the Roman streets.'
'They know something we don't,' Daniels said.
They all fell quiet for a long moment while they pushed their food around their bowls. It was Gardener who spoke first. 'We wouldn't have spooks rising up if we were living in a miracle.' He didn't raise his eyes from the table.
'Those things that have put us under siege… this…' Daniels motioned to the building around them. '… you really do think it's linked?'
'In some way,' Mallory said, 'but I'm betting it's not in as direct a way as you're saying. Those things can't get on to Church land… that's why they're pinning us down here. So I don't think they could have caused the cathedral to change.'
Before they could debate the matter further, Julian walked in, looking brighter than Mallory had seen him in a long time. He marched to the centre of the now-busy room and climbed on to one of the long tables. 'I have an announcement,' he said in a voice that barely contained his joy. 'The bishop… Cornelius… has turned the corner. He's on the road to recovery.'
Mallory recalled how frail the bishop had appeared earlier; it was implausible that his health could have improved so quickly.
'We should all pray for his swift return to form… and for the guiding hand of Saint Cuthbert.' A whisper ran around the room at the mention of the sacred relic that had invigorated the small community. 'Yes, it's true. We transported Cornelius to our most holy relic earlier. The response was phenomenal. Strength flowed into his limbs, his eyes grew bright, his voice firm and confident. The sickness that had been tainting him for so long drifted away like mist in the rays of the sun.' Emotion overcame Julian so that he had to wipe his cheeks with the back of his hand. 'Cornelius is a remarkable man,' he continued, speaking from the heart. 'He held this community together in the earliest days. His vision guided us when we were at our weakest, when many were thinking of abandoning the Faith in those black days. Cornelius. All Cornelius. He has led us to this point where — current difficulties notwithstanding — we are on the verge of once again leading the Church, and God's Word, out into the world.'
He stared into the rafters thoughtfully before continuing. 'He probably wouldn't want me to tell you this, but he originally refused to be taken before the Saint Cuthbert relic. He felt it would be better for our morale if he fought and overcame the illness himself. He is an unselfish man.' He shook his head slowly, almost talking to himself now. 'Sadly, that was not to be. This afternoon he slipped into a coma… one from which it appeared he would not recover. The decision was taken then to transport him to the relic in the hope that he would be freed to continue his mission with us. And so it was. Praise the Lord.' He wiped his eyes once more, stepped down and swept out of the refectory.
There was a moment of silence before the room erupted in cheers and cries of 'Hallelujah!' Only one man failed to join in the celebrations,
Mallory noted: Stefan, who had walked in halfway through Julian's speech. Though he forced a smile when any of the jovial brothers appeared in his line of vision, his face was dark.
Blaine had instigated a shift-rota of cathedral patrols for the knights. It was clearly a propaganda exercise to provide the illusion of security.
That night it was the turn of Mallory and Daniels. They started their rounds just as the night office was beginning at midnight. The cathedral was ablaze with candles, the golden glow reaching up the walls until it was swallowed by the thick shadows engulfing the ceiling far overhead. They stood at the back, letting the seductive sway of the plainsong move their emotions like a tidal swell. The combination of light and sound, of emotion alive with the subtle nuances of voice, had more power than its component parts.
They eventually dragged themselves into the cloisters, the singing now ghostly through the walls. Yet silence and stillness hung over the square, so that at first they didn't dare speak; even their footsteps on the ancient stone sounded too loud. The open central area was a pool of moonlight that made the enclosing corridors appear even darker.
As they approached the chapter house, Daniels coughed self-consciously. 'Sorry. I just wanted to hear my voice.' He laughed in embarrassment. 'Look at me — an educated, sophisticated, just all-round modern guy and I'm afraid of ghosts.'
'We never really leave behind the children we were,' Mallory replied. His own hand rested on the carved dragons of his sword. 'Besides, these days it's probably smart to be scared.'
'Stops you being blase,' Daniels agreed. His eyes darted around. 'You know what I miss? Clubs. Music… new stuff, you know… and lights. I used to love clubs, went two or three times a week with Gareth.'
'Yeah, I miss music,' Mallory said, 'and the football, movies, nipping out for a curry after the pub…'He thought for a second. 'Getting a train, buying a newspaper on a rainy morning, maybe picking up a Mars Bar with it-'
'I hate Mars. Like eating sugar and glue.'
'Buying a new book from your favourite author…'
'You could go on for ever.'
'It's the stupid little things that get to you the most.' Mallory took a deep breath. 'And what do we get in return-?'
'We get a life that's never boring.'
The new structure began beyond the cloisters, the stone darker, more worn, as if thousands of feet and hands had trailed over it across thousands of years. Mallory still didn't like walking around the place. The constantly changing layout of corridors and stairs and rooms unnerved him — he couldn't get a handle on the floor plan at all — and there was an unsettling atmosphere that hung in the air like a bad smell.
They passed into a corridor that ran amongst a series of dormitories where the echoes were disturbingly distorted. Halfway along, Daniels caught Mallory's arm and hissed, 'What was that?'
'Didn't hear anything,' Mallory replied. His footsteps were still reverberating several seconds after he'd come to a halt.
Daniels' eyes had widened until the whites appeared to glow. 'It sounded like someone calling my name.'
'You're a big nancy-boy coward, Daniels,' Mallory joked. 'You're scaring yourself.'
'No, it was definitely-'
He was cut short by a rustling sepulchral whispering that swept along the corridor like a breeze. Goosebumps sprang up on Mallory's arms. He could have sworn it was calling his name.
'It's just Gardener playing tricks on you,' Mallory said. It sounded feeble and unconvincing the moment he voiced it.
'It was my name,' Daniels stressed, looking up and down the deserted corridor. It unnerved Mallory even more that they had both heard something different. 'We should investigate.'
'Yeah, right,' Mallory said. 'Like I'm going to be a character in Scream Ten.'
'It's our job,' Daniels said. 'We're supposed to be protecting everyone.'
'OK. Off you go, then. I'll wait for the scream of agony. And when it comes I'll break with tradition and not come after you to find the bloody chunks. Go on. I'll be here, enjoying myself.'
'You're a bastard, Mallory,' Daniels said nervously. His sword rang as it slid out of the scabbard. He began to make his way back down the corridor.
'You're really going?' Mallory said, surprised.
'It's our job, Mallory.' He disappeared into one of the rooms.
Mallory waited for ten minutes until he started to grow bored and then sighed and marched off to investigate. Except the doorway through which Daniels had passed now led into an alcove barely big enough for him to squeeze inside.
'Daniels?' he said tentatively. An unconscious shiver ran down his spine and he quickly backed into the centre of the corridor. The silence was almost unbearable; he could feel his chest tightening as anxiety insinuated its way inside him. Although he felt stupid doing it, he drew his own sword; the hum as it came free was almost comforting.
He had found through irritating experience that retracing one's steps rarely worked, so he pressed on along the corridor. As he neared the end of it, a cold blast of air brought him to a sudden halt; it was as if someone had opened a long-closed door. A second later, the whispering rustled along the walls again; it sounded like frozen lakes, like the tomb. And he was convinced it was calling his name.
