The Devil in Green (19 page)

Sophie listened carefully, but gave no sign of what she was thinking.
'And what do you believe in, Mallory?' she asked.

'Nothing. That's what I believe in.'

'Everyone believes in something. But sometimes they don't recognise
what they put their faith in. Money, drugs, sex—'

'That works for me.'

Her eyes narrowed as she examined his face. 'No, it's none of those
things. There's something there, but I can't tell exactly . . .'

He had the sudden, uncomfortable feeling that she was trying to read his
mind. He broke eye contact. 'You're just being dazzled by my charisma
and earthy sex appeal.'

She smiled ironically. 'That must be what it is.'

Miller hugged his knees. The firelight actually gave some colour to his
normally pallid face. 'Who are you people?'

'Pagans, philosophers,' Rick began. 'Environmentalists, travellers, freethinkers—'

'There's a movement going on all over the country, Mallory. We're just
one sign of it,' Sophie said passionately. 'We're rebuilding a new Celtic
Nation from the ground up. You don't have to have Celtic blood to be a
part of it, but we're using that ancient culture as a template—'

'If you're trying to get some kind of historical credence, you're off to a
bad start,' Mallory interrupted. 'There was no Celtic Nation, just a bunch
of tribes—'

'With a similar culture, music, belief system—'

'Fragmentary. The Romantics built them up into something bigger . . .
a fantasy . . .'

'Exactly.' She leaned forwards, emphasising the word with a blow of her
palm to die ground. 'You've obviously read the right books, Mallory, but
you're missing the point. We
want
an ideal. The system we had before was
woefully bereft. It worked for a few, the elite, the Establishment, and
disenfranchised the many. We've got a chance here to start with a clean
slate and we want something better.'

'So you're going to cover yourself with blue paint and go into war
naked?'

Her smile was a challenge. 'If we have to. I love to see cynics proved
wrong, Mallory. As an aside, don't go basing your views of the Celts on the
writings of some tired old Romans. The victors write history and they
disempower the vanquished. What we want is a society of equality, a
strong community that looks after the weakest members, that's close to
nature, that emphasises the arts and spirituality over making money and
personal greed—'

'Well, when you put it like that

She watched him cautiously with those big, unnaturally dark eyes,
slowly getting the measure of him. He relished her attention, enjoyed the
fact that, liked or disliked, he had somehow been raised above the herd in
her eyes. 'If we don't do it, there'll be plenty ready to take us back to the
old, failed ways,' she said.

'OK, that seems a reasonable motivation,' Mallory conceded, 'but all
this other
stuff. . .'
He waved a dismissive hand towards the perimeter
posts.

'It's part of the human condition to be arrogant.' Her smile was as
confrontational as Mallory's words. 'Everyone thinks they know
exactly
how the world works. Everyone.' Irony laced her comments. 'What do you
think that suggests? We're all fumbling in the dark towards an answer.'

The calming atmosphere in the camp had almost made them forget the
devastation going on in the city beyond. Occasionally, they would be
distracted by a sudden pillar of fire, or when the wind with its chilling
voices rushed close by, but generally they felt cosseted in an atmosphere of
security that made Mallory face up to the possibility there might be
something in the travellers' magical thinking.

They continued their conversation well into the night. Mallory enjoyed
the challenge of sparring with Sophie's sharp intellect, and it soon became
apparent that Sophie found something intriguing in Mallory, too, though
whether she liked him was a different matter. She maintained eye contact,
spoke to him much more than she did to Miller, and underneath it all there
was definite sexual tension.
Sophie spoke warmly of her background, growing up in Cambridge,
father a doctor, mother a lawyer, studying English at university before
feeling there was more to life. She committed herself to campaigning: for
the environment, for Amnesty International, was briefly arrested during
a protest against the World Trade Organisation that got out of hand.
Mallory was taken by the rich depth of her beliefs and the passion she
exhibited. She was so full of life he felt revitalised being next to her.

He, in return, told her nothing, but he did it in a humorous enough way
to win her over.

Other members of the community came and went during the night
hours, occasionally bringing them food - roasted vegetables, branded
snacks that had a desirable rarity post-Fall - and cider. They were
uncommonly cheerful; most of the people Mallory encountered in life
were surly, suspicious, broken or downright violent. Probably all on
drugs, he thought, yet he felt oddly disturbed that they were genuinely
pleased to see him, and never once questioned who he was or from where
he came.

At one point, an impromptu music session broke out, with guitars,
harmonicas, saxophones and makeshift percussion, intermingling old pop
songs and traditional folk tunes. It was the first time he had heard them
since the Fall and he was surprised at how powerfully they tugged at his
emotions.

But there was also something about the idyll that irritated Mallory: they
had no right to be so content when the rest of the world had a cast of
misery. 'So who's in charge here?' he said. 'Or is it one of those idealistic
communes where everything starts to fall apart the moment the washing-
up rota comes into play?'

Sophie thought briefly, then said to Rick, 'How is she?'

'She'll probably be asleep.'

'Let's check. She likes the night.' She stood up and motioned for
Mallory and Miller to follow. They picked their way amongst the tents,
past many smaller fires, to a larger tent outside which two torches blazed.

Sophie disappeared inside, emerging a moment later to say, 'She'll see
you.'

The interior of the tent was shadowy, warm and perfumed with
lavender. The front section contained a few chairs, rugs, pot plants - one
of them cannabis, Mallory noted - and ornaments with a faintly occult
bent, including the skull of a cow.

The second section lay behind a purple velvet drape. Here, it was even
gloomier and it took a second or two for their eyes to adjust. There was a
large wooden bed that appeared medieval in origin and must have been
brought from somewhere in the city, and on it lay a woman in her late
forties, her long black hair streaked with silver. Despite the heat emanating
from a brazier in one corner, she sprawled beneath several thick blankets.
Her face was nearly white and drawn, as though she had some debilitating
illness. Her gaze, though, was incisive, and she fixed instantly on Mallory.

'This is Melanie,' Sophie said quietly.

Mallory introduced himself and Miller. The woman gave off a peaceful
air, as if whatever lay in the ground at that site had been absorbed by her.

'I hope my friends have been looking after you.' Her voice was hoarse,
almost a whisper.