Marc Chadbourn - The Devil in green

'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.

September turned to October and with it came the first real chill of the approaching winter. The rooftops visible beyond the walls sparkled with frost as they emerged from the dawn mist, and the breath of the brethren formed pearly clouds when they trooped to the cathedral for prime. How the city's residents were coping with the first cold snap was a mystery, for since the night of the near-destruction of the gates the bishop had ruled that no one should leave the compound.

The attack had shaken the cathedral to its core. A black, fearful mood lay over all, turning every conversation at the refectory tables, or in the leaky, cold shacks, or in the kitchens, or the herbarium, or the infirmary, to only one subject: the End Times had arrived.

At first, no one could quite grasp that what had been predicted and dissected for millennia had finally arrived and they were truly living in the age of the ultimate battle between good and evil, but gradually the desperate reality of their situation crept over them. Everyone in the cathedral who had seen the horned figure looming over the city or felt the scuttling touch of the presence's hideous intelligence in their mind had no doubt of the Adversary's black power. As the bishop pointed out in one of his sermons, there were no coincidences in God's world; the Adversary had come when the Church was at its weakest, but also at the point when it was preparing to break out as a potent force once more. 'Evil is determined to prevent our resurgence,' the bishop had said, 'and so it is down to us to ensure that Evil does not triumph. We are God's champions at a time we thought was always in the distant future. But it is now, and we cannot fail, and with our Lord beside us, we shall not fail.'

Yet while the bishop and the Church administration pored over ancient documents in the library, or discussed the signs and portents for any insight — sightings of the risen dead reported around the cathedral compound being one of the most prominent — many of the brethren were driven to frantic prayer. They felt cripplingly weak beside the strength they had seen exhibited, unprepared, fragmented, the rump of a once- mighty religion, and after the tribulations they had already suffered, they did not know if they had any resistance left. They reassured each other that their faith was strong, but the cold wind was in danger of winnowing the small flame of their fear into a blaze.

In the claustrophobic confines of the compound, grim and conflicting rumours circulated endlessly: the Dark Forces of the Prince of Lies were moving to wipe the Church from the land; it was the sign of the Second Coming; the apocalypse was at hand.

Expectations were high of another assault on the cathedral, and with each day that passed peacefully the tension increased. The Chapter of Canons authorised the reinforcement of the already sturdy walls from a supply of sheet metal, then trebled the number of guards and increased the frequency of patrols along the walkways around the battlements.

At the same time, the already rigorous routine of the knights was stepped up into a relentless round of weapons training, physical exertion and tedious study that stretched from first light to compline. The only positive aspect for Mallory was that it kept him away from the hours of prayer and chanting that dominated every aspect of life for the brethren.

His trip into the city with Miller had given him a taste of what he was missing in the cathedral, but there was little chance of repeating the excursion. Though they had got back into the complex with ease, losing themselves among the team of workers repairing the badly damaged gates, the clampdown meant it would be too risky in the future. Suddenly Mallory felt like a prisoner.

'Do you think it was the Blues who attacked Melanie?' Miller whispered to Mallory as they watched the elite squad moving through their practice with machine-like efficiency. 'They scare me.'

Mallory leaned on his sword, a well-worn Reformation model. 'Don't waste your time thinking about it, Miller. We're never going to find out, and even if we did we wouldn't be able to do anything.'

'That's not right, Mallory. We can't just ignore something so wrong.'

'Miller, sooner or later you're going to realise that the world is filled with injustice. It's situation normal. You might as well get wound up about stopping the rain.'

'You two! What do you think you're doing?' They turned wearily at Hipgrave's clipped tones. The captain had been bawling out one of the novice knights for clumsy swordplay, even though he was barely out of his teens and had been suffering from malnutrition when he wandered into the cathedral an hour after Mallory and Miller. He was still painfully thin and weak thanks to the meagre diet offered in the refectory.

'Just taking a break,' Mallory said.

Hipgrave stormed over and yelled into Mallory's face. 'There's no break on the battlefield! Get fighting!'

Mallory didn't flinch. 'You've seen Full Metal Jacket, haven't you?'

Hipgrave had clearly not encountered insubordination in his brief time as a captain. For a couple of seconds, he stared so blankly that Mallory could almost see the thoughts moving across his face. Finally, everything came together with the realisation of what Mallory had said, that the other Knights were watching, that he hadn't responded quickly enough or cleverly enough or with enough discipline. Unable to cope, he backed away and took his embarrassed irritation out on the knight he had just been berating. Yet his flushed cheeks revealed his awareness that his position had been undermined. Mallory expected a response sooner or later, probably when he didn't expect it; more, he didn't care.