The Devil in green da-1

by Marc Chadbourn

  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 h
overed 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.

  'Do you like her?' He had been so lost in his appraisal that he hadn't noticed Miller studying him.

  'She's put together OK.'

  Miller chuckled. 'Is it the hair?'

  'I wouldn't be so shallow as to be attracted by the merely physical.'

  'You make me laugh, Mallory!' Miller put his hands behind his head. 'What I see is long brown hair that you just want to touch, full lips that curl up at the corners, and big, big eyes-'

  'Steady on, Miller. They'll have to hose you down when we get back.'

  The woman stared at Miller, her brow furrowing; she'd obviously caught him watching and talking about her. Miller blushed furiously and looked away. Mallory jabbed a thumb at him, then raised one eyebrow at the woman. She shook her head wearily.

  'Mallory!' Miller protested. 'She thinks I'm after her now!'

  'That'll teach you to stare.' Mallory chortled to himself before downing the remainder of his pint in one go.

  'You're such a lad.' Miller sighed, becoming gloomy as memories surfaced. 'Did I tell you I was going to get married?'

  'Yes.'

  'Sue and me had been going out since we were at school. I thought we'd always be together. No great beauty… not too smart, either… but that didn't matter. She really made me laugh. She didn't mind that I was a brickie's mate, didn't nag me to get a better job.' He was staring at the floor, lost to his thoughts. 'You know how it is when you're with someone so close it's like you're with yourself?'

  'No.'

  'You don't have to put on any act,' Miller continued dismally, 'you can be the same sad loser you know you are without pretending to be anybody else and they still love you.'

  'I said, no.' Mallory pretended to concentrate on his glass while surreptitiously watching the woman, wishing he were in a position where he could talk to her.

  'At least, I thought it was like that,' Miller continued to himself. 'But I was just fooling myself, wasn't I? Maybe if I'd acted like somebody else she'd still be with me… and everything would be all right again.'

  He mumbled something else that sounded as if he thought it was important, but Mallory's attention was deflected by sudden activity outside the window: a flash of a figure running by in the dark, then another, then several people sprinting. It was a perfectly mundane image, but a tingle of apprehension ran up his spine nonetheless.

  Others had noticed it. An old man in a window seat pressed his face against the glass. Someone else ran out into the street, grabbed hold of a passing teenager who at first struggled to get free before pointing behind him, gabbling animatedly.

  Miller's chattering in his ear was a distant drone; Mallory was drawn by the scenario unravelling outside.

  As the teenager ran off, the man who had emerged from the pub looked back down the street. A subtle change crept across his face, amused detachment giving way to incomprehension, then a dull, implacable fear.

  'I think we need to see this,' Mallory said quietly.

  As he replaced his glass on the table, other drinkers were already making their way out on to the street. Mallory pushed his way into the centre of the road with Miller trailing behind him. They were instantly transfixed.

  Though it was a dark, moonless night with heavy cloud cover, the sky was filled with light. Flashes of angry fire illuminated the clouds, every now and then bursting through to form pillars of flame that rammed down to the earth. Occasionally, it limned a shape moving with serpentine grace on large batlike wings that beat the air lazily. Mallory thought he glimpsed the shimmer of jewels on its skin, rich sapphires, emeralds and rubies; echoes of another image surfaced from the depths of his subconscious, of fire in the dark. Whatever it was, it was filled with power, but there was something in the way it moved that suggested a terrifying fury: it was hunting.

  But that wasn't the worst thing. Behind it, along the horizon but sweeping forwards, Mallory could make out something he could only describe as a presence: a thick white mist was unfurling like cloth, billowing at its central point and folding around at the edges so that it had an unnatural substance and life. It moved quickly across the landscape towards the city. Occasionally, the mist would take on aspects of a face — hollow eyes, a roaring mouth — before some other disturbing shape appeared;
Mallory saw something that resembled an animal, another that looked like a bird. Gradually, it coalesced into a smoky horned figure towering over the city, insubstantial but filled with primal fears.

  'The Devil,' Miller whispered, terrified, 'and the Serpent.'

  The air was infused with a palpable sense of dread. Everyone standing on that chill, dark street could only look up at it and remember years of religious imagery, laid on them since childhood, of damnation and torment. Whatever it was, it had come from the outer dark to the city, and its intent appeared apparent. Those of a Christian bent crossed themselves, and some who had not called themselves Christian for a long time did so, too.

  Miller was whimpering quietly, whispering, 'The Devil… the Devil…' until it became a mantra of Evil rippling through the crowd.

  Even Mallory, who thought he was numb to most things, felt a crackle of fear as he looked up at the ancient image. He didn't know what it was, or tried to tell himself he didn't, but he knew he could feel the presence of a cold, alien intellect, and the threat it brought with it.

  'The Devil's come to town.' Someone laughed, though without humour.

  It drifted for a moment in the thermals above the cooling city before breaking up as something dark at its core drove forwards with a monstrous purpose. Screams rang throughout Salisbury, one voice lifting up in terror.

  Mallory glanced back in the direction of the cathedral. Miller's sagging expression showed they both shared the same thought: even if they got back to the gates, there was little chance they'd be able to get inside in time.

  'Come with us.' The voice at Mallory's shoulder was low, warm and accentless, though insistent. He looked into the face of the woman he'd been admiring, and for the briefest instant he was so dazzled by her large, dark eyes that the threat faded into the background.

  'You've got a concrete bunker with ten-foot-thick walls?' he said.