The Devil in Green (57 page)

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.