of the tree. ‘Have you ever encountered anything like this before?’
Brother Gardener shrugged. ‘From time to time.’
‘And what were the causes then?’
‘All kinds of things cause blight – drought, insect infestation, disease.’
‘Might something like an earthquake cause it?’
‘It might. If the ground shifts sufficiently, then roots get broken and the tree starves.’
‘And would we all not agree that the shock of the explosion travelling through the mountain was similar to the effects of an earthquake?’ He turned to Malachi. ‘I realize we are all under tremendous strain because of what has happened here, but now is not the time for superstition and panic. Now is the time for clear heads and calm leadership.’ He turned back to Brother Gardener. ‘What would you suggest as the best course of action?’
The big man stroked his beard and surveyed the trees. ‘Well, if it is as you say, then it won’t get any worse. We can cut away the bits that are dead and dying to speed the trees’ recovery. But if it is something else,’ he cast a furtive glance towards Malachi, ‘then it will spread.’
‘And how might we stop it?’
He took a deep breath as if preparing to pronounce heavy sentence. ‘We need to cut as deep as we dare and then burn everything we remove. It’s the only way to make sure any disease has gone.’
‘Very well, then I suggest at first light you assemble what men you need and carry out what has to be done. As for the rest of us, we should reassure our brothers that we have inspected the garden and it has sustained some damage from the after-effects of the explosion, but that Brother Gardener has it in hand.’
‘And what if it turns out to be more than that?’ came the nasal enquiry of Brother Axel.
‘Then we will deal with that too. We are stretched thin as it is. I advise that we deal only with the real problems that face us, not the imagined ones that might.’
Axel held his gaze, giving no indication whether he was swayed by his reasoning.
‘You are right.’ It was Father Thomas. ‘We are all tired and apt to jump at shadows. We should remember that, until the elections install new leaders, our brothers look to us for guidance. So we must steady the ship and seek to reassure rather than agitate.’
Athanasius had always been fond of Father Thomas. He spent many an evening with him discussing subjects ranging from philosophy to archaeology and everything in between. He found his company intelligent, rational and calm.
‘The best way to reassure the brotherhood would be to re-instate the Sancti.’ All eyes turned to Brother Axel. ‘It would demonstrate a return to order and instantly calm the mountain’s mood.’
‘But who would elect them?’ Thomas asked.
‘We cannot address the issue of the Sancti until we have an Abbot to propose them or a Prelate to confirm their elevation,’ Athanasius continued. ‘Therefore any discussion of the Sancti must wait until after the elections.’
Axel switched his gaze between Athanasius and Father Thomas, as though tracing a fine thread stretching between them. He turned to Brother Gardener. ‘I will post some of my men at the entrances to the garden in case any inquisitive brothers decide to take a midnight stroll. If there is anything else you need from me, let me know.’ Then he turned and marched away.
Athanasius watched him go, feeling the chill of the rain more keenly. There were clearly two factions developing in the wake of the explosion: the rational and the fearful. And fear was heady fuel for those who might seek to exploit it; it was how the Sancti had exercised their dominance over the mountain for thousands of years. Although his decision to remove them had been born of compassion rather than political ambition, he couldn’t help but admit in his private moments that he was glad they were gone and hoped never to see their return. He had felt a difference in the Citadel since the Sancti had left. It felt freer somehow; as if the air flowed more smoothly. But as he watched Axel reach the edge of the garden and disappear back into the mountain he realized their return could come about sooner than he had imagined, and that he had just stared a rival in the eye.
11
Room 406, Davlat Hastenesi Hospital
Liv watched the door swing inwards, revealing the darkened corridor and the shadow that stood there, the white slash of his collar glowing brightly in the gloom. She looked up at the priest’s face. It was set in a practised mask of seriousness and compassion, like he was visiting a bereaved parishioner, or listening to a low-grade confession at the end of a dull Sunday. He seemed so normal, and yet she was terrified of him – terrified and full of an anger that rose up inside her, along with the detuned radio noise in her head. Her fists clenched on the bed, twisting handfuls of starched sheet. So complete was her focus on him that she didn’t even notice the second figure enter the room until the door banged shut behind him.
He was bigger than the priest and several inches taller – though his bearish, stooping posture all but levelled them. His right arm was held tightly across his chest by a sling and his other held two black plastic evidence bags. A pair of intelligent eyes regarded her from above half-moon glasses that clung crookedly to an impressive nose. Liv broke into a smile, her anger melting in the warmth of his gaze. It was the detective who had first called her and alerted her to her brother’s death.
‘Arkadian!’ The last time she had seen him was at the airport, in amongst the carnage when the agents of the Citadel tried to silence them all. She had seen him slammed backwards by the force of bullets. ‘I thought you were …’
‘Dead? Not quite. Obviously I’ve been better, but in the circumstances I’m not complaining.’ He lowered himself on to the edge of her bed, his weight squashing the mattress and tipping her closer. His presence calmed her, almost as much as the priest’s caused her distress. ‘How are you?’
She wanted to blurt out everything that was going through her head, but instead her eyes flicked towards the priest listening in the corner of the room and she held back. She leaned in closer. ‘Why is he here?’
‘That’s a good question.’ Arkadian twisted round on the bed. ‘What’s your name, son?’
‘Ulvi,’ the priest said, looking like a schoolboy who’d just been caught smoking by the headmaster. He cleared his throat and straightened. ‘Father Ulvi ŞimŞek.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Father. Lady wants to know why you’re here.’
The priest looked at Liv then back to Arkadian. ‘It has been agreed that a member of the Church should be present at every interview.’
‘But this isn’t an interview. She’s already given a statement, which I’m sure you’ve either listened to or read a transcript of.’
‘I have to be here, as a representative of the Church.’
‘And why is that exactly?’
The priest’s face flushed at the continued interrogation. It made Liv feel better, seeing his obvious discomfort, but she still wanted him out of the room. ‘The Church founded this hospital and still owns the land it stands on,’ he said. ‘It has been agreed that all persons who were brought from the Citadel will be monitored by a representative of the Church while they remain our guests.’
‘Well then, how about we come up with our own agreement? You give us five minutes to have a little friendly catch-up and we promise not to tell your boss about it. Who’s to know?’
The priest stared at Arkadian. ‘God will know,’ he said, as if that put an end to the matter. ‘I have been instructed to be present at every interview.’
‘Yes, but you see – this isn’t … oh, never mind.’ He turned back to Liv. ‘We’re just going round