It was the most peaceful place Alice had ever been. She closed her eyes, not caring for a moment what any of the others thought.
The sound of more footsteps on the path made her open an eye. A broad-shouldered man with close-cropped hair and a long black habit was walking towards them, his hands folded together in front of him. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw Mallory tense and reach for his guns, only relaxing when Zadkiel’s face broke into a smile. The monk bowed his head towards him, and then did the same in turn to each of the rest of them.
“Welcome.” He spoke softly, clasping his hands around one of Zadkiel’s, who gestured to him with his free hand.
“This is Brother Phillip, our Quartermaster. He belongs to the Order in the priory here, but we borrow him from time to time.” He clapped a hand on the monk’s back. “Our... other guests?”
“...will be made comfortable. And secure.”
“Of course they will. Thank you, Phillip.”
“You’re most welcome, as always.” He was still smiling at them. He was waiting for something.
Mallory’s grip on his guns tightened, and he suddenly shook his head. “Oh, no. Not on your life.”
“Mallory...” Zadkiel frowned.
“Nope.”
“Mallory, hand over your weapons. Phillip will see to it that they are serviced. Surely they could do with it by now?”
“No-one services these but me.” Mallory scowled back at the Archangel.
So much for peaceful, thought Alice.
“If I might?” Phillip took a step forward and held out his hand, palm up, towards Mallory. Reluctantly, Mallory handed him one of the Colts.
Suddenly, Phillip’s hands were a blur, moving over the gun; pulling, twisting, pushing....
He handed it back to Mallory. “The slider. Smoother?”
Looking like he’d been handed a scorpion, Mallory took it back and drew the slider of the gun back. He blinked twice, then looked from it to Phillip. “Yes. It is.”
“I had a life before I joined the brothers here.”
“And that was... what, exactly?”
“It was... less than legal.” Phillip smiled.
“A monk who’s also a gunsmith. If only I’d known, I’d have come sooner,” Mallory laughed. But he still hadn’t handed over the guns.
“I promise you, you can trust Phillip as you would us,” Zadkiel said, noticing his reluctance.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Mallory muttered out of the side of his mouth.
“I can order you to, if you’d prefer...?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Mallory drew out the other gun from the back of his belt, safetied both and placed them in Phillip’s hands. “You take care of those, you hear me?”
“Of course.” The guns vanished into the shadows of Phillip’s sleeves. “We’ll have them back to you by dusk.”
“No. No ‘we.’ Only you. Nobody else touches them. Not a soul.”
“I understand.” He nodded. “It will be my privilege.” And with that, the monk turned towards Zadkiel, leaving Mallory looking slightly bereft. “Will there be anything else? I can have one of the brothers...”
“That won’t be necessary, Phillip. I’ll take care of them. And I’ll ask for the guard on the chapel to be doubled, if you want?”
“That would be most appreciated, I think. Given the circumstances.” He smiled, and Alice realised he was much younger than she had taken him for at first: thirty at most. Apparently, hanging out with the angels aged you prematurely. Which reminded her: she’d spent last night on the floor of an abandoned chapel, and most of the day before that walking. She couldn’t even imagine what she looked like at that particular moment...
The monk retreated, leaving them alone in the little graveyard, the crunch of his footsteps fading into the distance. There was a small chapel at the far end of the cemetery, tucked away in the shadiest corner. A flight of steps led up from the path to its door – Alice got the feeling steps were going to feature largely in her visit here... much as they had in hell, oddly enough. “Balance,” she said to herself, right before she saw the shadow beside the chapel move. Blinking, she stared at the patch of darkness. It didn’t move again, but there was something odd about it. It looked darker than the rest of the shadow. More solid.
“Adriel?”
There was no reply.
“Alice? Is everything alright?” Mallory’s voice cut through her thoughts.
“What? No, I’m fine. Just... you know. Thin air.”
“If you say so.” Mallory peered towards the chapel, following the line of her gaze, but was distracted by Vin slapping his arm.
“And you took the piss out of me being worried about my shades. You’re even worse.”
“Yes, Vhnori. That’s because I’m handing over my weapons. The things which keep me alive. Not my accessories.”
“Keep telling yourself that, mate. You might believe it if you say it enough times.”
When Alice looked back to the corner of the wall, the shadows were flat and still, and whatever she thought she’d seen, it wasn’t there.
After another long stare, she frowned and turned her back on the shadows.
AS EXPECTED, THERE were more steps. A lot more steps. And they kept on climbing: sweeping stairways which wound around the sides of buildings, narrow stairs cut into the bare rock between walls... and one heart-stopping rickety wooden staircase which clung to the bare rock, with nothing below it but the sea and a rather unpleasant death. Even Zadkiel hesitated before setting foot on that one, but after a brief pause, he shrugged and ploughed on. “I don’t usually come this way,” he called back over his shoulder.
“It’s very quiet,” Alice said, trying to keep her mind, and eyes, off everything below her. Definitely not looking down. Not thinking about looking down, either. “I thought there’d be more people about by now.”
“What, you mean the people who are busy rioting and watching the world crumble around them? Everything’s falling apart. The balance has tipped, even if they don’t know it. They can feel it all the same. You really think they’re going to put ‘holiday’ on the top of their to-do list? And if they did, do you think they’re going to be queueing up to visit the town where the inhabitants all up and took to the streets and hanged their children in the school hall?”
“You always have an answer, don’t you?”
“Archangel. It’s my job.”
THE STAIRWAY OF near-death brought them up and out again into a cloister, enclosed by an open-sided corridor. It wasn’t exactly large, but it was big enough. There was a well to one side, and a wooden bench where two monks dressed in the same black habits as Phillip sat in silence in the sun. But the most striking thing about the square was that it was filled with angels. They weren’t just standing around, chatting, either. They weren’t walking in loose groups, or sitting, or doing any of the things Alice had got used to seeing them do.
They were in organised lines; blocks. They stood to attention. They shone: breastplates strapped over glittering mail, swords in their hands and wings outstretched and scudding with flames. They looked, not to put too fine a point on it, like an army.
Michael’s choir were drilling, but all Alice could see was the fire. It was everywhere: in their hair, running down their arms. Sparks rose into the air from their swords; danced at the ends of their wings. She could feel it, could smell it: the faint scent of woodsmoke carrying on the breeze, mixing with the smell of the sea.