‘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 ghastly 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 tu
rned 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.’
The Devil in Green Page 19
