by Paul Kane
Javier grimaced, remembering it was he who'd told De Falaise about that name on his return from Hope. Absently, he wondered what had happened to the woman he'd brought back from there, and whether the Frenchman had dispatched her yet after having his pleasure.
"And how is your relationship with your God, these days? Do you still fear his retribution more than mine?" De Falaise laughed. "Look at you, mon ami. How you have changed. But then, you know what they say: easy come, easy go." De Falaise approached Javier. "I do have one thing to thank you for, however, and that is giving me this important bargaining chip. If it does turn out that the boy belongs to 'Hood', then you will have done well."
"N-No…" stuttered the blond-haired lad.
De Falaise spun around. "So, it speaks, oui? Are you begging for your life already? Come now, the night… or rather the day is young."
The boy was shaking but he got the words out. "No… Nobody belongs to him. P-People aren't property."
That's exactly what the woman's boyfriend had said back in Hope, thought Javier, and look what happened to him.
"Quite right," snapped De Falaise. "They are pawns. Pawns in my game!" His eyes narrowed. "But the way you jump to Hood's defence like that, it makes me think Javier was not just trying to save his own skin after all. That you may well be in collaboration with my enemy."
"It is as I told you," Javier insisted.
"You are not vindicated yet, Major." De Falaise strolled over to the prisoner. "He still has to admit that he is one of Hood's gang, that he has been plaguing my efforts over these past months. Are you ready to do that yet, boy?"
"Mark… my name is Mark."
De Falaise nodded. "I see. But don't think that a name makes you any more of a person to us. You are a handy tool. You serve a purpose. Right now that purpose is information."
"I don't know anything. I was taken from my village by your men…"
"And is it not correct that you told them that you'd seen The Hooded Man?" De Falaise turned to Tanek. "A fact that has only just come to light, although the soldiers in question have been reprimanded for their forgetfulness."
"He was with the troops bringing us food and supplies."
"So what happened to him when my men got there? He wasn't killed with the rest of the scum, that much I am certain of. My soldiers would not forget to tell me that or they'd swing with the rest of your kind at the weekend."
Mark gulped. "He took off."
De Falaise grabbed the boy by his collar and pressed his face up close. "Liar! If there's one thing I do know about my nemesis, it's that he wouldn't abandon his people to their fate. It is something I am very much counting on at the moment. Unlike myself, he has principles. But then you'd know that, being so close to him."
"I-I've never met him…"
That was enough to set De Falaise off. He back-handed Mark across the face, his rings opening up cuts on the boy's cheek. As Mark began to cry, the Sheriff said: "This will not go well for you if you insist on withholding the truth."
De Falaise threw a look back over at Javier who was standing uneasily, watching.
"What is the matter, mon ami? You gave us this child, did you not, to do with as we will? Or is that another sin in the eyes of your God?"
Javier didn't know what else to do but shrug. Inside, though, he was beginning to doubt himself again.
"If so, then what we are about to do to the boy will really piss Him off." De Falaise called for Tanek to approach. "I suggest you answer my question truthfully this time," the Sheriff told Mark, "or I will instruct Tanek to do something thoroughly unpleasant."
Mark looked from Tanek to De Falaise, then finally across at Javier. His eyes were wet, pleading for help, but Javier kept his mouth shut.
As did Mark – an act for which he paid dearly. Tanek got down on his knees in front of him and held up his leg. Removing the boy's shoes and socks, he placed the heel in one hand and then took out a small needle, barely big enough to sew a button back onto a shirt. Without further ado, he shoved this into a chosen spot on Mark's sole. The boy let out a scream.
Javier cringed.
"You see, Tanek has been trained in both reflexology and acupuncture. Techniques which, in the right hands, can heal or harm. He knows just where to inflict the maximum of pain with the minimum of effort," De Falaise explained to Mark. "All the other nonsense with chains and knives and red hot pokers… well, he mainly does that just for kicks." The Sheriff glanced down at Tanek holding Mark's quivering leg. "If you'll pardon the pun. So, I ask again – are you a member of Hood's gang?"
Gritting his teeth, Mark shook his head violently. De Falaise nodded at Tanek, who repeated his procedure. Another yelp came, less piercing than the last, but no less disturbing.
It took several jabs with the needle, on both feet, before Mark would admit to De Falaise's accusation, and then all the Frenchman got was a slight tip of the head that could just have been the exhausted boy drifting into unconsciousness. Not that De Falaise would allow that, of course. He was there, all the time, slapping Mark on the cheek to wake him – just in time for another fresh bout of agony.
They continued like this for a good few hours, De Falaise asking questions, Mark refusing to answer at first, then finally giving in when he couldn't hold out any longer. Tanek appeared to be able to reach every single part of Mark's body from that one spot, as Javier noticed arms, shoulders, torso and neck all spasming in turn. Mark eventually told the Sheriff how many men Hood had, what their capabilities were, and about the main members of his team – complete with descriptions of Bill, Tate and newcomer Jack. When it came to the exact location of the camp, however, Mark kept shaking his head.
In the end they called a break. "My, is it afternoon already?" De Falaise exclaimed, looking at his watch. "Time flies when you are having such fun, does it not?" He directed this at Javier. "Are you pleased with our progress, Major?"
Javier, who had witnessed so many shocking things in his time, but nothing quite like the last half a day – a torture that left no physical scars, but had obviously taken its toll on the boy – responded with a weak: "Y-Yes."
"Good."
Food was brought down and they ate in front of a starving Mark, De Falaise biting into chicken legs, wiping the grease from his chin. Tanek tucked into a practically raw steak, dribbling blood as he shoved each forkful into his mouth. A plate of eggs and bacon was placed in front of Javier and though his bonds were cut, for the first time since he'd come back to the castle – for the first time in his entire life – he found his appetite gone. He should have been wolfing down the meal, but every time he looked at it, then at Mark, he felt his stomach give a lurch. It's just because you haven't eaten in so long, Javier told himself. But was it? He thought back to the way Tate had gotten information out of him, a hardened soldier. The holy man had needed no needles, no pain – just the right combination of words, the right things to play on the guilt Javier had buried. Though the Reverend had wanted to do more – and who could blame him? – he hadn't. He'd shown the kind of compassion that was lacking here today. The torture of a boy… a fucking boy!
What had you expected them to do with him? Give him an ice cream? It was that same stupidity which had hoped De Falaise would forgive him for failing to kill The Hooded Man. For singing like a bird about their operations. He'd seen an opportunity for getting back in their goods books and selfishly taken it, relished a bit of revenge on one of the people who'd put him here in the first place.
But Mark wasn't much older than his little brother had been when Javier left for the army. A little brother who was now dead and gone. No matter how tough he acted, Mark was scared and vulnerable.
The image from Dante's Inferno flashed through Javier's mind once more, bodies writhing. He imagined what it would be like to experience what those prisoners were going through for all eternity.
"You want some, eh?" De Falaise called across to Mark. The boy regarded him with disdain.
The Sheriff tossed a
cross the bone from the leg, which hit the boy in the chest and dropped into his lap. Even if he hadn't been bound, there was no meat left on the thing. De Falaise had picked the drumstick clean. "He'll come for me, you know," Mark promised them. "Then you'll be sorry."
"You don't seem to understand, I want him to come," chuckled De Falaise. "But he will be the sorry one." He turned to Javier. "What is the matter? Eat, Major. We have a long session ahead of us and must keep our strength up."
A long session? Only because his 'leader' was watching, he forked some of the egg into his mouth. It tasted like ashes.
De Falaise left them alone for a while – Javier suspected he needed to work off other appetites, though he had no way of proving this and wasn't about to ask – but when he came back, the questioning began again.
"Where is Hood's camp located in Sherwood? Is it central, on the outskirts, where?"
Javier knew the information would do them no good anyway, because even if they were to send a whole battalion in there, the men would come back defeated. It was his turf, and his alone. There were traps, lookouts, probably guards. He was as safe there as De Falaise was in his castle.
Mark held out for a long time and, by the end of it all, he could do nothing but mumble. "We will get no more from him," said Tanek. Javier wasn't sure whether the man meant today or ever.
"That is a pity. But we have one last thing we must attend to. I wish to send The Hooded Man a gift, a souvenir if you will. Something belonging to the boy that he may remember him by." De Falaise went over to where Tanek kept his instruments of torture. He picked up a set of bolt cutters. "Major, would you care to do the honours?"
Javier touched his chest. "Me?"
De Falaise nodded forcefully, as if he wouldn't take no for an answer. Javier walked across to him, his movements slow. In the end, De Falaise grew impatient and covered the rest of the distance between them, slapping the cutters into his hand. "There. Now, which do you think? Finger or toe?"
Javier's mouth dropped open. He could not be serious, surely?
He was. "I think a finger. We have done enough with his feet already, non?" De Falaise chortled. "So, which one? Little finger, index, or how about a thumb?"
Javier was rooted to the spot.
"No suggestions? Then I will decide for you. Hmmm… little finger it is, I think." He took Javier by the wrist and curled his fingers around the handles of the cutters. Then he got hold of Mark's little finger and placed that between the blades. The boy woke up then, realising what was about to happen. He shook his head, mumbling something that sounded like: "Please."
"I know how weak you must be, but it will take only the slightest of pressure – the mechanism is spring-loaded. Do it, Javier," ordered De Falaise. "Do it and prove that you are one of us again."
Javier saw the bodies in his mind's eye, saw flames this time accompanying them. Saw Tate, heard his words about damnation. "God will punish you for all you have done wrong. Repent, repent!" He felt the throbbing in his ruined ear.
His hands shook, causing the blades to scrape against the sides of Mark's finger.
"Do it!" De Falaise screamed. "Do it or I will blow your brains out all over the wall." The Sheriff had snatched Tanek's pistol and was aiming at Javier. This was no bluff. He would shoot if Javier defied him.
Clenching his teeth, Javier snapped the blades together. The little finger fell to the ground. If Mark had howled before, then that had been nothing compared to what he did now. Bucking in the chair, his head rocked backwards, the intense pain causing him finally to black out.
Javier dropped the cutters. He took a step back.
De Falaise clapped, then began to laugh. Tanek came over and stemmed the bleeding. They didn't want Mark to die quite yet.
"Good work, my dear Javier. You overcame your fears. He was only a boy when all was said and done."
No, not just a boy – a man today. ("Your friends have caused me much pain, little man.") More man than you'll ever be… My…My God, what have we… what have I done?
It was then that he was asked the question again, now by De Falaise. "So, how does it feel to be back in favour once more, Major?"
Javier stared at De Falaise. If he was honest, he felt damned. More damned than he ever had before.
"He'll come for me," Mark had said. "And then you'll be sorry…"
Right now Javier didn't fear De Falaise with all his men and firepower, didn't fear God with all of His angels and the ability to cast Javier down into the pits of Hell.
He feared The Hooded Man.
And what would happen when he finally did reach the castle…
CHAPTER TWENTY
The training continued on into the next day, though by noon Robert and his men had things on their mind other than the battle to come.
One of the lookouts reported that a uniformed man on a motorbike had skimmed the border of the forest at about 11.30, acting strangely. The rider kept making passes at the perimeter but never actually came in. He then took his rifle and fired into the air. The lookout almost fired back, but then saw him sling off a backpack and toss it into the forest, riding in the other direction as fast as he could. The lookout assumed it must be explosives of some kind and raised the alarm.
Robert was called and, along with Jack, came to investigate. They got close, but not close enough to get caught in a blast if there was one. Both men recognised the backpack, and knew who it belonged to.
"Doesn't mean it isn't going to blow," Jack reminded him. "Haven't you ever seen those spy films with the briefcases?"
Robert gave a shake of the head. "It's not a bomb." He began walking towards it.
"For Pete's sake be careful," Jack called after him.
He watched as Robert paused by the backpack, then as he toed it with his foot. "There's something inside," Robert reported back. "Square but remarkably light. Doesn't feel heavy enough to be an explosive device."
Robert opened up the bag, taking out the cardboard box inside.
"Don't you go opening it, now, Robbie," warned the big man. "I don't want to be scraping you off the trees."
Robert ignored him, pulling open the lid. He gazed at the object inside, then blinked once, twice, as if making sure what he was seeing was correct.
"What is it?" Jack shouted, curiosity now getting the better of him. When Robert didn't reply, he came over – but soon wished that he hadn't. Inside the box was a severed finger packed in cotton wool. The stump end was caked in dried blood, and the whole thing had a rubbery quality to it, like one of those joke fingers people once bought to scare their friends. But this was real; it smelt bad, like it had been detached for a while. Jack honestly thought he was going to throw up. It's Se7en all over again, his mind kept saying, but he shouted it down – this was no time for stupid movie references.
There was a note next to the finger. It read: See you soon. D.F.
"The sick… You don't think that's really-"
"It's his," Robert stated.
"So they know about Mark. That poor kid. Holy shit, Robbie! How do we fight people like that?"
Robert rubbed his forehead, and for a moment Jack thought he was going to run off and punch a tree, or do something to vent the feelings that were building up inside him. Instead, he put the lid back on the box, replaced it inside the pack, and began to walk off into the forest. Jack didn't question this, didn't ask if he was okay – Hell, he wasn't okay and he hadn't known the kid half as long as Robert.
Your biggest fan, eh, Hammer? Went to your matches… Now he's at the castle and they're cutting bits off him. Jack shook his head as he followed Robert. He just couldn't believe anyone could do that to a child, just to send a message.
Not a message: A warning.
It was designed to put Robert and his men on the back foot, to make them think twice about trying anything stupid. Now the more Jack considered the plan, the more unwise it seemed. He had come up against some vicious opponents in the ring, some of them bigger and stronger than him
– hard as that was to imagine – but even the mightiest crumbled if they showed even a hint of self-doubt. If, psychologically, you could trick them into thinking you were playing for keeps, they'd slip up somewhere down the line. That's what De Falaise was hoping with Robert, that he'd think twice. That he'd realise the Frenchman was playing for keeps.
When they arrived back at the camp, Robert wouldn't – couldn't – answer any of their questions. He left Jack to handle all that and retreated into his tent. Jack thought it best to just let people see for themselves.
Tate crossed himself and Bill swore. If De Falaise had been around right then, Jack knew Bill would have blown his head clean off with that shotgun he carried around. Granger wasn't surprised at all by the sight.
"He's even more twisted now than when I was at the castle," was his reply. "We should think about moving the camp – the kid may have told the Frenchman where to find us."
"No," Jack said with confidence. "He wouldn't have done that, no matter what. Besides, they'd be mad to come in here and risk being picked off. Not when they're banking on Robbie coming directly to them."
"Should someone go and see how Robert is?" Tate asked.
"Best to just let him gather his thoughts, I reckon," Jack told him. "Unless… has anyone seen Mary around today?" She'd be the only one who might be able to comfort him right now. Jack had noticed the way they'd been together lately, the body language. They seemed closer to each other than anyone else in camp, that was for sure.
"She was training with a bow and arrow last time I saw her," offered Granger. "But that was last night sometime."
"Fair enough," said Jack.
"I still can't get over that poor mite back at the castle," lamented Tate, who'd been left holding Mark's bag.
"The best thing you can do is pray for him, just like you've been doing for that gal the Sheriff took." Jack straightened his cap. "And the best thing we can do is prepare for what's to come. You all know what you have to do."
They did, and they got on with it – more so now because of what they'd seen, throwing themselves into training to take their mind off it. Jack got on with the task of teaching some of the men wrestling moves.
