right after a few promptings. He lost consciousness after fifty minutes.
He was woken with a bucket of icy water that washed some of the blood away. Blaine leaned against a wall, watching him cursorily.
'Did I pass?' The words came out strangely through Mallory's split lips.
'We had to be sure.' Blaine motioned to the inquisitors to help Mallory to his feet. 'They used to work for the security services in Belfast. Quite a coup, them turning up here.'
'Yes, aren't we lucky?' Mallory shook off the helping hands and walked under his own strength. The pain in his ribs made it hard to breathe and his head rang with numerous aches; he had already been at a low ebb after his battles on Salisbury Plain. 'This is the second time you've put me through the wringer. I'm starting to think you enjoy it.'
Blaine didn't bite. 'I would have thought by this time you'd have learned a little humility, Mallory. Now, you get yourself to the infirmary. I want you back on duty as soon as possible. We need every available hand for defence.' Briefly, his shoulders sagged with the weight of responsibility. 'You don't know how lucky you were getting inside here in one piece last night.'
The dislocation Mallory had felt on his arrival returned with force. 'What's been going on? Where did all the new buildings come from?'
Blaine was honestly puzzled. 'What new buildings?'
'What new buildings! I'm talking about the four million tonnes of stone thrown up almost overnight. The new buildings!'
Blaine shook his head contemptuously. 'You've had a long night, Mallory — you should have a lie down.'
'Something's been going on here. The security's been stepped up-'
'You'll find out in due course. At least I don't have to worry about you trying to abscond any more. You're stuck in here for the duration like the rest of us.'
Mallory was disturbed by Blaine's reaction to his questions about the mysterious construction that now swathed the original cathedral building. Nothing made sense. The aches and pains reverberating through his body only contributed to the numbing effect of the transformed cathedral so that he felt as though he was floating through a dream. It took him nearly two hours to find the infirmary. A maze of corridors and rooms now linked the cathedral and Malmesbury House, some of them grand vaulted chambers with mighty columns, pristine as if newly built, others so decrepit they appeared on the verge of falling down. Early morning sunlight streamed through holes in the roof and ivy wound around pillars, while rats scurried amongst the shattered stone debris that littered the floor in some quarters. He found enormous deserted chapels, the stained-glass windows casting red, blue, yellow and green swirls over the altars. He stumbled across the entrance to a subterranean ossuary so packed with bones that they spilled out into the corridor. There were crypts so vast their ends were lost in shadows and halls packed with graven images of men in monk's habits and bishop's mitres, knights and lords, none of whom he recognised. Even more confusing, when he backtracked, the layout of the building appeared to be continually changing: corridors suddenly came to dead ends; rooms he had never seen before appeared around bends. And over it all lay a dense atmosphere — of reverence in the areas closer to the light, of unbearably claustrophobic repression in the dark.
Occasionally, he met a brother moving about his business and it soon became apparent that, like Blaine, none of them thought anything had changed. Only a supernatural force could have transformed the cathedral in such a manner, though how, and to what end, escaped him. Nor did he understand why he was the only one with clear vision. It made him feel even more apart than he had before, strung out and anxious with nothing to tether him to reality.
Finally, when he had just about consigned himself to being lost in the maze forever, he found himself inside Malmesbury House, an oasis of calm with its sophisticated decor. He couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that there was an intelligence to the newly appeared building that had presented the correct route to him only when it was ready.
When he entered the infirmary, Warwick was mixing a foul-smelling potion. After he had decanted the brew into a crystal bottle, he eyed Mallory suspiciously.
'Fell down the stairs again, I see,' he said judgementally. 'I told you I was not-'
'I had a meeting with the Inquisition.'
Warwick's mood became contrite. He motioned for Mallory to lie on the table and began applying some stinging tincture to the cuts and abrasions.
'What's happened here?' Mallory said, wincing. He gave it one last try. 'Who magicked up the new building?'
'Don't know what you're talking about,' Warwick said brusquely. He tenderly checked Mallory's ribs. 'No breaks again. Well done,' he added acidly. 'God looks after fools.'
'The extension to the cathedral?' Mallory pressed futilely. 'All the new rooms?'
'Did you get hit on the head?'
'For God's sake, it covers nearly the whole compound now.'
Warwick helped lever him off the table. 'You'd better go and have a lie down, old chap. I'll mix you up a sedative.'
Warwick propelled Mallory towards a room at the back. It had a very high ceiling that gave it a restless air, a mood exacerbated by the lack of windows; torches burned in plates atop tall struts amongst the beds that lined both walls. It was too hot despite the time of year, and had the unpleasant aroma of the sick. Many of the men tossed and turned feverishly, though some lay still, as if dead.
'Mallory!'
He recognised Daniels' voice immediately. He was propped up in a bed at the far end, waving. As Mallory approached, he could see stained bandages covering the upper-left quarter of Daniels' head.
Mallory sat on the end of the bed, aching too much to stand any longer. 'What happened to you?'
'Lost an eye.' Daniels' hand half-went to the bandages, then stopped. 'It caught me a glancing blow, but it felt as if someone had rammed a carving knife into the socket.' His good eye closed for a second.
'I'm sorry.'
'We count our blessings, right? I was lucky to get out of there with my life. We all were. Gardener got me back. He's a good man.' He leaned forwards to slap Mallory on the arm with comradely good nature. Mallory winced. 'But what about you!' Daniels said. 'I was convinced you'd shuffled off the mortal coil in your usual iconoclastic, curmudgeonly manner. Should have known you've got too much piss and vinegar in you to give up the ghost, Mallory!'
'I had a good go, believe me. I got Miller back, too, you know?' 'Really? Thank the Lord. How is he?'
'He was in a bad way. I thought he'd be in here.'
'This is the walking wounded. The slackers. They've got another ward for the serious. What about Hipgrave?'
'Dead, I think. At least, he's not back yet. I found a severed hand. Gardener's in one piece?' Daniels nodded. 'Then it must have been Hipgrave's. I don't think he could have lost a hand out there and not bled to death.'
'Shame. He was a detestable little shit who couldn't lead a drunk to the bar, but, you know…'
Mallory nodded, although he had to admit to himself that he didn't feel even that little bit of charity. They sat in silence for a moment, repressed memories of that night suddenly rushing back. Bizarrely, Mallory remembered the smell the most, like a wet dog, though sourer, with a rubbery under-odour.
'What was that thing?' he asked from his daze.
There was more silence, and when he looked up, Daniels had tears in his eye. 'Sometimes I think we've got no right to be here, do you know what I mean?'
'I met someone on the way back,' Mallory began tentatively, not sure how much he should give away. 'They told me something had noticed us.'
'What do you mean?'
'Some force… I don't know, exactly. I got the sense it was incredibly powerful… ancient. Evil.' He stared at the hissing torch as he recalled Rhiannon's world. 'That thing we met on Bratton Camp was linked to it in some way.'
'The Adversary,' Daniels said.
'I don't think so. The way she spoke, this was something else… something even worse, if that's possible. It
