The Devil in Green (34 page)

After the initial fascination had worn off, Mallory grabbed a passer-by
by the sleeve and mumbled, 'Where is this place?'

The man he had stopped was thickset with a long bushy beard and
piercing dark eyes. He wore a beige cloak, fastened at the throat with a
gold clasp, over clothes that reminded Mallory of an Elizabethan pirate.
'Why, this is the Market of Wishful Spirit,' he said in an oddly inflected
voice, as if Mallory were sub-educational. Mallory didn't notice how the
man's words came a split second after his lips moved.

Mallory staggered on his way, his concentration coming and going. In
that place, everything seemed like even more of a dream, the light from the
lanterns too golden and hazy, the music growing louder then softer as
though someone were tuning in a radio station.

Mallory's attention was briefly caught by the produce on sale at the
stalls. On many there were items he might have expected - vegetables,
clothes (though strange in appearance), gold and silver jewellery of
unusual design, furs, perfumes in wondrously designed bottles of multicoloured glass - but others displayed goods that left him thinking it
really
was
a dream. There was a rock in a gilded cage that spoke with the
voice of a small boy, a purple jewel encasing a tiny man and a woman of
dismal expression who hammered at the walls of their prison, a hat that
supposedly made its wearer invisible, a mirror showing continually
changing views of alien landscapes, and many more, some too astonishing
to comprehend.

'Here! Over here!'

Mallory looked around at the call. A skeletal man in a black robe that
appeared to be made of tatters was beckoning to him. Mallory drifted
over.

'A Fragile Creature,' the trader said in a rasping voice, 'abroad in the
Far Lands in these times. I thought I was mistaken.'

'I need to get some medical help.' Mallory supported himself on the
edge of the trader's stall. The world was growing dark on the fringes.

'First examine my wares,' the trader said. 'They come from distant
Kalashstan on the edge of the Terminal Waste. Very rare, very wondrous.'

'I don't have any money,' Mallory said, distracted. He needed to move
on, find someone to aid him quickly.

'There are many ways to pay,' the trader said slyly. He held up a pair of
scissors with long golden blades. 'Here. The Extinction Shears that cut the
weft of existence. Very rare, but within your grasp for a very small
consideration. Very small, barely noticeable. Or here.' This time he raised
a face mask of a screaming man constructed from silver and studded with
emeralds. 'A Gon-Drunning. It will allow you to see into the dreams of
your friends and enemies.'

'No.' Mallory looked around, bewildered. The darkness was even closer
now, like the shadow of an enemy sweeping up on him from behind. 'I
have to go. I have to .
.
.'

The market began to swim. He was vaguely aware of the trader leaning
forwards to peer at him closely with predatory eyes, and then others
nearby stopping to stare, smiling malignly as if a pretence were no longer
necessary. They began to move forwards just as the darkness rushed in
and he collapsed to the ground.

'Although we cannot choose what happens to us, we can choose how we
respond.'
-
Epictetus

Mallory woke on a pile of furs on a long, low bed in the corner of a
darkened room. The windows were flung open, revealing the silhouettes of
trees beneath a starry sky. The perfumes of a summery wood floated in on
the breeze.

Cautiously, he raised himself on his elbows. It took him a second or two
to comprehend his state, but more important than his location was the
realisation that he felt astonishingly well: refreshed, free from pain, his
thoughts once again sharp and focused. He swung his legs off the bed and
sat on the edge before examining the injuries on his chest. His clumsy
stitches were all gone and the deep wounds themselves had almost healed.
It didn't make sense to him at all. How long had he been unconscious?

In confusion, he went to the window. He was in a wing of a low building
made of stone with a timber and thatched roof that stretched out for a
hundred feet on either side; the architecture was unfamiliar. It was in a
large clearing in a wood. Close-clipped grass ran down to the trees, and
here and there torches blazed. There was no sign of life.

Instinctively, Mallory went for his sword
-
it was no longer there.

'No weapons are allowed in the Court of Peaceful Days.'

Mallory whirled at the sound of the voice, though it was melodic and
gende. A woman stood in the open doorway, smiling enigmatically. When
Mallory looked into her face, it took a while before he understood what he
was seeing. At first he thought it was his mother, who had died ten years
ago, then the Virgin Mary, then the dinner lady who was always kind to
him during his lonely, troubled days at school. Finally, her features settled
into those of a woman in her late forties, long black hair framing a face that
was still beautiful, with lines of happiness around her mouth and eyes.
She was wearing a dark blue dress that appeared to be made of velvet
yet reflected the light of the torches filtering through the window. A
mysterious quality to her made him feel instantly at ease.

'Where is this place?'

'The Court of Peaceful Days.'

'I heard you the first time. But where is it? I walked for a while.' His
day's journey came back to him in flashes, impossible to place in any
context. 'On the way to Bath?'

'It is further away than you could have walked in a lifetime.'

Her smile melted him instantly; he could no longer resist. 'My
injuries—?'

'We healed you. They were minor.'

'They didn't feel minor.'

'To us they were.' She stretched out a supple arm; her hand was pale
and delicate. 'Come. Let us walk outside.'

He took it, despite himself. Though he had almost recovered, he still felt
as if he was existing in a dream. 'Who are you?'

'My name is Rhiannon. The Court of Peaceful Days is my home.'

'I'm Mallory.'

'I know.' She led him out into a long stone corridor. Guards were posted
at regular intervals, dressed in a strange golden armour designed with an
avian style. She nodded to each of them as she passed. Outside in the
warm night she let go of his hand and they walked side by side across the
grass until they reached a fountain of fire. The flames gushed out of a
spout in the centre and rolled down into a surrounding pool, swirling like
liquid against all the laws of physics. Even close to it, Mallory could feel no
heat.

'Where
is
this place?' he whispered, suddenly overcome by awe.