The Devil in Green (16 page)

'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?'