Rebellion

“And why should they? People don’t need any help to see their own cruelty. They know it’s there, and the Fallen play that to their advantage. They are all about forcing the issue; forcing the hand. We are something more.” He paused, his back still to them, and Alice caught Mallory’s eye. He winked at her, and tapped his chest – directly over his heart. Have faith, he mouthed. At least he was consistent.

“This way,” said the Archangel, turning left out of the garden and leading them along the little street. It was narrow, and the cobbles were rough and uneven, scattered with sand. Alice eyed a dark stain that looked suspiciously like blood.

“Leave it,” Mallory hissed into her ear. “If you poke, you’re going to find something, and then what do we do?”

“I’m just not entirely sure I’m comfortable with all this.”

“Good. You’re not totally soft in the head then, are you?”

They followed Zadkiel down the street – which was seeming more and more like an afterthought, wedged between two sets of buildings and getting narrower by the step – and then turned abruptly left, bounding up three stone steps into a cemetery.

“You know,” Alice sighed, “Some girls, they try and stay out of graveyards. I seem to spend most of my life in them. Can someone tell me how that happened?”

Vin snorted as he passed her. “Says the one who’s been working in the Angel of Death’s funeral parlour.”

“Did I ask for your input?”

“Well, when you ask for ‘someone’ to...”

“Alright. You can hush now.”

“You did ask...” Vin shrugged, turning to find both Mallory and Zadkiel watching him. “What? She did!”

Zadkiel looked at Mallory. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”

“I most certainly was not,” Mallory said through gritted teeth.

Somewhat unexpectedly for a graveyard halfway up the side of an island fortress – but perhaps less so for one which attracted quite so much attention – the graves were rather pretty. Arranged in neat rows and separated by sandy paths, flowers and herbs had been planted on most of them, making a riot of colour against the weather-beaten stone and dark slate of the roofs. The far wall of the graveyard was smothered in greenery, with pink flowers erupting out of the shade. The whole space was surrounded by an intricate wrought-iron railing.

It was the most peaceful place Alice had ever been. She closed her eyes, not caring for a moment what any of the others thought.

The sound of more footsteps on the path made her open an eye. A broad-shouldered man with close- cropped hair and a long black habit was walking towards them, his hands folded together in front of him. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw Mallory tense and reach for his guns, only relaxing when Zadkiel’s face broke into a smile. The monk bowed his head towards him, and then did the same in turn to each of the rest of them.

“Welcome.” He spoke softly, clasping his hands around one of Zadkiel’s, who gestured to him with his free hand.

“This is Brother Phillip, our Quartermaster. He belongs to the Order in the priory here, but we borrow him from time to time.” He clapped a hand on the monk’s back. “Our... other guests?”

“...will be made comfortable. And secure.”

“Of course they will. Thank you, Phillip.”

“You’re most welcome, as always.” He was still smiling at them. He was waiting for something.

Mallory’s grip on his guns tightened, and he suddenly shook his head. “Oh, no. Not on your life.”

“Mallory...” Zadkiel frowned.

“Nope.”

“Mallory, hand over your weapons. Phillip will see to it that they are serviced. Surely they could do with it by now?”

“No-one services these but me.” Mallory scowled back at the Archangel.

So much for peaceful, thought Alice.

“If I might?” Phillip took a step forward and held out his hand, palm up, towards Mallory. Reluctantly, Mallory handed him one of the Colts.

Suddenly, Phillip’s hands were a blur, moving over the gun; pulling, twisting, pushing....

He handed it back to Mallory. “The slider. Smoother?”

Looking like he’d been handed a scorpion, Mallory took it back and drew the slider of the gun back. He blinked twice, then looked from it to Phillip. “Yes. It is.”

“I had a life before I joined the brothers here.”

“And that was... what, exactly?”

“It was... less than legal.” Phillip smiled.

“A monk who’s also a gunsmith. If only I’d known, I’d have come sooner,” Mallory laughed. But he still hadn’t handed over the guns.

“I promise you, you can trust Phillip as you would us,” Zadkiel said, noticing his reluctance.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Mallory muttered out of the side of his mouth.

“I can order you to, if you’d prefer...?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Mallory drew out the other gun from the back of his belt, safetied both and placed them in Phillip’s hands. “You take care of those, you hear me?”

“Of course.” The guns vanished into the shadows of Phillip’s sleeves. “We’ll have them back to you by dusk.”

“No. No ‘we.’ Only you. Nobody else touches them. Not a soul.”

“I understand.” He nodded. “It will be my privilege.” And with that, the monk turned towards Zadkiel, leaving Mallory looking slightly bereft. “Will there be anything else? I can have one of the brothers...”

“That won’t be necessary, Phillip. I’ll take care of them. And I’ll ask for the guard on the chapel to be doubled, if you want?”

“That would be most appreciated, I think. Given the circumstances.” He smiled, and Alice realised he was much younger than she had taken him for at first: thirty at most. Apparently, hanging out with the angels aged you prematurely. Which reminded her: she’d spent last night on the floor of an abandoned chapel, and most of the day before that walking. She couldn’t even imagine what she looked like at that particular moment...

The monk retreated, leaving them alone in the little graveyard, the crunch of his footsteps fading into the distance. There was a small chapel at the far end of the cemetery, tucked away in the shadiest corner. A flight of steps led up from the path to its door – Alice got the feeling steps were going to feature largely in her visit here... much as they had in hell, oddly enough. “Balance,” she said to herself, right before she saw the shadow beside the chapel move. Blinking, she stared at the patch of darkness. It didn’t move again, but there was something odd about it. It looked darker than the rest of the shadow. More solid.

“Adriel?”

There was no reply.

“Alice? Is everything alright?” Mallory’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“What? No, I’m fine. Just... you know. Thin air.”

“If you say so.” Mallory peered towards the chapel, following the line of her gaze, but was distracted by Vin slapping his arm.

“And you took the piss out of me being worried about my shades. You’re even worse.”

“Yes, Vhnori. That’s because I’m handing over my weapons. The things which keep me alive. Not my accessories.”

“Keep telling yourself that, mate. You might believe it if you say it enough times.”

When Alice looked back to the corner of the wall, the shadows were flat and still, and whatever she thought she’d seen, it wasn’t there.

After another long stare, she frowned and turned her back on the shadows.