The Devil in Green (48 page)

'Why, they're opposed to everything we do,' Julian replied, as if the
answer were obvious.

'That seems to be the common view.' Mallory made no attempt to hide
his plain disregard for this approach.

Julian appeared momentarily troubled, as if Mallory had given voice to
his own doubts, but the precentor brightened when he saw James
clambering up the ladder to join them. Mallory had not seen the pleas-
ant-natured brother since James' secretive meeting with Julian in the
refectory.

'How goes it?' James said cheerily. He was red-cheeked and clapping his
arms against his sides theatrically.

'Should bloody sell tickets up here,' Gardener muttered.

'I come up here every night,' James said, 'in the hope that they will
finally relent. Their patience must wear thin eventually.'

Mallory disagreed. 'Believe me, they're like a dog with a bone. They're
not going to leave until we find some way to break them. I presume we
haven't got a way?'

'Your commander has outlined several strategies,' Julian began, before
dispensing with the PR. 'Nothing that yet looks like a workable solution.
But we'll find it, in time.'

'I love an optimist,' Mallory said.

'I hear you've been consigned to the library?' Julian commented to
James.

'Ah, yes. You can never have enough guards for dead trees.' James
attempted to mask his sarcasm with a smile, but failed miserably. He
caught Julian's arm and said supportively and with honest compassion,
'How is the bishop?'

'Forgive me for speaking disrespectfully, but Cornelius is a determined
old bugger. He's not going to shuffle off easily.' Julian's face suggested that
the situation was graver than he suggested. 'The vultures are still circling,
however.'

James' eyes flickered towards Mallory. Obviously this was not a subject
to be discussed in front of others. 'If we stand firm, we will abide,' he said
confidently.

'Over there.' Gardener pointed down High Street to where shadows
were congealing into small shapes, forming lines, ranks. Mallory squinted,
not quite sure what he was seeing.

At first, it could easily have been a trick of the dark and the moonlight,
but gradually order appeared out of the chaos of the night. The street was
filled from wall to wall with tiny figures, though still too lost to the dark
for any details to be visible. They remained there, stock still, for long
moments until Mallory was convinced that was the end of the manifestation. But then, with no fanfare, they began to move forwards in uniform
step, an army in miniature.

Their procession was slow but deliberate. It took five minutes before
they reached the crepuscular zone of the light cast by the torches blazing
along the wall. As they emerged from the gloom, James gripped the wall
with both hands and whispered, 'Good Lord!'

The figures were no bigger than children of five or six, but were
obviously fully formed adults. As the light first hit them they appeared
burnished gold, but gradually their skin settled on a ghasdy white. From
their spectral faces huge eyes stared, wholly black and too-large, so that
they resembled alien insects; they looked like things that had lived below
the earth for centuries, only just emerging from the dark. Their outfits
were elaborate, part armour, part costumes: breastplates and metal
helmets echoing conquistador design, the colour of dull brass; scarlet silk
shirts beneath, and red cloaks, epaulettes, clasps, gauntlets, belts; the detail
was hallucinogenic. One of them held a standard that reminded Mallory of
a Roman legion's. On it was some form of alien writing and an image that
appeared to form a circle, although it was difficult to discern detail at that
distance.

Women stood amongst the ranks, too, their expressions as venomous as
the males', and children, too. They all carried strange weapons - short
swords, spears tipped with unpleasant-looking hooks, nasty daggers and
brutal axes. Some pulled carts, while a few rode on miniature horses. It
could have been a picture from some child's fairy-tale book if not for the
menacing atmosphere that hung over the whole scene, made infinitely
more eerie by the silence of their progress. Mallory didn't hear so much as
a footfall or a rustle of fabric.

Within twenty feet of the walls, they rushed forwards, suddenly
ferocious, snapping and snarling like wild dogs. Mallory gripped on to
the side as the wall and walkway shook. For an instant he thought it was
going to go down.

'The hoards of bloody hell!' Gardener said in a strained voice.

After the silence, the clattering of the weapons was deafening. Sparks
flew where the swords and spears smashed against the wall's iron plates,
now scarred from myriad attacks. The knights and clerics watched with
thundering hearts for ten minutes and then the army mysteriously and
quickly retreated as if some silent fanfare had been blown, melting back
into the shadows as though they had never been there.

'Why do they keep doing that when they know they can't get in!' The
anxiety broke Duncan's voice.

Mallory realised he was clutching the rim of the wall so hard his
knuckles ached. It was plain there was no escape for any of them; he
looked around and saw it in all their faces, though no one would have
dared give voice to it.

'Is it always like this?' he asked.

'Nah. Different things on different nights.' Duncan had managed to
contain himself and now appeared embarrassed at his emotional outburst.
'In the early days, we had a bunch of bloody loonies on horseback.' His
face blanched at the memory. 'Though you'd never seen horses like these,
with a pack of dogs running around their feet. They were mean bastards, I
tell you.' He caught himself. 'Excuse my language, sirs, but they were.

They'd come at the gates like all hell, and for a time there I thought they
might actually break them down. They left after a while . .
.
probably
realised they didn't stand a chance. Since then it's been one thing after
another. I tell you, some of them I can't bear to look at. It's enough to give
you nightmares.' He clutched at a gold crucifix at his throat.

'What are we going to do?' Mallory mused to himself.

'We pray for God's guidance, as we always have,' Julian said. 'Life is
filled with trials, but with the right approach, we overcome them.'

Mallory studied Julian surreptitiously. Everything about die cleric gave
the impression of a modern man - urbane, intelligent, insightful - so it was
odd to hear him using a religious language that was almost medieval.

'Will we have enough food to see us through the winter?' he asked.

Julian chewed the inside of his lower lip in contemplation. 'Procedures
were put in place the moment we realised we might be in this for the long
haul,' he began. His words were so transparent there was no point in
Mallory even stating the obvious.

As they stood there, Mallory felt a strange tingling along his spine that
forced him to turn. It was instinct, a feeling of being watched, as
inexplicable as anything else they had witnessed that night. The areas
around the cathedral buildings were a place of whispers, which even the
torches placed along the pathways failed to illuminate. It was impossible
to determine any sign of life there, but he was convinced someone stood
in the gloom, looking up at him. His heart began to beat faster as an
uncontrollable rush of anxiety defeated any attempt to dismiss it as a
primitive, irrational reaction to the fears of that night.