The Devil in Green (53 page)

Mallory spent much of his time attempting to piece together some
overarching mystery he was sure lay behind the scenes. The others were
not convinced. 'Hello? Are you lot blind?' Mallory said after one
particularly heated debate. 'We were lured out of the cathedral by two
ghost-clerics who disappeared the moment they'd got us where they
wanted us. And then we were let back in
—
'

'What do you mean?' Gardener snapped. 'We nearly got torn apart
when we fetched Hipgrave.'

'You've seen what's out there. Do you really think they couldn't have
stopped us if they'd wanted? Jesus, they could have wiped us out in the
blink of an eye. They let us back in,' Mallory stressed. 'They made a
pretence of stopping us so we wouldn't be suspicious, but that was it.'

There was a long silence while Mallory's theory washed over them. It
was Daniels, fiddling with his eye-patch nervously, who spoke first. 'Why
would the Adversary want to get us out and then let us back in - all of us,
because we came back on three separate occasions?'

'And what's it got to do with all the new buildings appearing?' Miller
asked. 'There has to be a connection, right?'

The silence lasted longer this time, and none of them had any answers.
But they knew that the only way of uncovering what was happening, and
what it meant for all of them, was to work together.

It was October the twenty-eighth. Mallory and Miller had been despatched to the kitchens to see Gibson, whom Mallory had dubbed the
Canon of the Pies. The place had been transformed along with the rest of
the building and was now the size of half a football pitch, with a low,
vaulted roof like a wine cellar supported by stone pillars. Woodburning
ranges ran along one wall, drawing on the huge but limited supply of
timber that had been amassed. Giant bubbling pans sent clouds of steam
scented with spices and herbs drifting across the ceiling. The room echoed
with the sound of clanging lids and chopping knives as twenty or more
cooks and assistants prepared the day's meals.

Sweat beading his ruddy face, Gibson moved amongst the activity,
chuckling at some joke no one else knew; his frame appeared as massive as
ever despite the limited rations, nor had he lost any of his celebrated
larger-than-life humour. With one podgy hand outstretched, he lumbered
across the room to slap both of them on the shoulder in greeting. 'Jolly
good you could make it down here,' he said, as if they had ambled along of
their own accord. Laughter rumbled out like an avalanche as a vat of
bubbling turnips steamed up his large-framed spectacles. Cleaning them
on his robes, he motioned to a large door against the far wall. 'The stores
are through there, dear boys,' he said theatrically. 'Mr Blaine suggested
you might be able to help us with the conveyance of several large sacks of
potatoes. I keep my little workers here so busy, they never do find the time
to do those necessary chores.' He wagged a chubby finger at Miller. 'And
no potatoes means no hearty meals to keep you boys big and strong.'

'Straight away, sir,' Miller said brightly. Gibson appeared pleasantly
amused by this.

As they headed down some steps into the basement stores, Mallory
muttered sourly, 'Do you have to be so deferential? You should have
offered to stick a brush up your arse so you could sweep the floor while
we're hauling and toting.'

'It doesn't hurt to be polite. Besides, it makes people smile.'

Mallory snorted. 'Great. I get spud duty with Jesus' little ray of
sunshine.'

'You can be very hurtful sometimes, Mallory.' Miller sniffed.

'No. This is hurtful.' Mallory cuffed him around the back of the head.

'Ow!' Miller flashed him a black look and jumped a foot to his right to
avoid another blow.

There was a fast movement at floor level when they swung open the
storeroom door on to the dark interior. 'Rats,' Mallory noted. 'The way
things are, they'll be in the stew soon.'

'How long do you think we can keep going?' Miller asked. As his eyes
slowly adjusted to the gloom, he could see that the storeroom was vast, but
in the great space the haphazard piles of sacks and crates appeared
insignificant.

'I'm not looking forward to Christmas dinner.'

'If we stand firm, whatever's out there might just give up and go away,'
Miller suggested hopefully.

Mallory began to investigate the sacks in search of the potatoes. 'I love
an optimist as much as the next man, Miller, but you've seen what we're
up against. Those kinds of things don't give up, ever. They'll hang on until
we're worn down.'

'I don't understand why this is happening. We've not done anything
wrong.'

'That's always a matter of perspective.'

A look of curiosity crossed Miller's face. 'What did you do before the
Fall, Mallory? Sometimes you sound like a historian, sometimes a
philosopher, and sometimes . . .'

'Yes?'

'. . . sometimes you act like a yob at closing time.'

Mallory let out a belly laugh. He plucked a potato from a sack and
tossed it in the air. 'The only hope we've got is if our great leaders come up
with a
plan ...
a counter-strike . . . anything . . . that works. Do you
have any faith in that?'

'I have lots of faith, Mallory.' Miller attempted to shoulder the sack, but
he wasn't strong enough. All he could do was drag it across the floor in
jerks like some small child with a too-big toy. 'You see, I have faith in
people like you, Mallory. You're a man who gets things done. Why don't
you turn your mind to a solution instead of being negative. As always.'

Mallory tossed the potato another time, then hurled it into the shadows.
It thudded against a wall and burst.

'You act as if you're apart from all this,' Miller continued breathlessly,
'as if you can just sit back and sneer and be snide. But we're all in it
together, Mallory. If people help other people, things get done. Individuals
have a responsibility to the community. No one can afford to stand alone,
in here or out in the world.'

'I'm sick of hearing about responsibility.' Mallory grabbed another
potato and threw it furiously into the dark. It splattered against the stone.

'Don't waste the supplies!'

'Ah, we'll all be dead before we get down to the last potato. They'll be
roasting the youngest and tenderest of us in those big ovens long before
that.'

The silence prompted Mallory to turn. Miller was staring at him with a
comical expression of horror. 'This is a Christian community!' he
protested.

'It's survival, Miller. That's what humans do.'

'That's what beasts do.'

Mallory plucked another potato from the sack, tossed it in the air, but
caught himself before he threw it. He peered at the wall for a long moment,
then marched over and began to rap it with his knuckles.

'What's wrong?' Miller asked.

Mallory turned to him and raised a finger. 'A tunnel.'

Miller's eyes widened. 'Of course. Under the wall.'