The Devil in Green

by Mark Chadbourn

  Mallory couldn’t tell if he was trying to deceive the others, or if he truly believed there was hope for them. He nodded towards Broderick. ‘So, you’re going to let your torturer loose on me now?’

  ‘No, no, there would be no point.’ He waved the notion away with his hand. ‘Mr Broderick is here for the witch. She has information that may be important to us.’

  Mallory grew cold. ‘Don’t you touch her.’

  ‘The Bible says we should have no feelings for her kind. It says in uncompromising terms that they are a danger to everything we hold dear. Spare her no compassion - she chose her path in life.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Unless there is another reason for your protection of her. Is fornication another of your sins?’

  ‘She doesn’t know anything.’

  ‘She knows how to protect her land, and other things, too, I would guess.’

  ‘She won’t tell you anything.’

  Stefan smiled. ‘Oh, I think she will.’

  He turned and led the others out. Mallory yelled and screamed until his throat was raw, but all that came back were insipid echoes.

  Through the long hours of the day and the burning pain in his limbs, he listened intently, dreading what would happen when he did hear something. But there was nothing. Either the walls were too thick or Sophie had so far resisted the encouragement of the inquisitor.

  The raw cold eventually turned on its head to become a warm cocoon, lulling him quietly. Though he attempted to fight it, he found himself drifting in and out of a delirious half-sleep where strange ghostly shapes roamed and nothing made any kind of sense. The hallucinatory landscape was suddenly shattered by an electric burst that imprinted Sophie’s screaming face on his mind. It was there and gone in an instant, but he couldn’t escape the animal-like emotions he saw; he was sure they would haunt him for the rest of his days.

  But then, not long after, the mists parted and Sophie was there as he remembered her in the pub that first night he saw her. ‘Don’t worry for me,’ she said with a smile. ‘All this is passing.’ There was another flash like interference on a TV set. ‘I’m not without abilities, or resilience,’ she continued. Another flash of interference, only this time she didn’t return, but her voice floated through the mists to him. ‘Be strong.’

  He could no longer tell what were dreams, what were visions and what was really happening around him, or whether, indeed, all three were one and the same. He saw himself as Adam and Sophie as Eve, two lovers from opposite sides of the tracks in a garden of stone. And the Serpent was there, tempting them with great alchemical knowledge: of who they were and of where they came from and why there was some secret reason for their time upon the earth; the only knowledge worth knowing, and the most jealously guarded.

  No random conglomeration of chemicals only pretending to be, it said. No simple Darwinian drive of survival, of establishment of the species. That’s men finding easy answers to complex questions, as men always will.

  ‘The Devil is the Prince of Lies,’ Mallory pointed out.

  The Serpent laughed, said One man’s Devil, before becoming two and mutating into the double helix, twin DNA snakes coiling around each other, promising the only knowledge worth knowing for those who would listen.

  And then it changed again, becoming a Fabulous Beast, glimmering with the condensed wonder of Existence, forcing its way into his arteries, into his cells, then into the earth itself, leaving behind it a trail that was bright blue with all the hope of every man and woman denied by those who said they had access to the only knowledge worth knowing.

  Mallory woke with the strange belief that Sophie was holding his hand. He knew instantly he was not alone, though he could see no one in the cell with him.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he muttered through cold, parched lips.

  He was answered by the wind soughing through the corridor without. Instinctively, he sensed it was night, though there was nothing in his environment to mark the passing of time. The wind died away but the sighing continued, in the cell with him, not far from his left ear. It sounded like a whispered secret that no one wanted to hear.

  The cold in his bones became colder still. He didn’t want to look, but he knew he must; it was a primal urge: seek out the threat, then flee. Only he couldn’t run. Slowly, he turned his head.

  The cowled figure stood close enough to touch him. Where its face should be there was only darkness, deep, unyielding, without the hint of substance. Except he could feel the weight of its presence, of unseen eyes bearing down on him, of a reservoir of emotion threatening to burst its dam.

  He snapped his eyes shut, pretending to himself that it was a fleeting hallucination that had slipped out when the door of his dreams had closed. It was not one of the supernatural creatures besieging the gates, nor one of the risen clerics disturbed from their rest by the awful things they felt had been done to their Jerusalem. Since it had first started haunting him, he had pretended that he didn’t know what it was. But he did, he did. It was as clear as a burst of fire in the dark.

  ‘Go away,’ he whispered, his eyes still tightly closed. ‘Please.’

  And in that moment of desperation, the notion of his escape route came to him. ‘Caretaker!’ he yelled. Then repeated the word continuously until his throat was torn and blood trickled down inside him.

  Time dragged painfully. His strength, already at a low ebb from the lack of food, leaked from him and he lolled forwards on the chains, still mouthing the summoning when he had no more energy to call aloud. His consciousness drifted with his vitality, but he was aware that the next time he opened his eyes the hooded figure had gone.

  He didn’t know if it was minutes or hours later when he heard a sound beyond the wall at his back. At first he thought it was rats, but as it grew louder he realised it was rumbling footsteps accompanied by a metallic jangling.

  ‘Caretaker,’ he croaked.

  The metallic noise rattled mere inches from him, and then there was a resounding click. After a moment of stillness, the wall itself began to shake. Dust showered over Mallory from the mortared joints. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the stones pull apart, then gradually grind open. A brilliant blue light flooded the cell, so that at first Mallory had to screw his eyes tight shut until he was accustomed to it.

  ‘Who calls?’ The voice boomed out all around him, making the manacles vibrate against his wrists and setting his teeth on edge.

  ‘It’s me. Mallory.’

  The Caretaker stooped to enter the cell, bowing his head so that he could fit beneath the ceiling. He wore an enigmatic expression that made Mallory think he had been anticipating the summoning. ‘Good day, Brother of Dragons,’ he said sonorously.

  ‘Caretaker, I need your help.’ Mallory felt like a shadow of himself, but the Caretaker’s arrival had uncovered a final reserve. ‘Help me get free. Please?’

  Mallory still wasn’t sure whether the Caretaker would do his bidding, but the giant bent forwards and effortiessly pulled the manacles from the wall before snapping the chains that bound him. Mallory staggered under the weight of gravity and his weakness, and almost fell. The Caretaker caught him with one hefty arm. He exuded a deep spiritual strength.

  ‘We have to get to Sophie.’ Mallory pulled himself upright. He was overcome with a yearning desire to have his sword at his side; he hadn’t realised how attached he had grown to it. ‘Is there a way through your tunnels?’

  ‘My place leads to all places, Brother of Dragons.’ The Caretaker motioned for Mallory to step through the opening in the wall. As Mallory checked up and down the dusty tunnel that ran along the other side of the cell wall, the Caretaker rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. ‘Before you proceed, you should know this: for every choice there are unforeseen repercussions. Every step leads you down a new road, infinitely branching, taking you to places you may never have guessed. At this juncture, the choices are never keener. Go one way and your life will continue untroubled. Go to rescue the Sister of Dragons and your worl
d may turn dark. You may see things best left unseen.’

  ‘We get Sophie and damn the consequences,’ he said, without a second thought.

  A faint smile flickered across the giant’s lips. ‘Existence has chosen wisely.’

  The Caretaker guided him along the tunnels with a lantern that cast the brilliant blue light. Mallory felt himself strangely drawing strength from it, his limbs becoming less sluggish, his thoughts sharper. The direction of the tunnels bore no resemblance to the layout of the cathedral buildings he had in his mind’s eye. Though Sophie’s cell was close to his, they appeared to be walking away from it for what must have been twenty minutes before the Caretaker brought them to an abrupt halt and slapped the cold stone.

  ‘Here,’ he boomed. ‘She is not alone.’

  Mallory knew he wouldn’t have the strength to fend off Broderick or one of the Blues, if that was who was there. ‘I need my sword,’ he said.

  The Caretaker smiled again. ‘Llyrwyn calls for you also. Wait here. I shall bring it to you.’

  He disappeared into the gloom, leaving Mallory to slide slowly down the wall until his forehead was resting on his knees. Things had turned so sour, just as he thought they couldn’t get any worse. Yet his dismal mood was nothing next to the ruddy glow of hatred he felt for Stefan, Blaine and all they represented.

  But through it all, one thought was wriggling: the Caretaker had called Sophie a Sister of Dragons. Did that mean their destinies were entwined in some way? He wondered if some instinctive recognition of those mysterious ties explained why he had been drawn to her so instantly. But he liked the idea, the two of them linked by fate and an overarching mission for good; it was like something dreamed up for a fairy-tale.

  In the unyielding dark of the tunnel, the blue light was visible long before Mallory heard the thud of the Caretaker’s footsteps. Surprising himself with his eagerness, Mallory grabbed the sword and strapped it to his belt.

  The blue light it radiated was even more potent than the Caretaker’s lantern.

  ‘How do I get in there?’ Mallory turned to the wall, searching for any sign of an opening.

  ‘Take care, Brother of Dragons. Hard choices lie ahead.’ The Caretaker slammed his enormous hand upon a stone that looked like any other. Blue sparks flew. Mallory felt a change in air pressure, the oddly aromatic air of the tunnel giving way to something danker. Slowly, the wall tore itself apart and opened outwards.

  Framed in the trembling stones, Mallory saw Broderick and one of the Blues frozen in disbelief. It lasted for barely a second, and by the time Mallory was stepping into the cell with his sword drawn, they were already moving.

  Mallory was only dimly aware of Sophie chained to the wall. While Broderick backed against the wall, weaponless, the knight adopted an attacking posture with the ease and restrained strength of the Blues. Even the slightest movement exuded a lethal skill.

  Mallory knew him vaguely, as well as anyone knew any of the Blues. His name was Blissett, his accent still thick with the Worcester burr of his youth. He’d once revealed to Mallory that he still loved his childhood sweetheart and once he was given freer range as a knight he’d return to Worcester to seek her out. He’d seemed like a decent fellow beneath the patina of hardness all the Blues carried with them.

  He moved forwards with grace and power, counterbalancing easily as he swung his sword in an arc. Mallory parried, never taking his focus off Blissett’s face, picking up every subtle movement with his peripheral vision. Blissett drove on, hoping to push Mallory on to the back foot. Mallory responded with a ferocious attack that brought a glimmer of shock to Blissett’s eyes.

  There was no compassion in Mallory, only an arctic cold. When his sword drove through the soft tissue of Blissett’s upper arm, he felt nothing. When he pressed it on, feeling the gritty pressure of the bone fracturing and splintering, he felt nothing. When the arm started to come away, he was already pulling the sword back, ready to disable Blissett with a lunge that would slice open his stomach muscles and send his guts tumbling on to the floor. And Mallory felt nothing.

  As Blissett went down on to his knees, shocked at the steaming mass vacating his body, Mallory whipped his head from his shoulders with a single clinical stroke.

  Broderick had already escaped. Mallory stepped over the sticky pool of gore and twitching remains, the sight already lost to him. His only thought was for Sophie. When he saw her, a sharp pain shot into the core of him; she looked as if she was dead. She hung on the chains, her chin on her chest. Her clothes were torn and there were bruises on her face and forearms; blood trickled from one nostril.

  But as he placed his hands on her shoulders she stirred, her eyelids flickering open. She forced a smile.

  ‘Are you OK to move?’ he asked gently.

  She nodded.

  ‘The bastard Broderick will have everyone down here in minutes. We have to get out quickly.’ His sword sheared through the chains easily and Sophie fell into his arms. For the briefest moment he pressed his face into her hair and inhaled the scent of her, and then he supported her towards the opening in the wall where the Caretaker waited impassively.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she asked weakly.

  Before Mallory could respond, the Caretaker took Sophie’s hand with surprising tenderness. ‘Let the Blue Fire heal you, Sister of Dragons.’ A shiver ran through Mallory as he saw the lantern flame flicker towards Sophie as if it were alive. Mallory could almost see her vitality returning; her skin bloomed, her eyes grew wide, the bruises slowly lost their sheen. ‘You have been a good friend to my people,’ the Caretaker continued, ‘and a good leader of your own. You have a strong heart - the Blue Fire works in you, and through you into the world.’

  There was something almost deferential in the Caretaker’s tone. Mallory looked at Sophie curiously, wondering what the giant saw in her.

  She smiled, took the Caretaker’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Through the walls came the distant ringing of the cathedral bells. The alarm had been raised.

  Sophie turned to Mallory. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

  ‘We need to get out of this place—’

  ‘We can’t go outside the walls. Those things are still waiting—’

  ‘They never troubled me,’ Sophie said, ‘and now you’ve renounced your place with the cathedral, they’ll probably leave you alone, too.’

  ‘It’s nice that you’re prepared to take that gamble,’ Mallory said acidly. ‘And I didn’t renounce them. They renounced me.’

  The Caretaker led them along the tunnels to a door that opened into the Chapel of St Margaret of Scotiand in the south transept. The room was bitterly cold and suffused with the soft glow of candlelight from the altar. ‘Thank you,’ Mallory whispered to the Caretaker.

  ‘Your call came from the heart, Brother of Dragons. How could I refuse? My people have always cared for lovers … and fools.’

  ‘We’ll debate which side we fall on later,’ Sophie said.

  They stepped into the chapel and when they looked back, the Caretaker and the doorway to his realm were gone. Beyond the low wooden walls of the chapel, the cathedral was quiet.

  ‘I’m betting they’ve already blocked off the tunnel,’ Mallory whispered. ‘I reckon our only option is to get on to the walls and lower ourselves over,’ he mused. ‘Don’t know how we’re going to do that. The whole of the cathedral is between us and the way out.’

  ‘I might be able to help there.’ She turned away from him, lowering her head so that her hair hung across her face. He heard whispered words that made no sense to him, and then her body grew stiff and trembled with the strain. When she turned back, her face was drawn. Though the Blue Fire had re-energised her, her reserves were still low and easily drained.

  ‘What was that all about?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘A little inclement weather to mask our tracks.’

  Cautiously, he approached th
e door.

  ‘Mallory?’

  The voice made him start. He turned to see Miller standing at the front of the chapel; the young knight had obviously been on his knees in prayer, hidden behind the rows of chairs.

  As Sophie went to the door to peek out, Miller rushed over and grabbed Mallory’s hand desperately. ‘How did you get out?’ he said, his eyes wide with amazement.

  Sophie was beckoning; the cathedral was empty.

  ‘Mallory, take me with you.’ Miller’s fingers closed tighter around Mallory’s hand; there was a profound desperation to him that was quite shocking.

  ‘You’re better off here, Miller. I don’t fancy my chances outside the walls—’

  ‘No, no, you don’t understand. You have to take me with you.’ His gaze ranged around the chapel with unbearable anxiety. ‘Stefan’s going ahead with the testing … using the relic.’

  ‘You’ve got nothing to hide.’

  Miller’s eyes fell; his whole body appeared to shrink. Mallory had forgotten about the beast from Bratton Camp. Was that why he was so afraid - that the relic would expose him as the one who had slaughtered Cornelius and the others?

  ‘What is it?’ Mallory asked.

  ‘I killed my girlfriend!’ He blurted the words out, then collapsed in sobs.

  Mallory stood dumbfounded, trying to comprehend what Miller had said. ‘You killed her?’ He recalled Miller telling him how he had fled his home after his girlfriend had dumped him for some local thug.

  ‘I didn’t mean to,’ Miller whined. ‘She was the only thing I had in the world … the only reason I had for living. I begged her to stay, but she wasn’t having any of it. When she started to go, I grabbed hold of her … she fought me off… and … and I hit her.’ His eyes burned with devastation. ‘I didn’t mean to! I loved her! I just couldn’t cope … I was weak … pathetic …‘He sucked in air to stop a wracking sob. ‘She went down … didn’t get up …’

  ‘You killed her?’ Mallory repeated in disbelief. Miller’s story resonated throughout him with a strength that stunned him.