wounded knight, he went directly to the captain and said something in hushed, insistent tones that Mallory couldn�
��t make out. The captain nodded, motioned to the one with the box; Stefan barked an order to his four assistants and then the whole group moved speedily in the direction of the cathedral.
When they’d gone, Miller whispered dismally, ‘That poor man!’
‘Looks as if he stood a little too close to the barbecue.’ Mallory stared at the silhouette of the cathedral blocking out the stars, trying to make sense of what he’d seen. ‘What was in the box?’ he mused to himself. ‘What was so important?’ After a moment, he set off for the ladder. ‘Ah, who cares? Come on, let’s hit the town.’
They climbed quickly, keeping one eye out for the guard. When they reached the top, Mallory led Miller to a part of the wall that was lower than the rest where they could easily drop down to the street. They paused for a moment at the foot of the wall, and when they were sure no one had seen them, they ran towards the town, keeping well to the shadows.
Once the walls had been swallowed by the dark at their backs, Miller heard Mallory’s voice floating back to him as they ran. ‘You know how you get that little tingling sensation when something’s going to end in tears? Or is that just me?’
CHAPTER THREE
the evidence of things not seen
‘Just as children seem foolish to adults, so humans seem foolish to the gods.’
- Heraclitus
Salisbury’s streets were oddly otherworldly in a flood of light from flaming torches that had been attached to the now-useless lampposts; their sizzling pitch added a spicy quality to the cooling air. More people milled around than Mallory would have expected with the encroaching night. Many shops remained open, their trade carried out by candlelight. Friends chatted beneath the crackling torches, freed from the rigour of days that had become unduly hard. Children played in the gutter without fear of cars or buses, although the occasional horse-drawn cart moved by them at an alarming clip. Outside the Maltings shopping centre, a teenager strummed on a guitar while his friends danced or drank home-made cider. Others flirted or kissed each other in the shadows.
The population had adapted remarkably well to the inversion of their lives. Indeed, from the good humour evident all around, they appeared to be relishing it. Mallory and Miller moved through them, watching silently, enjoying the normality.
Near Poultry Cross, where tradesmen had hawked their goods for centuries, a man with lank grey hair to his shoulders stood on an old kitchen chair and preached passionately to a small detached crowd. He seemed to be proclaiming the glory of a god that lived at the bottom of his garden. Further on, three women prayed silently around a picture of George Clooney framed with wild flowers. At the marketplace, there were more, individuals preaching to no one at all, or large groups singing of the wonder of some deity or other.
‘They’re crazy,’ Miller muttered.
‘Your God’s more real, is that it?’ Mallory noted.
‘Yes.’ Miller knew Mallory was baiting him but couldn’t resist responding. ‘He’s been worshipped for millennia, not ten months.’
‘So in a couple of thousand years, old Clooney—’
‘Oh, shut up.’ Miller tried to stop there, but he couldn’t. ‘There’s a whole coherent philosophy behind Christianity—’ His ears burned at Mallory’s laughter. ‘There is!’
‘You don’t have to sell it to me, Miller. Just don’t try pretending you’re better than these poor sods.’
They continued to wander, exploring the sights. As a new city, Salisbury had the benefit of being planned on a rectangular chequerboard pattern like some Roman metropolis. Most people gathered in a small square that ran from the market to the Makings and up to Crane Street and New Street, a continuous thoroughfare that was the closest to the cathedral.
As Mallory and Miller wandered along the path at the side of the culverted river, watching the trout, grayling and dace swim in the light of an occasional torch, they were disturbed by the sounds of a scuffle coming from further along the lonely path where no light burned. Mallory was ready to ignore it, but when Miller jumped to investigate he felt a weary obligation to follow.
Barely visible in the gloom, three men were hunched over a still shape on the floor. Before Mallory could utter a caution, Miller was already yelling, ‘Leave him alone!’
Against his better judgment, Mallory ran in behind Miller, who was rapidly closing on the three. The gang half-heartedly squared up to him, then saw Mallory behind and decided it was too much trouble. They turned and ran off into the dark, but not before Mallory saw that they were all wearing black T-shirts marked with a bright red V from shoulders to navel.
‘Have you lost your mind?’ Mallory said.
Miller was kneeling next to the shape on the floor: a young man crumpled in a growing pool of blood. ‘We’re knights. We’re supposed to help people in trouble.’
‘I’m going to have to have a word with you about the difference between fantasy and reality.’ Mallory checked the victim’s pulse. ‘Dead.’
‘Poor man. Who shall we tell?’
‘No one.’
‘We can’t leave him here,’ Miller said. ‘He’ll have a family—’
‘Someone will find him soon enough. Listen, we’re strangers here. They’re likely to think we did it. Not everyone has a naive belief that all people speak the truth.’ He knelt down and started to go through the victim’s pockets.
‘What are you doing?’ Miller said, aghast.
Mallory fished out a wallet and went through the contents. ‘Look at this. They’ve got their own currency going on here. A local economy.’ He took the amateurishly printed notes and stuffed them in his pockets.
‘You can’t do that!’
‘He can’t take it with him.’
‘You’re as bad as the people who killed him!’
‘No, I’m not, because I didn’t kill him. Come on, we’ll have a drink on him.’
‘I will not,’ Miller said peevishly.
‘Then you can sit beside me while I have a drink. You’ve got to get your head around how the world works these days, Miller.’
‘What, without ethics or morals?’
‘Something like that.’ Mallory sighed. ‘No, I don’t mean that. But you’ve got to be hard, Miller. There’s no safety net in this world any more. No Welfare State to help you out. Everybody’s watching their own backs - that’s the only way to survive.’
‘I don’t believe you, and you’ll never convince me otherwise. Basic human nature is decent.’
‘And then you woke up. Are you coming or not?’ Mallory walked back towards the lights. Miller hovered for a moment, sad and angry at the same time, then followed.
They found a pub overlooking the market square. The bright green doors of the Cornmarket Inn were thrown open to the night, tempting passers- by into the smoky interior lit by just enough candles and torches to provide shadows for those who preferred to drink out of plain view. The customers were a mixed bunch: some rural workers, grime on their clothes and grass seeds in their lace-holes, some weary-eyed traders and shopkeepers who had finished up for the night, and a large group who all appeared to know each other. They ranged from teenagers to pensioner age, but the smattering of dreadlocks and shaved heads, hippie jewellery and colourful clothes made Mallory think of New Age travellers.
True to his word, Miller eschewed a drink, but he appeared happy enough surrounded by the high-spirited pub-goers. Mallory ordered a pint of ale brewed in the pub’s back room and they retreated to the only free table.
‘What do you think those Blues were up to?’ Mallory mused as he sipped on his beer. ‘The elite group,’ he added with mockery.
Miller didn’t appear to have given it a second thought. ‘Nothing for us to worry about.’
Mallory looked at him in disbelief. ‘Of course it’s something for us to worry about. Everything is something for us to worry about.’
‘Blaine—’
‘The bishop, the canons, all of them … You don’t put your trust in people who set themselves up
as leaders, Miller. In religion, in politics, in the military, in business … the simple act of seeking high office is a signifier of a peculiar, unreliable, controlling, unpleasant pathology that means they shouldn’t be allowed any kind of power. And I’ll keep saying that over and over again until everyone on this planet listens.’
‘That’s ridiculous. If we followed that line of thought we wouldn’t have any leaders at all.’
‘And your point is?’
‘You can’t have a religion without leaders—’
‘Who says?’
Miller squirmed with irritation. ‘I hate it when you do this. Why are you picking on me?’
‘Because your life’s just too perfect, Miller. You need to be brought down to everyone else’s level. Just see me as your own personal tormentor, a living horsehair shirt for the soul.’
Miller took a deep breath. ‘You can’t have a religion without leaders because you need discipline—’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘—to help the followers find the true path to God through all the confusion.’
‘You can do it yourself.’ Mallory jabbed a finger sharply into Miller’s sternum.
No, I can’t.’
‘You just don’t think you can. You can do anything you want, Miller.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, but you don’t know me. Besides, that sounds faintly blasphemous.’
Miller started to brood over what Mallory had said, chewing on the nail of one of his little fingers. Mallory returned to his beer, hiding his smile, but after a moment he was drawn back to the neo-hippies whose humour was both infectious and comforting. Mallory realised how rarely he had heard anyone laugh in recent times.
His attention fell on a woman who was doing nothing out of the ordinary but who had a presence like a beacon. He realised he’d been aware of her from the moment he walked in the pub, even though he couldn’t recall looking at her; all around people were glancing at her as if they couldn’t tear their eyes away. She was in her mid- to late twenties, wearing a faded hippie dress beneath a bright pink mohair sweater; a clutter of beads and necklaces hung around her neck. The others in her group, even the older ones, deferred to her, nodding intently when she was serious, laughing at her jokes. Mallory liked the sharp, questioning intelligence he saw in her face, but it was coupled with a knowing quality around the eyes that was deeply sexy. To him that was a winning combination.
The Devil in Green Page 6
