In the confusion of Lewis's arrest, Mallory forced his way through the mute crowd in search of Daniels to try to mitigate the blow. But Daniels was not at the back of the refectory, nor was he outside, or back in the dormitory. Mallory searched for half an hour and in the end was forced to give up. The day that had seemed hopeful only a few hours earlier was ending so bleakly he didn't want to see the morrow.
Wrapped in his cloak with the hood pulled low over his head, Mallory drifted around the buildings for a while, lost to his own dark thoughts, until he was drawn to the cathedral by the distant sound of plainsong drifting through the cold evening air. With the candles gleaming through the frosted windows and the blanketing snow casting the night white, a sense of peace and hope fell across him.
He felt an urge to be on his own, so he made his way to the kitchens, which he knew would be empty at that time. With the ovens burning around the clock, it was also the only continually warm place in the entire cathedral compound; the list of brothers seeking work there had been long ever since winter had come. But how long would the fuel last, he wondered?
The dinner pots and pans had been rinsed and lay gleaming on the work surface; the ovens had been stoked, the few vegetables trimmings put aside for composting. Dinner had been even more meagre than usual and Mallory's stomach was rumbling, but he resisted the urge to raid the larders out of responsibility to the others.
Instead, he found a space beside the furthest oven from the door and shuffled in. The temperature was just right to begin to ease the aching cold from his feet and hands. When he swallowed the warm air, the contrast allowed him to feel the permeating cold all the way down his throat into his lungs; it felt as though he hadn't been warm for months.
In the soporific atmosphere, it wasn't long before his eyelids began to feel heavy. He fought it — it would be embarrassing to be discovered there — but within minutes he had drifted off.
'You've all done a terrible thing.' Sophie walked slowly around the moonlit glade.
Mallory knew what she meant. 'The Fabulous Beast.'
'How could you do such a thing? It was something wonderful, Mallory.' The deep sorrow in her voice made his heart ache. 'It was more than just a living creature, it was a symbol, it was the manifestation of the Earth Spirit, the power of life given form. And you killed it!'
'I'm sorry.' That sounded pathetic against something so huge. He wanted to say that he hadn't joined in; it wasn't his hand that had helped bring the creature down. But he knew that was no mitigation. As she had pointed out to him before, he was complicit because he hadn't taken sides; there was no sitting on the fence. He had known that at the time, and he knew it now.
'We can't begin to guess the repercussions of what you did, Mallory,' she continued. 'The echoes will run through the universe, through time. Goodness knows what the end result will be, what price we'll all have to pay. And there will be a price, Mallory, make no mistake.'
'I wish it hadn't happened, Sophie, more than anything, but everyone in the cathedral is under tremendous pressure. They've been facing a siege for weeks now… they're running out of food, and fuel. They feel they're in a fight to the death against Evil, not just to save themselves, but to save the whole world. And they're completely powerless-'
'I know,' she sighed. 'But that doesn't justify-'
'I'm not trying to justify anything, just explain.' He walked over and took her hand; she let him, folding her cool fingers into his. 'If there's any way we can put this right, make amends…'
'I don't know. It's hard to think how. I'll have to petition Higher Powers, see what can be done.'
He tugged gently on her hand and she looked into his face, her eyes lost in pools of shadow. 'Against all the terrible things happening in the world, we should be nothing, but it doesn't feel like that to me.'
She rested her head on his chest. Even in that place he could feel the tension in her brought on by the weight of all her obligations. Behind her confidence and power lay a woman as unsure as everybody else, desperate for a break from the demands heaped on her, someone who had managed to put her own needs to one side to do her best for others. Sensing that, Mallory felt even more drawn to her.
'We're going to make a go of this, aren't we?' she said wearily. 'It would be so nice to have someone to help with the burden… of this life.'
There was a weight of belief in her voice that suddenly scared him. She was implying he had the strength, the ability, the confidence, to stand beside her, to help support her, and he was very good at presenting that view to the world; but inside, he wasn't half the man he pretended to be.
Once again she appeared to be reading his thoughts. 'You're a better man than you think you are, Mallory,' she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
'Where do we go from here?' he said. But even as the words had left his lips, he was aware that they were moving apart, not through any conscious will of their own, but as if a rope were dragging him back.
Her voice floated to him even as she was swallowed by the trees. 'I'll you soon, Mallory. In the flesh next time.'
He awoke with a start, still wrapped in thoughts of trees and a moonlit landscape. Briefly, he wondered where he was, until the warmth of the oven brought him back to earth quickly. Someone else was in the kitchen. Cautiously, he peered around the edge of the oven.
Gibson, the Canon of the Pies, was opening a padlocked larder built into one wall. It had been constructed to be almost hidden unless it was actively being sought: the doors merged with an area of wood panelling, the keyhole lying behind a swivelling, decorative rail. Only the padlock around the two handles, both disguised as ornaments, gave the game away.
Inside the larder were shelves filled with food. Mallory could see cured meats, dried fruits in jars, pickles in larger glass containers, and assorted tins. Gibson was removing what looked like salt-beef from a large Tupper- ware box and stuffing it into his mouth till his cheeks bulged. From his anxious backwards glances, Mallory understood this was Gibson's own private store. He had plainly stockpiled emergency supplies under his role as head of the kitchens to keep him well fed. Meanwhile the rest of the brothers underwent privations to ensure everyone had enough food to survive. Mallory felt a dull flare of anger. He considered confronting Gibson there and then, but he knew the canon would use his authority to deny his crime and Mallory would be the one made to suffer.
While he considered his options, Gibson finished off half of the salt-beef and followed it with two pickled onions. Then he pulled out a stoppered bottle — some fortified wine, probably brandy, Mallory guessed — and took a long draught.
Just as Mallory had reached the conclusion that he could no longer contain himself, he became aware of a sickening but disturbingly familiar smell. His heart began to pound as desperate images of the labyrinth at Bratton Camp crackled through his mind.
Gibson filled his mouth with dried apple and raisins until the contents were falling out even as he pushed more in.
Anxiously, Mallory searched for the origin of the foul odour. Gibson wasn't aware of it. He popped one whole sugary biscuit into his mouth and began to close the cupboard. At that moment, he heard or sensed something and froze. Mallory saw Gibson's fear that his sins had sought him out.
Mallory drew his sword slowly.
'Who's there?' Gibson snapped the padlock shut and turned, pressing his huge bulk against the larder. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining.
Who's there? Mallory echoed in his head.
A shadow moved on the far edge of his vision, but was gone the instant he looked towards it.