Read Online The Devil in Green by Mark Chadbourn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Chadbourn
Tags: Fantasy
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knight, he went directly to the captain and said something in hushed, insistent tones that Mallory couldn't make out. The captain nodded, motioned to the one with the box; Stefan barked an order to his four assistants and then the whole group moved speedily in the direction of the cathedral.
When they'd gone, Miller whispered dismally, 'That poor man!'
'Looks as if he stood a little too close to the barbecue.' Mallory stared at the silhouette of the cathedral blocking out the stars, trying to make sense of what he'd seen. 'What was in the box?' he mused to himself. 'What was so important?' After a moment, he set off for the ladder. 'Ah, who cares? Come on, let's hit the town.'
They climbed quickly, keeping one eye out for the guard. When they reached the top, Mallory led Miller to a part of the wall that was lower than the rest where they could easily drop down to the street. They paused for a moment at the foot of the wall, and when they were sure no one had seen them, they ran towards the town, keeping well to the shadows.
Once the walls had been swallowed by the dark at their backs, Miller heard Mallory's voice floating back to him as they ran. 'You know how you get that little tingling sensation when something's going to end in tears? Or is that just me?'
chapter three the evidence of things not seen
'Just as children seem foolish to adults, so humans seem foolish to the gods.' -
Heraclitus
Salisbury's streets were oddly otherworldly in a flood of light from flaming torches that had been attached to the now-useless lampposts; their sizzling pitch added a spicy quality to the cooling air. More people milled around than Mallory would have expected with the encroaching night. Many shops remained open, their trade carried out by candlelight. Friends chatted beneath the crackling torches, freed from the rigour of days that had become unduly hard. Children played in the gutter without fear of cars or buses, although the occasional horse-drawn cart moved by them at an alarming clip. Outside the Maltings shopping centre, a teenager strummed on a guitar while his friends danced or drank home-made cider. Others flirted or kissed each other in the shadows.
The population had adapted remarkably well to the inversion of their lives. Indeed, from the good humour evident all around, they appeared to be relishing it. Mallory and Miller moved through them, watching silently, enjoying the normality.
Near Poultry Cross, where tradesmen had hawked their goods for centuries, a man with lank grey hair to his shoulders stood on an old kitchen chair and preached passionately to a small detached crowd. He seemed to be proclaiming the glory of a god that lived at the bottom of his garden. Further on, three women prayed silently around a picture of George Clooney framed with wild flowers. At the marketplace, there were more, individuals preaching to no one at all, or large groups singing of the wonder of some deity or other.
'They're crazy,' Miller muttered.
'Your God's more real, is that it?' Mallory noted.
'Yes.' Miller knew Mallory was baiting him but couldn't resist responding. 'He's been worshipped for millennia, not ten months.'
'So in a couple of thousand years, old Clooney—'
'Oh, shut up.' Miller tried to stop there, but he couldn't. 'There's a whole coherent philosophy behind Christianity—' His ears burned at Mallory's laughter. 'There is!'
'You don't have to sell it to me, Miller. Just don't try pretending you're better than these poor sods.'
They continued to wander, exploring the sights. As a new city, Salisbury had the benefit of being planned on a rectangular chequerboard pattern like some Roman metropolis. Most people gathered in a small square that ran from the market to the Makings and up to Crane Street and New Street, a continuous thoroughfare that was the closest to the cathedral.
As Mallory and Miller wandered along the path at the side of the culverted river, watching the trout, grayling
When they'd gone, Miller whispered dismally, 'That poor man!'
'Looks as if he stood a little too close to the barbecue.' Mallory stared at the silhouette of the cathedral blocking out the stars, trying to make sense of what he'd seen. 'What was in the box?' he mused to himself. 'What was so important?' After a moment, he set off for the ladder. 'Ah, who cares? Come on, let's hit the town.'
They climbed quickly, keeping one eye out for the guard. When they reached the top, Mallory led Miller to a part of the wall that was lower than the rest where they could easily drop down to the street. They paused for a moment at the foot of the wall, and when they were sure no one had seen them, they ran towards the town, keeping well to the shadows.
Once the walls had been swallowed by the dark at their backs, Miller heard Mallory's voice floating back to him as they ran. 'You know how you get that little tingling sensation when something's going to end in tears? Or is that just me?'
chapter three the evidence of things not seen
'Just as children seem foolish to adults, so humans seem foolish to the gods.' -
Heraclitus
Salisbury's streets were oddly otherworldly in a flood of light from flaming torches that had been attached to the now-useless lampposts; their sizzling pitch added a spicy quality to the cooling air. More people milled around than Mallory would have expected with the encroaching night. Many shops remained open, their trade carried out by candlelight. Friends chatted beneath the crackling torches, freed from the rigour of days that had become unduly hard. Children played in the gutter without fear of cars or buses, although the occasional horse-drawn cart moved by them at an alarming clip. Outside the Maltings shopping centre, a teenager strummed on a guitar while his friends danced or drank home-made cider. Others flirted or kissed each other in the shadows.
The population had adapted remarkably well to the inversion of their lives. Indeed, from the good humour evident all around, they appeared to be relishing it. Mallory and Miller moved through them, watching silently, enjoying the normality.
Near Poultry Cross, where tradesmen had hawked their goods for centuries, a man with lank grey hair to his shoulders stood on an old kitchen chair and preached passionately to a small detached crowd. He seemed to be proclaiming the glory of a god that lived at the bottom of his garden. Further on, three women prayed silently around a picture of George Clooney framed with wild flowers. At the marketplace, there were more, individuals preaching to no one at all, or large groups singing of the wonder of some deity or other.
'They're crazy,' Miller muttered.
'Your God's more real, is that it?' Mallory noted.
'Yes.' Miller knew Mallory was baiting him but couldn't resist responding. 'He's been worshipped for millennia, not ten months.'
'So in a couple of thousand years, old Clooney—'
'Oh, shut up.' Miller tried to stop there, but he couldn't. 'There's a whole coherent philosophy behind Christianity—' His ears burned at Mallory's laughter. 'There is!'
'You don't have to sell it to me, Miller. Just don't try pretending you're better than these poor sods.'
They continued to wander, exploring the sights. As a new city, Salisbury had the benefit of being planned on a rectangular chequerboard pattern like some Roman metropolis. Most people gathered in a small square that ran from the market to the Makings and up to Crane Street and New Street, a continuous thoroughfare that was the closest to the cathedral.
As Mallory and Miller wandered along the path at the side of the culverted river, watching the trout, grayling
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