The Devil in green

Salisbury's streets were oddly otherworldly in a flood of light from flaming torches that had been attached to the now-useless lampposts; their sizzling pitch added a spicy quality to the cooling air. More people milled around than Mallory would have expected with the encroaching night. Many shops remained open, their trade carried out by candlelight. Friends chatted beneath the crackling torches, freed from the rigour of days that had become unduly hard. Children played in the gutter without fear of cars or buses, although the occasional horse-drawn cart moved by them at an alarming clip. Outside the Maltings shopping centre, a teenager strummed on a guitar while his friends danced or drank home-made cider. Others flirted or kissed each other in the shadows.

The population had adapted remarkably well to the inversion of their lives. Indeed, from the good humour evident all around, they appeared to be relishing it. Mallory and Miller moved through them, watching silently, enjoying the normality.

Near Poultry Cross, where tradesmen had hawked their goods for centuries, a man with lank grey hair to his shoulders stood on an old kitchen chair and preached passionately to a small detached crowd. He seemed to be proclaiming the glory of a god that lived at the bottom of his garden. Further on, three women prayed silently around a picture of George Clooney framed with wild flowers. At the marketplace, there were more, individuals preaching to no one at all, or large groups singing of the wonder of some deity or other.

'They're crazy,' Miller muttered.

'Your God's more real, is that it?' Mallory noted.

'Yes.' Miller knew Mallory was baiting him but couldn't resist responding. 'He's been worshipped for millennia, not ten months.'

'So in a couple of thousand years, old Clooney-'

'Oh, shut up.' Miller tried to stop there, but he couldn't. 'There's a whole coherent philosophy behind Christianity-' His ears burned at Mallory's laughter. 'There is!'

'You don't have to sell it to me, Miller. Just don't try pretending you're better than these poor sods.'

They continued to wander, exploring the sights. As a new city, Salisbury had the benefit of being planned on a rectangular chequerboard pattern like some Roman metropolis. Most people gathered in a small square that ran from the market to the Makings and up to Crane Street and New Street, a continuous thoroughfare that was the closest to the cathedral.

As Mallory and Miller wandered along the path at the side of the culverted river, watching the trout, grayling and dace swim in the light of an occasional torch, they were disturbed by the sounds of a scuffle coming from further along the lonely path where no light burned. Mallory was ready to ignore it, but when Miller jumped to investigate he felt a weary obligation to follow.

Barely visible in the gloom, three men were hunched over a still shape on the floor. Before Mallory could utter a caution, Miller was already yelling, 'Leave him alone!'

Against his better judgment, Mallory ran in behind Miller, who was rapidly closing on the three. The gang half-heartedly squared up to him, then saw Mallory behind and decided it was too much trouble. They turned and ran off into the dark, but not before Mallory saw that they were all wearing black T-shirts marked with a bright red V from shoulders to navel.

'Have you lost your mind?' Mallory said.

Miller was kneeling next to the shape on the floor: a young man crumpled in a growing pool of blood. 'We're knights. We're supposed to help people in trouble.'

'I'm going to have to have a word with you about the difference between fantasy and reality.' Mallory checked the victim's pulse. 'Dead.'

'Poor man. Who shall we tell?'

'No one.'

'We can't leave him here,' Miller said. 'He'll have a family-'

'Someone will find him soon enough. Listen, we're strangers here. They're likely to think we did it. Not everyone has a naive belief that all people speak the truth.' He knelt down and started to go through the victim's pockets.

'What are you doing?' Miller said, aghast.

Mallory fished out a wallet and went through the contents. 'Look at this. They've got their own currency going on here. A local economy.' He took the amateurishly printed notes and stuffed them in his pockets.

'You can't do that!'

'He can't take it with him.'

'You're as bad as the people who killed him!'

'No, I'm not, because I didn't kill him. Come on, we'll have a drink on him.'

'I will not,' Miller said peevishly.

'Then you can sit beside me while I have a drink. You've got to get your head around how the world works these days, Miller.'

'What, without ethics or morals?'

'Something like that.' Mallory sighed. 'No, I don't mean that. But you've got to be hard, Miller. There's no safety net in this world any more. No Welfare State to help you out. Everybody's watching their own backs — that's the only way to survive.'

'I don't believe you, and you'll never convince me otherwise. Basic human nature is decent.'

'And then you woke up. Are you coming or not?' Mallory walked back towards the lights. Miller hovered for a moment, sad and angry at the same time, then followed.

They found a pub overlooking the market square. The bright green doors of the Cornmarket Inn were thrown open to the night, tempting passers- by into the smoky interior lit by just enough candles and torches to provide shadows for those who preferred to drink out of plain view. The customers were a mixed bunch: some rural workers, grime on their clothes and grass seeds in their lace-holes, some weary-eyed traders and shopkeepers who had finished up for the night, and a large group who all appeared to know each other. They ranged from teenagers to pensioner age, but the smattering of dreadlocks and shaved heads, hippie jewellery and colourful clothes made Mallory think of New Age travellers.

True to his word, Miller eschewed a drink, but he appeared happy enough surrounded by the high-spirited pub-goers. Mallory ordered a pint of ale brewed in the pub's back room and they retreated to the only free table.

'What do you think those Blues were up to?' Mallory mused as he sipped on his beer. 'The elite group,' he added with mockery.

Miller didn't appear to have given it a second thought. 'Nothing for us to worry about.'

Mallory looked at him in disbelief. 'Of course it's something for us to worry about. Everything is something for us to worry about.'

'Blaine-'

'The bishop, the canons, all of them… You don't put your trust in people who set themselves up as leaders, Miller. In religion, in politics, in the military, in business… the simple act of seeking high office is a signifier of a peculiar, unreliable, controlling, unpleasant pathology that means they shouldn't be allowed any kind of power. And I'll keep saying that over and over again until everyone on this planet listens.'

'That's ridiculous. If we followed that line of thought we wouldn't have any leaders at all.'

'And your point is?'

'You can't have a religion without leaders-'

'Who says?'

Miller squirmed with irritation. 'I hate it when you do this. Why are you picking on me?'

'Because your life's just too perfect, Miller. You need to be brought down to everyone else's level. Just see me as your own personal tormentor, a living horsehair shirt for the soul.'

Miller took a deep breath. 'You can't have a religion without leaders because you need discipline-'

'No, you don't.'

'-to help the followers find the true path to God through all the confusion.'

'You can do it yourself.' Mallory jabbed a finger sharply into Miller's sternum.

No, I can't.'

'You just don't think you can. You can do anything you want, Miller.'

'Thanks for the vote of confidence, but you don't know me. Besides, that sounds faintly blasphemous.'

Miller started to brood over what Mallory had said, chewing on the nail of one of his little fingers. Mallory returned to his beer, hiding his smile, but after a moment he was drawn back to the neo-hippies whose humour was both infectious and comforting. Mallory realised how rarely he had heard anyone laugh in recent times.

His attention fell on a woman who was doing nothing out of the ordinary but who had a presence like a beacon. He realised he'd been aware of her from the moment he walked in the pub, even though he couldn't recall looking at her; all around people were glancing at her as if they couldn't tear their eyes away. She was in her mid- to late twenties, wearing a faded hippie dress beneath a bright pink mohair sweater; a clutter of beads and necklaces hung around her neck. The others in her group, even the older ones, deferred to her, nodding intently when she was serious, laughing at her jokes. Mallory liked the sharp, questioning intelligence he saw in her face, but it was coupled with a knowing quality around the eyes that was deeply sexy. To him that was a winning combination.

'Do you like her?' He had been so lost in his appraisal that he hadn't noticed Miller studying him.

'She's put together OK.'

Miller chuckled. 'Is it the hair?'

'I wouldn't be so shallow as to be attracted by the merely physical.'

'You make me laugh, Mallory!' Miller put his hands behind his head. 'What I see is long brown hair that you just want to touch, full lips that curl up at the corners, and big, big eyes-'

'Steady on, Miller. They'll have to hose you down when we get back.'

The woman stared at Miller, her brow furrowing; she'd obviously caught him watching and talking about her. Miller blushed furiously and looked away. Mallory jabbed a thumb at him, then raised one eyebrow at the woman. She shook her head wearily.

'Mallory!' Miller protested. 'She thinks I'm after her now!'

'That'll teach you to stare.' Mallory chortled to himself before downing the remainder of his pint in one go.

'You're such a lad.' Miller sighed, becoming gloomy as memories surfaced. 'Did I tell you I was going to get married?'

'Yes.'

'Sue and me had been going out since we were at school. I thought we'd always be together. No great beauty… not too smart, either… but that didn't matter. She really made me laugh. She didn't mind that I was a brickie's mate, didn't nag me to get a better job.' He was staring at the floor, lost to his thoughts. 'You know how it is when you're with someone so close it's like you're with yourself?'

'No.'

'You don't have to put on any act,' Miller continued dismally, 'you can be the same sad loser you know you are without pretending to be anybody else and they still love you.'

'I said, no.' Mallory pretended to concentrate on his glass while surreptitiously watching the woman, wishing he were in a position where he could talk to her.

'At least, I thought it was like that,' Miller continued to himself. 'But I was just fooling myself, wasn't I? Maybe if I'd acted like somebody else she'd still be with me… and everything would be all right again.'

He mumbled something else that sounded as if he thought it was important, but Mallory's attention was deflected by sudden activity outside the window: a flash of a figure running by in the dark, then another, then several people sprinting. It was a perfectly mundane image, but a tingle of apprehension ran up his spine nonetheless.

Others had noticed it. An old man in a window seat pressed his face against the glass. Someone else ran out into the street, grabbed hold of a passing teenager who at first struggled to get free before pointing behind him, gabbling animatedly.

Miller's chattering in his ear was a distant drone; Mallory was drawn by the scenario unravelling outside.

As the teenager ran off, the man who had emerged from the pub looked back down the street. A subtle change crept across his face, amused detachment giving way to incomprehension, then a dull, implacable fear.

'I think we need to see this,' Mallory said quietly.

As he replaced his glass on the table, other drinkers were already making their way out on to the street. Mallory pushed his way into the centre of the road with Miller trailing behind him. They were instantly transfixed.

Though it was a dark, moonless night with heavy cloud cover, the sky was filled with light. Flashes of angry fire illuminated the clouds, every now and then bursting through to form pillars of flame that rammed down to the earth. Occasionally, it limned a shape moving with serpentine grace on large batlike wings that beat the air lazily. Mallory thought he glimpsed the shimmer of jewels on its skin, rich sapphires, emeralds and rubies; echoes of another image surfaced from the depths of his subconscious, of fire in the dark. Whatever it was, it was filled with power, but there was something in the way it moved that suggested a terrifying fury: it was hunting.

But that wasn't the worst thing. Behind it, along the horizon but sweeping forwards, Mallory could make out something he could only describe as a presence: a thick white mist was unfurling like cloth, billowing at its central point and folding around at the edges so that it had an unnatural substance and life. It moved quickly across the landscape towards the city. Occasionally, the mist would take on aspects of a face — hollow eyes, a roaring mouth — before some other disturbing shape appeared; Mallory saw something that resembled an animal, another that looked like a bird. Gradually, it coalesced into a smoky horned figure towering over the city, insubstantial but filled with primal fears.

'The Devil,' Miller whispered, terrified, 'and the Serpent.'

The air was infused with a palpable sense of dread. Everyone standing on that chill, dark street could only look up at it and remember years of religious imagery, laid on them since childhood, of damnation and torment. Whatever it was, it had come from the outer dark to the city, and its intent appeared apparent. Those of a Christian bent crossed themselves, and some who had not called themselves Christian for a long time did so, too.

Miller was whimpering quietly, whispering, 'The Devil… the Devil…' until it became a mantra of Evil rippling through the crowd.

Even Mallory, who thought he was numb to most things, felt a crackle of fear as he looked up at the ancient image. He didn't know what it was, or tried to tell himself he didn't, but he knew he could feel the presence of a cold, alien intellect, and the threat it brought with it.

'The Devil's come to town.' Someone laughed, though without humour.

It drifted for a moment in the thermals above the cooling city before breaking up as something dark at its core drove forwards with a monstrous purpose. Screams rang throughout Salisbury, one voice lifting up in terror.

Mallory glanced back in the direction of the cathedral. Miller's sagging expression showed they both shared the same thought: even if they got back to the gates, there was little chance they'd be able to get inside in time.

'Come with us.' The voice at Mallory's shoulder was low, warm and accentless, though insistent. He looked into the face of the woman he'd been admiring, and for the briefest instant he was so dazzled by her large, dark eyes that the threat faded into the background.

'You've got a concrete bunker with ten-foot-thick walls?' he said.

'Something like that.' Her gaze felt as if it was cutting through all his carefully prepared defences and he quickly looked away.

A teenager with dreadlocks bleached a brilliant white appeared beside her. 'Come on, let's move.' His eyes flickered furtively towards the Devil in the sky.

The group Mallory had decided were New Age travellers headed quickly down the street, the woman at the heart of them, pausing only briefly to see if Mallory was following.

'What are we going to do?' Miller asked anxiously.

'Stand here or run.' Mallory didn't wait to see Miller's choice.

They veered away from the cathedral along Crane Street, over the river bridge to Queen Elizabeth Gardens where the tent city sprawled. The cries had become a nerve-jangling chorus, rising up all around as though everyone in the city was aware of what was bearing down on them. The horned shape had dissipated, to be replaced by a rushing wind that had substance and its own inner darkness screaming in at roof-height. Chimney pots crashed down, sending slates showering into the street. The glass of streetlights exploded as if crushed by a malicious hand.

As they ran towards the tents, they were all knocked from their feet by the Shockwave of a powerful blast. Rubble rained down all around, most of it reduced to less than the size of a fist. With ringing ears, Mallory looked back to see part of the shopping quarter on fire, a column of thick black smoke rising up to the serpentine winged creature, now clearly visible.

'A Fabulous Beast.' The woman sat nearby, rubbing at her temple, which was now streaked with brick dust. 'And it's angry?' She threw off her daze and hauled Miller to his feet, urging him to move. Mallory was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy for the touch of her hand. 'We need to get within the camp,' she said, which Mallory found faintly ridiculous when the only shelter there was a thin covering of canvas or plastic.

The travellers surged into the camp before scuttling beneath trees to avoid the still-raining debris that took out more than one tent. The bursts of fire screaming from the sky were like some hellish vision of a wartime air raid, but the dark presence that fell across everything was far worse; it was as if shadowy fingers were plucking at their souls.

'We can't stay here!' Miller squealed impotently. 'We need to find a hiding place!'

'Chill.' The dreadlocked teen slapped a hand on Miller's shoulder, pressing him down. 'We're safe, if we don't get brained by a flying brick. See — protected.' He pointed to a post hung with strings of crystals, feathers and small animal bones. Similar posts were staked out around the perimeter as far as Mallory could see.

'Kill me now,' he said. 'We're doomed.' He tried to discern the location of what the woman had called the Fabulous Beast, but the glare from numerous torches lighting the camp made it difficult to see. The devil- wind rushed around the boundaries of the camp before delving back into the city.

'Can't you feel it?' Miller rubbed at his skin as if he had scabies. Mallory could: the touch of some intelligence so far beyond him he couldn't begin to categorise it, creeping through the labyrinth of his mind, swinging open locked doors, bringing wild panic into die civilised centres, dark and hateful and very, very old. Despite himself, he shuffled back until he felt the security of a tree trunk.

Gradually, the panic passed. The Fabulous Beast and the dark wind accompanying it had focused on another part of the city.

'It won't come this way. We can't be seen,' the woman said, to reassure him.

'Right. We pretend we're trees. Or do we just cover our eyes really, really tight?' Mallory watched the sky, having decided he'd run for cover under the river bridge when the things came back. 'What's your name?' he asked.

'Sophie Tallent.'

'Mallory. And that person trying to burrow under the soil is Miller. You're the boss?'

'Here? No, of course not.'

'You really believe this…' He nodded to the posts. '… is going to keep you safe?'

'Do you see the Fabulous Beast and that other thing attacking us?'

'And if you wish hard enough the sun might come up tomorrow.' He grabbed Miller roughly by the collar of his jacket and lifted him off the ground. 'Come on — we might still be able to make the compound.'

As they moved towards the perimeter, they were surprised by the insistence in Sophie's voice as she called, 'Don't cross the boundary!' She was right behind them, one imploring arm stretched out. 'You'll be seen. Really. You need to believe-'

Her voice was drowned out by the rushing wind sweeping through the streets at hurricane force. Hidden in the noise was the sound of screaming voices that brought a chill to Mallory's spine. A building collapsed nearby. The force rushed towards the cathedral, dragging what seemed like all hell in its wake. When it reached its destination, there was a sound of thunder and a metallic crashing before it soared high into the air. Screeching, it continued to circle the cathedral compound.

Pale and shaking, Miller made the sign of the cross.

'Let's sit. You can't go out there till things have quietened down,' Sophie said.

Every rational argument told Mallory to ignore her, but he was already under her spell; the attraction had been instantaneous — he had never met anyone he wanted to know so keenly, though he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was that entranced him. With a shove, he encouraged Miller to follow her towards the fire, though they both continually glanced over their shoulders at the oppressive presence over the city.

By the time they found a quiet spot away from the other pockets of travellers and sat down, Mallory had almost started to believe that the thing wouldn't attack. They were joined by the dreadlocked teenager who appeared to be less of a friend and more of an assistant to Sophie. He introduced himself as Rick.

Miller crossed himself again, craning his neck upwards fearfully. 'That's the Devil,' he said, hoping someone would dissuade him of the notion.

'It was certainly scary,' Sophie said, 'though I'm not much of a believer in the Devil myself.' She leaned over and gave Miller's hand a reassuring squeeze. 'You're safe here.' He visibly calmed at her touch.

Miller looked to Mallory for support. 'It's like in Revelations. The Last Days. The Church has collapsed… I mean, it's not gone,' he added guiltily, 'but it's barely hanging on. We've had war, and starvation, and… and…' Panic crossed his face once more. 'It was the Devil… you saw it… you felt it… the fear. Everything's ending.' He hugged his arms around himself tightiy, staring blankly into the middle-distance.

In a glance, something passed briefly between Sophie and Rick, then she leaned over and rested a small crystal from a pouch at her waist against Miller's forehead. There was an instant reaction: Miller's posture shifted, his shoulders loosening, his features becoming brighter, almost as if a shadow had been drawn from his face. Mallory looked at her curiously, but she studiously avoided his eyes.

'This is like a little town,' Miller said with incongruous brightness. 'How long are you staying here?'

'For good.' A breeze caught Sophie's hair. Despite the now-faint screeching high above them, a surprising tranquillity lay over the camp. Sophie noticed Mallory's recognition of the calm. 'There's a deep spirituality in the land here,' she said. 'That's why we've come. That's why we'll continue to come, from all parts of the country.'

'A ley line-' Rick began.

Mallory snorted derisively.

'I might have expected that response before the Fall,' Sophie said, 'but things are different now, surely you know that? We've got our technology back, but these days spirituality is just as potent a force-'

Miller nodded. 'The power of prayer.'

'There's an energy in the land, an energy that runs through us, too. You can call it spirit, or soul, but everything is tied together by it-' Sophie's face hardened slightly at Mallory's dismissive laughter. 'I believe in it because I feel it,' she said, 'and because it works.'

'It's Sophie's power source.' Rick smiled at them. 'Her battery. You should see what she can do.' The awe in the teenager's voice was affecting.

The discussion touched something in Miller. 'It's true, Mallory. Back in Swindon, I saw an old woman lay her hands on a baby that was about to die… and it lived. It's like, if you believe in something strongly enough, you can tap into something, make it real. All the atheists used to say there was no evidence of God, but now He's here, answering prayers.' A notion dawned on him. 'Perhaps it's because these really are the Last Days. Good and Evil preparing for the last battle…'

'They've been saying the Last Days are here ever since the Book of Revelation was written, Miller. I'm not going to start running my life around something composed at a time before underwear had been invented.' He waved away Miller's hurt expression. 'These days, everybody's desperate to find something to believe in,' he continued. 'They can't face what a nightmare the world's turned into… how many people have died… how hard it's become. It's made children of everyone. They're wishing for a way out because the alternative is decades… at the very least… of hardship and suffering as we try to crawl back to some measure of the society we had before. Look around… we're back in the Dark Ages.'

Sophie listened carefully, but gave no sign of what she was thinking. 'And what do you believe in, Mallory?' she asked.

'Nothing. That's what I believe in.'

'Everyone believes in something. But sometimes they don't recognise what they put their faith in. Money, drugs, sex-'

'That works for me.'

Her eyes narrowed as she examined his face. 'No, it's none of those things. There's something there, but I can't tell exactly…'

He had the sudden, uncomfortable feeling that she was trying to read his mind. He broke eye contact. 'You're just being dazzled by my charisma and earthy sex appeal.'

She smiled ironically. 'That must be what it is.'

Miller hugged his knees. The firelight actually gave some colour to his normally pallid face. 'Who are you people?'

'Pagans, philosophers,' Rick began. 'Environmentalists, travellers, freethinkers-'

'There's a movement going on all over the country, Mallory. We're just one sign of it,' Sophie said passionately. 'We're rebuilding a new Celtic Nation from the ground up. You don't have to have Celtic blood to be a part of it, but we're using that ancient culture as a template-'

'If you're trying to get some kind of historical credence, you're off to a bad start,' Mallory interrupted. 'There was no Celtic Nation, just a bunch of tribes-'

'With a similar culture, music, belief system-'

'Fragmentary. The Romantics built them up into something bigger… a fantasy…'

'Exactly.' She leaned forwards, emphasising the word with a blow of her palm to die ground. 'You've obviously read the right books, Mallory, but you're missing the point. We want an ideal. The system we had before was woefully bereft. It worked for a few, the elite, the Establishment, and disenfranchised the many. We've got a chance here to start with a clean slate and we want something better.'

'So you're going to cover yourself with blue paint and go into war naked?'

Her smile was a challenge. 'If we have to. I love to see cynics proved wrong, Mallory. As an aside, don't go basing your views of the Celts on the writings of some tired old Romans. The victors write history and they disempower the vanquished. What we want is a society of equality, a strong community that looks after the weakest members, that's close to nature, that emphasises the arts and spirituality over making money and personal greed-'

'Well, when you put it like that

She watched him cautiously with those big, unnaturally dark eyes, slowly getting the measure of him. He relished her attention, enjoyed the fact that, liked or disliked, he had somehow been raised above the herd in her eyes. 'If we don't do it, there'll be plenty ready to take us back to the old, failed ways,' she said.

'OK, that seems a reasonable motivation,' Mallory conceded, 'but all this other stuff…' He waved a dismissive hand towards the perimeter posts.

'It's part of the human condition to be arrogant.' Her smile was as confrontational as Mallory's words. 'Everyone thinks they know exactly how the world works. Everyone.' Irony laced her comments. 'What do you think that suggests? We're all fumbling in the dark towards an answer.'

The calming atmosphere in the camp had almost made them forget the devastation going on in the city beyond. Occasionally, they would be distracted by a sudden pillar of fire, or when the wind with its chilling voices rushed close by, but generally they felt cosseted in an atmosphere of security that made Mallory face up to the possibility there might be something in the travellers' magical thinking.

They continued their conversation well into the night. Mallory enjoyed the challenge of sparring with Sophie's sharp intellect, and it soon became apparent that Sophie found something intriguing in Mallory, too, though whether she liked him was a different matter. She maintained eye contact, spoke to him much more than she did to Miller, and underneath it all there was definite sexual tension. Sophie spoke warmly of her background, growing up in Cambridge, father a doctor, mother a lawyer, studying English at university before feeling there was more to life. She committed herself to campaigning: for the environment, for Amnesty International, was briefly arrested during a protest against the World Trade Organisation that got out of hand. Mallory was taken by the rich depth of her beliefs and the passion she exhibited. She was so full of life he felt revitalised being next to her.

He, in return, told her nothing, but he did it in a humorous enough way to win her over.

Other members of the community came and went during the night hours, occasionally bringing them food — roasted vegetables, branded snacks that had a desirable rarity post-Fall — and cider. They were uncommonly cheerful; most of the people Mallory encountered in life were surly, suspicious, broken or downright violent. Probably all on drugs, he thought, yet he felt oddly disturbed that they were genuinely pleased to see him, and never once questioned who he was or from where he came.

At one point, an impromptu music session broke out, with guitars, harmonicas, saxophones and makeshift percussion, intermingling old pop songs and traditional folk tunes. It was the first time he had heard them since the Fall and he was surprised at how powerfully they tugged at his emotions.

But there was also something about the idyll that irritated Mallory: they had no right to be so content when the rest of the world had a cast of misery. 'So who's in charge here?' he said. 'Or is it one of those idealistic communes where everything starts to fall apart the moment the washing- up rota comes into play?'

Sophie thought briefly, then said to Rick, 'How is she?'

'She'll probably be asleep.'

'Let's check. She likes the night.' She stood up and motioned for Mallory and Miller to follow. They picked their way amongst the tents, past many smaller fires, to a larger tent outside which two torches blazed.

Sophie disappeared inside, emerging a moment later to say, 'She'll see you.'

The interior of the tent was shadowy, warm and perfumed with lavender. The front section contained a few chairs, rugs, pot plants — one of them cannabis, Mallory noted — and ornaments with a faintly occult bent, including the skull of a cow.

The second section lay behind a purple velvet drape. Here, it was even gloomier and it took a second or two for their eyes to adjust. There was a large wooden bed that appeared medieval in origin and must have been brought from somewhere in the city, and on it lay a woman in her late forties, her long black hair streaked with silver. Despite the heat emanating from a brazier in one corner, she sprawled beneath several thick blankets. Her face was nearly white and drawn, as though she had some debilitating illness. Her gaze, though, was incisive, and she fixed instantly on Mallory.

'This is Melanie,' Sophie said quietly.

Mallory introduced himself and Miller. The woman gave off a peaceful air, as if whatever lay in the ground at that site had been absorbed by her.

'I hope my friends have been looking after you.' Her voice was hoarse, almost a whisper.

'You've got a good crowd here,' Mallory said.

That appeared to please her. 'Sophie seems to think the two of you are very likeable, too.'

Mallory glanced at Sophie who blushed and looked away.

'We're trying to fit in with the locals,' Melanie continued. 'We want people to see that what we're doing here is right.' She ended her sentence with a deep, tremulous breath.

'Mallory here is very sceptical.' Sophie eyed him slyly. 'He doesn't believe in ley lines or the power in the land. And he especially doesn't believe we can create a boundary that will make us invisible to Fabulous Beasts.'

'Sophie, dear, not everyone is a forward thinker, even in this newly enlightened age.' She smiled weakly. 'I'm sorry, Mr Mallory, I'm teasing you. If you're hard and fast in your views, I wouldn't dream of trying to change them. But this is the way it was told to me. Millennia ago, the power in the land flowed freely through everything and everyone. We call it the Blue Fire, but it has many other names: chi to the Chinese…' She waved a hand to suggest this wasn't important. 'It healed, but it could also be destructive when used against the enemies of life. It could be shaped and directed by will alone and it could cause effects at a distance.'

'Magic, in a word,' Mallory said.

'Very perceptive,' Sophie said, with mild sarcasm.

'The Blue Fire formed a global network that kept the world… nature… healthy. It was fuelled by spirituality, by the faith of ancient people in tune with the land. They erected the standing stones and established die old sacred places at points where the Blue Fire was the strongest. But as civilisation advanced we lost touch with the energy. It became increasingly dormant, and the land suffered accordingly. There were still people who could use it to achieve things, but it was hard work and the effects were both hit or miss and not particularly great. The Craft, we call it. The great Wiccan tradition.'

Miller gasped audibly and took a step back. Mallory saw a glimmer of panic in his face. Please don't shout, 'Bum the witch!', Mallory thought.

Melanie smiled at his reaction. 'Forget the old cliches. We're not all double, double, toil and trouble. This is a religion, if you will. We have our rituals, the same as the Christian Church. We have our ministers and silly little trappings that make us feel happy. And we do good works. But I digress-'

'The Blue Fire is back in force.' Sophie's eyes gleamed, her voice quiet but intense. 'And we can do great things again.'

'Just like that,' Mallory said.

'Yes. Just like that.' She looked to Melanie. 'When everything changed with the Fall, it regained its old vitality. The Fall was a signifier that we'd moved into a new age-'

'The dawning of the Age of Aquarius,' Mallory joked.

'Not everyone has the ability to work subtle magics, in the same way that not everyone can be an artist. But those who are able are very, very able. Supercharged,' Melanie said.

'I remain to be convinced,' Mallory said.

'Of course you do,' Melanie replied. 'This is a hard topic for many people to swallow. They get taught things when they're young… things about the way the world works… and they don't like to give them up easily. It makes them feel uneasy. Destabilised.' Melanie nodded to Sophie. 'Darling, be a dear and tell Mr Mallory about Ruth Gallagher.' Her eyelids drooped shut.

'I've heard that name,' Miller said.

'You should have. Everyone should have, but the word is still getting round.' Sophie tried to read Mallory's face to see if he had become any more receptive. 'After the Fall, there was a group of people who fought for humanity. They were heroes. And one of them was Ruth Gallagher. The gods gifted her with a tremendous power. She became an ultimate adept at the Craft-'

'An Uber-witch.' Mallory couldn't restrain himself, but Sophie was unfazed.

'She could do amazing things. She could shake the world if she wanted. After the final battle, she set out across the land, spreading the word, teaching those who came to her. And Melanie was one of the first. They met in the Midlands, near Warwick, and Melanie took to it phenomenally. Her potential was off the scale. And she taught me.'

'And Sophie's potential is great, too.' Melanie's eyes were open once more, but she looked even more weary.

'I still think you're fooling yourself,' Mallory said. 'But I'll bite. Go on, show me.'

'No,' Sophie said indignantly.

'We don't perform, Mr Mallory.' Melanie threw a scrawny arm over her eyes. 'We use the Craft sparingly and for the right reasons. We use it as Christians would prayer. It's not something to be taken lightly.'

'Oh, well, then, that's all right. You can show me, you just don't feel like it,' Mallory said. 'You've convinced me. I'm a believer.'

'Are you always like this?' Sophie's eyes blazed.

'Actually, he is,' Miller said.

Mallory flashed him a look that suggested he was a traitor. 'As you said earlier, everyone out there thinks they know the way the world works. And they're all wrong. So why should you be right?'

Miller moved to the foot of Melanie's bed. His curiosity had been caught by the way the blankets were lying; it didn't look right. 'If you don't mind me asking,' he said gently, 'what's wrong with you?'

Sophie's face grew hard. 'What's wrong with her?' Rick suddenly appeared near to tears. 'She was trying to do some good and she was attacked and beaten for it!'

'I'm sorry,' Miller said. 'We have access to medical care… well, herbs and the like. If we can help-'

'There's not much that can be done, I'm afraid.' Melanie gently pulled back the blankets. Both her legs were missing from the knee.

Miller recoiled. 'My God, what happened?'

'She was attacked by a group of bastards from the cathedral!' Rick said, his eyes brimming over.

Miller blanched, glanced at Mallory in disbelief.

'We were at Stonehenge,' Sophie continued, her face like stone. 'It used to be a dead site… all the energy leeched from it because of exploitation… but after the Fall it came back with force. We were investigating some reports that a Fabulous Beast had settled in the area when-'

'They came out of nowhere!' Rick raged. 'Black-shirted bastards with a red cross on the front — we've seen them around the cathedral! Think they're some kind of knights-'

'No!' Miller exclaimed, waving his hands as if he were trying to waft away the notion.

'They did that?' Mallory said.

'They tried to drive us off,' Sophie replied. 'Came at us on horseback with swords and pikes and all sorts of medieval weaponry.'

'I couldn't get out of the way in time,' Melanie said. 'I fell beneath the hooves. They weren't able to save my legs.'

'No,' Miller repeated, backing towards the purple drapes. 'I don't believe it.' Sophie, Rick and Melanie looked at him in puzzlement.

'It's true,' Sophie said. 'We wouldn't make something like that up. They knew who we were — unbelievers — and they rode her down. They didn't try to help or anything, just drove us away. They didn't care if we lived or died.'

'No,' Miller said again. 'We're knights — we're from the cathedral. And no one there would do anything like that.'

Mallory's heart sank. Miller's denial was too strong, bolstered by his own need to believe that there was no truth in the story. Mallory had been focusing on Rick's face; the puzzlement hung there for an instant while he processed what Miller had said and then his features hardened.

'Is this true?' Sophie said directly to Mallory. A hint of betrayal chilled her eyes.

'We only signed up today,' Mallory replied.

Rick looked as if he would leap across the room and attack them. 'They're all the same!' he raged. 'They hate anyone who's not a Christian-'

'That's not true!' Miller protested, close to tears himself.

'Please,' Melanie said weakly, 'no arguments.'

Mallory could see that the warm atmosphere had already evaporated. The extent of Melanie's tragedy meant any attempt to argue their innocence would be offensive. 'Come on, Miller, this isn't the time,' he said, grabbing the young knight's arm. Miller threw it off, preparing to defend his Faith further, and Mallory grabbed him tighter this time, dragging him back. 'Get a grip,' Mallory hissed in his ear. 'Look at what's happened to her — have some heart.'

'Yeah, get out of here,' Rick said, 'and tell your lot we'll never forget what they did.'

Melanie closed her eyes; the strain was telling on her. Mallory tried to imagine the pain and horror of having two legs amputated without recourse to anaesthetic or an operating theatre. 'Come on, Miller,' he said, softening. Slowly, his companion unclenched and turned to go.

Miller paused at the drapes and said, 'I'm sorry. I truly am.' But the look on the faces of Sophie and Rick showed they both realised Melanie was probably dying and there were no words that could make amends for the crime that had been committed.

Sophie exited with them while Rick tended to Melanie. The frostiness of her mood made Mallory feel as if he'd lost something truly valuable; she didn't meet his eyes any more.

'I know it's not your fault,' she said, 'but I have a very real problem with anyone who subscribes to a belief system that condones something like that.'

Mallory wanted to tell her he'd only signed up for a job of work, but at that point it would have sounded so pathetic it wouldn't have achieved anything. Instead he said, 'I'm sorry things ended like this.'

She didn't wait to hear any more.

As they trudged across the camp, the first light of dawn coloured the eastern sky. The screeching wind ended as if someone had flicked a switch, nor was there any sign of the Fabulous Beast.

Miller had been lost to his thoughts until he said, 'It can't be true, Mallory. No one at the cathedral would stand by that kind of behaviour.'

'I don't know, Miller — it only takes one bad apple… or one psycho… and everybody gets tarnished. Any club that has me as a member can't have a very strict vetting procedure.'

'We should tell James… or Blaine-'

'Right, and say we dumped our uniforms and slipped out under cover of darkness to spend time with a bunch of witches. That should merit a crucifixion at least.'

'Don't joke about that, Mallory!' Miller's emotions were all raging near the surface, but he managed to calm himself. 'I'm sorry. But I'm not like you, Mallory. I believe in things, and it hurts me when you take the piss out of them.'

'OK. I won't do it again.'

Miller eyed him askance to see if he was joking, but couldn't begin to tell. Mallory's thoughts, however, had already turned to seeing Sophie again and ways that he might bridge the gulf that lay between them. It wasn't insurmountable, he was sure, but he would need time away from the strict regime of the cathedral.

When they walked along High Street up to the main entrance, what they saw brought them to an immediate halt. The enormous iron gates were bowed, almost torn asunder, hanging from their hinges by a sliver. The Devil had come calling.