level. And suddenly I realised I'd made a terrible mistake strolling in here. Because how can you talk to someone when you don't even know their language?
The tent flap was held open for me and I walked into the marquee. The air inside was fetid and humid, and smelt of grass, sweat and blood. Blankets lay on the floor, surrounded by bags and collections of random objects and piles of clothes; lots of little Blood Hunter nests. Running down the middle of the tent was a long red carpet, and at the far end, raised on a wooden dais, was a throne. I say throne, but it was really just a big wooden chair with a gold lame blanket tossed over it and a red velvet cushion. Sat on this throne was David, wearing his immaculate pinstripe suit and bowler hat. His umbrella rested on one of the arms. Two armed guards stood either side of the throne.
I was shoved onto the red carpet and marched down it to meet the Blood Hunters' leader. I had no idea what to expect. I certainly didn't expect him to get up, walk down to meet me, shake my hand and offer me a cup of tea and a slice of cake.
But that's what he did.
'We've spoken before, haven't we?' he asked as he poured Earl Grey into a china cup.
'Yes, we have.' He handed me the cup and saucer and I thanked him. 'At Ightham.'
'I thought so. You were one of the boys who attacked us.'
I took a sip. 'Yeah.'
We sat on canvas chairs facing each other across a wrought iron table. There was a plate on the table with lemon drizzle cake on it. I didn't ask where they'd managed to find lemons, I just helped myself. It was delicious.
Imagine a clown performing for children, his face covered in make-up. Then try to imagine what he looks like when all the slap's taken away. Is he old or young? Ugly or attractive? It's impossible to say. All you can see is the clown face. It was the same with David. I found it very hard to get a sense of what he looked like, because all I could see was the cracked and crumbling patina of blood that caked his face. It made him difficult to read.
Obviously I was taking tea with a madman. But was he personally dangerous? Was he likely to kill me himself, with no warning, on a whim or because of something I might say? Or did his threat lie solely in his power over others? I could find no clue at all in his expression or his cold grey eyes.
'So what can I do for you this fine sunny day, young man?' he said. 'Do you wish to join us, perhaps? We always have room for penitent souls.' He smiled insincerely.
'I've come to ask you to leave.' Even though I'd been rehearsing this in my head all night I still couldn't believe I'd just said that.
'I'm sorry?'
'I want you to leave St Mark's alone. Just leave. Please.'
He put down his tea carefully, then he placed his elbows on the table and rested his face in his hands.
'Why would I want to do that? There are young, innocent souls in there, in need of salvation. I can provide them with that. I'm only here to help.'
'And if they don't want your salvation?'
'Then they can aid in the salvation of others.'
'As bleeders.'
'Or food. Or both. Their blood and flesh is a holy sacrament.'
'Is that all they are to you, a resource?'
'If they will not accept the word of God then yes.' He leaned back and shrugged as if to say 'what can you do?'
I decided to try a different tack.
'When we blew up that room you were outside the door,' I said. 'How did you survive?'
'I am watched over,' he replied.
I thought: you ran down the stairs when you heard the window break, more like. 'But if your little cult is so blessed, why were we able to burn your house to the ground?'
He laughed, as if indulging a child who's just asked a particularly stupid question. 'You were merely the messenger of God's wrath. He wishes me to bring His word to the world. I was betraying my calling by situating myself in one location.' He gestured around him, at the marquee. 'Now, you see, we are mobile! And we save more souls every day of our never ending journey. All thanks to you.'
'You're welcome. So why not move on. Why lay siege to a school when there are so many other places to save?'
'I may be a holy man, but I am not above a little vengeance. You killed my disciples, you oppose me and my followers. That cannot go unpunished.'
'People are going to die here today. Lots of people. Yours and mine. Men, women, boys, girls. And there's no need for it all. You can just walk away.'
'Shan't.'
Strike One.
'All right then, let the people in the school leave and take the building as your new base. Rent free. All yours.'
'Didn't you listen to what I said? We are mobile now. That is how it is meant to be.'
Strike Two.
'Then take me.'
'Excuse me?'
'Take me. Bleed me, eat me, do whatever you want. I won't resist. But leave the school alone.'
'My dear young man, I have you already. Where's my incentive to make a deal?'
Strike Three.
Okay then. I'd given him every chance; done everything I could to avoid bloodshed. No choice now but to fight. Only problem was that my plan relied on my being outside. And I was stuck in this bloody great tent. I needed to be creative.
'How many men and guns have you got here anyway?' I asked.
He smiled. It was not pleasant. 'Lots and lots.'
I made a play of considering this.
'Can I, perhaps, join you, then?'
Finally, I'd managed to surprise him. 'You wish to join the flock of the saved?'
'I don't want to die, so on balance, yeah. Please.'
'Do you understand what joining the ranks of the saved entails?'
'I've heard about the ritual blood letting. Correct me if I make a mistake. A victim is selected from amongst the prisoners or, if the person joining is considered particularly valuable, from the ranks of the already saved. The victim is held down by two men, and the supplicant, who has been stripped naked, slits the victim's throat and collects the blood in a bowl. When the bowl is full they drink the blood. Then the body is turned over and sliced open. You then dab your hands in the gore and make the sign of the cross, in blood, on the supplicant's chest. The supplicant takes the knife, cuts their palm, and drips their blood into your outstretched hands, and you wash your face with it. That about right?'
'And you'd be happy to take the ritual of salvation?'
'If it means staying alive, then yes, I would.'
'Can I tell you a secret?'
'Please.'
He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially: 'You're not a very good liar.'
'I'm not lying. I swear I'll join you if you let me.'
'If you wish to join us why did you kill the acolytes I dispatched to bring you to me? We found their bodies on the road yesterday. And why attack and tie up the two men by the river? No, I think it's more likely that you've developed some kind of plan and this conversation is the start of it. Did you really think we would just leave if you asked me nicely?'
He spat the word 'nicely' at me like a curse, and there was a sudden flash of furious madness in his eyes.
'I hoped so. I had to try, didn't I?'
