The Devil in green

From the singing pain in his limbs and ribs, Mallory could tell he'd been worked over by a few boots after Roeser had knocked him flat. It was a strain to get to his feet, and when he attempted to walk he was shaky. But he didn't have to try, for two Blues caught him under the arms and dragged him through the thick snow towards the new buildings. But his thoughts were for Sophie, not himself. There was no sign of her, and though he asked his captors, they ignored him as if he were a piece of wood they were hauling to the fire.

As his boots bounced down the stone steps to the basement level, he tried to comprehend how it all could have gone wrong so quickly. The Blues dragged him along a gloomy corridor to a row of small cells with covered grilles punctuating doors secured by large padlocks. The third cell was open. They threw him inside. Dirty straw had been spread on the floor, aged manacles fixed to the walls.

'You've been ready for this,' he noted. 'How long have you been planning to round up the usual suspects?'

The Blues pushed him against the damp wall, yanked his arms back and closed the manacles about his wrists so that he was suspended in a crucifix position. They departed without comment, and Mallory didn't have the inclination to make smart remarks at their backs.

When he had first arrived at the cathedral, he could have coped with his current situation with the same blase acceptance with which he faced all the myriad miseries life threw at him. But now that Sophie had entered his sphere he was troubled by hope, and desire, and the nagging feeling that life might be worthwhile after all.

He had little contact with the outside world for the next three days. The passing of time was marked by the appearance of meals: porridge on the first day, but after that it was a return to the thin vegetable gruel they had been eating for too long. He could get some sleep hanging in the manacles, but the pain in his joints and in his wrists where they had been rubbed raw woke him regularly. Occasionally, he would be stirred by a deep rumble through the cold stone: the attacks from the forces without were intensifying. He wondered what plans Blaine would be making to combat them now that the new route out had been opened up.

He felt physically weak, but after the initial shock and despair wore off, his emotional equilibrium had returned and his thoughts grew colder, his anger harder. The guards refused to answer any of his questions — Blaine and Stefan had clearly decided not to have anyone who knew him overseeing his imprisonment — so in the end he took to mocking and abuse. It was childish, but it made him feel better and countered some of the impotence he felt.

They came for him in the afternoon of the third day. The guards dragged him out, blinking, into the snow-white world, still glittering in the fading sunlight. His hanging position had begun to disable him even after such a short time, so that he found it difficult to walk. Little nuggets of constant pain glowed throughout his frame.

As soon as he saw the faces of the brothers he passed he realised something was wrong. Instead of the jubilation he had expected at newfound freedom and food, he saw only grey misery etched into the features, weighing on the bowed shoulders, even worse than before. He looked around for clues, but the gaping black mouth of the tunnel was still there in the white, and the walls still stood firmly.

The guards prodded him towards the imposing Queen-Anne facade of Mompesson House, not far from the north gate. Outside the grand building, a makeshift stage had been built out of stacked tables. A small crowd gathered before it, not all the brothers by a long way; many drifted away at the fringes, plainly disinterested in what was happening.

Mallory was forced to stand at the back of the stage alongside another heavily guarded figure. It was shrouded in robes and hooded so that it was impossible to see any sign of its form, but when it tilted its head towards Mallory, he realised from the body language that it was Sophie. Her appearance reminded him of the burka-clad women in fundamentalist Muslim countries, their shape obscured so as not to inflame the passions of the men; the woman as devil, agent of temptation.

Miller, Daniels and Gardener waited to one side of the crowd with a group of other knights. Mallory entertained a brief fantasy that they would respond to the clear injustice and rush forwards to his aid, knowing in his heart it would never happen.

They shuffled around in the cold for another five minutes until Stefan and Blaine emerged from Mompesson House. They both attempted to maintain an air of confidence and control, but the fact that Mallory could see that it was an act told him how uneasy they were. What had happened to shake them so? They'd achieved everything they'd planned.

Without glancing at Mallory or Sophie, Stefan climbed on to the stage and addressed the crowd. 'Our Church has been under attack,' he began. 'Not only from the forces of the Devil, which we know all too well, but from more subtle attacks within our community — subtle attacks which can often prove more dangerous. Those who deviate from the path our Lord has shown us can destroy everything we hold dear by a thousand little knocks, continually chipping away at the edifice of our religion. And when that structure falls, it cannot be erected again. So we must strike now, to root out the weeds choking the vine. We must remain pure and remove from our midst those who attempt to corrupt that purity with sly words or thoughts, or with open opposition. The Adversary waits beyond the gate — many have seen his evil form looming up over the city. He feels his time is near. By purifying the light within us all, here, we can keep the darkness at bay for ever.'

Stefan kept his gaze fixed on the crowd, but made a slight motion with one hand at his side. Mallory was shoved forwards on to the stage, with Sophie beside him.

'Here now, a sight to make a good Christian weep,' Stefan continued. 'One of our own who has turned his back on God to embrace the Devil and all the Devil's works.'

Mallory thought to speak out until he felt the guard's dagger pricking his back.

'And at his side, the woman who tempted him from the path of righteousness, hidden from our eyes so she cannot work her spell on us. A witch. Yes, the Devil's own. She makes no secret of her use of Dark Powers to bring corruption and sickness and death to us all-'

Mallory heard Sophie protest, but the hood muffled her voice so that the crowd couldn't hear her. The guard at her back twisted her wrist until she cried out.

'In our current situation, charges of sedition could be levelled at them. Their actions, whether directed against us or not, could weaken us or bring us to our knees,' Stefan said. 'In wartime, certain liberties must necessarily be put to one side for the sake of the greater good. However, it is still our intention to give these two a fair trial in a Church court. They will be able to present their defence, or plead for God's mercy. Justice will be seen to be done.'

Stefan paused as if he expected some kind of applause or encouragement, but he was only met by a weary acceptance.

Mallory suddenly saw through it all. They were planning a show trial, another of Stefan's little manipulations to divert attention from the hardship everyone was feeling; in the end, in whatever establishment, discipline and fear were the only way to maintain power. But how long would Stefan be able to carry on distracting and obfuscating before his attempts became so transparent that they lost their potency? Mallory wondered.

'We must be pure. We must be devout. It is the only way we can bring God back into our lives.' Passion filled Stefan's voice. 'The slightest weakness brings the Devil to our door. This one…' He pointed to Mallory. '… is not the only traitor in our midst. There are others. Though I implored you to be true to the path, it has come to my attention that there are still practising sodomites here.'

Mallory flinched. Suddenly he could see what was coming next: Stefan wasn't relenting at all.

'I call now on the true and righteous amongst you to speak out. If you know of any sodomite, identify them. It is our only hope. We can show no mercy to them, for the Bible tells us it is a sin against nature.'

A witch-hunt, Mallory thought. More fear, more divisions, all to throw the brothers off-balance so they wouldn't challenge his tenuous position.

The Blues began to move through the crowd. Mallory thought it was all for show — more fear-creation — until a gruff Geordie accent called out, 'Here!'

Gardener had his hand on Daniels' shoulder. Daniels bore an expression of such incomprehension it was almost comical. But when he turned and looked deep into Gardener's face, he understood. The blow was so severe that Daniels looked as if his heart was breaking.

Gardener wouldn't meet Daniels' eye, which was filled with a desperate hurt. The Geordie's gaze remained fixed on Stefan, his hand steady on Daniels' shoulder, but Mallory thought he saw something in his expression, a fugitive shadow, that suggested his betrayal had come at a price.

The Blues seized Daniels roughly, his status as a knight now valueless. As he was dragged away, the scenario was made worse by his abject silence: no protestations, just the awful realisation that life was proving to be as painful as he had feared it would be in his darkest moments.

Never in his wildest imaginings would Mallory have thought Gardener capable of such an act of betrayal. His friendship with Daniels, despite their many differences, had seemed deep and warm. To Mallory, it had been one of the few beacons in his long, dark months at the cathedral. But in the end it came down to the one thing Mallory already knew: blind adherence to a religion meant any act, however despicable, could be justified. Gardener's internal battle between common sense and the pressures exerted on him by his hardline beliefs had finally been resolved.

Mallory wasn't the only one deeply affected by what had happened. He saw Miller turn to Gardener with an expression of dismay that became disgust when Gardener wouldn't meet his eye either. To see that in Miller, who never showed any sign that he experienced negative emotions, was particularly striking. Miller edged away from Gardener into the crowd. Some others moved away, too, until Gardener appeared to be standing alone.

But any point that might have been made was wiped away by a burst of spontaneous applause from the fundamentalists and evangelicals in the crowd. Gardener gave a faint, relieved smile.

'And by this we begin the journey back to God!' Stefan proclaimed before striding from the stage. His departure was a signal for Mallory and Sophie to be led away by the Blues, who appeared to be the only knights trusted to carry out the serious jobs. Those who had cheered Gardener now voiced boos and cat-calls.

Away from the crowd, Mallory called out to Sophie, asking if she was all right. His guard hit him so hard at the back of the neck, he was knocked to his knees.

'I'm OK. Don't worry about me,' she shouted, before her own guard struck out. She took the blow and continued walking, forcing her head high beneath the hood.

Mallory's anger grew harder still. Stefan, he was convinced, had gone insane; the Caretaker had said that whatever potency was in the cathedral would unbalance men's minds. He wouldn't be surprised if Stefan was planning some kind of Dark Age punishment for them, possibly even an execution: a burning or a hanging for the witch and her accomplice. He felt scared for Sophie, not himself; but he resolved to give Stefan no satisfaction whatsoever.

That night in the cells was colder than any other since Mallory had arrived in Salisbury, and at one point he was convinced he was freezing to death. When the guard brought breakfast it was more meagre than ever, but it was warm, and when his chains were loosed to allow him to eat, he hugged the bowl to him until he had leached every last bit of heat from it.

Some time around mid-morning, the door was thrown open unexpectedly and Miller skulked in, checking over his shoulder. Mallory's first response was suspicion — was this the thing from Bratton Camp come to slaughter him while he hung? — but after a while, his weakened state meant he didn't have the energy to worry about anything beyond his capacity to control.

'I didn't know I had visiting privileges,' he said weakly.

'You don't. They won't allow anyone near you.' Mallory was surprised to see tears in Miller's eyes. 'The guards were all called away — I don't think they could spare them any more. And they don't bother locking the door.'

Mallory rattled the chains. 'It's not as if I'm going to do some kind of Houdini trick with these.'

'Are you all right, Mallory?' Miller said gently. He wrung his hands together impotently.

'I've been better.'

'For what it's worth, none of the knights think you deserve this.'

'Thanks. That thought will keep me warm tonight.' Mallory couldn't help the sarcasm and felt bad when he saw how it had stung Miller. 'How's Daniels?'

Miller's eyes fell. 'No one's seen him since they took him away. I can't believe Gardener would-' He caught himself. 'I suppose we all have moments when we lose the path. We shouldn't judge.'

'Why not?' Mallory said harshly.

Miller's bottied emotions finally broke the restraining barrier. 'I can't believe this is happening,' he said tearfully. 'We're barely a year and a half away from society falling apart. How could it go so bad so quickly? All the things we took for granted… it's as if they happened generations ago.'

'It just goes to show we're all beasts at heart, doesn't it? Let us out of the cage and we quickly revert to type.'

'That's awful.'

'Desperate men lead desperate lives. And self-preservation wins out over anything.'

'I don't believe that.' There was a long pause while Miller dried his eyes. 'I can't believe it. That makes a mockery of everything God stands for.'

'There you go.'

'You're reading it too simply, Mallory,' he said, with the kind of desperation of someone whose life depended on being proven right. 'It's got to be more complex than that. Maybe we can't see the cause and effect. The whole reason we're here argues against that outlook.'

'Here on this earth, or here in this… prison?'

Miller didn't answer. 'I don't want to be disloyal to Stefan-' he began calmly.

'Why not? Because he's got a tide? The pointy hat doesn't make him better than you, Miller. If there's one thing I would give to this world everyone's trying so half-heartedly to remake, it would be the end of all leaders.' He let his chin drop to his chest; his outburst had exhausted him.

'Perhaps you're right.' Miller's voice sounded tiny in the echoing cell 'I believe in what Christ stood for. It's just so right… loving one another… love as this great power… sacrifice… redemption. I believe there's hope for all of us, I really do.'

Mallory softened at his words. 'People get in the way, Miller,' he said gently. 'Keep your God in your own heart.'

'But what can I do?' His constant hand-wringing showed his struggle with deep emotions that threatened to unbalance him. 'I don't like what Stefan's doing… a lot of people don't. But he's the bishop…'His voice trailed away, laced with desperation.

'If you believe in something, stand up for it. Don't let Stefan drag this whole thing down his own mad route.' He added, 'But don't get yourself hurt, Miller. Look after yourself. It won't do any good if you're sitting in the cell next to mine.'

Miller stared at him for a long moment, deciphering his words, and then smiled. 'I'll be careful, Mallory.'

'Before we all start getting too girly in our emotions, tell me what's happened out there. Something's gone wrong, or Stefan wouldn't feel the need to crank up the repression.'

'Oh, it was bad, Mallory. First the travellers refused to help-'

'Hardly surprising after Stefan had some of them slaughtered. What was he thinking? Well, I know what he was thinking — that God was on his side and he could do whatever he wanted.'

'They all scattered into the city. And then the camp lost its protection. We managed to bring in most of the supplies they'd got stored there — and there wasn't that much — but Blaine was overseeing the setting up of an auxiliary camp so that they could secure another route out, when something attacked. It was like a… a griffin… or something, they said. Part bird, part something else. It killed five knights and three brothers before the rest of them managed to get back through the tunnel.'

Mallory laughed. 'Stupid bastards. They lost everything through their own arrogance. The land around here gets its power from belief. If the travellers aren't there to worship — if their belief has been shattered — it ends up like any old patch of turf and mud. Stefan snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.'

'Yes, I know, he deserved it all.' Miller gnawed on a knuckle anxiously. 'But what about the rest of us, Mallory? Everyone reckons the travellers' food must have just about gone. We're back to square one, starving and with no way out. What are we going to do?' Something dark squirmed inside Miller; Mallory could see the shadow it cast but not what it was. 'Do you think Stefan can really use the relic like he said?' Miller continued obliquely. 'To dig into people's minds? I can't understand how that can work. I mean, relics… even if they've got God's power in them…'

He was interrupted by the distant sound of a door opening. Miller hurried to the door before turning. 'I'll come back to see you when I can, Mallory. And I'll do everything I can to get you out of here. Try to get some people on our side…'

Several sets of footsteps were approaching.

'Go on,' Mallory said. 'Just stay out of trouble.'

He slipped out. Not long after, a Blue ushered in Stefan and Inquisitor- General Broderick. Stefan looked tired, his face sagging through lack of sleep, but Broderick had the bearing of a predatory insect.

'Well done, Bishop,' Mallory said sarcastically. 'Your contempt for basic humanity has managed to destroy everything.'

Stefan visibly flinched. 'Quiet,' he snapped. Then, a little more calmly, 'This isn't over yet. We have right on our side.'

'You talk about doing good works, Stefan, but you've turned this into the Devil's house. Ends never justify means, especially in religion. If you can't stay true to your beliefs, they're not worth very much.'

'You never understood us here, Mallory. I doubt you ever had any true feeling for our religion.' Stefan massaged the bridge of his nose, distracted. 'There was no way I could leave you loose in the community — you were an accident waiting to happen. I couldn't have you breaking the morale of others. I implied as much at our meeting when I requested your services. You've got insurrection in your blood, Mallory. You're a danger to any establishment. An anarchist. I bear you no ill will. In other times I would have simply set you free from this place to go about your unpleasant business elsewhere. As it is, you must stay here, in this cell, until…' He shrugged. '… the worst has blown over.'

Mallory couldn't tell if he was trying to deceive the others, or if he truly believed there was hope for them. He nodded towards Broderick. 'So, you're going to let your torturer loose on me now?'

'No, no, there would be no point.' He waved the notion away with his hand. 'Mr Broderick is here for the witch. She has information that may be important to us.'

Mallory grew cold. 'Don't you touch her.'

'The Bible says we should have no feelings for her kind. It says in uncompromising terms that they are a danger to everything we hold dear. Spare her no compassion — she chose her path in life.' His eyes gleamed. 'Unless there is another reason for your protection of her. Is fornication another of your sins?'

'She doesn't know anything.'

'She knows how to protect her land, and other things, too, I would guess.'

'She won't tell you anything.'

Stefan smiled. 'Oh, I think she will.'

He turned and led the others out. Mallory yelled and screamed until his throat was raw, but all that came back were insipid echoes.

Through the long hours of the day and the burning pain in his limbs, he listened intently, dreading what would happen when he did hear something. But there was nothing. Either the walls were too thick or Sophie had so far resisted the encouragement of the inquisitor.

The raw cold eventually turned on its head to become a warm cocoon, lulling him quietly. Though he attempted to fight it, he found himself drifting in and out of a delirious half-sleep where strange ghostly shapes roamed and nothing made any kind of sense. The hallucinatory landscape was suddenly shattered by an electric burst that imprinted Sophie's screaming face on his mind. It was there and gone in an instant, but he couldn't escape the animal-like emotions he saw; he was sure they would haunt him for the rest of his days.

But then, not long after, the mists parted and Sophie was there as he remembered her in the pub that first night he saw her. 'Don't worry for me,' she said with a smile. 'All this is passing.' There was another flash like interference on a TV set. 'I'm not without abilities, or resilience,' she continued. Another flash of interference, only this time she didn't return, but her voice floated through the mists to him. 'Be strong.'

He could no longer tell what were dreams, what were visions and what was really happening around him, or whether, indeed, all three were one and the same. He saw himself as Adam and Sophie as Eve, two lovers from opposite sides of the tracks in a garden of stone. And the Serpent was there, tempting them with great alchemical knowledge: of who they were and of where they came from and why there was some secret reason for their time upon the earth; the only knowledge worth knowing, and the most jealously guarded.

No random conglomeration of chemicals only pretending to be, it said. No simple Darwinian drive of survival, of establishment of the species. That's men finding easy answers to complex questions, as men always will.

'The Devil is the Prince of Lies,' Mallory pointed out.

The Serpent laughed, said One man's Devil, before becoming two and mutating into the double helix, twin DNA snakes coiling around each other, promising the only knowledge worth knowing for those who would listen.

And then it changed again, becoming a Fabulous Beast, glimmering with the condensed wonder of Existence, forcing its way into his arteries, into his cells, then into the earth itself, leaving behind it a trail that was bright blue with all the hope of every man and woman denied by those who said they had access to the only knowledge worth knowing.

Mallory woke with the strange belief that Sophie was holding his hand. He knew instantly he was not alone, though he could see no one in the cell with him.

'Who's there?' he muttered through cold, parched lips.

He was answered by the wind soughing through the corridor without. Instinctively, he sensed it was night, though there was nothing in his environment to mark the passing of time. The wind died away but the sighing continued, in the cell with him, not far from his left ear. It sounded like a whispered secret that no one wanted to hear.

The cold in his bones became colder still. He didn't want to look, but he knew he must; it was a primal urge: seek out the threat, then flee. Only he couldn't run. Slowly, he turned his head.

The cowled figure stood close enough to touch him. Where its face should be there was only darkness, deep, unyielding, without the hint of substance. Except he could feel the weight of its presence, of unseen eyes bearing down on him, of a reservoir of emotion threatening to burst its dam.

He snapped his eyes shut, pretending to himself that it was a fleeting hallucination that had slipped out when the door of his dreams had closed. It was not one of the supernatural creatures besieging the gates, nor one of the risen clerics disturbed from their rest by the awful things they felt had been done to their Jerusalem. Since it had first started haunting him, he had pretended that he didn't know what it was. But he did, he did. It was as clear as a burst of fire in the dark.

'Go away,' he whispered, his eyes still tightly closed. 'Please.'

And in that moment of desperation, the notion of his escape route came to him. 'Caretaker!' he yelled. Then repeated the word continuously until his throat was torn and blood trickled down inside him.

Time dragged painfully. His strength, already at a low ebb from the lack of food, leaked from him and he lolled forwards on the chains, still mouthing the summoning when he had no more energy to call aloud. His consciousness drifted with his vitality, but he was aware that the next time he opened his eyes the hooded figure had gone.

He didn't know if it was minutes or hours later when he heard a sound beyond the wall at his back. At first he thought it was rats, but as it grew louder he realised it was rumbling footsteps accompanied by a metallic jangling.

'Caretaker,' he croaked.

The metallic noise rattled mere inches from him, and then there was a resounding click. After a moment of stillness, the wall itself began to shake. Dust showered over Mallory from the mortared joints. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the stones pull apart, then gradually grind open. A brilliant blue light flooded the cell, so that at first Mallory had to screw his eyes tight shut until he was accustomed to it.

'Who calls?' The voice boomed out all around him, making the manacles vibrate against his wrists and setting his teeth on edge.

'It's me. Mallory.'

The Caretaker stooped to enter the cell, bowing his head so that he could fit beneath the ceiling. He wore an enigmatic expression that made Mallory think he had been anticipating the summoning. 'Good day, Brother of Dragons,' he said sonorously.

'Caretaker, I need your help.' Mallory felt like a shadow of himself, but the Caretaker's arrival had uncovered a final reserve. 'Help me get free. Please?'

Mallory still wasn't sure whether the Caretaker would do his bidding, but the giant bent forwards and effortiessly pulled the manacles from the wall before snapping the chains that bound him. Mallory staggered under the weight of gravity and his weakness, and almost fell. The Caretaker caught him with one hefty arm. He exuded a deep spiritual strength.

'We have to get to Sophie.' Mallory pulled himself upright. He was overcome with a yearning desire to have his sword at his side; he hadn't realised how attached he had grown to it. 'Is there a way through your tunnels?'

'My place leads to all places, Brother of Dragons.' The Caretaker motioned for Mallory to step through the opening in the wall. As Mallory checked up and down the dusty tunnel that ran along the other side of the cell wall, the Caretaker rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. 'Before you proceed, you should know this: for every choice there are unforeseen repercussions. Every step leads you down a new road, infinitely branching, taking you to places you may never have guessed. At this juncture, the choices are never keener. Go one way and your life will continue untroubled. Go to rescue the Sister of Dragons and your world may turn dark. You may see things best left unseen.'

'We get Sophie and damn the consequences,' he said, without a second thought.

A faint smile flickered across the giant's lips. 'Existence has chosen wisely.'

The Caretaker guided him along the tunnels with a lantern that cast the brilliant blue light. Mallory felt himself strangely drawing strength from it, his limbs becoming less sluggish, his thoughts sharper. The direction of the tunnels bore no resemblance to the layout of the cathedral buildings he had in his mind's eye. Though Sophie's cell was close to his, they appeared to be walking away from it for what must have been twenty minutes before the Caretaker brought them to an abrupt halt and slapped the cold stone.

'Here,' he boomed. 'She is not alone.'

Mallory knew he wouldn't have the strength to fend off Broderick or one of the Blues, if that was who was there. 'I need my sword,' he said.

The Caretaker smiled again. 'Llyrwyn calls for you also. Wait here. I shall bring it to you.'

He disappeared into the gloom, leaving Mallory to slide slowly down the wall until his forehead was resting on his knees. Things had turned so sour, just as he thought they couldn't get any worse. Yet his dismal mood was nothing next to the ruddy glow of hatred he felt for Stefan, Blaine and all they represented.

But through it all, one thought was wriggling: the Caretaker had called Sophie a Sister of Dragons. Did that mean their destinies were entwined in some way? He wondered if some instinctive recognition of those mysterious ties explained why he had been drawn to her so instantly. But he liked the idea, the two of them linked by fate and an overarching mission for good; it was like something dreamed up for a fairy-tale.

In the unyielding dark of the tunnel, the blue light was visible long before Mallory heard the thud of the Caretaker's footsteps. Surprising himself with his eagerness, Mallory grabbed the sword and strapped it to his belt.

The blue light it radiated was even more potent than the Caretaker's lantern.

'How do I get in there?' Mallory turned to the wall, searching for any sign of an opening.

'Take care, Brother of Dragons. Hard choices lie ahead.' The Caretaker slammed his enormous hand upon a stone that looked like any other. Blue sparks flew. Mallory felt a change in air pressure, the oddly aromatic air of the tunnel giving way to something danker. Slowly, the wall tore itself apart and opened outwards.

Framed in the trembling stones, Mallory saw Broderick and one of the Blues frozen in disbelief. It lasted for barely a second, and by the time Mallory was stepping into the cell with his sword drawn, they were already moving.

Mallory was only dimly aware of Sophie chained to the wall. While Broderick backed against the wall, weaponless, the knight adopted an attacking posture with the ease and restrained strength of the Blues. Even the slightest movement exuded a lethal skill.

Mallory knew him vaguely, as well as anyone knew any of the Blues. His name was Blissett, his accent still thick with the Worcester burr of his youth. He'd once revealed to Mallory that he still loved his childhood sweetheart and once he was given freer range as a knight he'd return to Worcester to seek her out. He'd seemed like a decent fellow beneath the patina of hardness all the Blues carried with them.

He moved forwards with grace and power, counterbalancing easily as he swung his sword in an arc. Mallory parried, never taking his focus off Blissett's face, picking up every subtle movement with his peripheral vision. Blissett drove on, hoping to push Mallory on to the back foot. Mallory responded with a ferocious attack that brought a glimmer of shock to Blissett's eyes.

There was no compassion in Mallory, only an arctic cold. When his sword drove through the soft tissue of Blissett's upper arm, he felt nothing. When he pressed it on, feeling the gritty pressure of the bone fracturing and splintering, he felt nothing. When the arm started to come away, he was already pulling the sword back, ready to disable Blissett with a lunge that would slice open his stomach muscles and send his guts tumbling on to the floor. And Mallory felt nothing.

As Blissett went down on to his knees, shocked at the steaming mass vacating his body, Mallory whipped his head from his shoulders with a single clinical stroke.

Broderick had already escaped. Mallory stepped over the sticky pool of gore and twitching remains, the sight already lost to him. His only thought was for Sophie. When he saw her, a sharp pain shot into the core of him; she looked as if she was dead. She hung on the chains, her chin on her chest. Her clothes were torn and there were bruises on her face and forearms; blood trickled from one nostril.

But as he placed his hands on her shoulders she stirred, her eyelids flickering open. She forced a smile.

'Are you OK to move?' he asked gently.

She nodded.

'The bastard Broderick will have everyone down here in minutes. We have to get out quickly.' His sword sheared through the chains easily and Sophie fell into his arms. For the briefest moment he pressed his face into her hair and inhaled the scent of her, and then he supported her towards the opening in the wall where the Caretaker waited impassively.

'Who's that?' she asked weakly.

Before Mallory could respond, the Caretaker took Sophie's hand with surprising tenderness. 'Let the Blue Fire heal you, Sister of Dragons.' A shiver ran through Mallory as he saw the lantern flame flicker towards Sophie as if it were alive. Mallory could almost see her vitality returning; her skin bloomed, her eyes grew wide, the bruises slowly lost their sheen. 'You have been a good friend to my people,' the Caretaker continued, 'and a good leader of your own. You have a strong heart — the Blue Fire works in you, and through you into the world.'

There was something almost deferential in the Caretaker's tone. Mallory looked at Sophie curiously, wondering what the giant saw in her.

She smiled, took the Caretaker's hand. 'Thank you,' she said.

Through the walls came the distant ringing of the cathedral bells. The alarm had been raised.

Sophie turned to Mallory. 'Where are we going?'

'I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead.'

'We need to get out of this place-'

'We can't go outside the walls. Those things are still waiting-'

'They never troubled me,' Sophie said, 'and now you've renounced your place with the cathedral, they'll probably leave you alone, too.'

'It's nice that you're prepared to take that gamble,' Mallory said acidly. 'And I didn't renounce them. They renounced me.'

The Caretaker led them along the tunnels to a door that opened into the Chapel of St Margaret of Scotiand in the south transept. The room was bitterly cold and suffused with the soft glow of candlelight from the altar. 'Thank you,' Mallory whispered to the Caretaker.

'Your call came from the heart, Brother of Dragons. How could I refuse? My people have always cared for lovers… and fools.'

'We'll debate which side we fall on later,' Sophie said.

They stepped into the chapel and when they looked back, the Caretaker and the doorway to his realm were gone. Beyond the low wooden walls of the chapel, the cathedral was quiet.

'I'm betting they've already blocked off the tunnel,' Mallory whispered. 'I reckon our only option is to get on to the walls and lower ourselves over,' he mused. 'Don't know how we're going to do that. The whole of the cathedral is between us and the way out.'

'I might be able to help there.' She turned away from him, lowering her head so that her hair hung across her face. He heard whispered words that made no sense to him, and then her body grew stiff and trembled with the strain. When she turned back, her face was drawn. Though the Blue Fire had re-energised her, her reserves were still low and easily drained.

'What was that all about?' he asked quietly.

'A little inclement weather to mask our tracks.'

Cautiously, he approached the door.

'Mallory?'

The voice made him start. He turned to see Miller standing at the front of the chapel; the young knight had obviously been on his knees in prayer, hidden behind the rows of chairs.

As Sophie went to the door to peek out, Miller rushed over and grabbed Mallory's hand desperately. 'How did you get out?' he said, his eyes wide with amazement.

Sophie was beckoning; the cathedral was empty.

'Mallory, take me with you.' Miller's fingers closed tighter around Mallory's hand; there was a profound desperation to him that was quite shocking.

'You're better off here, Miller. I don't fancy my chances outside the walls-'

'No, no, you don't understand. You have to take me with you.' His gaze ranged around the chapel with unbearable anxiety. 'Stefan's going ahead with the testing… using the relic.'

'You've got nothing to hide.'

Miller's eyes fell; his whole body appeared to shrink. Mallory had forgotten about the beast from Bratton Camp. Was that why he was so afraid — that the relic would expose him as the one who had slaughtered Cornelius and the others?

'What is it?' Mallory asked.

'I killed my girlfriend!' He blurted the words out, then collapsed in sobs.

Mallory stood dumbfounded, trying to comprehend what Miller had said. 'You killed her?' He recalled Miller telling him how he had fled his home after his girlfriend had dumped him for some local thug.

'I didn't mean to,' Miller whined. 'She was the only thing I had in the world… the only reason I had for living. I begged her to stay, but she wasn't having any of it. When she started to go, I grabbed hold of her… she fought me off… and… and I hit her.' His eyes burned with devastation. 'I didn't mean to! I loved her! I just couldn't cope… I was weak… pathetic…'He sucked in air to stop a wracking sob. 'She went down… didn't get up…'

'You killed her?' Mallory repeated in disbelief. Miller's story resonated throughout him with a strength that stunned him.

Miller saw it reflected on Mallory's face. 'Don't judge.me, Mallory,' he pleaded. 'Not you. I couldn't bear it if you judged me. You're such a good man… you were the one who gave me the strength to keep going

'You're blind, Miller… and stupid.' Mallory felt queasily empty, felt like laughing at the stupid irony of the situation. Miller had given him hope. He'd seemed so decent and honest, so innocent. But he was just like everyone else. There was nothing to which anyone could aspire, nothing at all.

'I came here to do penance, Mallory,' Miller continued amid the tears. 'To earn my redemption. I didn't think I had any hope until I met you. You gave me hope, Mallory. You saved my life-'

'Yes, and wasn't I a stupid bastard.' He looked to Sophie, who was watching them nervously. She motioned frantically for him to hurry up.

'The relic will show what I did!' Miller continued. 'The mood in this place now… it's all turned sour. They won't forgive me, Mallory. They won't give me a chance. I'm afraid of what they'll do to me.' Pathetically, he threw his arms around Mallory's legs, sobbing.

Mallory pushed him off with the roughness of someone who'd been betrayed. 'You made your bed, Miller — you've got to lie in it. Same as all of us.'

He marched over to Sophie, untouched by Miller's crying. 'What was that all about?' she asked.

'Nothing.' Mallory tried to ignore the desolation he felt. 'Come on, we'd better move.'

They slipped out, and Mallory didn't look back once.

The nave was dark and deserted; Mallory had lost all sense of time and had no idea how long it would be until the next service. Keeping his sword firmly in its scabbard so that the blue glow didn't attract attention, he led Sophie towards the door at the west end.

They'd progressed barely twenty feet into the nave when a cry made them jump. A brother on guard had been sitting unseen in the quire and was quick to raise the alarm. They hurried towards the exit, but before they were halfway to it, the door crashed open and three Blues burst in, brandishing swords. Mallory recognised the group they had ridiculed during the snowball fight.

There were too many of them to confront. Anxiously, he looked around. Several guards had entered silently through the south transept and were approaching from behind. Without thinking, he ran for the only door within their reach.

Once he'd slammed it behind him, he cursed profusely.

'What's wrong?' Sophie asked breathlessly.

'This is the way up,' he said angrily. 'To the spire. There's no way out here.'

'Well, we can't go back,' she said. 'If they recapture us, we won't have another chance.'

Dismally, Mallory took the steps two at a time with Sophie following close behind. It was an exercise in futility, but that had never stopped him before. The advantage of height on the stairs would mean that at least he would be able to take a few of the Blues out with him. Strangely, Sophie didn't appear in the least depressed that they were going into a corner.

The door crashed open behind them and the sounds of pursuit followed quickly. Mallory held back so that Sophie could go ahead, leaving him space to protect her back.

'How high are you planning on going?' he said sourly. 'Or are you just trying to give me a work-out before the last?'

'Shut up, Mallory,' she said, without looking back. 'Goddess, you don't half moan.'

With the air burning in their lungs, they raced up the interior of the square tower. It was two hundred feet to the top of the second stage — Mallory had climbed up there once for a peaceful view over the city. Timber stays and iron ties and braces held the structure steady. They passed the windlass at the base of the spire that had been used to raise stone from the ground when it was being built, and then Sophie led them out of a door to the base of the octagonal spire.

They were met by a sharply gusting wind so cold it felt as though their skin was being flayed. Snow was driven into their flesh like needles.

'Why don't we stay inside?' Mallory yelled above the gale. The wind buffeted him against the cold stone. His head spun when he looked out across the dark landscape; it would be easy to get blown off the tiny walled area and dashed on to the ground far below. 'I can make a stand better at the top of the stairs. It's harder to defend this area.'

'We're not defending,' Sophie shouted back. Her hair lashed across her face, making a mockery of her constant attempts to pull it away from her eyes. She was shivering from the cold. Mallory went to put his arms around her to warm her. His heart felt like a cold rock at the thought that they wouldn't be able to spend any time getting to know each other. What a stupid way for it to end.

But Sophie fended him off, then pointed over his head. 'No. Keep climbing.'

He followed the direction of her finger. Iron rungs had been hammered into the stone of the spire. They appeared to rise up to the summit one hundred and sixty feet above their heads.

'Are you mad?' The simple act of looking up brought a rush of vertigo. If he attempted to climb, he would be blown off in an instant. Besides, it led nowhere. The Blues could afford to wait until they fell, froze or climbed down. 'Or are you looking for some spectacular way to commit suicide? Personally, I'd-'

She took his hand. The sounds of pursuit could now easily be heard through the door. 'Just trust me,' she said.

He looked into her eyes, which were wide and honest, and he surprised himself by realising that he did trust her, more than himself. Cursing, he turned and gripped the first icy iron rung and hauled himself up.

Ten feet up and it took all Mallory's strength just to hang on. The wind attacked like a wild animal, throwing him from side to side. He had to hook his arms inside the rungs to prevent himself from being thrown off the spire. He feared for Sophie, who was physically weaker than him, but though he sensed she was close behind, the stinging blizzard prevented him from looking down long enough to see her.

The crash of the door swinging open, though, came loud enough to rise above the gale. The bark of their pursuers was angry and disbelieving, and he could just make out a furious debate about what should be done.

'Keep going,' Sophie called up to him.

Mallory felt delirious. The weakness from his incarceration and lack of food combined with his incomprehension to make his head spin. If he kept his eyes fixed on the dwindling stone column in front of him, he was OK. But the snow made the landscape bright and his eyes would repeatedly be drawn to the white roofs and rolling hills, and then down, down, down to the cathedral compound a dizzying fall below.

It was just as his stomach turned at the contemplation of the drop that a particularly strong gust of wind tore over the peaks and troughs of the new buildings and wrenched at his legs. They were ripped away from the security of the rungs, flying out horizontally away from the spire. The shock tore the breath from his throat. He yelled out, tried to grip on to the rungs, but he couldn't feel his numb fingers, couldn't tell if they were holding or slipping.

He heard Sophie scream, then saw his knuckles sliding over the edge of the rung. The wind tugged harder; the snow lashed his face. He felt the fall before it happened, experienced the air being sucked from his lungs, that final shattering impact, his body exploding at every joint…

An eddying gust whipped around the spire and caught his legs just as his fingers were about to let go, slamming him back against the hard stone. Winded, he lost his grip completely and slid down the spire, almost knocking Sophie from her handhold. Somehow he caught on to a rung, yanking himself to a sudden stop, wrenching his shoulder.

He clung there for a second, his heart pounding so hard it felt as if it was going to burst from his chest. But the wind didn't relent and the sounds of the knights below didn't fade; he couldn't rest. With small gusts pulling him to one side, then the other, he continued to climb.

Below, he could occasionally catch the sound of Sophie talking, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. Fifteen minutes later, the rungs ran out: the end of his journey, and probably the end of his life. The spire was now just a couple of hand-spans wide and he could feel it moving in the now unbearable wind, adding to the sickening vertiginous pull. He felt unconscionably weary, didn't have the energy to climb down even if he'd wanted to; he could have put his arms around the spire and hugged it until the end came. Just above his head, the cross on the very top appeared to glow.

Exhausted, he rested his head against the stone, sliding back and forth. His whole body was numb, yet strangely starting to grow warm. He couldn't feel any of it; it was just as if he was enveloped in steam.

Something whizzed past his ear, jerking him alert. A shower of dust fell against his face: a chunk of stone had been dislodged.

As he struggled to work out what was happening, something else whipped past him. This time he saw it: a crossbow bolt. The knights were firing at diem, trying to dislodge them. The bastards! he thought. They couldn't even wait for me to freeze and fall.

'Are you OK?' he yelled out, realising at the same time how stupid it sounded. Sophie's response was lost to the wind.

And then there was only the view, the pristine whiteness of the hills, beautiful in their simplicity. He began to fantasise that he could fly, that he could just kick off from the spire, soar out over them and keep going to a place where there was no hardship and he could spend the rest of his days in idyllic bliss with Sophie.

Movement caught his attention away over the hills. It became lost to the stinging snow for a while before he caught it again. A cloud, he thought, caught in the rolling wind. It continued to move, free of the subtie undulations of the elements. With purpose.

Something was moving inside the storm. Drawing closer.

He was mesmerised. It was natural, yet not natural, dark behind the snow. Another crossbow bolt rattied against the stone. How long before one hit him?

'It's coming!' Sophie yelled. Jubilation sounded in her voice, but a hint of fear, too.

A burst of colour in the black and white world. He was back in that moment that would haunt him for all eternity. But no, no… Now he knew what it was. Yet it made no sense: it was dead. More fire exploded in an arc, so brilliant that it lit the rooftops red and orange and yellow. The shadow so big now, beating slowly up and down. Enormous wings riding the night winds.

'We killed it,' he whispered into the howling gale. But all he could feel was wonder surging up inside him like a golden light, a sense of connection with all Existence.

'Stay with me, Mallory!' Sophie ordered. There was an insistence to her voice. Did she know something he didn't?

The Fabulous Beast soared on the turbulent currents, up and down and then to the side, gouts of flame erupting from its mouth at regular intervals like the birthing of stars in the bleak void. Mallory was transfixed. As it neared, he could see that it was not the one they had slain. Something about it appeared younger, sleeker, the emerald, ruby and sapphire sparkling of its scales more pronounced.

It came directly towards the spire. The beating of its wings was deafening, like the wind in the sails of a mighty ship, and the conflagration of its breath was like the roar of a jet. Mallory could see its eyes gleaming a fiery red, and for an instant he thought he saw something there: an intelligence, certainly, but also a contact, an understanding.

He thought, It's going to get its revenge for the death of the other one. It's going to wipe the whole of the cathedral from the face of the earth. A purifying flame.

Languidly, it began to circle the spire. Mallory was on a level with it, and at times he thought he could just reach out and touch it, feel the roughness of the bony protuberances on its head and spine, the hard sheen of the scales; he felt as though he could walk across the air to it.

'Mallory!' Sophie yelled.

He jolted alert. From far below he could hear the panicked cries of the knights. They were calling for support, but found time to loose another bolt. It missed Mallory's temple by a fraction.

The Fabulous Beast went down, rose up, went down again, then turned and soared towards die cathedral.

This is it, Mallory thought.

It passed beneath him. The flame gushed out in a torrent, painting the roof far below a hellish red. In its illumination, Mallory saw everything clearly. Two of the knights dived back inside for cover. The other remained rooted in terror. The fire hit him full force. It drove him off the tiny landing, and as he fell he burned only briefly before the fury of it consumed him and he turned to dust, sprinkling with the snow.

The other knights were out in an instant, one firing at the Fabulous Beast which had returned to its circling, the other, bizarrely, shooting once more at the two of them.

How they must hate us, Mallory thought.

'Get ready, Mallory!' Sophie shouted.

He had no idea what she meant, didn't have time to consider it. The bolt hit his shoulder as if he had been smashed with a mallet. Pain drove through his arm and side. Everything went with that — his sense, his grip — and then he was falling, turning slowly, seeing Sophie's desperate, loving face, seeing the snow, going down with it.

He hit hard, though he had only fallen for an instant, and then he was being swept sideways. Desperately, his thoughts tried to make sense of what was happening, but before they could, he was mesmerised by the sight of Sophie floating down towards him.

Time appeared to hold still, then speed up. She crashed at his side, then began to slide. Frantically, she raked her hands back and forth, gulping air in terror as she slipped.

Finally, her fingers closed tightly around a bony ridge; her face blazed with jubilation and she began to pull herself up.

The queasy sensation of being whipped along caught them both as they clung on for dear life. From the corners of his eyes Mallory saw the beating wings, and the retreating spire, the angry knights like flies. Far below, Salisbury was laid out like a fairy city, glorious in white, and beyond it the spectral landscape, beautiful and terrible.

The Fabulous Beast rode the currents, taking them to an uncertain fate.