Marc Chadbourn - The Devil in green

'Regular as clockwork, so the guards say.' Daniels armed his crossbow, too.

'I want to bag one of those little bastards,' Gardener said. 'Those black eyes they've got really give me the creeps. It's as though they're looking right into you.'

There was a movement as if a curtain of mist had been peeled back across the street. In an instant the road was filled with the army of tiny people with their pale skin and large, black eyes. The manifestation was so eerie in its silence and speed that they all felt a frisson. Gardener shuddered as though the beings had come in response to his comments. Though they had shown bravado when they climbed on to the walls, none of them could hide the primal fear evinced by the army of alien men, women and children in their odd clothes with their bizarre weapons of war.

It took a second or two for them to accept that the siege army was not making any attempt to advance as it had on previous days. Instead, they stood shoulder to shoulder, all hideous dark eyes turned towards the cathedral. An air of unsettling apprehension hung over the scene.

'What are they waiting for?' Daniels asked with irritation born of fear.

Gardener's finger gently caressed the crossbow trigger. 'Praying to the Devil,' he said. 'A Hallowe'en ritual. This is Evil's night.'

Mallory felt growing unease. 'I'm not sure…'

'They'll move soon enough,' Gardener said. 'Just wait till they get within range, then let rip. I'm going for that little shit on the horse. He looks as though he might be the leader.'

'Something's wrong,' Mallory said. He let his crossbow slip, then leaned forwards so that he could get a better look. 'They're waiting for something. It's as if they're listening…'

The white faces were turned up slightly, the moon making them glow with a spectral light. Their complete lack of movement was as frightening as their appearance. Gardener couldn't contain himself any longer. He loosed his bolt, but in his tense state his hand shook and it flew off course, embedding in a tiny wagon. The thud echoed across the silent street. Even then none of the creatures moved, nor even acknowledged they had been attacked.

'What are they doing?' Daniels said insistently.

'I don't like this,' Miller whined.

'Wait,' Mallory snapped. He had heard a sound, lost beneath the wind, something that had disturbed him, but it had come from his back, not from the city ahead. He turned and looked across the darkness engulfing the compound. Nothing moved. The only light came from the candles within the cathedral.

'What is it?' Daniels asked.

Mallory strained to catch what lay beneath the wind. 'I thought I heard…'

'Look at that.' Gardener's voice was so filled with repressed terror that they all felt queasy to hear it.

He was pointing over the rooftops. In the distance, rising up like grey smoke against the night sky, was the outline of a horned figure. It was massive, insubstantial, suggestive of great power. It had barely reached its full height when it began to break up and drift away. Instantly lights began to flare across the Stygian landscape beyond the city boundaries.

'Bonfires,' Mallory said.

'What does it mean?' Miller whimpered.

'The Devil.' Dread had turned Gardener into a shadow of his real self. 'The Devil's here.'

The noise behind them was now unmistakable and growing louder as voices rose up in support. Mallory heard terror, and disbelief, and grief. It was like wildfire, jumping from one person to the next. It was hard to tell which had the greater impetus — a desire to escape from the terrible threat looming over Salisbury or to respond to the alarm behind them — but they were all instantly in motion, skidding down the ladder and running across the compound to the source of the cries.

They found a small group milling around the cathedral doors. They were throwing their heads back and their hands up, wailing to the heavens. Mallory and the others drove through them to find Julian slumped against the base of the wall. Blood gleamed on his hands and face, so much blood that they were sickened to look at it.

At first, Mallory thought Julian had been stabbed, but as the precentor slowly pulled himself upright, it was clear it was his grief that had brought him to his knees. He didn't appear to be injured at all.

'What's happened?' Mallory yelled above the din. He grabbed Julian by the shoulders, shaking him a little too roughly to disperse the glaze of shock that covered his tear-stained face.

Along the walls, the guards called the midnight hour. Slowly, Julian raised his left hand. In the half-light it appeared unnaturally dark; a drip slowly fell from his index finger and splashed in a band of light on the floor where they could see its colour and consistency.

Eventually, Julian found his voice, a cracked, pathetic thing that sounded like winter. 'Cornelius has been murdered,' he said.

At first, it looked like a pile of abandoned laundry lying behind the altar. Only when Mallory closed on it did he see the white hand twisted upwards from the clothes. In the stillness, the drip-drip-drip of blood falling from the altar table was unbearably loud.

'Oh, Lord!' Daniels hissed as he examined the body over Mallory's shoulders. It had been torn apart, was barely recognisable as a man.

Gardener and Miller helped Julian between them; he was almost delirious with shock. 'He… he said he wanted to pray,' the precentor stuttered. 'He often came here on his own…' His voice ended in a small, strangled cry as his eyes fell on the body.

Miller dropped to his knees, eyes screwed tight so he couldn't see the polluting sight; he looked like a small boy praying at the side of his bed.

'Who'd do a thing like that?' Daniels said, aghast.

To Mallory, that was a question with ramifications to shatter the community: who would have committed such a terrible crime? Not any of the supernatural creatures that waited beyond the walls; they couldn't walk on the sacred ground. But could any of the brethren do such a thing? He couldn't imagine that either. The image of the army of tiny people waiting for something to happen lay heavily on his mind, along with the ghostly impression of the Devil appearing over Salisbury at the moment the murder was discovered. They knew. Somehow, in some way.

'Get back! Get back!' Blaine's harsh voice echoed into the far reaches of the cathedral roof. He arrived with Hipgrave dogging his steps, Blaine's face torn by a cornered-animal expression, part fury, part fear; he assimilated the entire scene in an instant, and it didn't seem to affect him at all. Mallory noted Blaine's response carefully. Hipgrave looked as if he'd just woken from the deepest sleep. 'Who found him?' Blaine whirled, cold eyes flashing over each of them in turn.

Julian staggered forwards. 'Me. I did. I… I came looking for him… thought he might need a hand getting back to his residence. He still wasn't a hundred per cent.'

'He was like this?' Blaine snapped. 'You didn't touch anything?'

'Well… I… I touched him. I tried to stop the blood. I tried to save him!' His voice rose to a sob, and then he covered his eyes, smearing Cornelius's blood across his face.

Blaine had no time for Julian's grief. 'Did you see anybody else?'

Julian gulped air. 'No… no…' he said, composing himself. 'Look, we must do this later. We have to care for the body…' He covered his eyes again.

Blaine shook his head contemptuously, cursing under his breath but loud enough for Julian to hear. There was more activity further down the nave. The crowd that was hanging back from the awful scene parted like the Red Sea to allow Stefan to sweep through, followed closely by Gibson, the Canon of the Pies, sweating and blowing as he attempted to keep up.