The Devil in Green

by Mark Chadbourn

  From rooms on either side came the drone of voices explaining herbalism, astronomy, basic field medicine and other more esoteric subjects. The tutors were generally decent men and it was only Peter who received the brunt of Mallory’s disruption, not because of who he was, but for what he said.

  Blaine’s room lay behind a thick oak door. Mallory hammered on it and loudly announced his name.

  ‘Come.’ Blaine’s Belfast tones echoed dully.

  Blaine was as hard and emotionless as ever, sitting behind his desk with his hands splayed out on the blotter. Mallory only had a second to take this in before pain erupted across his shoulders. Briefly he glimpsed two of the Blues hitting out at him with cudgels from either side of the door before a blow caught him at the base of his skull and he blacked out.

  When he came to a few moments later, the knights supported him by pinning his arms painfully behind his back. Blaine was standing only a foot away, peering into Mallory’s face with a coldness that made him seem devoid of humanity. ‘You’re a troublemaker, Mallory,’ he said. ‘Sooner or later I knew I’d get somebody like you.’

  Mallory almost couldn’t resist making a smart comment, a pathological response that had got him into trouble many times before. He was only restrained this time by an ache in his jaw where one of the cudgels had given him a glancing blow.

  ‘I could see it in your face the moment I set eyes on you,’ Blaine continued. ‘You don’t like authority. You think you’re bigger than you are. You think you’re important. Well, you’re not. Not at all.’ He returned to his desk and pulled from one of the drawers something that Mallory couldn’t quite make out.

  ‘You thought this was going to be an easy ride,’ Blaine said. ‘A bunch of soft Church people giving handouts to freeloaders. Well, they might be soft, but they’re not stupid. They know how desperate things are. They’re in the fight of their lives to save this religion, and they know they can’t afford to be weak or they’ll lose everything. They’re good people, all of them, devout people, and they knew they wouldn’t be up to some of the hard choices necessary to keep this Church going. That’s why they hired me.’

  As Blaine approached, Mallory saw what he was weighing in his hand: a cosh, black leather on the outside, filled with something heavy, probably ball bearings. Mallory didn’t have time to consider what lay ahead of him. Blaine brought the cosh down hard on Mallory’s left shoulder blade. The pain made his knees crumple, but Blaine showed no emotion at all, neither sadistic pleasure, nor contempt.

  ‘They don’t want to know what I do,’ Blaine said, without missing a beat. ‘They just want the job done. So I use my own initiative. I train up knights who can do the work out there and won’t start crying the moment somebody steps on their toes.’

  The agony receded until Mallory’s shoulder was enveloped by a dull ache. He made to respond, but Blaine brought the cosh down on his other shoulder so hard that Mallory thought he might black out again.

  ‘You might think this is an overreaction,’ Blaine said. ‘It isn’t. This place is based on discipline. That’s the only thing that’s going to hold it together through all the hard times ahead. You don’t wait until little problems become big problems. You stamp on them early, get them sorted out. Lessons get learned, discipline is maintained.’

  ‘I can see why you chose a black shirt for your outfit.’

  He waited for the next blow, but Blaine held back. ‘You see, with your attitude, Mallory, I really should throw you out on your ear. Some would say you’re not worth the trouble. But I don’t see it that way. If I did that, you’d go out there, start bad-mouthing the knights all over the place, saying what a bunch of shirtlifters we are. And you see, the knights, they’re only going to work if they’ve got a good reputation. The best reputation. Tough. Fair, of course, but tough. People will know not to mess with them, and because of them, not to mess with the Church. The way I see it, Mallory, I can’t expel you. I can’t send any failure into the world. I have to make everybody work out, one way or another. You’re not going to leave, Mallory. We’ll be watching you very closely from now on. You’re going to turn out just the way I want.’

  ‘You really think you can make me?’ Mallory sneered.

  Blaine smiled. ‘Of course I can.’ The cosh came hard across Mallory’s face. He felt his lip burst and then he blacked out again.

  Mallory awoke on his bed, his body a web of aches; his face felt as if it had been hit by an iron. The first thing he saw was Daniels hunched over him.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Daniels said, with deep concern.

  Mallory levered himself on to his elbows then noticed Hipgrave watching from the doorway. ‘I walked into a door,’ he said.

  Hipgrave gave a curt nod and a smirk. Mallory felt a dull anger that his comment would be construed as acceptance of defeat, but it wasn’t the time to make a stand. Blaine and the authorities had picked the wrong person to bully.

  ‘You need treatment.’ Daniels helped him to his feet tenderly. ‘Come on - I’ll take you down to the infirmary.’

  As they exited, Hipgrave said snidely, ‘The Lord watches over those who walk a cautious path.’

  ‘You going to tell me the truth?’ Daniels asked, when they were outside.

  ‘I was stupid. But now I’m smart.’

  Daniels eyed him cautiously then nodded faintly, understanding without needing to know the details. ‘These are indeed hard times.’

  Quietly seething, Mallory was barely aware of the disturbance as they walked across the compound. A large group had gathered in the shadow of the cathedral, their animated talk punctuated by cries hailing the Glory of God as they raised their hands towards the steeple.

  Gardener was amongst them and broke away when he saw Daniels and Mallory. ‘You’ve got to see this.’ His face was transformed by wonder, stripping away the hardness of a tough life; Mallory thought he looked ten years younger.

  He dragged them into the centre of the crowd where a grizzled, thick-set man with a bald head staggered around in a daze. Occasionally he would stop, clasp his hands together and raise his face to the sun. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  ‘Roy was blind,’ Gardener said in awe. ‘And look at him. He can see!’

  ‘A miracle!’ someone cried. ‘God is with us!’ The note of relief in the voice revealed the subterranean fears of many in the compound.

  ‘What happened?’ Daniels asked, his eyes bright with the infectious fervour.

  Roy dropped to his knees in front of Daniels, his palms pressed together in prayer. ‘Blind these thirty years!’ A sob fractured his voice. He half- turned and gestured towards the cathedral. ‘This morning I brought the relic into the new shrine. And now this!’

  ‘What relic?’

  Daniels’ question triggered a ripple of murmuring through the crowd and as one they surged forwards, with more joining by the second. Caught in the flow, Mallory and Daniels allowed themselves to be carried into the cathedral. In the Trinity Chapel a reliquary had been built out of bricks and wood. It was cordoned off by heavy-duty rope, but inside the framework Mallory could glimpse the chest he had seen the Blue Knights bringing into the compound on the night of the attack.

  The crowd stood in awe, but its earlier noise had obviously alerted the authorities, for within moments the bishop and Julian were allowed through into the area next to the reliquary.

  ‘We were hoping to make an announcement before vespers,’ Julian said when all eyes were on him, ‘but I suppose now is as good a time as any.’ He smiled devotedly at Cornelius. ‘The bishop will say a few words about what is obviously a momentous occasion, not only for our community here, but for Christianity itself.’

  Cornelius rested shakily on his cane. Though he looked frail, his eyes were bright with excitement. ‘Several weeks ago, the decision was taken to make this cathedral a haven for all surviving relics. Many from the Anglican branch may have long considered them of historical importance only, while our Catholic friends stil
l believe they carry some part of the Lord’s power.’ He took a long breath, his mouth dry. ‘We have all wrestled with the philosophy of our Faith in these changed times. But whichever way you approach this age in which we find ourselves, it is one of wonders. The Spirit affects the material world with a power that we could only have dreamed of before. In this world, then, where faith is an engine of change, what wonders could our relics bring?’

  His smile brought gasps from the crowd as understanding of his words slowly surfaced. He gestured towards the reliquary. ‘In here lie the bones of Saint Cuthbert. Our brave knights faced undreamed-of dangers to bring them from Durham Cathedral. We prayed over them for seven days and nights. We had hopes … We had so many hopes.’

  With a trembling hand, he motioned for Roy to come forwards. The tearful supplicant knelt before the bishop and kissed his hand with adoration.

  ‘Word has just reached me of Brother Roy’s cure. I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame.’ He rested one hand on Roy’s head. Tears streamed down faces on every side. ‘Let us hope this is only the first of many miracles. The light of the Lord shines brightly once more across this land of darkness.

  ‘Even for the devout, faith is not always easy. We are tested at every turn, and over the last year and a half we have been tested more than ever. But now …’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘… faith has been renewed.’

  A loud cheer erupted.

  ‘This is the first step in our mission to reaffirm the Word. Once more to bring the love of our Lord to the people. To build Jerusalem in England’s green and pleasant land. Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice: and let men say amongst the nations, the Lord reigneth.’

  The noise was deafening. Many fell to their knees, sobbing openly. Others hugged their fellows or bowed before the reliquary in quiet prayer.

  As Mallory departed, a line began to build as those with ailments ranging from the minor to the debilitating waited to be cured.

  Daniels brushed away a tear as they walked towards the infirmary. ‘Things are going to get better.’

  ‘You think?’ Mallory breathed slowly; his ribs felt bruised, not cracked, but it wasn’t worth taking any chances.

  ‘We all need a little hope. That’s what I came here for. That’s why most people are here.’

  Mallory felt a surprising twinge. He’d locked himself in the present for so many months that whenever any echoes of the old days came back it felt like touching a live wire. ‘Do you miss your partner?’

  Daniels looked startled by the question. ‘Every day. We’d been together eight years, since university. He was the first person I’d really felt anything for.’

  ‘Gary, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Gareth.’ He paused. ‘It feels strange saying his name again. You forget, with all the shit that happens in life. You don’t have the time to think about what you shared. That’s a mistake.’ He wiped his eye again. ‘Sorry. I’m a little emotional after all that with Roy.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Mallory felt oddly encouraged that Daniels felt no need to hide his sensitivity.

  ‘What about you, Mallory? Anybody you left behind?’

  ‘I don’t think about the past. No point. It’s gone. Same as there’s no point thinking about the future. You just have to deal with what’s going on around you.’

  ‘You see, that’s what I’m talking about. I can’t agree with that. We need to hold on to the good things from the past, to give us some perspective. Especially now, with all this.’ He gestured to the wide world.

  ‘You just have to deal with things, Daniels. That’s all it comes down to.’

  ‘No, that’s wrong. Your memories are your guide. They let you create a framework so you can tell good from bad. Without that kind of compass, who knows how you’re going to end up dealing with things. You see society out there: it’s fallen apart. No rules or regulations. All we’ve got is what’s inside us.’

  ‘That’s all we ever had.’

  They reached Malmesbury House where the infirmary was situated. The grand Queen-Anne facade sported a remarkable blue and gold sundial, the rococo interior too delicate for the use it had been assigned.

  The infirmarian was a former surgeon named Warwick. He was in his fifties, with a brusque manner and the crystal pronunciation of a public- school education. Without any unnecessary chat, he made Mallory lie on a table in a white-tiled room filled with stainless-steel medical instruments oddly juxtaposed against jars of dried herbs and bottles of odd-looking concoctions. It was as if a modern doctor shared office space with an Elizabethan alchemist.

  Mallory winced as Warwick examined the various bruises and abrasions. ‘So, with the back-to-basics thing that’s going on here, can I expect some blood-letting and leeches?’ he said.

  ‘As much as I would like to oblige,’ Warwick replied tartly, ‘we still adhere to the basic tenets of modern medicine. Though there is an element of make-do, depending on what treatments are available.’ He checked Mallory’s ribs closely then grunted, ‘No breaks. Who gave you a going over? Or is this part of basic training?’

  ‘It was a test.’ Mallory saw Blaine’s face, felt a dull burst of anger. ‘Which I passed with flying colours.’

  Warwick snorted and turned to the shelves that lined one wall. ‘Practising medicine in these times is difficult enough without dealing with self-inflicted injuries. If this happens again, you deal with it yourself.’ He delved into various jars before wrapping the contents in a small cloth package. ‘Infuse these in boiled water and drink it four times a day for the next three days.’

  Mallory sniffed at it; the contents were fragrant. ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘Would it really make any difference if I told you?’

  Daniels surveyed the jars. ‘Heard any news from outside, Warwick?’

  ‘Like what, exactly?’

  ‘I know you hear everything in here. You get a snippet of information from everyone with an ailment. It’s like a little spider’s web, with you at the centre, collecting information.’

  ‘Thank you for the flattering analogy,’ Warwick said contemptuously.

  ‘What about the Government?’ Daniels asked.

  ‘Not heard anything.’

  ‘Somebody must be trying to put things back in place.’

  ‘Well, they obviously haven’t got very far, have they?’

  ‘No power on the horizon, then?’

  Warwick removed a jar from Daniels’ hands and replaced it on a shelf. ‘There’s no oil coming in. They shut down most of the pits in the nineties.

  And I heard that all the nuclear power stations went off line during the Fall.’

  ‘Yeah, I wondered why we hadn’t had a China Syndrome experience,’ Daniels mused. ‘I hear you’ve got one of those clockwork radios tucked away.’

  Warwick shifted suspiciously. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I just heard.’

  ‘You know how they feel about technology here.’ He rearranged the jars for a moment before adding, as if as an afterthought, ‘I’ve heard that all frequencies are dead. There’s nothing coming in from the Continent at all.’

  ‘So either everybody’s suffering the same all over the world,’ Daniels said, ‘or England’s the only place with people left alive.’

  ‘Well, that’s a thoroughly depressing thought,’ Warwick said, with a cold smile. ‘The survival of the human race might be down to us.’

  ‘And aren’t we good representatives?’ Mallory chipped in.

  For the next three nights there were heavy frosts. The night office, the lauds of the dead and prime were all torturous in the freezing confines of the cathedral, where breath plumed white and the plainsong was disrupted by shivering until the mass of bodies raised the temperature a little. The bishop took the decision to limit the numbers of those who wished to pray before the bones of St Cuthbert due to the queues that built up throughout the day. Many, he said, were not seeking God’s help with their ailments. They simply wanted a
sign of God’s power and it was wrong to test Him.

  It was in the early evening that Miller overheard a commotion at the gates, which had not been opened since the attack. The torches blazing permanently around the entrance area cast a dull red light across the guards who leaned over the walls to talk animatedly with someone attempting to gain entrance.

  The anxious note in the exchange drew Mallory from his path back to the barracks. He had a sense that here was something important, so he stood in the shadow of the nearest hut, stamping his feet against the cold.

  After a few moments’ debate, the guards sent word back for advice; they had obviously been told not to open the gates for anyone. The runner returned with James, who appeared agitated. He listened at the gate for a moment, then insisted it be opened. The guards were reluctant, but they eventually agreed to open the gates a crack so that whoever was outside could slip inside.

  The visitor wore the black vest of a cleric and was shivering from the cold. He appeared so weak that he could barely stand, and his eyes had the glaze of the bone-weary or drugged.

  Concerned, James grabbed the cleric’s arm to lead him closer to a brazier that the guards used to warm themselves. The visitor’s gait was slow and laboured, and even in the firelight his eyes didn’t lose their dead expression. Intrigued, Mallory slipped as close as he could without being seen.

  ‘—you sure?’ James was asking.

  ‘Near Stonehenge.’ The cleric sounded as if he was talking through depths of water.

  James motioned to two of the guards to support the cleric, and then the four of them disappeared in the direction of the cathedral.

  The summoning came at around eleven p.m. when Hipgrave appeared at the door, as bright and smart as if it were the middle of the day. ‘The operations room. Now,’ he barked. He disappeared swiftly, expecting mockery.

  The operations room was a grand name for a room that contained only a wall map of the local area, a pile of useless phone directories and a few chairs and a table. Blaine and Hipgrave were talking intensely near the window when the others entered. Hipgrave motioned for the new arrivals to take seats.