The Devil in Green (21 page)

'I couldn't get out of the way in time,' Melanie said. 'I fell beneath the
hooves. They weren't able to save my legs.'

'No,' Miller repeated, backing towards the purple drapes. 'I don't
believe it.' Sophie, Rick and Melanie looked at him in puzzlement.

'It's true,' Sophie said. 'We wouldn't make something like that up. They knew who we were - unbelievers - and they rode her down. They didn't try to help or anything, just drove us away. They didn't care if we lived or died.'

'No,' Miller said again. 'We're knights
-
we're from the cathedral. And no one there would do anything like that.'

Mallory's heart sank. Miller's denial was too strong, bolstered by his own need to believe that there was no truth in the story. Mallory had been focusing on Rick's face; the puzzlement hung there for an instant while he processed what Miller had said and then his features hardened.

'Is this true?' Sophie said directly to Mallory. A hint of betrayal chilled her eyes.

'We only signed up today,' Mallory replied.

Rick looked as if he would leap across the room and attack them. 'They're all the same!' he raged. 'They hate anyone who's not a Christian—'

'That's not true!' Miller protested, close to tears himself.

'Please,' Melanie said weakly, 'no arguments.'

Mallory could see that the warm atmosphere had already evaporated. The extent of Melanie's tragedy meant any attempt to argue their innocence would be offensive. 'Come on, Miller, this isn't the time,' he said, grabbing the young knight's arm. Miller threw it off, preparing to defend his Faith further, and Mallory grabbed him tighter this time, dragging him back. 'Get a grip,' Mallory hissed in his ear. 'Look at what's happened to her - have some heart.'

'Yeah, get out of here,' Rick said, 'and tell your lot we'll never forget what they did.'

Melanie closed her eyes; the strain was telling on her. Mallory tried to imagine the pain and horror of having two legs amputated without recourse to anaesthetic or an operating theatre. 'Come on, Miller,' he said, softening. Slowly, his companion unclenched and turned to go.

Miller paused at the drapes and said, 'I'm sorry. I truly am.' But the look on the faces of Sophie and Rick showed they both realised Melanie was probably dying and there were no words that could make amends for the crime that had been committed.

Sophie exited with them while Rick tended to Melanie. The frostiness of her mood made Mallory feel as if he'd lost something truly valuable; she didn't meet his eyes any more.

'I know it's not your fault,' she said, 'but I have a very real problem with anyone who subscribes to a belief system that condones something like that.'

Mallory wanted to tell her he'd only signed up for a job of work, but at
that point it would have sounded so pathetic it wouldn't have achieved
anything. Instead he said, 'I'm sorry things ended like this.'

She didn't wait to hear any more.

As they trudged across the camp, the first light of dawn coloured the
eastern sky. The screeching wind ended as if someone had flicked a
switch, nor was there any sign of the Fabulous Beast.

Miller had been lost to his thoughts until he said, 'It can't be true,
Mallory. No one at the cathedral would stand by that kind of behaviour.'

'I don't know, Miller - it only takes one bad
apple ...
or one psycho
. . . and everybody gets tarnished. Any club that has me as a member
can't have a very strict vetting procedure.'

'We should tell
James ...
or Blaine—'

'Right, and say we dumped our uniforms and slipped out under cover of
darkness to spend time with a bunch of witches. That should merit a
crucifixion at least.'

'Don't joke about that, Mallory!' Miller's emotions were all raging near
the surface, but he managed to calm himself. 'I'm sorry. But I'm not like
you, Mallory. I believe in things, and it hurts me when you take the piss
out of them.'

'OK. I won't do it again.'

Miller eyed him askance to see if he was joking, but couldn't begin to
tell. Mallory's thoughts, however, had already turned to seeing Sophie
again and ways that he might bridge the gulf that lay between them. It
wasn't insurmountable, he was sure, but he would need time away from
the strict regime of the cathedral.

When they walked along High Street up to the main entrance, what they
saw brought them to an immediate halt. The enormous iron gates were
bowed, almost torn asunder, hanging from their hinges by a sliver. The
Devil had come calling.

'No human being will ever know the Truth, for even if they happened to say it
by chance, they would not know they had done so.
'
-
Xenophanes

September turned to October and with it came the first real chill of the
approaching winter. The rooftops visible beyond the walls sparkled with
frost as they emerged from the dawn mist, and the breath of the brethren
formed pearly clouds when they trooped to the cathedral for prime. How
the city's residents were coping with the first cold snap was a mystery, for
since the night of the near-destruction of the gates the bishop had ruled
that no one should leave the compound.

The attack had shaken the cathedral to its core. A black, fearful mood
lay over all, turning every conversation at the refectory tables, or in the
leaky, cold shacks, or in the kitchens, or the herbarium, or the infirmary, to
only one subject: the End Times had arrived.

At first, no one could quite grasp that what had been predicted and
dissected for millennia had finally arrived and they were truly living in
the age of the ultimate battle between good and evil, but gradually the
desperate reality of their situation crept over them. Everyone in the
cathedral who had seen the horned figure looming over the city or felt
the scuttling touch of the presence's hideous intelligence in their mind
had no doubt of the Adversary's black power. As the bishop pointed out
in one of his sermons, there were no coincidences in God's world; the
Adversary had come when the Church was at its weakest, but also at the
point when it was preparing to break out as a potent force once more.
'Evil is determined to prevent our resurgence,' the bishop had said, 'and
so it is down to us to ensure that Evil does not triumph.
We
are God's
champions at a time we thought was always in the distant future. But it
is now, and we cannot fail, and with our Lord beside us, we shall not
fail.'

Yet while the bishop and the Church administration pored over ancient
documents in the library, or discussed the signs and portents for any
insight - sightings of the risen dead reported around the cathedral
compound being one of the most prominent - many of the brethren were
driven to frantic prayer. They felt cripplingly weak beside the strength
they had seen exhibited, unprepared, fragmented, the rump of a once-
mighty religion, and after the tribulations they had already suffered, they
did not know if they had any resistance left. They reassured each other
that their faith was strong, but the cold wind was in danger of winnowing
the small flame of their fear into a blaze.

In the claustrophobic confines of the compound, grim and conflicting
rumours circulated endlessly: the Dark Forces of the Prince of Lies were
moving to wipe the Church from the land; it was the sign of the Second
Coming; the apocalypse was at hand.