The Devil in Green (45 page)

'What is it?' Mallory still didn't accept the implication of what they were
saying. 'The rack?'

Stefan looked horrified, although there was no heart in the reaction.
'Good Lord, what do you take us for? We have chosen men of integrity for
this vital role, devout men who will ask the correct questions, that is all.'

Mallory looked at Blaine; Blaine looked away.

Stefan turned to go, obviously eager not to be tainted by the unpleasantness that lay ahead. At the door he said, 'Blaine was right, Mallory - this is
a good thing. Everything we do is for the survival of the Church and the
greater Glory of God. Answer with your heart and all will be well.' He
swept away.

Blaine paused at the door. 'This isn't personal, Mallory. I think you're
an untrustworthy bastard who needs to be kept in line, but I can do that
myself. This is about something bigger . .
.
keeping the Church safe. I
have a responsibility here and I'm going to see it through.'

'That's all right, then,' Mallory said acidly.

A flicker of the old hardness shone in Blaine's eyes. 'You're too smart,
Mallory. We don't need your type here. We need people who obey, who
take orders. That's what the whole fucking religion's about.' The flare of
anger had already lost its edge when he was only halfway out. 'Just tell the
truth, Mallory. Don't make any rods for your own back.'

*

Ten minutes later, three men walked in. They had the smart haircuts and
mundanely handsome faces of catalogue models, so bland there was
something resolutely sinister about them. Mallory could see instantly
why they had been chosen: their floating irises and dead eyes gave away
their penchant for dirty jobs.

The leader, the inquisitor-general as he introduced himself, was called
Broderick. He was wiry with red hair and a pasty, papery complexion. His
smile was so fake Mallory wanted to wipe it off with one blow.

He took Blaine's advice and answered truthfully, but they still punctuated their questions with hard knuckles just to let him know they could.
At first they asked him about the mission and any encounters he might
have had with 'the forces of darkness'. Eventually, though, they merely
asked him to repeat the Lord's Prayer. Mallory got it right after a few
promptings. He lost consciousness after fifty minutes.

He was woken with a bucket of icy water that washed some of the blood
away. Blaine leaned against a wall, watching him cursorily.

'Did I pass?' The words came out strangely through Mallory's split lips.

'We had to be sure.' Blaine motioned to the inquisitors to help Mallory
to his feet. 'They used to work for the security services in Belfast. Quite a
coup, them turning up here.'

'Yes, aren't we lucky?' Mallory shook off the helping hands and walked
under his own strength. The pain in his ribs made it hard to breathe and
his head rang with numerous aches; he had already been at a low ebb after
his battles on Salisbury Plain. 'This is the second time you've put me
through the wringer. I'm starting to think you enjoy it.'

Blaine didn't bite. 'I would have thought by this time you'd have learned
a little humility, Mallory. Now, you get yourself to the infirmary. I want
you back on duty as soon as possible. We need every available hand for
defence.' Briefly, his shoulders sagged with the weight of responsibility.
'You don't know how lucky you were getting inside here in one piece last
night.'

The dislocation Mallory had felt on his arrival returned with force.
'What's been going on? Where did all the new buildings come from?'

Blaine was honestly puzzled. 'What new buildings?'

'What new buildings! I'm talking about the four million tonnes of stone
thrown up almost overnight. The new buildings!'

Blaine shook his head contemptuously. 'You've had a long night,
Mallory - you should have a lie down.'

'Something's been going on here. The security's been stepped up—'

'You'll find out in due course. At least I don't have to worry about you
trying to abscond any more. You're stuck in here for the duration like the
rest of us.'

Mallory was disturbed by Blaine's reaction to his questions about the
mysterious construction that now swathed the original cathedral building.
Nothing made sense. The aches and pains reverberating through his body
only contributed to the numbing effect of the transformed cathedral so that
he felt as though he was floating through a dream. It took him nearly two
hours to find the infirmary. A maze of corridors and rooms now linked the
cathedral and Malmesbury House, some of them grand vaulted chambers
with mighty columns, pristine as if newly built, others so decrepit they
appeared on the verge of falling down. Early morning sunlight streamed
through holes in the roof and ivy wound around pillars, while rats scurried
amongst the shattered stone debris that littered the floor in some quarters.
He found enormous deserted chapels, the stained-glass windows casting
red, blue, yellow and green swirls over the altars. He stumbled across the
entrance to a subterranean ossuary so packed with bones that they spilled
out into the corridor. There were crypts so vast their ends were lost in
shadows and halls packed with graven images of men in monk's habits and
bishop's mitres, knights and lords, none of whom he recognised. Even
more confusing, when he backtracked, the layout of the building appeared
to be continually changing: corridors suddenly came to dead ends; rooms
he had never seen before appeared around bends. And over it all lay a dense
atmosphere - of reverence in the areas closer to the light, of unbearably
claustrophobic repression in the dark.

Occasionally, he met a brother moving about his business and it soon
became apparent that, like Blaine, none of them thought anything had
changed. Only a supernatural force could have transformed the cathedral
in such a manner, though how, and to what end, escaped him. Nor did he
understand why he was the only one with clear vision. It made him feel
even more apart than he had before, strung out and anxious with nothing
to tether him to reality.

Finally, when he had just about consigned himself to being lost in the
maze forever, he found himself inside Malmesbury House, an oasis of
calm with its sophisticated decor. He couldn't shake the unnerving feeling
that there was an intelligence to the newly appeared building that had
presented the correct route to him only when it was ready.

When he entered the infirmary, Warwick was mixing a foul-smelling
potion. After he had decanted the brew into a crystal bottle, he eyed
Mallory suspiciously.

'Fell down the stairs again, I see,' he said judgementally. 'I told you I was
not—'

'I had a meeting with the Inquisition.'

Warwick's mood became contrite. He motioned for Mallory to lie on
the table and began applying some stinging tincture to the cuts and
abrasions.

'What's happened here?' Mallory said, wincing. He gave it one last try.
'Who magicked up the new building?'

'Don't know what you're talking about,' Warwick said brusquely. He
tenderly checked Mallory's ribs. 'No breaks again. Well done,' he added
acidly. 'God looks after fools.'

'The extension to the cathedral?' Mallory pressed futilely. 'All the new
rooms?'