The Devil in green

The gates of the cathedral remained closed, but they bore the innumerable scars of the vicious attacks inflicted during the time Mallory and Sophie had been away. Now they only hung by a thread; one final push could have broken through. Repairs didn't appear to have been carried out for some days.

In the twilight, the place looked mournful and desolate. No guards patrolled the walls, no sounds of activity came from within. Mallory stared at the imposing gates apprehensively, afraid of what he might find. The killer of Cornelius, Julian and Gibson was still loose, but it was a more personal fear that was eating away at him. The past felt hard at his back; his time of running was nearly done.

Salisbury was unusually quiet. The people had retired to their homes early, as if anticipating something awful. Even the pubs were deserted, their doors open forlornly, casting candlelight across the frozen pavements. But the Green Man had kept his word: his forces were nowhere to be seen.

'You should stay here,' Mallory said to Sophie as he craned his neck to survey the top of the wall.

'Can I weep gently until you come back, as well?'

'Sarcasm is a very unattractive quality.'

'So is being an asshole. You can waltz off waving your little pigsticker; just don't forget who has the real power around here.'

'It's not what you've got, it's what you do with it.'

'Yeah, yeah, that's what all men say. Have you ever noticed how women smile tightly when they hear it?' She examined the gates closely; although they were insecure, any attempt to break them down would attract too much attention. 'Any idea how we're getting in?'

'Well, you know, there's a thing called foresight.' From under his cloak he brought out a length of rope he had picked up from one of the houses they had rested in on the day's trek back from Knowlton. He tied a noose in one end and then took five attempts to throw it on to one of the defensive barbs protruding from the top of the wall. He hauled himself up easily, then dropped quietly on to the walkway. One brother trudged lamely through the snow near the cathedral. Quickly, Mallory hauled Sophie up and they climbed down the ladder into the compound.

As they hurried to the shadows at the base of the wall, Sophie grabbed Mallory's arm and held him tight. 'Look!' she said.

On the far side of the cathedral, near the eastern wall, five stark, black scarecrows rose from the snowy wastes. Two were failing to do their job, for three large birds were fluttering around them, cawing discordantly. Mallory dismissed the sight quickly, but his eyes were drawn back by the muttered expression of shock from Sophie. And then he saw truthfully.

'No,' he said in disbelief. 'They wouldn't.'

But Stefan had clearly given in to the madness of his religious zeal. Snow began to fall lazily, casting an eerie, dreamlike quality across the scene. The five crucified figures didn't move.

Sophie tugged at Mallory's arm, but with his new eyes he was transfixed. One of the figures looked familiar in some subtle shape of head or limb, despite the dusting of frost and snow that made all five seem like siblings. He shook Sophie off and began to run, slowly at first, but as the horror rose up in him towing the guilt behind, it became a sprint. He didn't care if anyone saw him, didn't think anything at all apart from what a truly terrible person he was and how he'd never, ever be anything else.

He stopped in front of the figure, his breath steaming all around him, hot tears burning his cheeks. It was Miller. His hair and eyebrows were white, his shoulders and arms glittering with frost. It made a sharp contrast with the dried black blood on his wrists where the spikes had been hammered into the fencing posts.

Sophie arrived at his side breathlessly. When she saw Miller, tears filled her eyes, too. 'Oh, Mallory, I'm sorry

She might have said more, but he didn't hear it. His head was filled with a fantasy of what would have happened if he'd taken Miller with him when the young knight had made his desperate plea for help. Self-loathing consumed him and he had to turn away so Sophie couldn't see it eat at his face.

Bitterly, he drew his sword and cut the ropes around Miller's ankles and then gently prised his wrists over the spikes while Sophie supported the slight frame. Finally, the limp form fell into Mallory's arms.

Gently laying him on the snow, Mallory blinked away his tears, which splashed across Miller's face. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered, knowing it meant nothing.

'Wait!' Sophie said. 'I saw his eyes move!'

They flickered again. Mallory brushed the snow from Miller's eyebrows; his skin was as cold as the surrounding ground. His lips moved a little, as if he were trying to speak, but no sound issued.

'It's just the end of him. Look at his hands,' Mallory said quietly. Under the white layer lay the deep purple of severe frostbite. 'He's been out here too long… the shock of what they did… all that time without food… he won't last much longer.' He glanced back at the thin form until he couldn't bear it any longer, than looked up to the darkening sky.

After flailing around for a moment, he found another emotion that would help him go on. 'You stay with him,' he said, sheathing his sword. He was ready now, and he wouldn't fail.

'But I need to-'

'No. I don't want him to die on his own.'

This made sense to her, but he could see she still felt he was jeopardising their success by leaving her behind. 'When he's gone,' he said, 'when you're sure he's gone, catch up with me.'

He picked Miller up and carried him to the steps of the west front; the body was as light as a bundle of sticks. He laid Miller down and covered him with his cloak. 'If anyone comes, hide,' he said.

'I'll fetch some blankets for him,' she said. 'Make him comfortable.'

Mallory dropped down beside Miller and briefly rested one hand on his chest before hurrying into the twilight.

The cathedral was dark and cold; no candles had been lit, no one was preparing for compline.

In the Trinity Chapel, the cordon still lay around the relic box. Before, Mallory had always felt a faint charge in the air around it, but now there was nothing. It had to be the relic; all the terrible things had happened after the Blues had brought it into the compound that night. He recalled the burned knight, the speed with which they had carried the box through the gates as if they were being pursued. Whatever it was, its power was phenomenal, he mused. The cures it had wrought were astonishing. What wonders could it carry out if it was used wisely by someone in the community? He thought of the dying husband and his pitiful wife. Instead, it had been locked away as some arid object of veneration. If it was a gift of God, would He want it wasted in that way?

Yet that very same power made him anxious. Could it kill as well as cure? Cautiously, he stepped over the cordon and paused in front of the box, flexing his fingers in anticipation. He had little choice. In one rapid movement, he flung open the lid and stepped back.

The box was empty.

'It's long gone, man.'

A knight was sitting in the shadows behind him, the cross on his shirt glowing in the dark. Mallory couldn't see the features, but the voice was distinctive.

'Gardener,' Mallory said coldly. The Geordie must have been sitting there all along, so still and quiet that Mallory hadn't seen him.

'Never expected to see you back here,' he said gruffly.

As if it was a natural movement, Mallory lowered his hand on to the hilt of his sword; was Gardener the one who harboured the thing they brought back from Bratton Camp? 'Bad pennies and all that, Gardener.'

'Aye. But I always figured you for a bloke with good sense, Mallory. A smart man would be putting miles between himself and this fucking place. I'd be doing it myself… if I was smart.'

Mallory picked up no sense of danger, but he wasn't going to take any chances. 'I thought this was the New Jerusalem for you.' He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

There was a long silence that was almost painful. 'I was just praying. I don't even know if He's listening any more.' The bleakness in his voice was almost unbearable. 'It all went to hell pretty quickly after you left.'

'It started down that road a long time before.'

'Aye. Aye, it did, man.' His voice grew muffled as he bowed his head; akhough Mallory couldn't see, he thought Gardener's hands were over his face. 'They started testing everybody… using that bloody thing in the box. We all thought hardline was the way to go, but it got out of hand.'

'Miller

'Aye.' A sob. 'Bloody harmless lad. Did a bad thing, but you know him… Poor bastard.' He was wracked by a juddering sigh. 'There's been no food since you were gone. The old ones started dropping like flies, and the sick. We buried them at the start, till none of us had the strength to dig. And still that cunt was doing his bloody tests!' His voice rose sharply before bursting in another sob. 'We put the bodies up in the old infirmary… till we found someone had been at 'em.'

Mallory was sickened, but not surprised. He tried to imagine the desperate atmosphere that must have permeated the cathedral: a world filled with food just beyond the walls, but everyone trapped in an intense, claustrophobic jail, unable to reach it, the wild energies of the relic unbalancing minds.

'Then we started burning them… until we ran out of strength even for that,' Gardener continued desolately. 'Now we just leave 'em where they fall.' There was a pause. 'No, that ain't right. James and some of the others… they still try to do the right thing. But the rest of us, the miserable ones…'

'Lost your faith, Gardener?'

'No.' The denial was adamant. 'I was only trying to do the right thing… we all were. It just got out of hand-'

'That's one way of looking at it.'

'You don't have to get on your high horse, Mallory. You're as bad as me. Worse… you don't believe in anything.'

Mallory could have argued, but there was no point. The facts were clear for anyone with the eyes to see them.

'Stefan… Blaine… they've gone mad,' Gardener said. 'We all went mad, and the thing is, I don't know when it started. When that thing got here…' He waved a hand towards the box. '… or a long time ago. Hundreds of years ago.'

'Where's the relic gone?' Mallory asked.

'Stefan took it. The Blues came with him one night, transferred it to another box. Stefan… Blaine… the Blues… I think they've got a secret stash of food. Not much, but enough to keep them going.'

'Where did they take it?'

Gardener sat up in the pew, a hiss of air escaping between his teeth. At first, Mallory thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he said, 'I need you to help me. You do that and I'll tell you.'

'I haven't got time-'

'You do this or you'll never find out!' His voice cracked with hysteria again.

Mallory sighed. 'What do you want?'

'I want you to help me to rescue Daniels.'

There was an odd note to Gardener's voice, and Mallory could tell it was because he didn't want his betrayal mentioned. The act weighed on him, had probably been the thing that finally broke him.

'Where is he?'

'They took him to the infirmary.'

'The infirmary?'

'They were trying to cure him…' Gardener's voice trailed away, the silence carrying the weight of too many unspoken words.

They were trying to cure Daniels of his sexuality. It sounded insane, but Mallory knew it was only an extension of views that had common currency within living memory. 'Come on,' he said with restrained anger.

Their footsteps echoed loudly up the stairwell to the infirmary. They had to rest at regular intervals to allow Gardener to gather his strength for the climb. In the glow of the candle Mallory had lit on entering, Gardener's face looked like a skull, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, the skin hanging from his bones; the only thing keeping him going was the hardness that had always set him apart.

The white-tiled room had grown filthy since the last time Mallory had seen it, and the sickeningly fruity smell of decomposition still filled the air, although the bodies had been removed. Gardener appeared oblivious to it.

'He's down here,' he said, limping with a strangely innocent eagerness.

They hurried through the deserted wards, the stained sheets left in disarray on the beds. In the corridor beyond, Mallory glanced into the room that had been reserved for Hipgrave and was shocked to see the knight still there. He lay on his bed in the dark, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling and looking remarkably well fed and healthy.

'He's off his rocker,' Gardener said without pausing. 'Nobody let him out in case he was dangerous.'

'Very compassionate,' Mallory muttered. He resolved to break down the door on the way back.

Daniels' room was at the far end of the corridor. The lock shattered easily under a few blows from Mallory's shoulder. Daniels lay on his bed, too weak to get up, but he rolled his head and smiled wanly when he saw Mallory.

Mallory quickly poured a cup of water from a jug next to the bed and supported Daniels' head so he could wash some on to his dry, cracked lips; it didn't look as though anyone had been in to care for him for a couple of days at least. In the background, Gardener shifted uncomfortably as if he was getting ready to run.

'Well, isn't this a pretty picture.' Daniels tried to laugh, but it became a hacking cough.

Mallory was drawn to a black stain on Daniels' trousers around his groin.

Daniels saw him looking and began to weep uncontrollably. 'They cut it off, Mallory! They cut it off!'

In horrified disbelief, Mallory turned to Gardener, seeking a denial. Gardener wouldn't meet his eyes.

Daniels' crying turned to a low giggle; his awful trial had left him balanced on the edge, his emotions untethered. 'I think they mustn't have tied off their stitches properly!' he said. 'Those boys… can't do anything right! But at least the bleeding's stopped now.'

Gardener was crying silently, too, wiping his eyes repeatedly in an anxious manner that suggested he, too, was on the edge of a breakdown fuelled by guilt and self-hatred. Mallory felt sickened: so much suffering and hardship, so many broken lives, and a pointlessness to it all that made it almost incomprehensible.

His thoughts were disturbed by the echoes of several pairs of feet rushing up the stairs.

'Don't leave me!' Daniels pleaded.

'You stay with him. Block the door with the bed, if you can,' Mallory said to Gardener.

'Stefan's got the relic with him all the time now,' Gardener said. 'He's locked himself in the bishop's palace.'

As he drew his sword and slipped out, Mallory saw Gardener drop to his knees and falteringly take Daniels' hand. Daniels smiled weakly.

Mallory moved tentatively into the corridor. The running feet had slowed now; they were cautious, ready for him. The flickering light of a lantern playing down the corridor told him they'd entered the ward. If they wanted a fight, his best bet was to take them in the corridor where they could only come at him one at a time. He gripped his sword ready, his mind focused, but as he passed Hipgrave's room, the play of faint light told him it was empty. Curiously, he tried the handle; it was still locked.

Before he could understand what had happened, a huge outcry erupted in the ward. He rushed to the end of the corridor to see eight Blues in furious attack caught in the glitter of a lantern lying discarded at the foot of a bed. The uncertain illumination made it difficult to discern what was going on. There was movement, hacking swords, constant running back and forth, faces caught for just an instant, white with concentration and tinged with fear. But their adversary remained firmly in the shadows so that all the motion with no result made the scene faintly comic.

But then there was a wet sound like the contents of a paint tin being thrown against a wall. One of the knights staggered back, trying to hold in his intestines. A second later, an arm skidded across the floor. Someone else backpedalled with a stump where his neck and head should have been. The butchery was so fast and clean it was mesmerising.

The flash of something that resembled an enormous arm stuck with knives snapped Mallory from his trance. He knew what it was, and he now knew who it was. Hipgrave was the host for the thing they had brought back. Of course, it had to be Hipgrave, his madness growing as he was eaten away by guilt, knowing of his crimes but unable to do anything about them. Mallory had no idea how it had passed through the locked door of the room, how it worked at all, but he did know he would be as dead as the Blues would inevitably be if he didn't move.

Mallory slipped along the wall and then clambered over the beds, ignoring the blood that sprayed over him as if it had come from a hose. He couldn't help one look into the heart of the shadows, but whatever lay there resisted any attempt to identify it.

The sounds behind him grew worse, turning his stomach; soon the thing would be finished and free to pursue him. He skidded out into the white-tiled room and came face to face with Blaine lurking in the gloom of one corner. The commander's sword was drawn.

Blaine didn't speak, didn't feel the need to for the benefit of someone so far beneath his contempt. Mallory could read it in his cold, hard eyes: Mallory was just a distraction to be dispatched at the earliest opportunity. Blaine's attention was partly distracted by the noises coming from the ward, which were winding down now.

Mallory stepped in quickly and swung his sword. Blaine was quick to block it, the collision sending jarring vibrations into Mallory's arms. But the fact that Mallory had almost caught him unawares clearly irritated Blaine. Anger flashed across his face and he launched into a calculated but relentless attack that drove Mallory on to his back foot.

Blaine was an excellent swordsman, moving with grace and strength and an eye for his opponent's weaknesses. What added to his threatening pose was an icy composure that made him a brutal machine; his features remained fixed, his arm moving with strokes timed to the millimetre and the microsecond. Mallory had learned his lessons well, but he wasn't even close to Blaine's ability.

It was all he could do to keep Blaine from driving straight through his defence into his heart. In fact, as he batted away the curt moves while backing across the room, he felt that Blaine was simply making him suffer before he decided it was time for the killing blow.

In the ward, the sounds of attack faded away.

This time, it was Mallory's turn to be distracted. Blaine saw an opening and rammed his blade through. It cracked against Mallory's shoulder blade, cutting through the skin, but Blaine whipped it back before it did any more damage; still toying.

Mallory recoiled in a brief burst of pain, but somehow managed to parry the next stroke. Cold sweat sprang up all over him.

Another blow, this time just missing Mallory's cheek but nicking his ear. Instead of defending, Mallory launched into a swift attack. It surprised Blaine, who backed off a little. Mallory kept it up, forcing Blaine to keep parrying.

Mallory knew that the Hipgrave-thing had arrived a second before a shadow fell across him, and across his soul. The monstrous gravity of it drew Blaine's gaze instantly, despite the intensity of the fight. Mallory saw the awful realisation cross his face, the ice flooding into his limbs holding him rigid. It was too late for Mallory to stop the swing of his sword. It crashed into Blaine's ribcage, sliding up to sever the artery in his armpit.

Blaine went down on his knees, clutching the wound as blood gushed out across the floor, but his face was still turned to whatever was at Mallory's back, so consumed by the horror that he wasn't even aware he was dying.

In a cold sweat, Mallory leaped forwards, casting one glance at Blaine's transfixed, final expression, not daring to look back. He could sense the thing beginning to move a step or two closer behind him. As he raced for the stairs, he heard it fall on Blaine.

More snow was falling and it was already a foot deep across the compound. As Mallory reached the edge of the cathedral, with only a short run and a few small walls to climb between him and the bishop's palace, he couldn't resist looking back. Just at that moment, the aberration emerged from Malmesbury House. At first it was Hipgrave, then something that made Mallory's mind fizz and slide, then Hipgrave again, limping, looking around deliriously as if he couldn't quite tell where he was. The ground was losing its faith-driven power under the desperate, cruel rule of Stefan. Increasingly, the beast could move freely.

Mallory ran.

Candlight glowed in one downstairs window of the bishop's palace, a faint warmth amid the darkness and silence of the cathedral compound. Stefan must have been watching, for as Mallory approached, stark against the snow, there was the crash of the front door as the bishop emerged at a run clutching an antique wooden box, his robes billowing behind him.

Mallory set off in pursuit. As they rounded the edge of the cathedral, Stefan plunged down some steps into the new buildings. Within their constantly shifting architecture, unbounded by logic, it would be easier for the bishop to evade capture. Mallory picked up his pace, but as he reached the doorway a strange winnowing, like the cry of a wounded bird, echoed eerily across the compound. He looked back to see the Hipgrave-thing sweeping across the snow towards him. Mallory slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind him, knowing it would offer no defence.

He sensed the change in the new buildings immediately. There was an unbearable atmosphere of potency, of a sick, crazy power leaking from every part of the fabric. Shadows were distorted; others were thrown by no obvious light source. At a distance, straight lines appeared to bend as if they were being warped by some magnetic force. This was most apparent in the long, columned corridors and the great hall, where the pillars rose to an enormous height and the roof was lost to darkness.

And the further he progressed into the building on Stefan's trail, the worse it got. Logic was cut adrift, replaced by a dreamlike chaos where nothing quite made sense. Mallory would realise that the Hipgrave-thing was behind him only intermittently, when he heard that strange bird-cry or was overwhelmed by a smell like battery acid, but mostly the corridors and rooms at his back were filled only with darkness.

After a while, time lost all meaning. It felt as if he was on a Mobius strip, passing through the same places, experiencing the same emotions. But a single thought had taken root in his mind and that was enough to drive him on: to make amends.

It was in a room lined with statues of people he didn't recognise that he met the Caretaker. Some of the statues resembled ancient Greeks, Egyptians and Celts, while others appeared vaguely non-human with pointed ears and an unusually delicate bone structure, and the Caretaker was at first lost amongst them, his giant form silent and unmoving in the shadows.

He stepped out and held up his hand, startling Mallory. 'You will never reach your prize by running, Brother of Dragons,' he said in his deep, echoing voice. You will be adrift in here for ever, never quite making up lost ground, till your time is gone or the world winds down around you. Only by going back will you achieve your aim.'

'I can't go back,' Mallory said desperately. 'There's something behind me… death…'He glanced over his shoulder.

'You know this door, Brother of Dragons.' The Caretaker motioned to a portal that hadn't been there before.

And Mallory did know it, though he tried to pretend he didn't. It had a look of the fairy-tale about it, with mysterious figures intricately carved around the stone jamb. Mallory was suddenly overwhelmed with inexplicable emotion, terrified yet trembling with an abiding sadness at the same time. 'I can't go back,' he said desolately.

Mallory took a step away from the door and found himself in front of it. 'No,' he said. He had no choice but to pass through into…

'Did you get it?' Stevens barked at Mallory the moment he stepped through the steamed-up glass door of the cafe. He was sitting at his usual table in the corner, smoking a cheap cigar, while his hard-eyed cronies sat around, laughing at his jokes.

'Yes.' Mallory was shaking. He dropped the haversack on the table.

Stevens chuckled, looking around at his dismal associates. 'The only good bitch-' He paused mid-sentence, his eyes growing wider, the familiar fury rising in his face. Suddenly he grabbed Mallory's wrist. 'Is that blood?' he snapped. Mallory snatched his hand back, letting the sleeve of his leather jacket obscure the tell-tale sign. 'Go and wash it off, you fucking idiot.'

As he headed towards the toilets at the back, Sylvie caught his eye. She was carrying a plate of egg and chips destined for a Geordie man in his eighties who always sat at the window smoking roll-ups. 'You didn't do it?' she hissed with a condemnatory expression that he'd hoped he'd never live to see. She looked tired, her face made hard by too much work for not enough money.

'I didn't have a choice.'

'Everybody has a choice, Mallory.'

She barged past him in a way that suggested she'd finally written him off.

He had to get out. Filled with despair, he stepped through the door into the toilets.

Mallory skidded down a pile of rubble from a wall that had collapsed from great age, tumbling into a vast vault whose extremities were lost to the gloom. At the bottom, yellow bones protruded from a shattered crypt.

Stefan's footsteps echoed like gunfire, but they were now accompanied by a pathetic whimpering; he knew he'd never get away. Mallory picked up a chipped thigh bone as he ran and hurled it with force into the dark. Stefan's cry came back sharp and sweet.

'I'm going to get you, you bastard!' he yelled, though strangely he couldn't remember who he was trying to get; or, indeed, who he was. He had a name — Mallory — but that was all he knew. It probably didn't matter.

He sprinted across the dusty floor, bones flying right and left. The air smelled of chalk and damp, and was as cold as the grave.

The sound of tumbling rocks behind him snapped his attention back. Hipgrave was at the top of the rubbled slope, all sense gone from his eyes; the beast ruled him completely now. As Mallory watched, horns burst through his skull in a circle around his head at forehead height, became knives, then retracted.

Obliquely, Mallory realised that Hipgrave was closer: he was catching up.

He leaped forwards, plunging into the dark.

'You can't trust Stevens,' Mueller said with surprising insight. He never looked as though he was paying attention to anything.

They sat on the balcony watching the crew, under the guidance of Denny, setting up the sound system near where the altar would have been. The pale wintry sunshine still brought a dazzle of cascading colour from the stained-glass windows.

'Whose stupid idea was it to turn an old church into a club? It was a crappy idea back in the eighties when the Limelight set up shop,' Mallory said.

'Did you hear me?' Mueller turned to him, then slowly relented. 'The Devil has all the best tunes.'

'I know. It's a metaphor.' Mallory plucked the ice cube from his glass, placed it in his mouth and began to crunch it up. 'Stevens thinks he's smart, but he's not. He's a thug, an East End barrow boy made bad. He's no match for my educated, wily ways.'

'Educated? You dropped out,' Mueller said. 'But he's got one thing you haven't. He believes in what he's doing. You watch yourself, Mallory.'

'You're such a moaner, Mueller. Moan, moan, moan.' The engineer checked the balance by playing an oldie on Mallory's decks. 'Beth Orton remixed by the Chemical Brothers,' he noted. 'Good taste for a monkey.' There was a plaintive element to the song that made him introspective. 'Do you ever get the feeling that the world isn't the way it should be?' he said, lost to his thoughts.

'What do you mean?'

'Which word don't you understand?'

Mueller sipped his drink quietly. He'd been here so many times over the years, he knew better than to get riled by anything Mallory said.

When Mallory saw that he wasn't going to bite, he made a face and continued, 'Look at it — what a sour, miserable existence. If there is a God, is this the best He can do? A place where people like Stevens thrive.' He grew introspective again. 'Sometimes I think this is all an illusion… a mess… and there's a better world somewhere behind it. Sometimes, if you catch this world sleeping, you can look at it just right and see straight through it to that good place on the other side.'

'Sylvie's addled your mind, Mallory.' Mueller tittered.

'Shut up, Mueller. You never did have any sense. I don't know why I ever took you on board.'

Doors opened on to rooms that vaguely resembled ones he had passed through before, though each had a slight difference — a carving, a gargoyle, a column. There was stone and shadows, and dust, steeped in antiquity and quiet centuries of deep reverence, where no words were uttered but thoughts were offered up to the heart of Existence. There were chapels and vaults, tombs and halls, galleries and corridors, places of sanctity and places that felt alien and unwelcoming.

Mallory crashed through them all, knowing that if he slowed Hipgrave would be behind him, but never quite managing to lessen the distance between him and Stefan. He had the unnerving feeling that sooner or later he would forget the reason for running, that it would simply be something he did, like eating and breathing.

And each new doorway provided a new room, a new sensation, a new way of looking at life, and each time he lost a little bit more of who he was.

'You do it,' Stevens said, 'or that little waitress you like gets taken out back by my boys, done over, then popped in the head and dumped in the river. Do you hear me, you little fucker?'

Mallory picked himself up off the floor. His ribs felt as if someone had stuffed a firework in them. 'You really think I'd do something like that?'

Stevens smiled slyly. 'Well, I don't really know. I suppose we'll see, won't we? I mean, I'm just a thick boy from Bow — what do I know? You're the one with the good education. I expect you'll be putting me straight sometime soon.'

'Irony works best in a single sentence. You spoil the effect when you drag it out.' Mallory wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; it left a dark smear.

Stevens didn't have to retaliate for the attitude; he knew he had Mallory between a rock and a hard place. He simply watched and smiled, relishing his position of absolute power.

'You've got to be joking,' Mallory said, starting to realise with mounting horror that Stevens wasn't.

Stevens shrugged. 'Well, bang goes your bitch — in more ways than one.'

Mallory began to back-pedal. 'Now, look-'

'No. Let's not look. Let's deal with the offer on the table. It's simple — even I can understand it. You can do this… or this.'

'I'll do anything else. You wanted a cut of the takings-

Stevens made a dismissive hand gesture. 'That's all gone now. This is what's happening.'

'But… but… it doesn't make any sense. You don't get anything out of this-'

'Well, that's where you're wrong, my son.' His expression told Mallory everything: what he got was the brutish satisfaction of seeing Mallory torn apart by a choice no one could ever make without being destroyed.

'What you want me to do — it's inhuman.'

'Yes, it is, isn't it?'

Mallory felt as if he was drowning.

'A couple of other things while you… ruminate… that's a word, isn't it? You try to run, the waitress gets it. You do anything at all apart from what I've asked you and she gets it. Anything at all. But you do what I ask and everything'!! be sweet.'

Mallory's mouth was dry. He couldn't see Stevens any more, just the horrendous images playing across his own internal screen. 'How do I know you won't kill Sylvie anyway?' he said, dazed.

'I'm an honourable man, Mallory. I stand by old-fashioned values — I'm not a slippery, fast-talking fucking intellectual like you. When I give my word, that's it. I believe in die things that made this country great. The world now, it's gone to pot. Being honourable, that's all we've got to hold everything together.'

The irony would have been funny if Mallory hadn't felt like being sick.

Things changed as he emerged from a tiny door into a room that contained an enormous subterranean reservoir. Echoes of lapping water bounced off the walls, while light from an unidentified source provided shimmerings in the gloom. Walkways crisscrossed the stone tank, but they were barely wider than a man and it would be impossible to run along them without slipping into the black water of unknown depth.

Stefan was making his way cautiously across the network of paths, unbalanced by the box he was carrying. If Mallory was careful he would be able to make up lost ground.

Watching his feet, he stepped out on to the nearest walkway and moved as quickly as he could. Where the shadows were thickest the water looked like oil. But in some places, where the mysterious light fell across it, he had a perception of depth, and he had the unnerving sensation that things were moving in it. Stefan, too, appeared to have noticed the same thing, for he regularly cast worried glances into the water on either side.

As he passed the first crossway, he realised he was indeed closing on Stefan, who was edging forwards very slowly, as much for fear of what might lie in the water as of falling in. Mallory's growing confidence was shattered when he glanced to his left and saw, floating an inch or so below the water, a woman who appeared maddeningly familiar yet had no place in his life as he knew it. He was overcome with a feeling of affection, even love, but the woman's eyes were wide and accusing.

Other bodies drifted silently nearby, and although he thought of them as bodies, another part of him was convinced they were alive in some way he couldn't explain. They, too, were at the same time recognisable and not.

The shock of seeing them there like dead fish almost made him lose his footing, and he feared what would happen if he fell in amongst them. He was only distracted from his uneasy thoughts when he realised there was a disturbance in the water around Stefan. Rising on every side were the cowled figures of the dead clerics from the ossuary.

Stefan cowered before them, terrified, as if he knew why they were there for him. 'I have nothing to fear from you!' he cried out, his voice reverberating insanely up to the vaulted roof. As one, the clerics each raised an arm and pointed at him. Their silent accusation gave Stefan added impetus and he bowed his head and hurried past them.

Mallory ignored the figures in the water around him and followed quickly, allowing just one glance back. Hipgrave was on the walkway, shifting back to his human form from something that had wings like a bat.

Mallory realised there probably wouldn't be an escape for any of them.

'I'd do anything for Sylvie.' Mallory blinked away tears of frustration and pain.

'You think she'd be happy with you, knowing what you'd done?' Mueller was incredulous. 'Stevens has won. Whichever way you turn, you're damned.'

'She doesn't have to know-'

'She already knows. One of Stevens' monkeys told her this morning. He's just turning the knife-'

'How do you know?' Mallory leaned back against his bookcase for support, as if gravity was suddenly too strong for him to keep standing.

'She called me up… wanted to know if it was true.'

'What did you say?'

'I said I didn't know!' Mueller paced about the lounge, rubbing his fingers through his hair anxiously. 'But she knows Stevens wouldn't make something like that up…'

Mallory covered his face; everything was fracturing. 'I don't have a choice.'

'You had a choice two weeks ago… if you hadn't let your pride and your arrogance-'

'Oh, shut up, Mueller.'

There was such desolation in his voice that Mueller was briefly stung into silence. 'I'm sorry. That doesn't help.' He swallowed, ordered his thoughts. 'You can't do it, Mallory. Not something like that-'

'I can't let Sylvie die, can I? It would be as if I'd killed her myself.'

'If you do it, Stevens will probably kill you and Sylvie anyway Mueller's voice faded out.

'You always manage to find the silver lining, don't you, Mueller?' He took a deep breath, but it failed to calm him. 'No, I believe him. He's a fucking psychotic thug, but he thinks if he sticks by some personal perverse code of ethics it makes everything he does all right.'

Mueller chewed on a fingernail; he looked on the verge of tears. 'You can't do it, Mallory. No decent human being could do a thing like that and not be destroyed.'

Mallory slumped on to the sofa, looked at the records and the books, all the trappings that made up his life. 'I love her, Mueller. I love her so much, nothing else matters. I'm a cynical bastard and I tried to pretend it was just infatuation or sex, but it isn't. I couldn't bear for anything to happen to her.'

Mueller fell silent, staring blankly at the spines of some CDs. When the pressure in the room finally became too great, he said, 'You know this won't be the end of it. Stevens might not hurt her this time, but sooner or later he'll come back at her to get at you… to punish you even more, just because he can. He's going to kill her sooner or later, Mallory.'

'I know.' The desolation he felt was painful.

'What are you going to do, Mallory?'

Doors and rooms, and rooms and doors, stretching off into infinity. After the reservoir there was another series of corridors and indistinguishable halls where no feet appeared to have trod for hundreds of years. But he had indeed closed on Stefan. The only drawback was that Hipgrave had drawn nearer to him; he could now hear each transformation, like a silk sheet being torn by a knife. Things were converging.

Out of the gloom loomed an enormous trilithon that reminded him of the ages-old monuments at Stonehenge. As he passed through its massive portal, he fell into deepest shadow, and when he emerged on the other side he was in the strangest place he had seen so far. It was a vast underground cemetery: crypts and mausoleums, obelisks and gravestones, crosses modern and Celtic and old markers that were little more than crumbling lumps of rock. Instead of the usual flagstones, there was dusty, water- starved soil beneath his feet. All around, torches blazed on the houses of the dead, creating stark pools of light and shade.

A veil appeared to lift from his mind, and with it came a clarity of who he was and what he was doing.

Stefan was nowhere to be seen. He had obviously taken the opportunity to lose himself amongst the jumbled layout. Just before Mallory threw himself into the network of byways that ran through the necropolis, he checked back on his own pursuer; the Hipgrave-thing writhed on the other side of the trilithon, seemingly unable to pass through it. Mallory's relief edged into a cold focus on the matter at hand. He set off in silent pursuit of the bishop.

The cat-and-mouse game continued for an age. Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of Stefan's robes against the bare white bones of a mausoleum. Mallory would run and hide, dash and squat, all emotion driven from him by the long, wearying chase. The only thing that gave him comfort was the sword singing gently against his leg, its blue light seeping into the very fibre of his being.

After a while, he realised the energy was coming in soothing pulses, but there was a pattern to it, as though it was calling out — or guiding him. Through trial and error, he matched his directional changes to the strong pulses until the flow of energy was constant. And that was when he saw Stefan creeping along the next byway.

Moving as quietly as he could, he used a stone cross to lever himself up on to the roof of a mausoleum and wriggled out to the edge. As Stefan edged beneath him, Mallory threw himself off, knocking the bishop to the ground and sending the box flying. A cloud of white dust billowed into the air.

When it finally cleared, Mallory was standing over Stefan, his blade resting against the bishop's throat.

'Kill me,' Stefan said calmly, 'and I know I will find peace with my God. Can you say the same?'

'After all you've done… after all the misery and suffering you've caused… you're going straight to hell, matey.'

Stefan only laughed; he was so locked in his world-view that he would never understand, Mallory realised. And for the first time, Mallory felt dismal that there was no hell; Stefan would go unpunished in this world and the next, while Daniels, Gardener and all the others would carry their hell with them. And what of Miller and those who had died? Somehow it didn't seem fair.

'You never had God with you, Mallory.' Stefan was looking up at him with bright, passionate eyes; Mallory was surprised to see almost a hint of pity there. 'For you, life is an empty parade of sensation with no meaning… no reason even to shuffle through it.'

Mallory smiled. 'That's where you're wrong, Stefan.'

The bishop was puzzled by this clear display of confidence. As if to distract himself, he bowed his head and muttered a short prayer. 'There. I have made my peace. Now you may kill me.'

'I'm not going to kill you.' Mallory sheathed his sword.

This puzzled Stefan further, then began to trouble him.

'I don't hold a grudge. I can't hate you. I should do — for Miller and all the others — but I can't,' Mallory said, emotion making his voice crack. 'I just think you're wrong, but you're not alone there. You simply took it a few more steps down the line than anyone else, but it's the same pig- ignorance… blindness… stupid-simple understanding of a complex theology-'

Stefan laughed. 'Someone like you could never understand the love of God… the light… it's beyond you.'

Mallory looked around, distracted.

'You're afraid to kill me because you're weak in the face of God's power.' Stefan sounded as if he was trying to convince himself, and Mallory realised it was because he thought he had such a clear view of who Mallory was, of how the world worked; but he was wrong on both counts.

Mallory spotted the box and picked it up. 'This is what I want.' It felt warm to his touch.

'That belongs to God.' Stefan's voice trembled.

'Everything belongs to God, Stefan.' He opened the lid.

A brilliant blue light flooded out, painting the entire area. Mallory felt swamped with vitality, with warmth, and love, and goodness, and in that instant he realised how its power had unbalanced so many of those who had walked on the charged land of the cathedral. In the familiar blue glow, he understood that this was the thing that had been used to summon the Fabulous Beast to its death; somehow they had known the creature would come once the box had been opened.

Gradually, his eyes cleared and he could see into the depths of the box. Something small and dark lay at the bottom; something alive. It squirmed, tried to scramble over the edge. Mallory almost dropped the box in shock.

'The Devil can do God's work,' Stefan intoned gravely. 'Indeed, there is a delicious irony in bending Satan to His will.' The thing appeared over the lip. 'Beware the Serpent, Mallory,' Stefan warned.

And then Mallory could see what it was. It was small, almost foetal in shape, and although the glittering sheen of scales had not yet appeared, its wings were perfecdy formed.

'It is the first one born to this world for many an age.' Mallory looked up at the booming voice. The Caretaker stood next to the mausoleum with Stefan cowering at his feet.

'That was why the Fabulous Beast came,' Mallory said. 'They killed it, but all it wanted was its young.' Suddenly he knew why the glorious creature had been flying back and forth across the countryside, why it hadn't used its cataclysmic flame to destroy the cathedral in its final attack. There was something so desperately sad in it all.

'How can you justify this?' Mallory said in disbelief. 'It's a living creature.'

'The Devil can take many forms,' Stefan replied, and, because he clearly believed a supporting argument was necessary, 'God's will overrules all.'

'It was a crime,' the Caretaker said dispassionately, 'against Existence.'

'A crime against nature… the world… everything,' Mallory added. 'That's why the Green Man threw everything into getting it back.' He turned incredulously to Stefan. 'Don't you understand — these things represent life?'

'It's the Serpent,' Stefan said, unmoved. 'This is the thing that corrupted humanity. In the very first times it led to the expulsion from paradise. It is knowledge-'

'Yes,' Mallory interrupted, 'knowledge… meaning… the force that holds everything together. You've made this the enemy, but you know in your heart it's the same thing you want, the same power that fuels your prayer… the same path to-'

Stefan shook his head vehemently. 'The Bible tells us what this thing is.'

'You idiot,' Mallory snapped, his emotions running away from him. 'You put all your faith in a book when you had salvation in your hands!'

Stefan was unmoved. 'The only important thing was to save our religion — that was our sole motivation. We understood full well what this… thing could do. It's a generator, providing an energy that those of a devout mind could shape to their will… to God's will. With this charge, the force of our faith could enable the Church to thrive, to spread out rapidly. We would have saved Christianity from extinction! That was a prize worth any sacrifice.'

'Tyrants always think the ends justify the means, Stefan.' Mallory watched the tiny creature wriggle around, enjoying its freedom. It was not yet able to fly, but the awe it generated was palpable, and came from some place beyond its form. 'There's no logic to any of your arguments,' he continued. 'A central tenet of Christianity is the power of faith — if you believed that, wouldn't it have done the job on its own? If you believe in the omnipotent power of your God, would He allow His own religion to die?'

'He did not. We were his instruments-'

Mallory sighed; there was no point in arguing — Stefan could justify anything through his belief system. 'What do I do with it?' Mallory asked the Caretaker. 'We can't just let it free, can we? It won't survive on its own.'

The Caretaker smiled with what Mallory thought was a hint of sadness. 'It is not a creature as you imagine it, Brother of Dragons. It is more… it is an idea, a convergence of hope and belief and symbolism of something greater, given form. But it is still only partly formed, and without the care and guidance of its guardian it will not survive.'

'It's dying?' As Mallory watched the tiny Fabulous Beast, he gradually realised the true tragedy of what had happened: the first glimmer of hope in a very dark world had been extinguished.

The Caretaker watched Mallory intently. 'If its guardian had not been slain, this new one may well have given up its power to the Fragile Creatures,' he added. 'The forces aligned against them would not have been able to stand-'

'So if they hadn't killed the Beast, they might have got everything they wanted?' Mallory looked back at Stefan. 'Well, there's irony for you.'

The acceptance of his monumental error slowly dawned on Stefan's face. Mallory wanted to rub more salt in the wound, but he knew it was a childish impulse and, after all that had happened, quite insignificant. Instead, he bent down and picked up the tiny Fabulous Beast, which was enjoying itself wriggling in the dust. It was velvety soft and warm to the touch; the blue light appeared to be radiating from the very pores of its skin. Mallory experienced another surge of transcendental emotion at the contact before he dropped it into the box and closed the lid. The light snapped out. 'Sorry,' he whispered, a simple word filled with the depth of his heart's emotion. He turned to the Caretaker. 'Isn't there anything we can do to save it?'

Before the giant could respond, Mallory caught sight of movement amongst the mausoleums and stones. He drew his sword and pressed his back against a wall, at first thinking that the Hipgrave-thing had somehow found its way into the mysterious cemetery.

It was Stefan's fearful reaction that made Mallory realise what was happening. The cowled figures of the clerics emerged from every side with slow, purposeful steps, the gravity of their intention creeping oppressively over all. Their approach was silent and eerie; they were like an execution party. Mallory guessed that they had followed with the same slow insistence from the reservoir; and now they had what they had always wanted: the man who symbolised, they felt, the betrayal of the devout traditions to which they had dedicated their lives.

Stefan had left it too late to run. The clerics were on every side, pressing him back against the mausoleum. His eyes ranged with an awful awareness, not because of the fate that awaited him but because he finally appeared to recognise his shortcomings; his own kind had judged him and found him wanting.

Even after everything, Mallory still considered rescuing him. He gripped his sword and took a step forwards, but by then Stefan was lost behind a wall of black. There was one final cry, quickly muffled, and then the haunting figures began to drift slowly away, like shadows fading in the morning light. When they had departed, of Stefan there was no sign; Mallory couldn't tell if they had dragged him off in their midst, or if he had been consumed by them. Whatever the answer, Mallory had an instinctive understanding that there had been some kind of justice.

As the tension dissipated, Mallory felt suddenly deflated. 'What now?' he asked.

'Now,' the Caretaker replied, 'there will come an ending.'

'Yeah, I can dump this box and get back to Sophie,' Mallory said, brightening; still not quite accepting his triumph. 'And then it's just me and her-'

'No,' the Caretaker said. 'That is not how it will be.'

Mallory couldn't meet his eyes; although he shouldn't have had any inkling, he somehow knew what lay ahead, and it left him with a desolation that made him tremble.

'There is one more door to pass through, Brother of Dragons.' The Caretaker motioned behind Mallory. The mysterious door with the carved surround through which he had first passed now stood behind him. He could feel the weight of it, as if it would suck him through.

'I can't,' Mallory said. 'I need to get back to Sophie.'

He sheathed his sword and broke into a run, zigzagging randomly through the grave markers. When he was finally exhausted, the Caretaker was waiting. 'Take me back to Sophie,' Mallory pleaded.

The Caretaker led him to the trilithon and then through the corridors and halls beyond, though they never passed through the reservoir or anywhere else that Mallory recalled. Finally, they came to a halt at a blank wall. Mallory waited patiently until he realised that the Caretaker was staring at him.

'What?' he said a little too sharply.

The Caretaker appeared to be choosing his words carefully; though his face was held rigid, some deep emotion shifted behind it. 'Existence is fluid, Brother of Dragons,' he began. 'It is what we make it. Each of us, individually. Nothing is real. Everything is real. Worlds spiral out of mind, disappear into the void, split in two, and then again, into infinity. The only world that truly matters is the one inside because that is the one that affects everything else.'

Mallory couldn't quite tell if the Caretaker was apologising for something, or warning him, or trying to offer some kind of guidance. The blank wall opened out to reveal the rolling snow-covered lawns beneath a dawn of majestic pink and purple.

Mallory made to step out, but the Caretaker's heavy hand fell on his shoulder to hold him back for a second. 'When you pass through this door, you can never come back to this point again,' he said. 'When you pass through this door, everything changes.'

Mallory nodded, not understanding, and stepped over the threshold.

Mallory sprinted through the foot-deep snow, clutching the box to his chest. In the rosy wash of first light he saw Sophie huddling inside a blanket. More blankets had been heaped over the still form of Miller. Her head was bowed, her hair falling across her face so that he couldn't tell if she was asleep or watching her charge intently. Emotions frozen within him for so long now moved easily: hope that finally everything was going to be all right for them in an idyllic, well-dreamed future; a warm, unfocused joy at the perfect resolution when all had seemed hopeless; and, most of all, love, as sharp as sunlight on snow.

Sophie heard the sound of his boots and turned. The smile was there, as he had hoped. He gave a curt wave — no point in being too out of character — and held up the box to signify his success.

Her smile faded; a shadow fell across her face. A shadow fell across him.

It felt like a car slamming into him. His breath rushed out, the box went flying, he hit the ground, saw stars, skidded, somehow pulled his senses back from the brink.

The Hipgrave-thing raced towards Sophie, a black cloud sweeping across an unblemished sky. Mallory didn't stall, didn't think; he was moving instantly, sword unsheathed, blue glow on snow, driving forwards. The tearing-silk sound destroyed the dawn stillness. It was more thing now than Hipgrave: insect arms becoming slashing swords becoming a cloud of snapping mouths becoming something that made his stomach heave; his mind just wouldn't fix on one shape.

He found energy where he thought he had none; the distance between them shortened rapidly. But it was not enough. He saw in frozen instants: Sophie looking up; a true shadow falling over her; her arm rising in feeble protection; her mouth opening, an exclamation or a scream, he wasn't sure; the Hipgrave-thing smashing down.

And as quickly as it had been there, it was gone, moving out across the compound to new territories, a storm, nothing more, a force of nature that came from beyond nature. And Mallory ran, and dropped to his knees beside her, but it was too late. Clearly, too late. A pool of blood flooded out, staining the snow in a widening arc. Her eyes were wide and fixed. She was already gone.

In that instant, he reached the extremes of human feeling; the acuity of the sensation almost destroyed him. One thought flickered briefly across the tempest: what was the point? Why did humanity exist at all?

'When you pass through this door, everything changes.'

Mallory sprinted through the foot-deep snow, clutching the box to his chest. Sophie heard the sound of his boots and turned. He gave a curt wave — no point in being too out of character — and held up the box to signify his success. But the smile wasn't there as he had hoped.

'He's gone, Mallory.'

He followed her gaze down to Miller's still form. The face was as white as the surrounding snow, the cheeks and eye sockets so hollow that it didn't look like Miller at all. In a rush, Mallory remembered dragging Miller into the car as the monkey-creatures attacked them on the approach to Salisbury; recalled searching for him on Salisbury Plain when it would have been easier to leave him to die. The Chinese believed if you saved somebody's life you were responsible for it from then on; and he had saved Miller twice, but the third time, when Miller had really needed it, had pleaded with him from the pits of his soul, Mallory had given up on his responsibility. Mallory might as well have killed him himself.

What was the point…

'When you pass through this door, everything changes.'

Mallory sprinted through the foot-deep snow, clutching the box to his chest. Sophie heard the sound of his boots and turned. The smile was there, as he had hoped. He gave a curt wave — no point in being too out of character — and held up the box to signify his success.

The Hipgrave-thing raced towards Sophie, but Mallory had already dodged out of its path when the shadow fell across him. He was close enough to swing his sword; even such a powerful blade was not strong enough to kill the shifting creature, but it hurt it badly. There was a screech that made his ears hurt, and it turned on him. He saw movement and darkness and a glimpse of the man he had once known, and then it fell on him. Its first attack sliced deep into his shoulder blade, but after that burst of pain the rest became a wash of nothing. He saw the sky, pink and purple, dark at the extremes, and he saw Sophie, her face so beautiful, so torn with emotion, and then he fell backwards into the white, and further backwards into the dark, finally warm, finally rested…

The Caretaker was standing beside him. 'He waits,' he said, pointing to a solitary figure standing dark against the thick snow. The emotion carried with the hooded figure that had haunted him for so long was no longer threatening but so potently desolate that it ignited a deep dread in Mallory. He wanted to run anywhere so he didn't have to face that thing and what it represented.

'You know it?' the Caretaker said.

'I know it.' Mallory's voice broke.

'There is no more running,' the Caretaker said. 'Go to it.'

His legs felt like stone, but somehow he found himself walking towards it; he knew with a sickening fatalism that there was no escape from something like that.

The figure stood, unmoving, arms at its sides, its features lost in the thick shadows of the hood. Mallory approached it as if walking to the gallows, unaware of the movement of his legs, the sound of the crunching snow, the cold wind against his face.

He stopped in front of it. A shiver that was not from the cold ran through him. He was in a daze, lost to the sucking shadows that covered its face; but his subconscious knew exactly what he had to do. Trembling, he slowly brought his hands up to grip the hood. Then he pushed it back.

It was his face, a true face, an inner face, ashen, with black, black eyes that looked at him as if it was pleading with him to put it out of its misery. But it was not him, just a spirit of place that had taken on a sense of him; an echo; a reminder. He couldn't outrun it, couldn't ever leave it behind.

Hot tears burned paths down Mallory's cheeks. Here it was, then.

Over to his right there was a sound like thunder and the stone door with the carved surround stood there incongruously in the snow with no walls to support it. Lightning danced around its edges; the thunder rolled out from it repeatedly.

One more door to pass through.

It was dark and he had a gun. He hated guns, but really, he had no choice. The barrel bit into his temple. How do you do these things? he thought. No one ever tells you, so you go with the movie version. What's to stop you ending up like one of those freaks they used to feature in the Sunday Sport, with half their face missing, not able to talk, but with their brain as active as ever. Wouldn't that be hell? But what did he care about hell? It didn't exist. No hell, no heaven, nowhere better and you couldn't get much worse, no chance to put things right, no going back, and now no going forwards.

But Sylvie would get the money and Jemas would get everything he needed to do Stevens. That was the best he could do, and it didn't come anywhere near to wiping out the debt of what he had done. But it was the best he could do, and he had no choice. He pulled the trigger.

The burst of fire was like the breath of a Fabulous Beast in the dark, filled with purifying flame. It imprinted on his mind and there it was, high over the city, high over London, destroying the Tower of London, destroying all the corruption and the filth and everything that was bad about this life. And you know, he thought, it looks like a better world.

'Take my hand.'

The Caretaker gripped Mallory's wrists tightly; all around was darkness. 'You have a choice,' he intoned gravely.

Mallory didn't have to think. 'I want Sophie… I want a chance to put things right… to be who I could be. I want a better world.' The Caretaker nodded slowly. 'Very well.'

He breathed a lung-full of cold air as if it was the first breath he had ever taken. Every sense was heightened: the snow so bright it was almost blinding, the dazzling colours in the dawn sky, the smell of woodsmoke on the wind; and the crunch of snow behind him, like explosions drawing nearer. He whirled, sword singing as it leaped from the sheath; the blue glow from the blade gave him comfort, helped to focus his mind.

The Hipgrave-thing swept across the lawns from the cathedral like fury, like rage and hate and bitterness. Mallory saw eyes and teeth and wings and claws. He swung the sword with the full force of his strength, felt the vibrations slam into his shoulders as the weapon smashed into the monstrous force. The blade bit deep but didn't slow the thing's progress.

It powered into Mallory, sent him flying head over heels. He skidded in the snow, rolled and came up on his feet, winded and dazed but still ready.

This time he side-stepped and struck at the same time. A chunk of something flew through the air and landed in the snow, sizzling.

Teeth-rattling sounds were coming off the Hipgrave-thing, screeches that flew off the register and deep bass rumbles, each one triggering a specific emotion — fear and horror and despair. Mallory fought them down, hacked again.

With each strike, the thing became even more furious, its reactions faster, its strength greater; it was obvious to Mallory that he couldn't beat it, couldn't even hold it back for much longer.

On the next sweep, it was impossible to get out of the way. He felt a rib snap; pain flared up one side. He flew backwards, crashed to the ground, lost consciousness.

When he awoke, the Hipgrave-thing was rising above him like a tidal wave of oil. A bone-numbing cold radiated out over him.

Mallory turned his head and yelled to Sophie, who was watching, horrified. 'Call him!'

She realised instantly what he meant, though the panic that crossed her face showed that she knew it was already too late. She bowed her head, began to mutter.

Mallory fumbled for the sword and held it ready to ram into the thing when it came down, hoping he could do at least some damage, to save Sophie with his dying stroke.

The crash of the gates falling signified that Sophie didn't have to call out; the powers had been watching. The Hipgrave-thing was wavering, distracted, as if it sensed something Mallory couldn't. Through the broken gates came a tremendous flood of bodies: the pale-skinned, black-eyed army of little people, moving hastily as if fearful of the coming light, and like a stallion amongst them was Old Shuck with its gleaming red eyes.

The Hipgrave-thing pulled away from Mallory, who was now the lesser threat. Its attention was fixed on Old Shuck, which had broken away from the swarming little people and was moving ominously towards Mallory.

Everything was like a dream, hazy, fractured, sometimes moving too fast, sometimes in slow motion. The little people appeared to be scattering something across the cathedral compound. Soon after, there was a rumbling in the ground as of some great beast stirring. Green shoots burst through the snow, sprouted, prospered, became creeping strands of ivy, saplings, bushes, flowers. The ivy soared up the walls of the cathedral, beginning to smother the lower storeys of the other buildings.

The Hipgrave-thing was hypnotised by the activity. Mallory saw his moment. Despite the pain flooding his side, he pulled himself to his feet and moved behind the creature. With the last of his energy, he heaved the sword over his head and thrust it so hard into the thing's back it burst out through its chest.

It trembled for a moment, the sensations taking their time to reach whatever passed for a mind within it. Then it crashed to the ground like a falling tree. It was clear that even then Mallory had not delivered a killing stroke, for it writhed and thrashed, screeching insanely.

Mallory scrambled backwards, found Sophie, her arms going around him easily. He dropped down into her lap, watching what would happen next, too weak to play any part.

Old Shuck advanced until it was close to the Hipgrave-thing. It bent forwards, peering with those flaming eyes as though it could see into the creature's head. Mallory had a sense that on some level communication was taking place. Whatever had happened, the Hipgrave-thing slowed its wild movements as though sedated.

The little people swarmed around, lashing ropes with the thickness and strength of wire across the beast. Within minutes, it was completely caught. The strain of the ropes was taken by a hundred small hands, and with great effort, the Hipgrave-thing was hauled gradually towards the gates, Old Shuck keeping pace, never taking its red eyes away. Left behind in the snow was a desiccated husk that had once been Hipgrave; and it was missing one hand.

When the cathedral compound was finally deserted, Mallory and Sophie felt as if they had awoken from a strange dream. She looked into his face, her smile wiping away the strain and worry. 'You did it,' she said, brushing the hair from his forehead. 'Not bad for a man with a penis substitute.'

He tried to lever himself up, but the flaring pain in his side sent him crashing back down. 'Broken rib,' he said weakly.

'Don't worry — we can sort that out. A few herbs, something really foul and disgusting to drink… back on your feet in no time.'

He rolled his head to see Miller, who lay like death next to them. 'How is he?' he asked. The guilt rose in him again; he knew he would never be able to forgive himself for this.

Sophie felt the pulse in Miller's neck. 'Nearly gone, I think,' she said sadly. 'I liked him. He was decent.'

They were disturbed by a strange, melodic fluting. It drifted through the thick vegetation that now covered the compound, haunting and oddly unearthly. They eventually located the source: sitting amongst a copse of young trees, almost lost against the pattern of leaves and branches, was the Green Man, trilling gently on a set of pan-pipes.

Mallory and Sophie listened to his music for five minutes, strangely comforted, but then he stopped and said, 'You have redeemed your people.'

'They're not my people,' Mallory said.

'No. But you have redeemed them.' The Green Man rose and walked towards them, shoots wriggling through the snow wherever his feet fell. 'This was my place, long before the Church came,' he said. 7 can share it, for its power should be available to all.' The implication in his words was clear.

'You've won,' Mallory said.

'There is no victory here, only grief, and pain, and destruction.' His voice sounded like the wind through the trees, and despite the cold of the morning, Mallory and Sophie felt as though they were basking in the warmth of a summer's day. 'Now is the time for new shoots,' he continued, 'for hope and growth, for all living things to thrive as they are infused with the mysteries of Existence.'

'The creature… the creature that was Hipgrave…'Mallory couldn't find the voice to continue; the pain had put him on the edge of blacking out.

'There are things beyond this place that occasionally pay an interest in your world. It is best not to discuss them.' He stared towards the dawn, his eyes reflecting the morning light. 'But something has stirred beyond the lip of the universe and it has noticed you… something so terrible that even the Golden Ones fear it.' He looked to Mallory and Sophie sombrely. 'And it is coming this way.'

Sophie shivered. 'That thing-'

'It is an outrider, a scout, the merest thing compared to what it serves… lying here since this place was newly formed. In recent times, it was awakened.' A robin alighted on his shoulder; he watched it askance with a touching warmth. 'It was mindless, easily manipulated. It could not be allowed to abide, and so-'

'You used it,' Sophie said, 'controlled it. And now-'

'Now it will be destroyed. But that is not the end of it.' He waved his hand as if to wipe away all talk of dark things. 'The darkest time of year has passed. Now we look to the light.' He stooped down and plucked the box from where Mallory had dropped it. He smiled as the blue light flooded out and the tiny Fabulous Beast wriggled into the palm of his hand. 'Is it not wonderful?' he said. 'Is this not something that should be raised up to bring warmth into all hearts?'

'It's dying,' Mallory managed.

The Green Man squatted down next to them. 'It is beyond that. It is life. It is a part of Existence itself.' He looked from Mallory to Sophie and in his vegetative face they saw something powerful and moving. 'Hope, Brother and Sister of Dragons. Hope and life.'

He pressed his face close to the Fabulous Beast, then leaned over and threw the blankets off Miller before carefully laying the creature on the still form's belly. Mallory and Sophie watched in puzzlement. The brilliant blue glow began to pulse, gradually at first but then with increasing speed, growing brighter all the time until they had to shield their eyes. When it reached a peak, the tiny black shape at the heart of the glare appeared to be melting. A few seconds later, Mallory realised that this was not the case: it looked as if it was sinking into Miller's belly. When the last of the dark smudge disappeared, the light winked out and all was as it had been. There was no sign of the Fabulous Beast.

The Green Man had retreated to the nearest copse, and when he spoke his voice was rich and florid; he was smiling warmly. 'We shall meet again when there are five of you. And then, once again, the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons shall stand shoulder to shoulder with the Golden Ones in the name of Existence.' And then he was gone, swallowed up by the vegetation as if he had simply allowed his essence to dissipate amongst it.

Mallory and Sophie were transfixed until the sound of rustling disturbed them. Miller was sitting up, puzzling as to why he had been lying in the snow. His cheeks were full, his skin pink with the flush of contentment.

He looked from one to the other, then said, even more puzzled, 'Why are you crying?'