The Devil in Green

by Mark Chadbourn

  Sophie saw it too, their hopes too fragile to voice. They ran down the slope towards it with the last of their energy. Mallory scrambled in and ducked under the steering column just as the creature whisked over the rise. He ripped out the ignition wires with ease - he’d done it enough times before - and sparked them. The lorry coughed, then fired.

  The travellers had already piled into the back alongside Miller. Sophie took the seat next to Mallory.

  ‘Everybody in?’ He flicked the windscreen wipers to clear several months’ worth of dust.

  ‘Put your foot down, OK?’ Sophie hadn’t shown a glimmer of fear throughout their ordeal, but Mallory could sense it just beneath the surface.

  ‘Can’t you do a spell or something?’ he said, thumping the gear stick into first and lurching off.

  ‘I told you, it doesn’t work like that … not in the heat of things. I’ll try to do something as we go.’ She closed her eyes, whispering a mantra as she meditated.

  In the side mirror, Mallory saw the thing bearing down on them. Now the crimson skull appeared to be the only thing of substance, its body a ragged black sheet billowing in the wind as it rushed on with alarming speed. It wasn’t far behind the truck now. Something about it made him feel sick: its relentlessness, the sheer inhumanity of its attacks, the way he couldn’t be sure of its shape.

  What is it? he said to himself, desperately urging the truck to go faster. He kept his foot to the floor as he rammed through the gears, but the vehicle felt as if it was running through mud. It slowly began to build speed, churning up the turf as it juddered and skidded.

  In the mirror, the skull loomed up just to the left side of the rear lights. Mallory could hear the screams from the back and a crashing noise as someone lashed out with an object they’d obviously found in the back.

  Just as the truck began to hit thirty miles per hour, there was a sickening scream followed by a tumult from the rear. Mallory could see the reflection of the thing hunched over a flailing shape pinned to the ground, ready to feed. It was the girl who had fainted.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Sophie said anxiously.

  Mallory set his jaw. ‘We’ve got away from it.’

  The rest of the journey passed in near silence as Sophie and the travellers mourned their two friends and Mallory turned over the events of the night, sickened that he hadn’t been able to prevent the deaths. In one brief period of conversation, Sophie had thanked him ‘for being a good man’, for his bravery and compassion, and he felt like such a fraud he couldn’t look her in the face. She thought he was just exhibiting humility; another trait he didn’t have.

  They reached Salisbury at four a.m. The city was deserted, the houses and shops dark, not even a candle flame burning. Mallory expected someone to poke their head out at the long-lost sound of a combustion engine, but no one came to see.

  Sophie pointed out the most unusual sight. There were barricades along some of the streets, and several doors and windows had been fitted with security covers. ‘It looks as if everyone’s boarding themselves in,’ she said.

  Apprehension tugged at Mallory’s mind. What had been happening while they had been gone?

  He pulled over on Castle Street so that the travellers could make their way to their camp without the guards on the cathedral walls seeing to whom he’d been giving a lift; no point making unnecessary trouble for himself. The remaining travellers came by one by one to thank him. He felt uncomfortable at the undiluted strength of their gratitude, yet touched, too, as he watched them troop sadly off in the direction of the tent city.

  Sophie hung around until they were out of sight, then said, ‘You look a picture.’

  He leaned out to look in the side mirror. He was covered in blood and mud, his hair matted, a growth of beard shadowing his face. ‘At least all the relevant bits are there.’

  ‘I’m grateful for what you did for us, Mallory,’ she said. ‘You didn’t have to help us … you could have abandoned us at any time. If all the knights are like you, I might have to reassess my judgement.’

  She looked even more attractive in the cold moonlight. He seriously thought about asking her to go with him, just drive off, but he knew she would never abandon her responsibilities.

  ‘And I’ll stand by you, if you ever need me,’ she continued. ‘I won’t forget what you did.’

  She smiled properly for the first time on the journey. It was only a brief flash, but it was so honest it brought a shiver to his spine. ‘Don’t I get a kiss?’ he said, only half-joking.

  ‘Don’t push it, Mallory. This isn’t the Middle Ages where the shy, retiring damsel has to reward her knight.’ She slipped out, but before she closed the door she poked her head back in. ‘You know where I am.’ It wasn’t much, but there was a substance to it that excited him.

  He waited as she hurried down the street, hoping she’d turn back but sure she wouldn’t; she knew he was watching her and she wouldn’t give him that advantage. When she’d finally disappeared, he took a deep breath and moved the truck slowly in the direction of the cathedral.

  But as he turned on to High Street and the final stretch to the compound gates, the shock of what he saw made him slam on the brakes.

  Instead of the lone spire rising majestically from the cathedral’s bulk, an enormous building of black stone now covered most of the area within the compound. The cathedral was still there at the core, but it had been expanded into a massive gothic construction that mirrored the original in the fundamentals, but had been elaborated into a feverish vision of gargoyles, towers, cupolas, stained-glass windows - some of them forty feet tall - statues, carvings and insanely pitched roofs branching out all over the place. It would have taken decades to build with hundreds, if not thousands, of skilled craftsmen. The dislocation made him queasy; Mallory felt as if he had been transported back to the Otherworld, but everything else in the surroundings was as it always had been.

  He let his eyes drift over what appeared to be a mad architect’s dream. If the first cathedral had been an elegant vision of God’s Glory, this was something much, much darker.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  alpha and omega

  ‘Appearances are a glimpse of what is hidden.’

  - Anaxagoras

  Mallory allowed the truck to trundle slowly up to the gates. Disbelief kept his gaze firmly fixed on the unbelievable, monumental construction; nothing, however bizarre, could begin to explain what he was seeing. When he did finally break his gaze, he saw guards ranged all along the walls, crossbows trained on him from several quarters. Everything had changed.

  Cautiously, he turned off the engine and wound down the window. ‘It’s me, Mallory. A knight,’ he yelled. ‘I’ve got another badly wounded knight in the back.’

  There was a long period of silence before a voice barked, ‘Get out!’

  Slowly, he clambered on to the flagstones, hands raised.

  ‘Move closer to the gates.’

  Two enormous torches blazing on either side of the entrance cast a shimmering pool of light in front of the gates. Mallory entered it tentatively, hoping the mud and blood didn’t obscure too much of his uniform. For five minutes, he listened to dim chatter above as the guards debated whether to allow him entrance.

  ‘Look, you can see I’m a knight,’ he protested. He spotted a guard he recognised. ‘You know me.’

  ‘Not good enough,’ the commander of the watch replied.

  ‘What do you mean, “Not good enough”?’ His temper flared. ‘If you don’t let me get my friend inside he might die, and then I’ll make you bastards sorry.’

  His anger did little good. He was forced to remain there for another ten minutes until finally the gates opened a crack. ‘Approach carefully,’ a voice warned.

  Mallory walked forwards until he could see between the gates. The entire Blue squad waited on the other side, armed with swords and crossbows, a Second World War-era rifle and shotguns. ‘What is wrong with you?’ he shouted.

  Th
e gates were flung open and the Blues surged out and around him. Some ran to the back of the truck. ‘He’s telling the truth,’ one of them shouted back. ‘There’s an injured knight here.’ They picked up Miller’s stretcher and rushed it into the compound. Mallory was roughly manhandled inside, too, his protestations ignored. The gates slammed shut immediately behind him, heavy bars drawn across solemnly to seal it.

  Mallory looked at these new defences, then at the faces of the Blues. What he saw there made him wary. ‘What’s been going on here?’ he asked.

  No one would talk to him, and after a while he gave up asking questions and concentrated on the worries rattling through his mind.

  From the gate he was led across a cobbled courtyard through a sturdy oak door with cast-iron fittings into a long stone corridor that hadn’t been there days earlier. He had to tell himself again that he wasn’t back in the Court of Peaceful Days, for there was something about the architecture that reminded him of that place, although the mood was significantly different.

  Under heavily armed guard, they rushed him across tapestry-hung halls and up winding staircases to a debriefing room where he was thrust into a chair with two crossbows trained on him, as if he were not a knight at all, but a spy ready to betray the entire religion. After half an hour Blaine entered, looking tired and irritable. Behind him marched Stefan, proud and resolute. Mallory had had his doubts about the chancellor ever since he had heard the grim relish in Stefan’s voice when he told James that the library was off limits; his appearance there only confirmed Mallory’s suspicions.

  ‘What’s happened to this place?’ Mallory blurted.

  Stefan eyed him suspiciously before retreating to a corner to watch like a raptor, his hands clasped behind his back.

  ‘All the new buildings,’ Mallory continued. ‘Where did they come from? You couldn’t have built them—’

  ‘Where have you been?’ The harsh tones of Blaine’s Belfast accent were even more pronounced. His very demeanour threatened violence. ‘And where did you get that sword?’

  ‘I found it,’ Mallory said, making light of the weapon. ‘We can never have too many swords, right?’

  Mallory explained what had happened at Bratton Camp, but said nothing of the Court of Peaceful Days. ‘I was badly injured, on my last legs,’ he continued. ‘I was wandering for days before I summoned the strength to make it back here.’

  Blaine’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m surprised you did come back here.’

  ‘Despite what you might think, Blaine, this is the place for me,’ Mallory lied. The tension was palpable and he wasn’t going to take any risks speaking his mind. ‘Did the others make it back?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re the fourth, counting Miller.’

  ‘Who’s missing?’

  ‘Hipgrave.’ Blaine peered down into Mallory’s face. ‘Any idea what happened to him?’

  Mallory thought of the severed hand. ‘That thing must have got him—’

  ‘Or you could have killed him in the confusion.’

  ‘I’m not going to kill one of our own!’ Mallory protested.

  Stefan’s light cough was a signal for Blaine to step back. ‘Events have overtaken us while you were away,’ Stefan said, with a smile so insincere that Mallory couldn’t believe he was even attempting it. ‘There are forces in this world … forces of the Adversary … ranged against a resurgent Church. He knows we are once again on the path to be the Guiding Light of the world, and he is prepared to do anything to destroy us.’ He made a strange hand gesture as he attempted to choose the right words. ‘Security is paramount. We cannot afford for our defences to be breached. We have to be sure you are still guided by the Glory of God.’

  ‘I’m telling the truth.’ Mallory looked from Stefan to Blaine and back, now even more unsettled.

  ‘We’ve got people who can tell if you’re who you say you are,’ Blaine said coldly.

  ‘Who I say I am?’ he echoed incredulously.

  ‘To ensure you have not been corrupted by your encounter with the dark forces,’ Stefan corrected.

  Mallory didn’t understand their meaning, but the way they were saying it brought a trickle of cold sweat down his back.

  ‘We held a grand synod,’ Stefan continued, ‘and took the advice of some of our Catholic brothers in establishing a new and very limited order of Inquisitors of Heretical Depravity. It has served Rome well for many centuries.’

  ‘The Inquisition?’ Mallory said in disbelief.

  ‘Oh, don’t be put off by Godless propaganda or stories of medieval excess,’ Stefan replied. ‘The name “Inquisition” merely comes from the Latin verb inquiro - to inquire into. There is nothing menacing about that at all. It is simply a way of gaining information through intensive questioning. By testing the defendant, if you will, through a trial of inquiry.’

  Stefan attempted to sound dismissive, but Mallory could tell what kind of Inquisition the chancellor had in mind, and it wasn’t the essentially benign one that the Catholic Church had maintained throughout the twentieth century. Stefan’s medieval turn of mind was plain for all to see. ‘Cornelius agreed to it?’

  Stefan bowed his head. ‘The bishop is not well. The Lord watches over him, but his strength is fading fast. He is in no position to be concerned with the minutiae of the Church’s day-to-day running. Our spiritual needs are all that matter to him.’

  ‘Have Daniels and Gardener been put through this?’ The brief silence gave him his answer.

  ‘This is the proper course of action. We need to be sure there aren’t fifth columnists working against us within the brethren.’ Blaine sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. ‘This Church is the only good thing going in this world. There are a lot of people depending on us. We have to do what we can …’ He realised his rambling was giving away his true thoughts and so he repeated, but with different meaning, ‘We have to do what we can.’ Mallory could see he was speaking from the heart: he believed completely in what he was doing - a soldier chosen to defend the Faith with any means necessary, however unpleasant.

  ‘What is it?’ Mallory still didn’t accept the implication of what they were saying. ‘The rack?’

  Stefan looked horrified, although there was no heart in the reaction. ‘Good Lord, what do you take us for? We have chosen men of integrity for this vital role, devout men who will ask the correct questions, that is all.’

  Mallory looked at Blaine; Blaine looked away.

  Stefan turned to go, obviously eager not to be tainted by the unpleasantness that lay ahead. At the door he said, ‘Blaine was right, Mallory - this is a good thing. Everything we do is for the survival of the Church and the greater Glory of God. Answer with your heart and all will be well.’ He swept away.

  Blaine paused at the door. ‘This isn’t personal, Mallory. I think you’re an untrustworthy bastard who needs to be kept in line, but I can do that myself. This is about something bigger … keeping the Church safe. I have a responsibility here and I’m going to see it through.’

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ Mallory said acidly.

  A flicker of the old hardness shone in Blaine’s eyes. ‘You’re too smart, Mallory. We don’t need your type here. We need people who obey, who take orders. That’s what the whole fucking religion’s about.’ The flare of anger had already lost its edge when he was only halfway out. ‘Just tell the truth, Mallory. Don’t make any rods for your own back.’

  *

  Ten minutes later, three men walked in. They had the smart haircuts and mundanely handsome faces of catalogue models, so bland there was something resolutely sinister about them. Mallory could see instantly why they had been chosen: their floating irises and dead eyes gave away their penchant for dirty jobs.

  The leader, the inquisitor-general as he introduced himself, was called Broderick. He was wiry with red hair and a pasty, papery complexion. His smile was so fake Mallory wanted to wipe it off with one blow.

  He took Blaine’s advice and answered truthfully,
but they still punctuated their questions with hard knuckles just to let him know they could. At first they asked him about the mission and any encounters he might have had with ‘the forces of darkness’. Eventually, though, they merely asked him to repeat the Lord’s Prayer. Mallory got it right after a few promptings. He lost consciousness after fifty minutes.

  He was woken with a bucket of icy water that washed some of the blood away. Blaine leaned against a wall, watching him cursorily.

  ‘Did I pass?’ The words came out strangely through Mallory’s split lips.

  ‘We had to be sure.’ Blaine motioned to the inquisitors to help Mallory to his feet. ‘They used to work for the security services in Belfast. Quite a coup, them turning up here.’

  ‘Yes, aren’t we lucky?’ Mallory shook off the helping hands and walked under his own strength. The pain in his ribs made it hard to breathe and his head rang with numerous aches; he had already been at a low ebb after his battles on Salisbury Plain. ‘This is the second time you’ve put me through the wringer. I’m starting to think you enjoy it.’

  Blaine didn’t bite. ‘I would have thought by this time you’d have learned a little humility, Mallory. Now, you get yourself to the infirmary. I want you back on duty as soon as possible. We need every available hand for defence.’ Briefly, his shoulders sagged with the weight of responsibility. ‘You don’t know how lucky you were getting inside here in one piece last night.’

  The dislocation Mallory had felt on his arrival returned with force. ‘What’s been going on? Where did all the new buildings come from?’

  Blaine was honestly puzzled. ‘What new buildings?’

  ‘What new buildings! I’m talking about the four million tonnes of stone thrown up almost overnight. The new buildings!’