The Devil in Green

by Mark Chadbourn

  ‘He’s certainly a slippery character,’ Daniels said, ‘but doing something like this? How could he? How could anybody?’

  ‘Somebody made it happen,’ Mallory said. ‘I don’t think it’s a random manifestation.’

  ‘Look, we don’t even know it’s a bad thing,’ Gardener noted. ‘Maybe it is what I said … God’s will, a miracle. That’s no crazier than all the other stuff going on. Maybe that’s the way of the world now - little miracles before the Fall, bloody big bastard miracles now.’

  ‘He has a point,’ Daniels said. ‘There’s been no sign that it’s anything bad.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Mallory said. He prodded at the unappetising chunks of indistinguishable vegetables. ‘But if you’re right, why are the spirits growing restless?’

  Miller told the others about the ghost in the kitchens that morning. ‘It’s not a one-off,’ he added. ‘Down at the workshops they’re all talking about it. Spooks all over the place. Old bishops, canons, scaring the stuffing out of people. It’s getting worse, they say.’

  ‘Like I said, the dead are growing restless.’ Mallory looked around the table. ‘In this world we’re stuck in, we need to start thinking with a medieval mindset - not hard in this place. Signs and portents. We’ve got unquiet spirits. Something’s bothering them. The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.’

  ‘They know something we don’t,’ Daniels said.

  They all fell quiet for a long moment while they pushed their food around their bowls. It was Gardener who spoke first. ‘We wouldn’t have spooks rising up if we were living in a miracle.’ He didn’t raise his eyes from the table.

  ‘Those things that have put us under siege … this …’ Daniels motioned to the building around them. ‘… you really do think it’s linked?’

  ‘In some way,’ Mallory said, ‘but I’m betting it’s not in as direct a way as you’re saying. Those things can’t get on to Church land … that’s why they’re pinning us down here. So I don’t think they could have caused the cathedral to change.’

  Before they could debate the matter further, Julian walked in, looking brighter than Mallory had seen him in a long time. He marched to the centre of the now-busy room and climbed on to one of the long tables. ‘I have an announcement,’ he said in a voice that barely contained his joy. ‘The bishop … Cornelius … has turned the corner. He’s on the road to recovery.’

  Mallory recalled how frail the bishop had appeared earlier; it was implausible that his health could have improved so quickly.

  ‘We should all pray for his swift return to form … and for the guiding hand of Saint Cuthbert.’ A whisper ran around the room at the mention of the sacred relic that had invigorated the small community. ‘Yes, it’s true. We transported Cornelius to our most holy relic earlier. The response was phenomenal. Strength flowed into his limbs, his eyes grew bright, his voice firm and confident. The sickness that had been tainting him for so long drifted away like mist in the rays of the sun.’ Emotion overcame Julian so that he had to wipe his cheeks with the back of his hand. ‘Cornelius is a remarkable man,’ he continued, speaking from the heart. ‘He held this community together in the earliest days. His vision guided us when we were at our weakest, when many were thinking of abandoning the Faith in those black days. Cornelius. All Cornelius. He has led us to this point where - current difficulties notwithstanding — we are on the verge of once again leading the Church, and God’s Word, out into the world.’

  He stared into the rafters thoughtfully before continuing. ‘He probably wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but he originally refused to be taken before the Saint Cuthbert relic. He felt it would be better for our morale if he fought and overcame the illness himself. He is an unselfish man.’ He shook his head slowly, almost talking to himself now. ‘Sadly, that was not to be. This afternoon he slipped into a coma … one from which it appeared he would not recover. The decision was taken then to transport him to the relic in the hope that he would be freed to continue his mission with us. And so it was. Praise the Lord.’ He wiped his eyes once more, stepped down and swept out of the refectory.

  There was a moment of silence before the room erupted in cheers and cries of ‘Hallelujah!’ Only one man failed to join in the celebrations, Mallory noted: Stefan, who had walked in halfway through Julian’s speech. Though he forced a smile when any of the jovial brothers appeared in his line of vision, his face was dark.

  Blaine had instigated a shift-rota of cathedral patrols for the knights. It was clearly a propaganda exercise to provide the illusion of security.

  That night it was the turn of Mallory and Daniels. They started their rounds just as the night office was beginning at midnight. The cathedral was ablaze with candles, the golden glow reaching up the walls until it was swallowed by the thick shadows engulfing the ceiling far overhead. They stood at the back, letting the seductive sway of the plainsong move their emotions like a tidal swell. The combination of light and sound, of emotion alive with the subtle nuances of voice, had more power than its component parts.

  They eventually dragged themselves into the cloisters, the singing now ghostly through the walls. Yet silence and stillness hung over the square, so that at first they didn’t dare speak; even their footsteps on the ancient stone sounded too loud. The open central area was a pool of moonlight that made the enclosing corridors appear even darker.

  As they approached the chapter house, Daniels coughed self-consciously. ‘Sorry. I just wanted to hear my voice.’ He laughed in embarrassment. ‘Look at me - an educated, sophisticated, just all-round modern guy and I’m afraid of ghosts.’

  ‘We never really leave behind the children we were,’ Mallory replied. His own hand rested on the carved dragons of his sword. ‘Besides, these days it’s probably smart to be scared.’

  ‘Stops you being blasé,’ Daniels agreed. His eyes darted around. ‘You know what I miss? Clubs. Music … new stuff, you know … and lights. I used to love clubs, went two or three times a week with Gareth.’

  ‘Yeah, I miss music,’ Mallory said, ‘and the football, movies, nipping out for a curry after the pub …‘He thought for a second. ‘Getting a train, buying a newspaper on a rainy morning, maybe picking up a Mars Bar with it—’

  ‘I hate Mars. Like eating sugar and glue.’

  ‘Buying a new book from your favourite author …’

  ‘You could go on for ever.’

  ‘It’s the stupid little things that get to you the most.’ Mallory took a deep breath. ‘And what do we get in return—?’

  ‘We get a life that’s never boring.’

  The new structure began beyond the cloisters, the stone darker, more worn, as if thousands of feet and hands had trailed over it across thousands of years. Mallory still didn’t like walking around the place. The constantly changing layout of corridors and stairs and rooms unnerved him - he couldn’t get a handle on the floor plan at all - and there was an unsettling atmosphere that hung in the air like a bad smell.

  They passed into a corridor that ran amongst a series of dormitories where the echoes were disturbingly distorted. Halfway along, Daniels caught Mallory’s arm and hissed, ‘What was that?’

  ‘Didn’t hear anything,’ Mallory replied. His footsteps were still reverberating several seconds after he’d come to a halt.

  Daniels’ eyes had widened until the whites appeared to glow. ‘It sounded like someone calling my name.’

  ‘You’re a big nancy-boy coward, Daniels,’ Mallory joked. ‘You’re scaring yourself.’

  ‘No, it was definitely—’

  He was cut short by a rustling sepulchral whispering that swept along the corridor like a breeze. Goosebumps sprang up on Mallory’s arms. He could have sworn it was calling his name.

  ‘It’s just Gardener playing tricks on you,’ Mallory said. It sounded feeble and unconvincing the moment he voiced it.

  ‘It was my name,’ Daniels stressed, looking up and down the
deserted corridor. It unnerved Mallory even more that they had both heard something different. ‘We should investigate.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Mallory said. ‘Like I’m going to be a character in Scream Ten.’

  ‘It’s our job,’ Daniels said. ‘We’re supposed to be protecting everyone.’

  ‘OK. Off you go, then. I’ll wait for the scream of agony. And when it comes I’ll break with tradition and not come after you to find the bloody chunks. Go on. I’ll be here, enjoying myself.’

  ‘You’re a bastard, Mallory,’ Daniels said nervously. His sword rang as it slid out of the scabbard. He began to make his way back down the corridor.

  ‘You’re really going?’ Mallory said, surprised.

  ‘It’s our job, Mallory.’ He disappeared into one of the rooms.

  Mallory waited for ten minutes until he started to grow bored and then sighed and marched off to investigate. Except the doorway through which Daniels had passed now led into an alcove barely big enough for him to squeeze inside.

  ‘Daniels?’ he said tentatively. An unconscious shiver ran down his spine and he quickly backed into the centre of the corridor. The silence was almost unbearable; he could feel his chest tightening as anxiety insinuated its way inside him. Although he felt stupid doing it, he drew his own sword; the hum as it came free was almost comforting.

  He had found through irritating experience that retracing one’s steps rarely worked, so he pressed on along the corridor. As he neared the end of it, a cold blast of air brought him to a sudden halt; it was as if someone had opened a long-closed door. A second later, the whispering rustled along the walls again; it sounded like frozen lakes, like the tomb. And he was convinced it was calling his name.

  He debated going back, but he couldn’t be sure that whatever was there wasn’t behind him. Oddly, his growing apprehension steeled his resolve.

  At the end of the corridor, a short flight of worn steps led up to a deserted chapel. They were the night stairs, a regular fixture in monasteries allowing the monks to make their way speedily from the dormitories to the services so no time was lost for devotion.

  He had his foot on the bottom step when a shape loomed up at the top. At first he thought it might be Daniels until he recalled the knight hadn’t been wearing his cloak. The figure wore the black habit of a monk, the cowl pulled low over a shadowy space that hid the face. With a sudden wash of cold, he realised it was the same person he had seen twice before; except it wasn’t a person. On the previous occasions, he had tried to convince himself it was one of the brothers; now he couldn’t hide in that illusion. It took a step towards him; the whispering wrapped around it.

  Mallory felt an overpowering dread coming off the figure that left him rooted, his limbs as cold as ice, his neck and back hot; it was his mind’s natural revulsion to the supernatural. It was no ghost, he was sure of it, but he had no idea exactly what it was, only that it reeked of otherworldly threat. Yet how something like that could walk the hallowed ground escaped him.

  He backed down to the corridor and levelled his sword at it. His action didn’t deter its measured progress down the steps. His name echoed around him, the word insubstantial, the sentiment cold and hard and unyielding. It said, Here is something that wants you, that will stop at nothing to get you.

  He considered striking out at it, but if the blow was futile it would leave him too close; it would be able to touch him and the thought of that was more than he could bear. As it closed on him, his dread increased until he could no longer look at the darkness where the face should be. It was more than simple fear of the unknown; a part of him somehow knew that here was a revelation too awful for him to accept; here were all the things he was frantically escaping.

  And then he was running back down the corridor, through rooms unimaginable, waiting for the building to let him out into the night.

  Mallory eventually found Daniels waiting outside the chapter house an hour later. The lauds of the dead was filtering through from the cathedral.

  ‘Well, thank heavens for that,’ Daniels said tartly. ‘I thought I was going to have to send in a search party. Did you enjoy your rest period?’

  ‘I tried to find you. I couldn’t get out of the place.’ It had taken Mallory a long time to shake off the effects of what he had seen, and he certainly didn’t feel like raising it again with Daniels.

  ‘This place gives me the creeps.’ Daniels looked uncomfortably towards where the transformed building began. ‘It felt as though it was herding me out of there. I’d be a happy man if I didn’t have to go in again.’

  Mallory followed his gaze. ‘I’ll second that. But I bet you any money that if we want to find out what’s happening here, that’s exactly where we’ll have to go.’

  The announcement was made the following day: digging would commence on November die first after plans had been drawn up and preliminary excavations opened. The haste to begin underlined the seriousness of their predicament. An uproarious outpouring of relief and optimism followed. The brothers flooded out of the cathedral into a light drizzle, eager to believe that the worst was over and they could get back to their primary mission of rebuilding God’s kingdom.

  By nine am the rain had become a downpour, the skies so slate-grey overhead that in the oppressive shadow of the new buildings it almost seemed like night. Water cascaded from the mouths of gargoyles to gush noisily on the stone flags, or spouted off the ends of roofs to catch unawares any brother foolish enough to walk too close to the walls.

  Classes continued for most of the knights, excepting the elite Blues whom Blaine appeared to think no longer needed tuition. They were rarely seen by the other knights, always busy on some mysterious task Blaine had set them deep in the sprawling body of the cathedral buildings.

  Mallory could barely keep his mind on the studies. Before, it had seemed irritating; now, it was merely irrelevant. The image of the monk moving slowly down the stairs played repeatedly in his mind, interspersed with thoughts of Sophie and a growing acceptance of his deep attraction to her. The two things pulled him back and forth, darkness and light, fear and love, combining with a general sense of paralysis at his inability to do anything productive that might get him out of that place. And that, he had decided, was what he wanted more than anything else: Sophie with him, miles between them and Salisbury and damn the consequences. Even his desire for payback against Blaine and the Church authorities paled beside it.

  He had doubts that he could ever convince her, especially after what had happened with Gardener, but he had a long-shot idea how he might make it work.

  Mallory woke at first light, aching from the pointless, wearying tasks they were increasingly set. Miller was already sitting up in the thin grey light, his rough blankets pulled tightly around him against the cold.

  ‘I think something bad’s going to happen,’ Miller said bluntly.

  ‘To be honest, that’s not much of a revelation,’ Mallory said sleepily. ‘Under siege. The forces of hell at the gates. Food running out. And, I might add, having to wake up next to you every morning. This is the definition of bad.’

  ‘No, I think something bad’s going to happen today.’

  Mallory rolled over; another few minutes’ sleep would be good and luxuries were few and far between. ‘You’re just spooked because it’s Hallowe’en.’

  ‘Exactly! It isn’t just some stupid kids’ holiday any more, Mallory. Everything now is exactly how we were afraid it would be when we were children. Those things out there … this is their day!’

  ‘Shut up, Miller. We’re safe in here. Protected by the Blue Fire,’ he added sardonically. He pulled the blanket over his head. ‘Safe as houses till we starve to death.’

  Hipgrave pulled Mallory to one side after the herbalism class. He had appeared a different person since they had returned from their nightmarish excursion, more introspective, somehow.

  ‘Can I have a word?’ he said. His eyes darted around, uncomfortable at being seen with the black sh
eep.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘What do you think’s going on here, Mallory?’

  ‘Why are you asking me?’

  ‘Because you’ve got a different perspective on things. You know He floundered.

  ‘An ungodly one,’ Mallory said.

  Hipgrave nodded, oblivious to the humour. He’d developed a nervous habit of rubbing the knuckles on the back of his left hand; Mallory could see that one of them was sore and callouses had started to build up on the others. ‘This whole place …‘He motioned a little too animatedly around the mysterious architecture.’… it’s not right. No one seems to realise it’s all changed … But they half-remember … They talk about it being a result of the Glory of God.’ He paused. ‘But I don’t see how it can be. It doesn’t feel right.’ He stared off into the middle-distance. ‘I can’t talk to Blaine about it.’

  ‘I’ve got no answers, Hipgrave.’

  The captain’s eyes held a devastating desperation that suggested life was slipping away from him. He clutched at Mallory’s sleeve. ‘If we can sort this out, Mallory, everything will be all right.’ He held on for a second and then drifted slowly away.

  ‘Hipgrave’s losing it,’ Mallory said baldly. ‘Please excuse the complete lack of sympathy in my voice.’

  Miller, Daniels and Gardener followed him across the grassy area that circumnavigated the sprawling cathedral buildings. It was only five p.m. and already dark; it seemed to be getting darker significantly earlier every day. Moonlight cast long, deep shadows all around.

  ‘We gave him a chance to stand with us,’ Gardener said. ‘But he’s too much of a shit to be decent.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you the heart of compassion,’ Daniels jibed.

  ‘You weren’t so pleasant when he got Blaine to give you another ten laps on the circuit training.’ Gardener lit a roll-up, drawing the smoke in deeply.