Midwinter of the Spirit

‘Which means it’s either still missing…’

‘Or it’s back. In which case, where’s it been meanwhile?’

She wondered for a moment if he meant that the stone had been somehow dematerialized by the demon. Then she realized what he did mean.

‘Hard to comprehend, especially seeing it like this,’ he trudged around the rubble, ‘that this box was once the core of it all. If you try and imagine the amount of psychic and emotional energy – veneration, desperation – poured into this little space over the centuries…’

‘You can’t. I can’t.’

‘And then imagine if – while it was away – that same stone had hot blood and guts spilled on it.’

‘Huw!’

‘And then it was brought back?’ He shrugged. ‘Just a thought.’

Merrily looked up at the huge, lightless, stained-glass window, and saw the dim figure of a knight pushing his spear down a dull dragon’s throat.

‘All right, what would happen if the balance tilted – if the dominant force in here was the force of evil?’

‘Even a bit of evil goes a long way. Take all the aggro they’ve had over at Lincoln Cathedral. Terrible disruption, hellish disputes, and bad feeling and bitterness among the senior clergy. And consider the number of people who put all that down to evil influences emanating from this little old carving in the nave known as the Lincoln Imp. A thousand sacred carvings in that place – and one imp, know what I mean?’

‘Yes.’ Merrily was wondering what damage had been caused at Salisbury by Rowenna’s sexual forays into the canonries.

‘Had a few rows here too, mind,’ Huw recalled. ‘You remember – could be this was before your time – when the first contingent of Hereford women priests staged a circle-dance here in the Cathedral?’

‘I read about it. They were supposed to have been gliding around trancelike, caressing the effigies on bishops’ tombs, which some fundamentalists thought was a bit forward and rather too pagan.’

‘Bloke who organized it, he said it were simply to introduce women to the Cathedral as an active spiritual force for the first time in its history. So as to make their peace with the old dead bishops. The Bishop at the time, he went along with it, but Dobbs went berserk, apparently. It were said he went round from tomb to tomb that night, like an owd Hoover, removing all psychic traces of the she-devils.’

‘Devils?’

‘I exaggerate.’

‘You have a problem with circle-dancing?’

‘Not especially. But I don’t rule out there might be a problem. Cathedrals are just not places you bugger about with, without due consideration. You walk carefully around these old places.’

Merrily found herself wondering what a demon would look like. She tried to imagine one in canon’s clothing, but all she could conjure was the crude cartoon image of a grinning skull, its exposed vertebrae vanishing into a dog-collar. What was the image with which Dobbs – if only in his own mind – had been confronted in the seconds before his stroke?

She thought of the lightning impression of Denzil Joy ratcheting up in her own bed. What if she’d been old, with a heart condition?

‘What are we fighting here, Huw? Your malevolent, semisentient forcefield – and what else? Who else?’

‘I wish I knew. But if Dobbs knew the significance of the dismantled tomb – and it’s been in the newspaper enough times, so other folk did too. And we’re not just talking about the headbangers now.’

He looked at Merrily.

‘Who, then?’ she asked.

Huw scratched his head. ‘Happen the ones with knowledge, and seeking more. Higher knowledge – the knowledge you can’t get from other men. And you won’t get it from God or His angels either, on account of you’re not meant to have it. But demons are different: you can command a demon if you’re powerful enough. Or you can bargain with it.’

‘They found one headbanger floating in the Wye,’ Merrily said. ‘That’s not been released by the police yet, so don’t, you know… but a man whose body was found in the Wye, with head injuries, kept a satanic altar in his basement. With a big poster of the Goat of Mendes, and American stuff, dirty satanic videos, all that.’

‘When was this, lass?’

‘Couple of weeks ago. He was from Chepstow. The police are trying to identify his contacts in satanic circles – without conspicuous success.’

‘Where in the Wye?’

‘Just along the river from here, near the Victoria Bridge. Any relevance, do you think?’

He shook his head. He didn’t know any more than she did. She needed to stop regarding Huw as the fount of wisdom, and start thinking for herself. If the possibility of arousing the demon of Hereford Cathedral had already become an occult cause celebre, perhaps Sayer had been in here that night.

Merrily was cold and confused. This was all getting beyond her comprehension, and the sight of the empty, segmented tomb was starting to distress her.

She was glad when Huw said, ‘Let’s light a candle for Tommy,’ and they moved out of the enclosure.

There was a votive stand which had previously been sited next to the tomb when it was intact. All its candles were out, so she passed Huw her Zippo and he lit two for them. The little flames warmed her momentarily.

He touched her elbow. ‘Let’s pray, eh?’

She nodded. They knelt facing the partition and the ruins of the shrine. One of the candles went out. She handed Huw the Zippo again, and he stood up and relit the candle. Merrily put out a hand, feeling for a draught from somewhere. No obvious breeze.

As Huw stepped back, the second candle went out.

He waited a moment then applied the lighter to the second candle. As the flame touched the wick, the first candle went out.

A thin taper of cold passed through Merrily, and came out of her mouth as a tiny, frayed whimper.

Outside, in the fog-clogged and freezing night, Huw said, ‘Watch yourself.’

Merrily was shivering badly.

‘What I’m saying is, don’t feel you’ve got summat to prove.’

‘Li… like… like what?’

‘You know exactly what. If anything happened, and you thought the sanctity of the Cathedral was at risk, you might just be daft enough to go in there on your own, to call on Tommy Canty and Our Lord to do the business.’

‘I don’t think I w… would have the guts.’

She felt naked, as though the fog was dissolving all her clothing like acid. She wanted Jane to be with her, and yet didn’t want Jane anywhere near her.

‘Listen to me: it were playing with us, then. It’s saying, I’m here. I’m awake. You asked me what I believe. I believe there’s an active squatter in there.’

‘Suppose it was subjective… Suppose… the c… candles… Suppose that was one of us?’

‘Then it was acting through one of us. You’ll need extra prayers tonight, you know what I mean?’

‘But what do we do, Huw?’

‘A negative presence in the Cathedral itself? We might well be looking at a major exorcism, which in a great cathedral would require several of us, probably including – God forbid – the Bishop himself. Meanwhile, my advice to you, for what it’s worth, is not to go in there alone.’

‘Huw, I—’

‘Not by night nor day. Not alone.’

Her forehead throbbed. She thought of what Mick Hunter had said that seemingly long-ago afternoon in the Green Dragon. I NEVER want to hear of a so-called major exorcism. It’s crude, primitive and almost certainly ineffective.

She wished, at that moment, that Huw had taken the advice of the Dean’s Chapter, and left the Bishop’s