‘Mickey!’
‘I’ve had enough, Glen. How long do you keep on praying before you realise no one’s listening?’
There was something profoundly depressing in what Mallory had heard. He didn’t hang around to hear the rest of the conversation.
By late afternoon, the wan, grey light had just about eked away. Blaine was locked in some meeting with the Church elders and Hipgrave was nowhere to be found, so the knights found themselves at an unusual loss. Most of them congregated in their dorms, trading rumours and making predictions, but Gardener pulled Mallory, Miller and Daniels over to one side. ‘Fancy a party?’
‘When you say “party”,’ Mallory replied wearily, ‘do you mean a hymn- singing, praying kind of party?’
‘No,’ Gardener said. ‘I mean a drinking kind of party.’
They all brightened, but he rebuffed their questions, insisting they had to follow him. There was a hint of snow in the air as they hurried outside and then into the sprawling complex. After a roundabout route, they eventually emerged through a door that led into the rear of the kitchens.
‘How did you find this way?’ Miller asked. ‘I didn’t even know there was a door here.’
‘Did a bit of poking around earlier.’ Gardener clapped his hands and grinned at the prospect of what lay ahead.
The kitchens were comfortingly warm with the heat of the ranges still radiating after that evening’s dinner, and the fragrant smell of vegetables and herbs hanging in the air. Exhausted after their most hectic period, the cooks and their assistants lounged around chatting next to the massive open hearth on which a cauldron of water bubbled over a log fire. They looked up briefly when the knights entered, but were too engrossed in their conversation to pay them any more attention.
Gardener caught the eye of one of the cooks who slyly slid out of the periphery of the group to come over. He had a shaven head and acne scars that gave him quite a frightening demeanour.
‘You’ll have me for the bleedin’ high jump, Gardener,’ he whispered in a London accent.
Gardener pulled out a tobacco tin and waved it under his nose. ‘Do you want this or not?’
The cook went to grab it, but Gardener snatched it back at the last moment. ‘Oi!’ the cook said. ‘Don’t you go pissing me about, you Northern bastard.’
‘Just want to make sure you know the terms of the deal, laddie.’
‘ ‘Course I bleedin’ know. We went over them enough times.’ His eyes lit up as he succeeded in snatching the tin. ‘I haven’t had a good smoke in a bleedin’ year.’ He nodded towards a door not far from the one through which they had entered. ‘It’s in there. Just keep it down. And if that fat bastard Gibson finds you, I had nothing to do with it, right?’
Gardener led them through the door and down some steps into a vast vaulted cellar filled with the heavy aroma of wine and wood. A single torch burned on the wall next to the door, but it cast enough light for them to see rows of barrels and racks of dusty bottles stretching into the shadows.
‘Bloody hell!’ Mallory said jubilantly. ‘We’ve got about three turnips to go around the whole cathedral and enough booze to swamp the city. Talk about getting your priorities right.’
‘I thought we needed a bit of cheering up, like,’ Gardener said. ‘It’s the bishop’s stash - for entertaining, I suppose. I think a load was brought in from all the local hotels when we set up here, but they’ve been brewing their own stuff for the last year, in case the water supply got polluted.’
Mallory plucked a vintage bottle from the rack and used his Swiss Army knife to crack open the cork. ‘Here’s to Cornelius, God rest his soul,’ he said, swigging a large mouthful from the neck. ‘A man after my own heart. Let them drink wine!’
‘Should we be doing this?’ Miller asked uncertainly.
‘Yes, we should.’ Daniels moved slowly along the racks until he found a year and grape to his taste. ‘God’s bountiful supply is for all men, not just the elite.’
‘Look at you,’ Mallory said, ‘a connoisseur!’
‘You wouldn’t know good taste if it kissed you on the behind, Mallory.’ Daniels sniffed the cork before letting the smallest amount settle on his tongue. ‘Wonderful. I had my own cellar in the old life,’ he added with his eyes closed, savouring the taste. ‘I was building up a nice little collection.’
‘Sorry for misunderstanding,’ Mallory said. ‘I just thought it was stuff you drank.’
‘Philistine.’
‘There’s beer here too, y’know.’ Gardener caressed one of the casks. ‘Pretty good stuff according to that cockney bugger up there. They’ve done some nice porter, he says.’ Black liquid flowed from the tap into a tasting cup. ‘That hits the spot,’ he said, smacking his lips.
‘See?’ Mallory said to Daniels. ‘It isn’t all bad. There are still plenty of little luxuries if you look carefully enough.’
They pulled up some old packing crates into a circle and settled down. Once they began to talk, Miller came alive, the gloom that had descended on him since the bishop’s death gradually evaporating. He hung on every word the others said, joining in when he could, nodding his support, smiling so widely Mallory was convinced his face would ache the following day.
Over the course of three hours, they got through several bottles of wine while Gardener had made Herculean inroads into one of the casks. In his merriment, he appeared a different person, his laughter rich and constant, his eyes disappearing in crinkles every time he showed his humour. He would sit on his crate and rock backwards until the others were convinced he would fall off, but he always managed to catch himself with a jolt at the last moment.
They talked about music - Gardener loved the sixties sounds, Miller liked Slipknot and Marilyn Manson, Daniels preferred classical - about football (Daniels professed to know nothing about it), and TV, and radio (with Gardener wondering aloud what would be happening in The Archers right then), about food, and politics. And then, as they would have expected, they turned, in their cups, to their old lives, and the people who had meant much but were no longer with them. It wasn’t maudlin in the slightest, just a fond remembrance of happier days, when problems existed without the stark simplicity of life or death.
Gardener spoke at length about his wife and a touring holiday they’d had in Scotland when they had finally reconciled themselves to never having children. ‘We were sad, like, but in a way, it was like this big bloody weight was lifted overnight,’ he mused. ‘We could get on with life again, start enjoying things.’
Daniels discussed with unabashed joy the first trip he had made with his new partner, to the Greek Islands. ‘He told me on the second night that he was giving up his flat so he could move near me, if that was what I wanted,’ he said, with shining eyes. ‘Can you believe that? Even at that stage he was prepared to sacrifice what he had. He knew … we both knew … instantly.’
Miller ventured a little information about his parents and his childhood in Swindon, but when he began to talk about the girlfriend who had abandoned him, he dried up and briefly turned gloomy again. But after a moment’s silence, he piped up, unable to contain his emotion. ‘I’m so glad I found you all,’ he said. ‘I’ve never had friends like you. You saved my life …’ He looked to Mallory. ‘… you’ve taught me things, you’ve cheered me up. You’ve been like family … better than family. This is what life is all about, you know.’ The honest swell of emotion brought tears to Miller’s eyes and he blinked them away unselfconsciously. ‘If it all goes bad from here, it’s been worthwhile.’
‘Don’t talk so pissed-up,’ Gardener chided gently, though it was obvious he was touched by Miller’s comments.
Mallory was about to join in the teasing of Miller when a movement caught his eye deep in the heart of the shadows at the back of the cellar. He held up a warning hand and the others grew instantly alert. ‘Who’s there?’ he called out.
His voice bounced off the arched ceiling and rustled around the casks. Nothing moved. Slow
ly, he stood up and drew his sword. The others followed suit, turning to face the back of the room.
As they stood alert, Miller suddenly shuddered. He looked around at the others with wide eyes. ‘Did you feel that? Cold … as if someone rubbed against me …’
The hairs on the back of Mallory’s neck stood erect; iron filings filled his mouth and the back of his throat. He could feel something … an invisible presence … moving around them.
‘It’s over there,’ Daniels whispered, pointing to another part of the cellar.
‘No, there.’ Gardener nodded to the opposite side of the room.
‘It’s all over,’ Mallory said.
Now they could see he was right: there was movement on every side just beyond the edge of the shadows. It seemed to Mallory that whatever was there wasn’t quite in the world but rather a step removed, as if it were behind a veil trying to find a way through.
‘Stand firm,’ Gardener said, all trace of drunkenness gone from him.
‘It’s the ghosts,’ Miller said in a hollow voice.
And once he said it, Mallory could see. The shadowy forms had the shape of men in long robes. They moved lethargically, roaming back and forth around the cellar’s edge, seemingly oblivious to the knights. Pinpricks of green, the lamps of eyes, glowed with increasing force. They were coming closer.
‘Bloody hell, let’s get out of here,’ Gardener hissed. They dropped their bottles and cups and ran up the steps, slamming the door behind them.
They stumbled out into the biting cold of the night, where they rested against the stone walls, taking deep, calming breaths.
‘Bloody hell, that was spooky,’ Gardener said.
‘Did you feel it?’ Daniels adjusted his eye-patch. ‘They were coming for us. They wanted to—’
‘Punish us,’ Mallory completed. They all understood it on some level they couldn’t explain.
Miller looked from one to the other, his eyes wide and white in the dark. ‘I thought the demons couldn’t get in here.’
Despite himself, Mallory gave Miller a reassuring pat on the back. ‘Those things out there can’t. These were different.’
‘How?’ Miller said desperately.
A brief flurry of snow stung Mallory’s face; the weather was taking a turn for the worse. ‘The things in there were wearing—’
‘Habits and clerics’ robes,’ Daniels interrupted. ‘They’re our own.’
Miller looked even more shocked at this. ‘But—’
‘Who knows what the hell’s going on around here?’ Mallory said.
They shivered in silence until the wind died enough for them to hear the clamour of fighting just beyond the walls. The nightly attack was beginning to wind down.
‘Let’s take a look,’ Mallory said.
As they neared the walls, they were surprised to see frantic activity. The guards were desperately setting up sheet metal, hammering in nails to hold it in place.
‘What’s going on?’ Daniels called out.
One of the guards turned, anxiety gnawing at his features. ‘Repairs. The wall started to buckle here.’ They all knew why he looked so worried: that had never happened before.
‘Either they’re getting stronger or we’re getting weaker,’ Mallory said.
The guard turned back to his work, his voice echoing back to them. ‘They nearly broke it down,’ he said. ‘They nearly got in here.’
CHAPTER TEN
after the fire, a still small voice
‘A fire takes on the aroma of whatever spice is thrown in it.’
- Heraclitus
The peal of bells at noon should have sounded joyful, yet it had an oddly leaden note to it as if it were heralding a warning instead of a celebration. The entire brotherhood, packed into the cathedral for the announcement, waited with a measure of hope. Mallory had already decided that what was to come was a foregone conclusion, though no one believed him. ‘Stefan hasn’t got enough experience in the Church,’ Daniels said. ‘They’ll go for a continuity candidate, somebody with the weight of Cornelius.’
Mallory tried to explain that, as in all shifts of power, it would simply go to whoever wanted it badly enough. Daniels had countered that Stefan had professed he didn’t want it at all - he was happy with his lot. Mallory praised him for a life untainted with cynicism - or reality. They agreed to differ.
The Church elders sat impassively in the quire, though Mallory thought he saw a hardness in some of their features that suggested which way the wind had blown.
It was Julian, the man who should have been Cornelius’s anointed successor but who was probably too young and too pleasant, who made the announcement. ‘The Chapter of Canons has deliberated long and hard over the last twenty-four hours. The choice of who should become our new bishop was never going to be easy.’ His voice was strong, filling the vast structure. ‘We took advice from some of the most learned and wisest members of our Church before reaching our decision. We considered the merits of many before coming to our conclusion. In the end, it was a harder decision than anyone dreamed, but it must be one that you all accept, for anything less than a united front could be the end of us.’
Mallory thought it interesting that he made this point so early in his speech.
Julian took a deep breath before continuing, his gaze fixed on the sunlight breaking through the stained-glass windows. ‘There are some amongst you who probably feel we are rushing towards this with unseemly haste. Indeed, that was my own opinion. However, the case has been made that we are in a time of crisis … if not war … and that to leave the Church leaderless at this time would be an abdication of responsibility with potentially lethal results. This is a time when we must all pull together, for our own survival and for the survival of the Church. The case, too, was made that the strongest leadership will be necessary. Thoughtful debate and a desire to consider all sides is a peacetime luxury. I accept now that we need a clear vision, a brave heart and a strong stomach. An ability to call, perhaps, for sacrifices from us all. And who knows the importance of sacrifice better than we? Our Lord Jesus Christ died to redeem all mankind. Against that, the sacrifices demanded of us must seem petty. And so we shall stand firm, and do what is asked of us.’
He appeared at that moment to be talking to himself. He caught himself after a long pause and fixed his attention back on the rapt audience. ‘The new bishop is well known to you, and I’m sure you’re perfectly aware of the qualities we saw in him.’ He took a step to one side and made an awkward gesture that had more of the theatrical about it than any honest emotion. ‘Our new bishop is Stefan.’
A ripple ran through the crowd, though whether it was appreciative or not was hard to tell. Mallory tried to catch Daniels’ eye, but his friend pointedly avoided him.
Stefan emerged from the wings with an air of studied gravitas. ‘Thank you, Julian. I am truly humbled by the trust you have all placed in me, and I pray that I can find the strength to live up to expectations. This is not a position I wished for - I was content to serve in the role God had granted me - and certainly not in these terrible circumstances. But I will not shirk this calling. I will continue to serve God, and you, to the best of the abilities with which He has gifted me.’ He continued to move his gaze across the congregation as if he were speaking to each one personally. ‘There will be some changes … we need to be stronger if we are to avoid any more tragedies … but this is not the time to talk of them. The Chapter of Canons will convene shortiy to discuss the new rules I have planned and an announcement will be made soon. Now, let us join together in prayer for my predecessor, Cornelius, a devout man who provided many lessons for us all.’
As they bowed their heads, Daniels finally did look over. Mallory was surprised by what he saw in his face: it looked very much like fear.
The ceremony anointing Stefan had been stripped of pomp and ceremony under the circumstances and took less than an hour. Afterwards, Mallory and Gardener went to inspect the digging. Piles of soil lay all around
, but the diggers had now hit the expected obstacle of the gravel that provided the solid foundation for the cathedral.
‘They need to make it deep and wide enough to bring provisions in,’ Gardener mused.
‘And when they could have made it just wide enough for one man,’ Mallory said.
Gardener eyed him suspiciously. ‘You’re not thinking of running out on us, are you?’
‘With the way things have been going here, I can honestly say I’d rather be anywhere - even London.’
‘You’re just a soft Southern shit, Mallory,’ Gardener deadpanned. ‘The first bit of bloody hardship and you fall apart.’
‘Well, I wasn’t brought up wearing a horsehair shirt in a leaky hovel, you Northern bastard.’
Gardener fixed himself a roll-up.
‘Where do you get that supply of tobacco from, anyway?’ Mallory asked.
‘Don’t ask me that, and I won’t ask you what you did before you got here.’
Mallory winced; was it that obvious? ‘What do you think of the new boss, then?’
‘Good choice, I reckon.’
‘Yeah? Can’t see it myself.’
‘He’s a tough bloke. That’s what we need right now: somebody who can take control.’
‘That’s what they said in the Weimar Republic.’
Gardener inhaled the smoke deeply. ‘Sometimes, Mallory, I think you’re from another bloody planet.’
November advanced relentlessly. The nights were always bitter, the days harsher than anyone remembered from previous years. Winter threatened a furious assault.
Stefan quickly but cautiously exerted his control over the rule of the cathedral, though he did it with a smiling, always moderate face. The Inquisition was brought into the structure of authority alongside the knights, ‘to root out seditious elements amongst the brothers’ so Stefan said, although Mallory saw no sign of treason; most were too broken for that. Yet Stefan made no overt move to change the day-to-day governance of life in the cathedral. Instead, he preferred to make daily pronouncements filled with platitudes about how spirits were high, how the brethren had grown even more devout, how the Lord was with them in the face of adversity.
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