Marc Chadbourn - The Devil in green

Peter had been a deacon at the Catholic cathedral in Brentwood in Essex. From the sag of his skin, he had obviously been overweight at one time, but the hard life of the compound had taken some pounds off him. He had side-parted grey hair that, taken with his pallor, gave him a washed-out appearance, but it was the sadness in his features that characterised him; they reflected his belief that the world was a miserable place to be endured.

Peter's labour within the cathedral was to teach not only the scripture to the knights' new recruits, but also to explain the philosophy of the Christian Church. It was a task he relished, his demeanour even more gloriously lugubrious as he underlined the simple message that no one should expect any rewards in this world.

But whatever pleasures he got out of his office were wiped away whenever he saw Mallory slumped at one of the tables at the back. Most of the knights endured his lectures, nodding in the right places while they kept one eye on the angle of the sun. Mallory, though, asked questions. It wasn't as if he was eager for understanding of the Word of God. It was simply that he wanted to trip Peter up, to hamstring him with logic or garrotte him with a sharp line of philosophy. It was plain bloody-minded- ness, Peter knew, and a childish desire to challenge authority that went against the entire teachings of the Church. Peter had endured it for many days — the constant questions about the historical truth of Jesus, the academic view that James was the true leader but politics had turned Jesus into the Messiah, the tortuous debates on the flawed and conflicting logic of the Bible, the pointed questioning about the atrocities the Church had been linked with, from the Inquisition to the collaboration with the Nazis — but his patience was not endless. Mallory was undoubtedly an educated man, but weren't they the worst kind? Oh, for the simple man who accepted die Message with the wide-eyed wonder of a child.

He noticed the expression Mallory always wore just before he launched into an argument, and quickly continued. 'However, Saint Augustine presented the Free-Will Defence: God created man with free will, thereby having the ability to do Good or Evil. Therefore, there is no assurance that man will not choose to do Evil. If God controlled the amount of Evil, or liberty, it would remove the gift of free will He had given to man. Quite simply, the existence of free will without Evil is an illogical impossibility. But even though man has the capacity to commit Evil, he can also perform acts of great goodness.'

'I disagree.' Mallory's challenging grin set Peter's teeth on edge.

'Why am I not surprised?'

'Mackie said the choice between perfect beings who always do Good, or free men who can do Good or Evil is a false dilemma, didn't he?'

'Yes,' Peter sighed.

'And he also said there was an "obvious better possibility" in which God could have created beings who always act freely, yet also have a predetermination to do Good. But he didn't, did he? So God doesn't exist.'

'Not at all. Swinburne proposed a different approach: that there are advantages in the existence of Evil in the world. It gives men the opportunity to perform acts that show humanity at its best. Evil spurs mankind into action. Without Evil, we would live in a world where men could not show sympathy, compassion, forgiveness or self-sacrifice.'

'But-'

'Also, consider Hicks' "soul-making" explanation,' Peter continued hastily. 'He said that man, who is made in the image of God but not in the likeness of God, is an incomplete being who must strive towards the perfect likeness of God. Qualities such as courage and love would not make sense in a world without Evil, because the world would be nothing more than a nursery paradise for children. Hicks' explanation is that Evil is necessary in order to build character and develop man into the likeness of God.'

'That's a good argument. Why didn't Hitler use that in his defence? He was just doing God's work to get us all on track for-'

'You are not distracting me from my lesson today, Mallory.' Peter maintained a pleasant facade but attempted to give steel to his words.

'So Hicks' argument is that this whole world is just one big classroom with a culture of disciplinarianism.'

'Mallory

Mallory slid back cockily in his chair, settling in for a bout of tutor- baiting. 'It's not a distraction to ask questions,' he said.

'There is no need for questions. There is only a need for you to listen and heed.'

'But surely a strong religion encourages debate. By answering the questions of doubters it will reveal its consistency and power and that can only lead more people into its open arms.' Mallory nodded with faux- seriousness and it was that plain mockery that gave Peter the shocking urge to run down the room and clip the grinning jackanapes around the ear. He wasn't prone to violence, ever, but Mallory brought out the worst in him.

'There is a time and a place. Perhaps you can encourage your brother knights to enter into these discussions in the free time you have on your hands.' Peter smiled, knowing they had no free time at all. It wasn't very Christian to enjoy that barb, but he took the pleasure nonetheless.

Mallory also encouraged disruption in the others, and that was dangerous in a place that could exist only through discipline. Oddly, Miller, who followed him around like a dog, remained studious and intense, but Daniels and Gardener and some of the others who normally paid attention became distracted and lighter in mood.

Peter worked his way through the first part of the lesson, but instead of easing off, Mallory's baiting became progressively worse; something was eating away at him. As Peter weighed whether to continue, the decision was made for him. The door at the back swung open just enough for him to see Blaine, who must have been listening for a while. He signalled his intention to Peter before slipping away quietly.

Mallory moved through the corridors of the former museum with irritation. Sent to the headmaster's office. It was demeaning, and only added to his growing feeling that perhaps he should skip the cathedral and the knights; it hadn't turned out like he'd expected at all.

From rooms on either side came the drone of voices explaining herbalism, astronomy, basic field medicine and other more esoteric subjects. The tutors were generally decent men and it was only Peter who received the brunt of Mallory's disruption, not because of who he was, but for what he said.

Blaine's room lay behind a thick oak door. Mallory hammered on it and loudly announced his name.

'Come.' Blaine's Belfast tones echoed dully.

Blaine was as hard and emotionless as ever, sitting behind his desk with his hands splayed out on the blotter. Mallory only had a second to take this in before pain erupted across his shoulders. Briefly he glimpsed two of the Blues hitting out at him with cudgels from either side of the door before a blow caught him at the base of his skull and he blacked out.

When he came to a few moments later, the knights supported him by pinning his arms painfully behind his back. Blaine was standing only a foot away, peering into Mallory's face with a coldness that made him seem devoid of humanity. 'You're a troublemaker, Mallory,' he said. 'Sooner or later I knew I'd get somebody like you.'

Mallory almost couldn't resist making a smart comment, a pathological response that had got him into trouble many times before. He was only restrained this time by an ache in his jaw where one of the cudgels had given him a glancing blow.

'I could see it in your face the moment I set eyes on you,' Blaine continued. 'You don't like authority. You think you're bigger than you are. You think you're important. Well, you're not. Not at all.' He returned to his desk and pulled from one of the drawers something that Mallory couldn't quite make out.