Blaine had them all on ceaseless patrols throughout the day to keep them
occupied while plans were formulated. Meanwhile, other events were
clearly taking place behind the scenes. From the roof, Mallory watched
grim-faced elders hurrying back and forth between the bishop's palace and
the new buildings, occasionally pausing to talk animatedly to each other.
Every now and then a gaggle of six or seven would congregate, their voices
rising in debate until they spotted someone drawing near. Stefan, however,
was nowhere to be seen.
Up there, he had a clear view of the pagan camp where the Samhain
bonfires still burned. Occasionally, he could smell cooking food and hear
music drifting on the cold wind. Briefly, he entertained the fantasy that he
could see Sophie and she could see him, but it only made him feel worse
and he forced himself to stop.
As Mallory made his way down from the roof, he came across two of the
brothers talking conspiratorially as they loitered in an alcove beneath one
of the great staircases. There was something in their tone that made
Mallory pause on the steps to listen.
'I'm getting out of here first chance I get - soon as that tunnel's open,'
one of them said in a Black Country accent.
'You can't turn your back on us,' the other one, another Midlander,
said. 'You can't turn your back on the Lord!'
'When I first talked about coming down here, the missis said I was mad.
We'd prayed all the way through that bloody nightmare after the Fall, and
nothing. People died, people suffered. No Second Coming. There were
miracles all over the shop, but for us .
.
. Christians . . . not a tweet. But I
said to her, "Don't expect miracles. Just know Jesus is with you. That's all
we can ask of Him."'
'That's right. That's exactly right.'
'So she walked out on me and I came down here. But I kept my chin
up ...
I kept my faith.' His voice turned disconsolate at the end.
'Mickey—'
'Now look what's happened - it's gone from bad to bloody worse. This
was supposed to be the big shining example - a new start, spreading the
Word, bringing hope to the people.' He laughed bitterly. 'And now we're
trapped, and we're going to be starving, and winter's coming in, and the
Devil's at the gates, and now some bastard's picking us off inside! The
bishop, I ask you! Not even he's safe! What's the bloody point if God
doesn't even save him? You know what it says to me? Either He doesn't
care or He isn't there.'
'Mickey!'
'I've had enough, Glen. How long do you keep on praying before you
realise no one's listening?'
There was something profoundly depressing in what Mallory had
heard. He didn't hang around to hear the rest of the conversation.
By late afternoon, the wan, grey light had just about eked away. Blaine was
locked in some meeting with the Church elders and Hipgrave was nowhere
to be found, so the knights found themselves at an unusual loss. Most of
them congregated in their dorms, trading rumours and making predictions, but Gardener pulled Mallory, Miller and Daniels over to one side.
'Fancy a party?'
'When you say "party",' Mallory replied wearily, 'do you mean a hymn-
singing, praying kind of party?'
'No,' Gardener said. 'I mean a drinking kind of party.'
They all brightened, but he rebuffed their questions, insisting they had
to follow him. There was a hint of snow in the air as they hurried outside
and then into the sprawling complex. After a roundabout route, they
eventually emerged through a door that led into the rear of the kitchens.
'How did you find this way?' Miller asked. 'I didn't even know there was
a door here.'
'Did a bit of poking around earlier.' Gardener clapped his hands and
grinned at the prospect of what lay ahead.
The kitchens were comfortingly warm with the heat of the ranges still
radiating after that evening's dinner, and the fragrant smell of vegetables
and herbs hanging in the air. Exhausted after their most hectic period, the
cooks and their assistants lounged around chatting next to the massive
open hearth on which a cauldron of water bubbled over a log fire. They
looked up briefly when the knights entered, but were too engrossed in their
conversation to pay them any more attention.
Gardener caught the eye of one of the cooks who slyly slid out of the
periphery of the group to come over. He had a shaven head and acne scars
that gave him quite a frightening demeanour.
'You'll have me for the bleedin' high jump, Gardener,' he whispered in
a London accent.
Gardener pulled out a tobacco tin and waved it under his nose. 'Do you
want this or not?'
The cook went to grab it, but Gardener snatched it back at the last
moment. 'Oi!' the cook said. 'Don't you go pissing me about, you
Northern bastard.'
'Just want to make sure you know the terms of the deal, laddie.'
' 'Course I bleedin' know. We went over them enough times.' His eyes
lit up as he succeeded in snatching the tin. 'I haven't had a good smoke in a
bleedin' year.' He nodded towards a door not far from the one through
which they had entered. 'It's in there. Just keep it down. And if that fat
bastard Gibson finds you, I had nothing to do with it, right?'
Gardener led them through the door and down some steps into a vast
vaulted cellar filled with the heavy aroma of wine and wood. A single
torch burned on the wall next to the door, but it cast enough light for
them to see rows of barrels and racks of dusty bottles stretching into the
shadows.
'Bloody hell!' Mallory said jubilantly. 'We've got about three turnips to
go around the whole cathedral and enough booze to swamp the city. Talk
about getting your priorities right.'
'I thought we needed a bit of cheering up, like,' Gardener said. 'It's the
bishop's stash
-
for entertaining, I suppose. I think a load was brought in
from all the local hotels when we set up here, but they've been brewing
their own stuff for the last year, in case the water supply got polluted.'
Mallory plucked a vintage bottle from the rack and used his Swiss Army
knife to crack open the cork. 'Here's to Cornelius, God rest his soul,' he
said, swigging a large mouthful from the neck. 'A man after my own heart.
Let them drink wine!'
'Should we be doing this?' Miller asked uncertainly.
'Yes, we should.' Daniels moved slowly along the racks until he found a
year and grape to his taste. 'God's bountiful supply is for all men, not just
the elite.'
'Look at you,' Mallory said, 'a connoisseur!'
'You wouldn't know good taste if it kissed you on the behind, Mallory.'
Daniels sniffed the cork before letting the smallest amount settle on his
tongue. 'Wonderful. I had my own cellar in the old life,' he added with his
eyes closed, savouring the taste. 'I was building up a nice little collection.'
'Sorry for misunderstanding,' Mallory said. 'I just thought it was stuff
you drank.'
'Philistine.'
'There's beer here too, y'know.' Gardener caressed one of the casks.
'Pretty good stuff according to that cockney bugger up there. They've
done some nice porter, he says.' Black liquid flowed from the tap into a
tasting cup. 'That hits the spot,' he said, smacking his lips.