Marc Chadbourn - The Devil in green

Miller looked to Mallory uncertainly. 'So we can't trust anything he said?'

'We trust ourselves,' Mallory said. 'That's all we can do.'

Mallory spent the rest of the night and half the next day pondering the Caretaker's enigmatic comments, before his thoughts turned to Rhiannon. In the Court of Peaceful Days, she, too, had made obtuse comments that had appeared meaningless at the time. Were they both trying to help him in an oblique way, so that they did not feel they were breaking some kind of agreement that their kind didn't assist Fragile Creatures? The more he considered it, the more he thought it was probably true. Her words were lodged clearly in his mind: Look to learning to understand the conflict. He considered this until, in a flash of inspiration, he had an inkling of what she had been advising.

Mallory feigned illness to avoid going to Peter's Christian philosophy class, knowing it would earn him the wrath of Blaine, but it was the only way he could guarantee that the rest of the knights would be occupied. With all the other brothers dealing with the rigorous day-to-day routine of the cathedral, he would be free to investigate unseen.

He hurried through the snow to the cloisters and climbed the stairs to the library. It had changed considerably since the first time he had been there, now straddling the boundary between the old buildings and the new. On his side, it was just as it always had been, but through the window he could see it progressing into a vast gothic chamber, its ceiling lost to shadows, with bizarre stone carvings that appeared to watch over anyone wandering amongst the racks, lit by sizzling torches and with shelves of books that must have gone up twenty feet or more.

The door was locked, as he had expected, and he knew there was no other point of entry. He hoped he was as good a judge of character as he believed.

He rapped on the glass gently until he saw James approaching. When James saw who was without, he shook his head and tried to wave Mallory away, but Mallory persisted, pleading silently. After a moment, James relented. He slid back several bolts and turned the key before opening the door a crack.

'Are we keeping the gold chalices in here now?' Mallory said.

'The library is off limits.' James was patently ill at ease with his new position.

'Yes, you can't let those books fall into the wrong hands. There might be an awful spontaneous outbreak of knowledge and open-mindedness.'

'What do you want, Mallory?' James said wearily. From the moment he had given Mallory the first guided tour of the cathedral, James had never sounded anything less than good-natured.

'A few minutes of your time, that's all.'

'I'm not joking. No one is allowed in the library.'

'No one? What's the point of having a library, then?' Mallory tried to appear disarming. 'You must be bored out of your mind locked up with only the silverfish for company.'

James couldn't help a chuckle. He leaned out to look up and down the corridor, then opened the door quickly to allow Mallory entrance. Once inside, he drew the bolts and quickly turned the key before hurrying Mallory out of sight of the window.

As they entered the new section, the temperature dropped a degree or two and their footsteps took on an eerie echo that susurrated for an unnatural period. The dark closed in around them, bringing with it the suffocating smells of leather, dust, candlewax, damp paper and great age. Mallory couldn't have raised his voice if he'd wanted to.

James led a maze-like path through the stacks to a table bearing a flask, a Tupperware box containing sandwiches and a hissing lantern.

'Most people have to commit a crime to get this treatment,' Mallory said. James' expression suggested he felt the same way. 'If I didn't know better I'd say they preferred you in here instead of out there.'

James' eyes narrowed and his guard came up a little. 'Who would they be?'

Mallory dismissed the question with a laugh. 'You know what I'm talking about, James.'

James pulled a couple of chairs up to the table and poured Mallory a cup of tea from the flask. Mallory paused when he felt the touch of the plastic lid on his lip. 'This stuff will be antique soon. You'll be able to haggle for it down at die market, along with the polystyrene McDonald's boxes and Perspex shed windows.'

James lightened. 'If I know human nature, we'll be knee-deep in non- recyclable litter again before too long.' He sat back in his chair and surveyed Mallory with a strange smile. 'Now, Mr Mallory, what exactly are you up to?'

'Can I speak freely?'

James sighed. 'I have obligations to the Church authorities-'

'But you… we… surely have a greater obligation to a Higher Power. To the religion itself, and its teachings. And if the Church authorities are working in opposition to that — not consciously, of course-'

'Are you leaping to judgement, Mr Mallory?'

'All I'm saying is that the only thing we have to answer to is that Higher Power.'

'God. Why don't you say God?' He could tell Mallory was choosing his words with caution, but James' attempt to divine his purpose couldn't penetrate beneath the surface. 'This religion operates within a structure. It cannot exist without that structure. By being part of it, we tacitly accept that structure-'

'And what if that structure's wrong?' Mallory pressed. 'What if… God… never intended that structure to come into place? What if that's all politics?'

'What if, what if.' James waved a dismissive hand. 'This is what we have.'

'This is it, right or wrong?'

James bit the inside of his lip, stared along the racks of books.

'How about if we just talk? No harm there.'

James gave a conciliatory smile. 'That would be nice.'

'So let's start with a discussion of comparative theology.' Mallory sipped on the hot, sweet tea — not tea in the true sense, but an infusion of various herbs and spices.

'You're a strange man, Mallory. Why are you interested in these things? Most of your compatriots couldn't care less.'

'Religions around the world are all driving towards a comprehension of a Higher Power. God.' He smiled. 'To an uneducated person, it would seem that the differences between them are only a matter of mechanics. Different vehicles to reach the same destination.' James began to disagree, but Mallory waved him quiet. 'Several religions have things in common, but there's one thing you can find in Eastern and Western traditions: the power of the spirit. Something that might seem from one perspective to be a kind of energy that perhaps could even be quantified one day, from another point of view looks like magic, affecting things separated by great distance.'

James' eyes narrowed. Mallory felt he was on the right lines. 'The religion that existed here before Christianity came… a kind of nature worship, I suppose-'

'You're being disingenuous, Mallory. You know exactly what it is. I'm asking you to treat me with respect and to speak honestly of what's on your mind.'

Mallory nodded. 'OK. I'll be straight. That religion, like the Eastern traditions, believed that spirit-energy existed in the wider world… in the wider universe… and in man. It linked the inner and the outer, above and below. And it believed it ran in channels across the world, along which were established sacred sites where the power was strongest. The stone circles, the cairns, the raised hills. Leys, right? You've heard of leys?' James gave nothing away. 'And along these leys ran-'

'The Blue Fire.'

'That's right. You know about it.'

'Go on.'

Mallory finished his tea. 'I'm guessing there are books here that could tell me all about this.' When James didn't respond, he continued, 'The pagan camp just over the walls… it's here because Salisbury is on a powerful ley, apparently. The Blue Fire here is very strong. And the Christian church decides to re-establish itself here, in Salisbury. Not in Winchester, or Glastonbury. Here. Coincidence?'