The Devil in green

At first, it looked like a pile of abandoned laundry lying behind the altar. Only when Mallory closed on it did he see the white hand twisted upwards from the clothes. In the stillness, the drip-drip-drip of blood falling from the altar table was unbearably loud.

'Oh, Lord!' Daniels hissed as he examined the body over Mallory's shoulders. It had been torn apart, was barely recognisable as a man.

Gardener and Miller helped Julian between them; he was almost delirious with shock. 'He… he said he wanted to pray,' the precentor stuttered. 'He often came here on his own…' His voice ended in a small, strangled cry as his eyes fell on the body.

Miller dropped to his knees, eyes screwed tight so he couldn't see the polluting sight; he looked like a small boy praying at the side of his bed.

'Who'd do a thing like that?' Daniels said, aghast.

To Mallory, that was a question with ramifications to shatter the community: who would have committed such a terrible crime? Not any of the supernatural creatures that waited beyond the walls; they couldn't walk on the sacred ground. But could any of the brethren do such a thing? He couldn't imagine that either. The image of the army of tiny people waiting for something to happen lay heavily on his mind, along with the ghostly impression of the Devil appearing over Salisbury at the moment the murder was discovered. They knew. Somehow, in some way.

'Get back! Get back!' Blaine's harsh voice echoed into the far reaches of the cathedral roof. He arrived with Hipgrave dogging his steps, Blaine's face torn by a cornered-animal expression, part fury, part fear; he assimilated the entire scene in an instant, and it didn't seem to affect him at all. Mallory noted Blaine's response carefully. Hipgrave looked as if he'd just woken from the deepest sleep. 'Who found him?' Blaine whirled, cold eyes flashing over each of them in turn.

Julian staggered forwards. 'Me. I did. I… I came looking for him… thought he might need a hand getting back to his residence. He still wasn't a hundred per cent.'

'He was like this?' Blaine snapped. 'You didn't touch anything?'

'Well… I… I touched him. I tried to stop the blood. I tried to save him!' His voice rose to a sob, and then he covered his eyes, smearing Cornelius's blood across his face.

Blaine had no time for Julian's grief. 'Did you see anybody else?'

Julian gulped air. 'No… no…' he said, composing himself. 'Look, we must do this later. We have to care for the body…' He covered his eyes again.

Blaine shook his head contemptuously, cursing under his breath but loud enough for Julian to hear. There was more activity further down the nave. The crowd that was hanging back from the awful scene parted like the Red Sea to allow Stefan to sweep through, followed closely by Gibson, the Canon of the Pies, sweating and blowing as he attempted to keep up.

Stefan was ashen-faced when he arrived, but his eyes had a dark avarice about them. Stefan silenced Blaine with a curt wave before he could open his mouth. He went directly to Cornelius's body and knelt beside it in prayer. There was a theatrical note to his action that irked Mallory, but no one else appeared to notice. After a long silence, Stefan dipped his hands in the blood and smeared it on his black robes. 'We have lost something great and Godly this night,' he said in a quiet, strained voice. Tears ran down his cheeks. 'A devout man, the father of us all.' He paused before booming angrily, 'This crime shall be avenged!'

The act of pantomime was not lost on the crowd gathered further down the nave; cries of support echoed back. Stefan rose and addressed them directly. 'This crime is not just against our beloved bishop, nor against us, but against Christianity itself. Someone… something… has aimed a blow at our very heart, hoping we will fall aside… that we shall turn our backs and flee to the shadows. That must not happen! The times ahead will be harder still, and we shall all be called on to stand firm. Trials and tribulations will be inflicted on all of us, but if we each fulfil our role, if we hold our heads high in the Glory of God, then we shall overcome. Go now, in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ, and carry word of what has happened to all our brothers. Let the period of mourning begin. The time for action shall come.'

His words were perfectly chosen. They resonated in the hearts of those watching and as one they turned and hurried from the cathedral.

'Good show,' Gibson said when Stefan turned back to them. 'Gravitas. Perfect. We need to steady the hand on the tiller in this dark time.'

Mallory looked to Julian, who had as much right to leadership as Stefan, but Cornelius's advisor and friend sat hunched on a pew, broken by his grief. It was a time for the hard men, Mallory thought.

Blaine turned to Mallory and the knights. 'You lot, find a sheet to wrap the… ah…' He struggled for a word with decorum, but could only come back to body. 'Take it up to the infirmary and see what Warwick can find out. Then report to the great hall.' He turned to Stefan. 'I'm getting all the knights together… arming up. This might be the first strike in a war. Those things could be attacking even as we speak. We've got to be ready to knock 'em back.'

'Well said, Mr Blaine,' Stefan agreed. 'I have every faith in you to oversee our defence. Go to it.'

Blaine marched away with Hipgrave scurrying and jumping behind him. Stefan and Gibson followed without a backward glance at Cornelius, as if he wasn't there at all.

'Hard men,' Mallory said, echoing his earlier thought, 'for hard times.'

Miller was crying quietly, still in prayer with his eyes shut. He looked as though the final supports of his life had been kicked away. Gardener, too, looked tattered, uncommonly emotional; he wouldn't meet anyone's gaze.

'Better get to it, then.' Daniels' shoulders had sagged. He tried to make a hopeful face at Mallory, but it wouldn't fix. 'I suppose this isn't the end of it,' he sighed.

'No,' Mallory replied. 'I'm betting it's just the start.'

The infirmary was lit by several lanterns that gave an odd, too-bright distortion to all the white tiles. Warwick emerged from a back room wearing pristine white scrubs. He took one look at the leaking sheet slung between Mallory, Gardener and Daniels, then down at his clothes and gritted his teeth.

'Get it on the table,' he snapped.

The knights laid the body out carefully while Warwick stood in the background, muttering with irritation. But when the sopping shroud fell away revealing the face, the medic started, his eyes widening. He looked around at them as if someone was playing a particularly vicious prank on him.

'Murder,' Gardener said grimly. 'No suspects. Yet.'

'What's it all coming to?' Warwick said under his breath. He gingerly lifted the sheet to see the extent of Cornelius's wounds, stared blankly for a moment, then dropped it.

'I think they were hoping for an autopsy,' Daniels ventured.

'An autopsy?' Warwick raged. 'He's dead. What more do they need to know?'

'What weapon was used. How the attack was carried out,' Mallory said. 'Who did it.'

'I'm a surgeon, not a coroner. That kind of examination requires specialist knowledge.'

Gardener snatched a towel from the side and threw it at him. 'Do your best.' There was so much repressed anger in his voice that Warwick's annoyed reaction was frozen. 'From now on, we're all mucking in. Pulling together. We'll do what's expected of us. So get on with it.'

Brooding, he stalked out of the room. Miller shifted uncomfortably. 'Go on,' Mallory said to him. 'You don't have to hang around if you don't want to.'

Miller forced a smile from his tear-streaked face and hurried after Gardener. Mallory and Daniels took up seats in the corner of the room while Warwick brought over a stainless-steel tray of instruments. After that, he called for his assistant, an old man with long white hair who, from his trembling hands, had overheard the news. He prepared to take notes with a precious Biro.

Warwick worked diligently, cutting and probing, occasionally cursing under his breath. His white gown quickly became stained.

'The first patient he's had who never complained,' Daniels whispered behind his hand to Mallory.

As the time dragged on, Mallory's attention wandered. 'Heard any news on your radio?' he said to Warwick.

Warwick's lips tightened and his eyes flickered towards his assistant. 'I haven't got a radio.'

'OK, heard any news from people passing through the infirmary,' Mallory said pointedly.

'I have.' Warwick gingerly held a pair of spring-loaded shears before attacking Cornelius's ribcage. 'Still no news from abroad. But there has been… talk… of a Government being established in Oxford.'

Daniels grew alert. 'The PM survived, then?'

'I don't know who's in the Government, just that a Government is being set up,' Warwick said irritably. 'There'll be some kind of order established within six months, so they say. The first aim is to get communications up and running, including food distribution, particularly to urban areas-'

'I can't believe anyone's crazy enough to stay in the cities,' Mallory said. 'What are they going to eat? They must have looted everything they can get their hands on by now.'

'-and then they're hoping to get some kind of local power sources up and running, if they can,' Warwick continued.

'How are they going to do that?' Daniels said. 'I heard all the nuclear power stations had gone… wiped out somehow. There can't be any kind of oil or gas supplies-'

'I'm only reporting what I heard,' Warwick snapped.

Daniels clapped his hands. 'Things could be getting back to normal,' he said enthusiastically.

'Whoop-de-doo.' Mallory remained unmoved.

'What's wrong with you?'

'Don't you remember what it was like? Work, money, power-seeking, mundanity, no time for anyone to live or breathe

'You need to lighten up, Mallory. It was never as bad as all that.'

'Yes, it was — you just get numb to it. You sink down into it, like a swamp, and forget there's fresh air above. The clock has been set back at zero, Daniels — it's a chance finally to get things right. It doesn't mean we have to take on board all the shit to get the good stuff back, but that's the way it's going to be if the same old people end up in charge again. They've got a vested interest in the society we had before. It made them fat and rich and powerful.'

'You know what you are Mallory — an anarchist.'

'You say that as though it's a bad thing.'

'If you two have completed your irrelevant navel-gazing, I've finished here.' Warwick covered the body with a little more reverence than he had shown before.

'What did you find?' Daniels asked.

'It's inconclusive.'

'That's all you can say after all that?'

'He's been torn apart with such frenzy it's impossible to tell what weapon was used. It could just as easily have been a wild animal, if there were any indigenous species that could attack with this ferocity.'

Daniels looked to Mallory. 'So we've got someone in here who's such a mess in the head we can't tell if he's a man or an animal?'

'Now see what happens when you take red meat out of the diet.' Mallory had a sudden overview of the whole situation that left him cold. 'So we've got all those things outside the walls trapping us in here, and now we've got this psycho inside with us. I can think of a lot of cliches to describe our situation, but they all involve dumb animals being eaten up by smarter, wilder ones.'

Daniels stared blankly into the middle-distance. 'What are we going to do now?'

The great hall had the uneasy atmosphere that permeated all the new buildings, but it was made even worse by the spiralling desperation and anxiety in the wake of Cornelius's murder. The vast expanse was filled with clustering shadows not even a row of blazing torches could dispel. The furthest the illumination reached was a row of hideous oversized gargoyles halfway up the wall. Whoever had designed them had made it seem as though they were looking down on those assembled below either disapprovingly or threateningly, depending on your perspective.

The knights stood in two ranks. Most shuffled and muttered apprehensively at what might now lie ahead for them. The Blues, though, were silent and disciplined, eyes fixed firmly ahead as if on parade. Mallory watched them with the wariness of a competing species. They were too professional, too far removed from the other knights; and probably too ruthless and violent as well, if Blaine had truly cast them in his own image. Why had he seen fit to create an elite force of knights? Why not simply train all knights to the same standard? And why were they so rarely seen around the cathedral? What special project did Blaine have them working on? The more he understood the hierarchies and powers within the cathedral, the more suspicious he became of them on every level.

Blaine marched in after they had been assembled for twenty minutes. He was accompanied by Hipgrave, who had managed to shake off some of the daze that had characterised him earlier, and the captain of the Blues, a muscular, square-jawed thirty-year-old by the name of Roeser.

Blaine didn't waste time getting to the crux of the matter. 'You'll all have heard the news by now. The bishop is dead… murdered… perpetrator unknown. Others are dealing with the leadership fallout of such a great loss at such a difficult time. Our role in this is clearly defined and we must be single-minded about its execution, despite the many obvious distractions the days ahead must hold. Although security has been foremost in our minds ever since we established ourselves here in Salisbury, our defences have still been compromised. I will be launching an immediate inquiry to discover exactly what went wrong, and if there have been any lapses in the responsibilities of individuals, make no mistake, they will be severely punished.

'But the most pressing concern is to ensure that whoever carried out this atrocity is caught and brought to immediate justice before he can commit any further crimes. This will naturally entail some short-term loss of personal freedom. Some movement around the compound will be restricted. Premises and possessions may be searched and confiscated. There will undoubtedly be detailed questioning and cross-questioning. Patrols will have to be stepped up.' He paused. 'The use of lethal force will be approved. The safety of the brethren is our overarching concern. Unfortunately, that means we may have to take actions that go against our nature, but we make these sacrifices as Christians, for the benefit of others. It is our job sometimes to do unpleasant things so the brethren do not have to. That is the cross we bear.

'All of you are security-minded and will understand the necessity of these measures to prevent any more acts of unadulterated Evil. In this role, we will need to be seen to be acting with the utmost rigour and decorum. Anyone who lets the side down will not want to live, believe me. Captains Hipgrave and Roeser will oversee your allocation into effective units with particular responsibilities. A more structured shift-pattern will be drawn up to accommodate these changes. One other thing: we shall be working alongside the Inquisition of Heretical Depravity and your full co-operation will be required.' He nodded curtly and exited. It was a well-rehearsed speech that Mallory found quite chilling, the more so for its modulated language.

'He's left Hipgrave in charge? Blaine's crazy,' Daniels whispered. 'Look at him — he's falling apart. I wouldn't let Hipgrave oversee a Sunday school.'

'I don't like the sound of any of this,' Mallory said.

'Why not?' Gardener said sullenly. 'It's necessary.'

'Is it? Sounds to me like an over-reaction. Or a chance for people who love control and discipline to seize more of it.'

'We don't want any of that weak talk.' There was an uncommonly harsh edge to Gardener's voice. 'If we go soft now we won't stand a chance. You think those things out there are soft? You think the Devil's soft?'

'All right, Gardener, calm down.' Daniels laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. 'We're all in this together and we'll all play our part.'

Mallory wanted to talk about how the loss of personal freedom and the involvement of the Inquisition in a criminal affair was more evidence of the medieval mentality that had infected the cathedral, but he bit his tongue. There were times when there was no arguing with Gardener.

Miller was pale and wide-eyed. 'I've been thinking-'

'You don't learn, do you, Miller?' Mallory said.

'No one in this cathedral could have done that awful thing to the bishop,' Miller continued. 'You say those creatures outside can't come in here, but do we know that for sure? I think this is linked to the appearance of all the new buildings. Sometimes they seem as though they go on for ever. The killer… the Devil… could be hiding in there.'

They all thought about this for a moment until Mallory said, 'Have you had a blow to the head, Miller? A good idea — unbelievable.'

'We should tell Hipgrave…' Daniels began, until he saw the captain's blank expression as he wandered along the lines splitting the knights into groups.

'This is down to us,' Gardener said, with fire. 'We've got to search the place.'

'We'll have to do it without Blaine knowing,' Mallory said. 'He'll think we're just skiving. Or worse, involved in some way. It'll be hard.'

Gardener gripped his wrist forcefully. 'We can do it.'

Strands of luminescent mist drifted eerily across the rolling moor, collecting in the hollows where it turned with a life of its own. Boulders of dark- grey granite were scattered here and there amongst clumps of spiky gorse and saplings swaying gently in the breeze. It was night. Across the sable sky a trail of stars swirled, diamond lights, cold and sharp. A full moon hung high overhead casting a bright light that painted the landscape silver and sent long black shadows stretching out across the stony path along which Mallory walked. It had the feel of late-summer-turning-autumn about it: still warm enough for shirt sleeves but with an encroaching chill.

Mallory paused to survey the moon and stars for a long period. They mesmerised him, spoke loudly of infinite wonder and distant magic. The air smelled so good, thick with the rich perfume of night-time vegetation. His breathing was deep; he felt at peace.

He followed the path across the moor to a thick glade on a hill that rose up out of the flat countryside. The oak and ash, rowan and hawthorn were all ancient, their trunks twisted, their branches heavy and gnarled. Beneath their cover it was cooler, tranquil. Dry twigs crunched beneath his feet; the leaf mould felt like a carpet.

'Hello, Mallory.'

Her voice sounded like the chime of a crystal glass, filling him with such a swell of emotion that he felt as if he was rising off the ground.

'Everything is so heightened here,' he said.

'You'll get used to it.'

Sophie leaned nonchalantly against an oak tree, her arms folded. He thought how beautiful she looked there, not just in the superficial qualities of her features, but in the complexity of intelligence he saw in her dark eyes; there were depths he could never plumb. Emotions rose in him mysteriously, the truth freed from the chains of conditioning and fear. In that potent place, the pure part of him that he kept tucked away recognised connections not made on any physical plane, bonds that transcended consciousness.

'You look amazing,' he said.

She laughed gently. 'You are so going to regret saying that when you're out of this place.'

The moon broke through the branches to highlight her, centre stage. 'Why are we here?' he asked.

Once more dark and troubled, she looked away through the trees, out across the rolling moor. 'I wanted to see you.'

Her mood triggered his memory of the incident in the camp with Gardener, and all the blood. 'I'm sorry for what happened,' he said. 'I felt bad about that. If I could have found any way to put it right…'

'I can see that now. Here, in this place, things are much clearer. That's why I came.'

Puzzled, he looked around as if he were seeing the glade for the first time. 'This place-'

'Here we strip away the barriers we put up against the world.' She smiled again. 'Well, you do. I'm used to it.'

Perspective began creeping up on him. 'Am I dreaming?'

'If you want to look at it with a limited perception, sure.'

'You're as infuriating in my dreams as you are in real life.'

'I try,' she said.

'Are you practising your Craft? Is that what this is?'

'I don't practice any more, Mallory. I'm a professional at this now.' She stepped away from the tree and led the way deeper into the glade. Mallory followed her without a second thought. Her voice floated back to him, detached, ethereal. 'So… now I've seen you… seen the truth in you… I forgive you.'

'Thank you.'

'But not those who you hang out with. Never that.'

'No.' He wanted to touch her hair, it looked so silky in the moonlight, but she was just a little too far ahead. 'Where is this place?'

'Inside your head. Outside your head. Like I said, it depends on your perception.' Her fingers brushed the trees as she passed as if she were caressing them.

'Can I kiss you?'

She chuckled quietly. 'You want to bite down on those emotions, Mallory, or you're going to have no protection when you get back to the world.'

'Well?' His unrestrained feelings burned through him like electricity. He recognised how deeply he felt about her, wanted to grab her and make love to her, do all the things he couldn't do in the real world of barriers and hardship and obligation. The purity of emotion was so overwhelming it was hallucinogenic, a drug he never wanted to give up. Did she feel the same way?

When she turned to face him, he saw for the first time the honesty in her that she had spoken about in him, and he realised that here, perhaps, was someone with whom he could spend the rest of his life. 'Not this time,' she said. 'I want to be sure I have the measure of you. I choose my friends carefully, Mallory, but once my mind is made up I keep them close to me for ever.'

'You seem so much older than your age.'

'Not older, wiser. I'm a wise woman. I've learned a lot in my few years, but there's a lot more to learn. Stick with me, Mallory — some of it might rub off.'

'I'd like that.'

This time she covered her mouth when she laughed. 'You are going to be so sick the next time we meet face to face.'

'You're in your camp… I'm trapped in the cathedral,' he began. 'Can we meet up like this again?'

'Very Romeo and Juliet, isn't it?' She looked a little sad at this. 'Yes, we can meet again.'

'How do I come here… contact you?'

'You don't. I'm in charge here, Mallory, don't forget that.' Her laughter was infectious; he felt an honest smile for the first time in a long while. 'I'll be back in touch.'

She moved off through the trees, but although he tried to keep up, she drew ahead rapidly. 'Don't go,' he called.

Her voice came back like moonlight. 'I'll be back.' And then she was gone.

And so was he.

Mallory woke in the best mood he had felt for a long time, not knowing why, but with the sense of something wonderful hovering just beyond his grasp. Even the biting cold of the room didn't dull his elation.

It was still two hours to daybreak, but the cathedral was already alive. Torches blazed around the cobbled meeting square at the heart of the new buildings. Breath formed white clouds as the knights stamped their boots and clapped their hands to keep warm. A group of about twenty brothers had assembled to one side where they were being given shovels, pickaxes and wooden props.

Blaine marched along the ranks, wrapped in a thick cloak but with the hood pulled back so that everyone could see his eyes. He paused briefly at Mallory, allowing a silent warning to rise up in his face before he moved on. It was nothing new, but an uneasy thought crept up on Mallory: if things went bad a scapegoat would be needed, and he was the most likely candidate. It would be in his own interest to have a contingency plan for escape the moment the tunnel was completed.

'They're going to have their work cut out for them,' Daniels whispered, nodding towards the digging party.

'I'd pick up a spade myself if I thought it would get me out of here any quicker,' Mallory said.

'No talking.' Hipgrave stood before them. His face was cold and hard and clear of the dazed attitude they had seen the previous day. He leaned between them and said quietly, 'I've had a revelation. The Devil is here, in the cathedral. And it's up to us to exorcise him. It was the five of us, you see… the five points of the inverted pentacle. We were the ones who brought him in. We're the only ones who can get him out. We'll discuss this later.' He walked away, casting only a cursory glance over the other knights.

'Lordy,' Daniels said. 'He's set up home in the bughouse.'

An oppressive sense of claustrophobia fell across Mallory. The walls were closing in, shutting down options, filling him with a desperate feeling that he would never get out alive.

Blaine had them all on ceaseless patrols throughout the day to keep them occupied while plans were formulated. Meanwhile, other events were clearly taking place behind the scenes. From the roof, Mallory watched grim-faced elders hurrying back and forth between the bishop's palace and the new buildings, occasionally pausing to talk animatedly to each other. Every now and then a gaggle of six or seven would congregate, their voices rising in debate until they spotted someone drawing near. Stefan, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Up there, he had a clear view of the pagan camp where the Samhain bonfires still burned. Occasionally, he could smell cooking food and hear music drifting on the cold wind. Briefly, he entertained the fantasy that he could see Sophie and she could see him, but it only made him feel worse and he forced himself to stop.

As Mallory made his way down from the roof, he came across two of the brothers talking conspiratorially as they loitered in an alcove beneath one of the great staircases. There was something in their tone that made Mallory pause on the steps to listen.

'I'm getting out of here first chance I get — soon as that tunnel's open,' one of them said in a Black Country accent.

'You can't turn your back on us,' the other one, another Midlander, said. 'You can't turn your back on the Lord!'

'When I first talked about coming down here, the missis said I was mad. We'd prayed all the way through that bloody nightmare after the Fall, and nothing. People died, people suffered. No Second Coming. There were miracles all over the shop, but for us… Christians… not a tweet. But I said to her, "Don't expect miracles. Just know Jesus is with you. That's all we can ask of Him."'

'That's right. That's exactly right.'

'So she walked out on me and I came down here. But I kept my chin up… I kept my faith.' His voice turned disconsolate at the end.

'Mickey-'

'Now look what's happened — it's gone from bad to bloody worse. This was supposed to be the big shining example — a new start, spreading the Word, bringing hope to the people.' He laughed bitterly. 'And now we're trapped, and we're going to be starving, and winter's coming in, and the Devil's at the gates, and now some bastard's picking us off inside! The bishop, I ask you! Not even he's safe! What's the bloody point if God doesn't even save him? You know what it says to me? Either He doesn't care or He isn't there.'

'Mickey!'

'I've had enough, Glen. How long do you keep on praying before you realise no one's listening?'

There was something profoundly depressing in what Mallory had heard. He didn't hang around to hear the rest of the conversation.

By late afternoon, the wan, grey light had just about eked away. Blaine was locked in some meeting with the Church elders and Hipgrave was nowhere to be found, so the knights found themselves at an unusual loss. Most of them congregated in their dorms, trading rumours and making predictions, but Gardener pulled Mallory, Miller and Daniels over to one side. 'Fancy a party?'

'When you say "party",' Mallory replied wearily, 'do you mean a hymn- singing, praying kind of party?'

'No,' Gardener said. 'I mean a drinking kind of party.'

They all brightened, but he rebuffed their questions, insisting they had to follow him. There was a hint of snow in the air as they hurried outside and then into the sprawling complex. After a roundabout route, they eventually emerged through a door that led into the rear of the kitchens.

'How did you find this way?' Miller asked. 'I didn't even know there was a door here.'

'Did a bit of poking around earlier.' Gardener clapped his hands and grinned at the prospect of what lay ahead.

The kitchens were comfortingly warm with the heat of the ranges still radiating after that evening's dinner, and the fragrant smell of vegetables and herbs hanging in the air. Exhausted after their most hectic period, the cooks and their assistants lounged around chatting next to the massive open hearth on which a cauldron of water bubbled over a log fire. They looked up briefly when the knights entered, but were too engrossed in their conversation to pay them any more attention.

Gardener caught the eye of one of the cooks who slyly slid out of the periphery of the group to come over. He had a shaven head and acne scars that gave him quite a frightening demeanour.

'You'll have me for the bleedin' high jump, Gardener,' he whispered in a London accent.

Gardener pulled out a tobacco tin and waved it under his nose. 'Do you want this or not?'

The cook went to grab it, but Gardener snatched it back at the last moment. 'Oi!' the cook said. 'Don't you go pissing me about, you Northern bastard.'

'Just want to make sure you know the terms of the deal, laddie.'

' 'Course I bleedin' know. We went over them enough times.' His eyes lit up as he succeeded in snatching the tin. 'I haven't had a good smoke in a bleedin' year.' He nodded towards a door not far from the one through which they had entered. 'It's in there. Just keep it down. And if that fat bastard Gibson finds you, I had nothing to do with it, right?'

Gardener led them through the door and down some steps into a vast vaulted cellar filled with the heavy aroma of wine and wood. A single torch burned on the wall next to the door, but it cast enough light for them to see rows of barrels and racks of dusty bottles stretching into the shadows.

'Bloody hell!' Mallory said jubilantly. 'We've got about three turnips to go around the whole cathedral and enough booze to swamp the city. Talk about getting your priorities right.'

'I thought we needed a bit of cheering up, like,' Gardener said. 'It's the bishop's stash — for entertaining, I suppose. I think a load was brought in from all the local hotels when we set up here, but they've been brewing their own stuff for the last year, in case the water supply got polluted.'

Mallory plucked a vintage bottle from the rack and used his Swiss Army knife to crack open the cork. 'Here's to Cornelius, God rest his soul,' he said, swigging a large mouthful from the neck. 'A man after my own heart. Let them drink wine!'

'Should we be doing this?' Miller asked uncertainly.

'Yes, we should.' Daniels moved slowly along the racks until he found a year and grape to his taste. 'God's bountiful supply is for all men, not just the elite.'

'Look at you,' Mallory said, 'a connoisseur!'

'You wouldn't know good taste if it kissed you on the behind, Mallory.' Daniels sniffed the cork before letting the smallest amount settle on his tongue. 'Wonderful. I had my own cellar in the old life,' he added with his eyes closed, savouring the taste. 'I was building up a nice little collection.'

'Sorry for misunderstanding,' Mallory said. 'I just thought it was stuff you drank.'

'Philistine.'

'There's beer here too, y'know.' Gardener caressed one of the casks. 'Pretty good stuff according to that cockney bugger up there. They've done some nice porter, he says.' Black liquid flowed from the tap into a tasting cup. 'That hits the spot,' he said, smacking his lips.

'See?' Mallory said to Daniels. 'It isn't all bad. There are still plenty of little luxuries if you look carefully enough.'

They pulled up some old packing crates into a circle and settled down. Once they began to talk, Miller came alive, the gloom that had descended on him since the bishop's death gradually evaporating. He hung on every word the others said, joining in when he could, nodding his support, smiling so widely Mallory was convinced his face would ache the following day.

Over the course of three hours, they got through several bottles of wine while Gardener had made Herculean inroads into one of the casks. In his merriment, he appeared a different person, his laughter rich and constant, his eyes disappearing in crinkles every time he showed his humour. He would sit on his crate and rock backwards until the others were convinced he would fall off, but he always managed to catch himself with a jolt at the last moment.

They talked about music — Gardener loved the sixties sounds, Miller liked Slipknot and Marilyn Manson, Daniels preferred classical — about football (Daniels professed to know nothing about it), and TV, and radio (with Gardener wondering aloud what would be happening in The Archers right then), about food, and politics. And then, as they would have expected, they turned, in their cups, to their old lives, and the people who had meant much but were no longer with them. It wasn't maudlin in the slightest, just a fond remembrance of happier days, when problems existed without the stark simplicity of life or death.

Gardener spoke at length about his wife and a touring holiday they'd had in Scotland when they had finally reconciled themselves to never having children. 'We were sad, like, but in a way, it was like this big bloody weight was lifted overnight,' he mused. 'We could get on with life again, start enjoying things.'

Daniels discussed with unabashed joy the first trip he had made with his new partner, to the Greek Islands. 'He told me on the second night that he was giving up his flat so he could move near me, if that was what I wanted,' he said, with shining eyes. 'Can you believe that? Even at that stage he was prepared to sacrifice what he had. He knew… we both knew… instantly.'

Miller ventured a little information about his parents and his childhood in Swindon, but when he began to talk about the girlfriend who had abandoned him, he dried up and briefly turned gloomy again. But after a moment's silence, he piped up, unable to contain his emotion. 'I'm so glad I found you all,' he said. 'I've never had friends like you. You saved my life…' He looked to Mallory. '… you've taught me things, you've cheered me up. You've been like family… better than family. This is what life is all about, you know.' The honest swell of emotion brought tears to Miller's eyes and he blinked them away unselfconsciously. 'If it all goes bad from here, it's been worthwhile.'

'Don't talk so pissed-up,' Gardener chided gently, though it was obvious he was touched by Miller's comments.

Mallory was about to join in the teasing of Miller when a movement caught his eye deep in the heart of the shadows at the back of the cellar. He held up a warning hand and the others grew instantly alert. 'Who's there?' he called out.

His voice bounced off the arched ceiling and rustled around the casks. Nothing moved. Slowly, he stood up and drew his sword. The others followed suit, turning to face the back of the room.

As they stood alert, Miller suddenly shuddered. He looked around at the others with wide eyes. 'Did you feel that? Cold… as if someone rubbed against me…'

The hairs on the back of Mallory's neck stood erect; iron filings filled his mouth and the back of his throat. He could feel something… an invisible presence… moving around them.

'It's over there,' Daniels whispered, pointing to another part of the cellar.

'No, there.' Gardener nodded to the opposite side of the room.

'It's all over,' Mallory said.

Now they could see he was right: there was movement on every side just beyond the edge of the shadows. It seemed to Mallory that whatever was there wasn't quite in the world but rather a step removed, as if it were behind a veil trying to find a way through.

'Stand firm,' Gardener said, all trace of drunkenness gone from him.

'It's the ghosts,' Miller said in a hollow voice.

And once he said it, Mallory could see. The shadowy forms had the shape of men in long robes. They moved lethargically, roaming back and forth around the cellar's edge, seemingly oblivious to the knights. Pinpricks of green, the lamps of eyes, glowed with increasing force. They were coming closer.

'Bloody hell, let's get out of here,' Gardener hissed. They dropped their bottles and cups and ran up the steps, slamming the door behind them.

They stumbled out into the biting cold of the night, where they rested against the stone walls, taking deep, calming breaths.

'Bloody hell, that was spooky,' Gardener said.

'Did you feel it?' Daniels adjusted his eye-patch. 'They were coming for us. They wanted to-'

'Punish us,' Mallory completed. They all understood it on some level they couldn't explain.

Miller looked from one to the other, his eyes wide and white in the dark. 'I thought the demons couldn't get in here.'

Despite himself, Mallory gave Miller a reassuring pat on the back. 'Those things out there can't. These were different.'

'How?' Miller said desperately.

A brief flurry of snow stung Mallory's face; the weather was taking a turn for the worse. 'The things in there were wearing-'

'Habits and clerics' robes,' Daniels interrupted. 'They're our own.'

Miller looked even more shocked at this. 'But-'

'Who knows what the hell's going on around here?' Mallory said.

They shivered in silence until the wind died enough for them to hear the clamour of fighting just beyond the walls. The nightly attack was beginning to wind down.

'Let's take a look,' Mallory said.

As they neared the walls, they were surprised to see frantic activity. The guards were desperately setting up sheet metal, hammering in nails to hold it in place.

'What's going on?' Daniels called out.

One of the guards turned, anxiety gnawing at his features. 'Repairs. The wall started to buckle here.' They all knew why he looked so worried: that had never happened before.

'Either they're getting stronger or we're getting weaker,' Mallory said.

The guard turned back to his work, his voice echoing back to them. 'They nearly broke it down,' he said. 'They nearly got in here.'