Clovenhoof (45 page)

“Bearing up, Mr Kitchen?”

Ben nodded glumly.

“Nothing to worry about today,” said the barrister. “This isn’t the trial. You’ll only need to stand there and answer some basic questions. Name, address, et cetera.”

“I understand,” said Ben.

A young man came up behind Mr Devereaux and, standing on tiptoe, whispered something in the barrister’s ear. Ben couldn’t hear what was said but saw the man’s eyes widen. The barrister was silent for a while.

“Tell me, Mr Kitchen,” he said. “Have you heard of the concept of
habeas corpus
?”

The woman in white led Nerys onward at a brisk pace, overtaking the wide, slow queue of people waiting to get to the gate.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to do this?” said Nerys. “I have very specific views about queue jumping.”

“I know you do,” said the woman in white.

“There was this time at Disneyland Paris... Europeans have no notion of how to queue.”

“It’s what makes us British,” said the woman.

“Exactly,” said Nerys and then wondered if the woman was making fun of her.

Up ahead was a tall pair of gates, wrought from a brilliant white material and criss-crossed with intricate filigree.

“The pearly gates?” said Nerys.

“One of twelve,” said the woman.

Nearer to the gates, wooden barriers divided the queue into channels that herded and corralled those hoping to get into Heaven. At the gate itself was a checkpoint and a turnstile which seemed thoroughly modern.

The angels at the gate allowed some people through but a significant number were herded away through a covered walkway that disappeared into the city of tents.

“Herbert said the entry requirements were being tightened,” said Nerys.

“They’ve turned it into a bureaucratic nightmare,” said a blonde woman stepping in beside them.

Nerys looked at her frowning and then realised why she recognised her.

“You’re the vicar of St Michael’s.”

“Was. Evelyn Steed.”

“Nerys,” said Nerys. “I’m sorry you died.”

“Ditto,” said Evelyn.

“I thought you did a lovely job with Briony’s funeral. Even if Jeremy did his best to ruin it.”

“Quite,” said the woman in white.

They had slowed their pace as they approached the gate.

“They’re turning people away on the flimsiest of excuses,” said Evelyn. “I saw them turn a farmer away for keeping two different breeds of cattle in the same field.”

“That’s a sin?” said Nerys.

“If you look hard enough, you can find anything you like in scripture. I hear they might turn on people with flat noses next.”

“You’re having me on.”

The woman in white shushed them with a wave of her hand.

“We’ve got to time this perfectly.”

“What are we doing?” whispered Nerys.

“Sneaking you in. We’ve just got to wait for Joan to distract him.”

They were maybe fifty yards from the gates and up ahead, at the checkpoint, a man with what appeared to be a computer tablet in his hand was deep in heated discussion with a teenager wearing heavy plate armour.

“Joan
of Arc
?” said Nerys.

Evelyn nodded.

“You’ll like her. Beneath that armour is one hell of a party girl.”

A gaggle of hopeful entrants into Heaven had clustered around Joan and Peter, joining their voices to the argument that was going on.

They approached the barriers to the left of the gate. The nearest angel casually looked their way. Nerys smiled automatically.

“He’s going to stop us,” said Evelyn out of the corner of her mouth

“Just keep walking,” said the woman in white.

Suddenly, Joan of Arc pointed off to the right.

“Oh, my goodness!” she shouted. “A rampaging elephant!”

Angels and humans turned to look. The crowd around the gate swelled and shifted. There were shouts and cries as people alternately hurried to get away or get a better view.

Evelyn pushed Nerys under the barrier. The woman in white hopped over it nimbly. They walked on briskly, past the turned backs of angels and to the open gate.

Behind them, the man with the tablet PC shouted for order. Nerys did not look back. They went through the gate and into a wide city boulevard lined with yellow-flowered acacias and thronging with crowds.

“That went better than expected,” said Evelyn with a relieved laugh.

A hand came down heavily on Nerys’s shoulder. She gasped.

“So pleased to meet you, Nerys,” said Joan of Arc.

“Er, yes. And you,” said Nerys. “Nice armour.”

Joan gave an ambivalent tilt of her head.

“I’m thinking of changing my image to be honest. It’s not very practical. Or fashionable. Whereas you...”

Joan gestured at Nerys’s party outfit.

“This old thing?” said Nerys.

“And that basque and stockings thing you wore for the Devil Preacher concert.”

“Um,” said Nerys, not sure if that kind of attire was suitable conversation material in Heaven.

“Do you think it would suit me?” said Joan.

The business of establishing the most obvious details of Ben’s upcoming trial seemed to take an impossibly long time. Across court number one, between defence and prosecution, court clerks and judge, empty words went back and forth, names and dates and addresses and legal formalities. Ben, in the dock, felt a desperate need to be somewhere else and yet did not want to miss a word of what was being said, particularly after what Mr Devereaux had suggested to him less than an hour before. When it did come, Ben was so wrapped up in nerves and distracted thoughts that he almost missed it.

Mr Devereaux got to his feet.

“I do have one matter that I wish to bring to your honour’s attention,” he said.

The bewigged judge, Judge Arbuthnot, looked meaningfully at the clock.

“Make it quick.”

“It regards the body of the alleged deceased,” said Mr Devereaux.

“
Alleged
deceased?” said Judge Arbuthnot.

“Quite, your honour. A source has informed me that the city coroner’s office appear to have mislaid the body.”

Arbuthnot looked to the prosecution and the representatives from the Crown Prosecution Service.

“Is this so?”

“A clerical oversight,” said the barrister for the prosecution.

“You knew of this?”

“They assure me that it will turn up.”

“Turn up? It’s not a TV remote or a pen to be lost down the back of the settee!”

“Indeed, your honour,” interjected Mr Devereaux. “A search has been made of the mortuary and the body of Herbert Dewsbury cannot be found.”

“I have never heard of such a thing,” said Judge Arbuthnot.

“And may I suggest, your honour,” said Mr Devereaux lightly, “that without a body there cannot be a murder trial.”

The Disneyland metaphor seemed increasingly apt to Nerys. The cobbled streets were spotless. The angelic staff were all smiles and helpful comments. The spires of beautiful white towers rose in the distance like an infinitely more tasteful version of the Magic Kingdom’s castle. And yet, like the very worst theme parks, the place was overcrowded, noisy and seemed unreal, ready to crack at the seams.

Joan seemed to read her mind.

“Over ten billion people crammed into a cube not big enough to contain them. We’re not at saturation point yet but it’s not far off.”

“A lot of people sleep rough in the parks,” said Evelyn. “Someone started up a free blankets programme but that was stopped by the KHH squads.”

“KHH,” nodded Nerys. “
Keep Heaven Holy
.”

“All overseen by the Doctrinal Diligence Ministry with the Archangel Michael as its figurehead.”

“One moral slip-up and you’re out,” said Joan.

“I think I’ve met Michael,” said Nerys. “Several times. I suspect he might be a complete git.”

“The worst kind. He thinks he’s doing the right thing. Now we’ve got to get you to the next gate so you can let your friend, Clovenhoof, in.”

“You want to help me?”

“Of course,” said the woman in white.

“But he’s the devil.”

“And he was an angel,” said Evelyn. “
The
angel, in fact.”

“Heaven has a problem,” said Joan, “and I think we need his help to fix it.”

“How far away is the next gate?” said Nerys.

“Five hundred miles along the wall.”

“Five hundred miles? Can we... fly?”

“Don’t be silly. We’ll take the monorail.”

“Monorail. Of course,” said Nerys. What theme park would be complete without its own monorail?

“The monorail station-” began Evelyn but had the words knocked from her as Joan suddenly pushed the three women through an open doorway and into a gallery hung with illuminated manuscripts.

Nerys looked around.

“What are we...?”

“Shush,” said Joan and looked out through the doorway. A quartet of figures, two angelic, two human, all wearing a purple sash strode past.

“KHH squad,” said Joan.

“Are they looking for us?” said Nerys.

“If not already, they will be,” said Joan. “Particularly when they find out we’ve got these.”

She raised a pair of large keys in her hand.

“Are they St Peter’s keys?” said Evelyn.

“Uh-huh. I picked his pocket when his back was turned.” She slipped them back beneath her breastplate. “And that’s not easy to do while wearing gauntlets, I can tell you.”

Judge Arbuthnot stared at Mr Devereaux over steepled fingers.

“Are you trying to suggest that Mr Dewsbury, the alleged deceased is not, in fact, dead?”

“I don’t think I would be quite so presumptuous,” Mr Devereaux replied.

“I think that to make such comments would be upsetting to the deceased’s family.” The judge raised his eyes to the public gallery, looking for a grieving wife or, at least, some misty-eyed friends but found none. “And it would be time-wasting flimflammery of the highest order,” he added.

“I present these facts to you with an open mind, your honour,” said Mr Devereaux.

“We are all in agreement are we not that a man has died and that that man is Herbert Dewsbury?”

“Of course we are, your honour,” said the barrister for the prosecution.

“Except...” said Mr Devereaux.

Judge Arbuthnot cleared his throat.

“Except what, counsel?”

“There have been some issues with the forensic evidence also.”

The judge glared at him.

“Do tell, Mr Devereaux. Speak plainly, omit nothing and, above all, do be quick about it. This is my court, not yours, so stop playing to it.”

Mr Devereaux consulted his notes.

“A number of samples taken from the scene of the crime have gone missing. To be plain and omitting nothing, the West Midlands Police forensic service have no blood, tissue samples or other genetic material belonging to Mr Dewsbury.”

“Another clerical error?” said Judge Arbuthnot.

The barrister for the prosecution shrugged.

“They have the bags, beakers or whatever it’s stored in,” said Mr Devereaux, “but they are empty.”

“How is this possible?”

“I do not know, your honour, but may I submit to you that, while the coroner’s office and police force put their house in order, it would be illegal to keep a man imprisoned for a crime that may never have happened.”

Heaven’s monorail was silent, fast, efficient and clean and bore no relation to any British form of public transport Nerys had ridden on. It was however crowded and most people had to travel standing up, making it very much like the best of British transportation. Despite making stops every few minutes, it had apparently covered most of the five hundred miles to the next gate in less than half an hour.

The elevated monorail presented an excellent viewpoint of the Celestial City. Leaning over a seated couple who were conversing in what appeared to be Latin, Nerys watched the vast cityscape roll past. She was no expert on architecture but Nerys could see that the city was an unplanned mish-mash of building styles. Red brick apartment blocks and mansions of stone stood beside long wooden halls and rude earthen huts. Among the stout temples and soaring cathedrals were white wooden churches and squat stone chapels. Domes, ziggurats, minarets, towers and spires, any of which might have ranked among the wonders of the mortal world, were commonplace.

“It’s not as green as I’d expected,” said Nerys. “Those Jehovah’s Witness leaflets painted a false picture.”

“There’s no room for green spaces,” said Evelyn.

Joan consulted the route map on the carriage wall for the umpteenth time.

“Speaking of which,” she said, tapping the stop labelled ‘Blessed Animal Sanctuary’, “we can get off at the next stop.”

“About time,” said Evelyn, stretching as much as she could in the crowded carriage.

“It might not be soon enough,” said the woman in white.

Nerys followed her gaze along the carriage to the furthest door. Nerys saw the purple sashes.

“But are they specifically looking for us?” said Nerys. “Let’s just act casual. Wing it.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Joan.

The
Keep Heaven Holy
squad were working their way down the carriage, speaking to every person in turn.

“What is everyone showing them?” said Nerys. “Were we meant to buy tickets?”

Evelyn produced a laminated card from her pocket. Nerys peered at it. It had Evelyn’s photo on it, a date of death and a complicated paragraph of words that might have been an address.

“Residency permit?” read Nerys.

Joan and the woman in white had cards also.

The KHH squad were coming closer. By unspoken agreement, the four women began moving along the carriage, away from the sashes. Nerys apologised repeatedly as she squeeze through the press of bodies.

“So Heaven is a totalitarian state,” she said to Joan.

“Always was,” said Joan. “Just used to be a benign one.”

“And God allows this?”

“Who knows? Access to the Empyrium is restricted.”

“The what?”

“Empyrium. The seat of the Holy Throne. Where God lives.”

They had reached the end of the carriage with no way to progress further. They positioned themselves at the door with the other three women arranged in front of Nerys.