by carl ashmore
‘Go to hell, Emerson!’
‘Oh, I’ve been there. I didn’t care for it much.’ Drake’s grin threatened to cover his entire face. ‘Hello again, Rebecca … Joe… Or should I say George?’
‘It’s Joe,’ Joe snapped back.
‘Very well,’ Drake replied, acting surprised. ‘But I would’ve thought you may prefer your birth name, particularly after the way you’ve played such a significant part in the history of this country.’
When Joe returned a confused look, Drake continued, ‘It just so happens your recent skirmish with the Kraken - yes, I did a short time trip and found out all about that - laid the real-life foundations for the Saint George and the Dragon legend. You can’t quite lay claim to being the original Saint George - he was a fourth century Christian Martyr - but certainly your story and his merge over time and become the rousing fable we all know and love. And as Saint George is the Patron Saint of England, I should’ve thought it would rouse some patriotic fervour in you?’
Joe wasn’t interested at all. ‘I couldn’t give a flying -’
‘Ah, but you really should,’ Drake interrupted. ‘All we can hope for in our short time on this earth is to make our mark in some way and you’ve certainly done that. Still, I can understand if you’re not quite yourself at the moment. It can’t be easy discovering your life has been a series of deceits by people claiming to care for you. I can’t imagine how that makes you feel.’
‘Not as bad as you must’ve felt when you pushed Granny off that cliff.’
Drake looked startled, but regained his composure almost immediately. ‘To be honest, I didn’t feel bad about that at all … far from it. My darling Grandmother wasn’t exactly the gentlest of souls. Frankly, she was a hateful, vindictive woman who deserved everything she got. I often wonder what she was thinking in those last few seconds as she plunged to her death … I do hope it was of me.’
‘And what about Melanie Hunt?’ Joe added.
This time, rage blazed in Drake’s eyes, as if Joe had touched on a matter buried for some time. ‘Melanie was a pimple on the skin of this world,’ he said, punctuating each word with venom. ‘And if you say her name again there will be serious consequences.’ He waited for a moment, allowed an insincere smile to round his lips and then turned to Becky. ‘Now, Rebecca, what’s this about a potential boyfriend? Dan Hardman, is it? I can’t deny he’s a handsome chap, but is he good enough for you? Would you like me to investigate into the way he behaves around women? You can never be too careful – good looks and charm are seldom signs of fine character. And besides I do feel somewhat responsible for you getting together in the first place.’
‘We’re not together,’ Becky snapped back. ‘And you just keep away from him, and anyone else I know.’ She fought back a powerful desire to squash Drake’s head like a lemon. ‘Just put that gun down, give Marian to us and leave before you or anyone else gets hurt. You do know what I can do, don’t you?’
‘I know a lot more about you than you think,’ Drake jeered. ‘I also know I’ve planted a second Artax-bomb just below where you’re all standing.’ He withdrew a gadget from his pocket and raised it for all to see. ‘This detonator can decide whether we all live or die. And with that in mind - I don’t want anyone trying anything rash … no ridiculous heroics, no futile gestures of bravery. No one even moves until my business here is done. After all, we don’t want anyone getting hurt in any crossfire.’ He stepped closer to Marian and cocked the gun. ‘What say you, Will?’
‘Let Marian go,’ Will said, desperation in his voice. ‘It’s me you want.’
‘You?’ Drake scoffed. ‘Frankly, I don’t give a damn about you. But I do want the sword.’ He turned to Joe. ‘So, boy, will you give it to me? Or am I to be the one to exterminate the legendary Maid Marian?’
Joe didn’t respond.
‘Pass over the sword, Joe,’ Will urged.
For the first time since they had met, Joe saw an emotion on Will’s face he’d not seen before: fear. ‘But, Will, it’s an Eden Relic. Drake can’t get hold of an Eden Relic.’
‘Please, Joe,’ Will said. ‘Marian cannot be harmed. If I mean anything to you, then give Drake the sword now. That is how it must be. I cannot say more. Do you have faith in me?
‘Course I do, but -’
‘Then he must take the sword,’ Will said. He glanced at Drake. ‘If we give you Excalibur you will leave this place now … Do you agree?’
‘I am here for the sword,’ Drake replied. ‘Nothing else matters.’
‘And there will be no more violence against my friends on this day?’
‘I give you my word.’
‘The word of a liar means nothing,’ Will replied. ‘But I do know on this occasion you will keep it.’
Drake pondered these words with suspicion. ‘How do you know?’
A curious expression flashed on Will’s face. ‘Pass over Excalibur, Joe.’
Joe couldn’t bring himself to do it. He stared at Uncle Percy, who appeared conflicted, as if two powerful ideas were tearing him in opposite directions, neither leading him to an acceptable outcome. ‘Uncle Percy?’
Uncle Percy ignored him. ‘Are you sure, Will?’ There was the strangest tone to his voice.
‘There is no doubt in my mind,’ Will replied. ‘Percy, we have discussed this at length and you promised to keep your word.’
Becky stared at Uncle Percy, confused. Keep his word about what?
‘I know what I said,’ Uncle Percy said in a small voice.
‘Then do as you promised.’
Uncle Percy looked broken. ‘Please, Joe, do as Will says. Give up the sword.’
As far as Joe was concerned, Uncle Percy’s words were the final nail in the coffin. Every ounce of defiance left him. As Will approached him, he handed over Excalibur, offering no resistance, his head swirling with a mixture of betrayal and a deep-rooted anger that their efforts had been for nothing.
Will saw that Joe was furious. ‘All is not as it seems, Joe,’ he whispered. ‘Whatever comes to pass, Joe, you must not get involved. I have a wider plan that will make everything right.’
‘A plan?’ Joe said. ‘What plan?’
But Will had turned away. Excalibur gleaming brightly in his hands, he walked over to Drake.
‘What did he say?’ Becky asked.
‘He’s got a plan,’ Joe whispered. ‘I knew he would.’
Becky watched Will come to a halt four feet away from Drake. For a fleeting moment, she thought he was going to kill Drake there and then. But he didn’t move a muscle. Instead, he waited for Drake to point the gun away from Marian, before raising Excalibur high and plunging it deep into the soft earth. ‘Excalibur is yours.’ He took three steps back. ‘Now release Marian.’
Drake never once took his eyes from the sword. He motioned for Marian to join Will. She dashed into his arms.
‘Marian.’ Will cupped her face with his palms. ‘Marian … please go and stand with Joe.’
‘I am not leaving your side.’
‘Do as I ask,’ Will replied. ‘I beg thee.’
Grudgingly, Marian kissed his cheek, and then walked over to Joe, who looked more confused with each passing second.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Joe said to Becky. ‘Why’s Will just standing there?’
Becky couldn’t find an answer.
Drake pocketed the pistol. Then he reached down and drew the sword from the ground. Curling Excalibur in his fingers, he stared mesmerised at the glittering blade, his eyes gliding over every contour, every detail, like a father exploring his newborn child for the first time. ‘It is everything I dreamed it would be,’ he breathed. Then his face changed. His mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘You know,’ he hissed so quietly only Will could hear. ‘I was telling the truth. For reasons of my own, I do need your extended family unharmed. They won’t suffer any more violence today.’
‘Good,’ Will replied.
‘But I didn’t say anything about you
…’
Will didn’t flinch. ‘Do with me what you will. I shall not object.’
‘Interesting.’ The ghost of a smile curled on Drake’s mouth. ‘You see, recently I made a promise to Mister Kruger ... And I always keep my promises.’
Will remained impassive.
‘Shall we see what he has to say about the matter?’ Drake shouted over to Kruger, ‘OTTO … JOIN US!’
Becky watched as Kruger set off to join Drake. ‘This isn’t good, Joe.’
‘It’ll be okay,’ Joe whispered back. ‘Will said it would. Just get ready to fight if he gives the signal.’
In twenty long strides, Kruger was standing beside Drake, his chilling gaze fixed on Will, watchful, waiting for a reason to strike. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Otto,’ Drake said. ‘It is time I honoured my promise. Shakelock’s fate is now in your hands. Apparently, he says we can do with him as we will. He will not object…’
‘Really?’ Kruger said, surprised. ‘And if I choose to kill you, groundsman, then you would let that happen before your woman, your family, your friends … What kind of a man would do that?’
To Kruger’s frustration, a serene expression appeared on Will’s face. ‘A man content in the belief that is as it should be.’ It was Will’s turn to smile. ‘But know this … you have never bested me in battle. And you never shall. Now do what you must …’ He raised his arms wide.
‘What’s he doing?’ Becky asked Joe. ‘When’s this plan going to –’ She glanced at Uncle Percy, and saw his eyes were dampening. In that moment, she knew instinctively what was about to happen. Her eyes flicked back to Will, desperate to use her powers somehow. By the time she saw the flash of metal in Kruger’s hand, it was too late.
Otto Kruger sank his service dagger deep into Will’s stomach, twisting it, knowing full well there was no way of surviving the strike.
Refusing to show any pain, Will collapsed to his knees, before slumping forward. He landed face down on the ground, blood pooling around him.
‘WILLLLLLL!’ Joe screamed. Fuelled with rage, he charged at Kruger.
Uncle Percy leapt in his path, flinging his arms around Joe’s body, using all his strength to hold him back. ‘No, Joe! This is what Will wanted. This had to happen…’
Joe wasn’t listening. ‘Let me go!’ he yelled, kicking out like a wild animal. ‘LET ME GO!’
Uncle Percy’s grip intensified, clamping Joe powerfully to his chest, as if believing the mere act could lessen Joe’s pain. Within seconds, Joe stopped struggling, his rage replaced by grief. The tears exploded from his eyes.
At the same time, a silent scream blared in Becky’s head, never finding its way to her mouth. Distraught, Marian had already raced to Will’s side, and was softly stroking his long hair, sharing words no one but they would ever hear.
In a horrified daze, Uncle Percy, Becky and Joe walked over. As they reached Will, Marian peered up at Uncle Percy through inflamed eyes. ‘He wishes to speak to you.’
Uncle Percy fell to his knees. ‘Yes, my dear Will?’
‘Closer,’ Will managed.
Uncle Percy leaned in, his ear an inch from Will’s mouth. Will whispered something, which Uncle Percy responded to with a look of surprise and a nod. ‘Of course, old friend.’ His voice cracked. ‘I shall…’
Will was fading now, the colour rapidly leaving his face. Straining, he turned his head toward Joe. ‘C-come, boy.’
Joe sank to the ground and gathered Will’s hand in his. ‘Don’t go,’ he pleaded. ‘Please, Will, don’t leave me …’
‘I shall never leave you,’ Will exhaled. He strained a smile. ‘I need you to live a worthy life, Joe, a life at the behest of no one but yourself, and I need you to be the protector now. Protect your uncle, your sister, all at Bowen Hall. Do that for me…’
‘I will.’
‘I - I am truly honoured to have known you -’ Will swallowed a breath. ‘ - And to have loved you, Joe Mellor …’ And with those words having just left his mouth, Will Shakelock closed his eyes for the final time and died.
Chapter 33
Farewell to a Friend
Becky’s world collapsed. She didn’t even notice Drake type six digits on his portravella and grasp Kruger’s arm. Within seconds, their bodies were enfolded in dazzling light and, surveying the outpourings of brief with pitiless smiles, they disappeared.
Becky didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. She stood immobile for an age, a living statue, her brain incapable of telling her body to move, her eyes to weep, her mouth to scream. A small part of her mind, the part that somehow clung to reality despite the pain, half expected a future Uncle Percy to appear at any moment and somehow reverse all that had happened, saving Will’s life and reclaiming Excalibur in the process. It didn’t happen. No one came.
One by one, the merry men shuffled forward in disbelief, surrounding their fallen comrade, heads down. A distraught Tuck administered a short prayer, his words disrupted by spluttering breaths.
Becky’s eyes found Joe’s. He was staring vacantly into space, his face displaying no emotion, whatsoever – no sadness, no anger, no sorrow … nothing. The tears had stopped. His body had shut down like a toy with a drained battery. She was about to hug him when he emerged from his trance, his eyes finding Uncle Percy, anger spreading slowly across his face.
‘Come with me,’ Joe snarled, keeping his voice down as best he could. He seized Uncle Percy’s arm and dragged him away at pace.
Becky was speechless. She followed them, walking as quickly as she could.
When they reached what Joe considered an acceptable distance from the others, he swivelled round to Uncle Percy, jaws clenched and roared, ‘You knew, didn’t you? You knew he was going to die here … today!’ He mopped the tears pooling in his eyes.
‘No.’ Uncle Percy shook his head. ‘I didn’t. I swear.’
‘Then what was all that about a promise?’
Uncle Percy fought to manage his own grief, whilst maintaining his composure for the sake of Becky and Joe. ‘Will told me there would come a moment on this trip when I’d have to do something that went against every instinct I had - a moment when I had to follow his wishes to the letter, whether I agreed with them or not. He said he would make it clear when that moment had arrived.’ He reached out to place his hand on Joe’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Joe, but –’
Still angry, Joe slapped the hand away. ‘Don’t touch me!’
Uncle Percy nodded sadly.
‘When did Will say all of this?’ Becky asked quietly.
Uncle Percy inhaled deeply. ‘The night you showed me the lottery ticket I knew we had to travel to Medieval England without you. I visited Will at his tree house and we agreed to leave immediately. It was then he told me something significant would happen at some point on this trip. Something I might consider to be a bad thing, but that was necessary for the wellbeing of everyone in the future.’
‘Do you think he knew he was going to die?’ Becky asked.
Uncle Percy was struggling to keep it together. ‘In retrospect, yes I do. But he gave me no indication at the time it would be anything like that. I would have never agreed if I’d have known, whatever the repercussions.’
‘But how could he have known?’ Joe asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘He wouldn’t tell me more than I’ve told you. He kept it all vague, and begged me not to pursue the matter. He said I had to trust him. And of course I did…’
Joe wasn’t satisfied. ‘Yeah, well … we’re going back in time to try and change all of this.’
‘We can’t, Joe,’ Uncle Percy said miserably. ‘I gave my word.’
‘Who cares about your stupid word?’ Joe snapped.
‘He did. And he insisted matters run their course, that one day I would understand why. And out of respect for our beloved friend, we shall honour that request…’
‘But I don’t want to,’ Joe replied, trembling.
‘I know,’ U
ncle Percy replied. ‘And I know there’s nothing I can say that can possibly make this better … for any of us.’
Joe’s face cracked. ‘I - I just want him back,’ he whispered. Shoulders shaking, he began to weep uncontrollably.
‘I know you do.’ Uncle Percy pulled Joe into an embrace. ‘We all do …’
Seeing this, Becky felt like her heart had been torn from her chest. She flung her arms around them both and squeezed with every bit of strength she could muster. And then, standing there, the three of them allowed their tears to mix as one.
*
By the time they returned to the others, a peach slice moon had appeared in the sky. Following a short discussion, it was the general consensus Will be buried in Sherwood Forest, and when Uncle Percy recounted the tale of the Major Oak and Will’s connection with the legend of Robin Hood, it was decided he should be laid to rest there the following day. Against the better judgement of some of the merry men, it was decided the surviving knights of King John should be released unharmed. One after another, Barbie memorased each and every one of them, ensuring not one of them could recall the events of the last few days.
Upon their return to Sherwood Forest, Becky and Joe skulked around in a daze. They spent the evening ambling the woods until darkness fell, before returning to the camp where they sat beside the campfire with the merry men, listening to them tell stories about Will’s life. More tears were shed, sad songs sung and laughter shared. It was a poignant but magnificent celebration of a life well lived.
The next morning, Becky awoke to the sound of red squirrels playing in the trees. Before she had even opened her eyes, the horror of the previous day crashed over her. Her pillow was still damp from the tears spilt overnight. She left the tree hut and inhaled the fresh air, which was as crisp as lettuce. The sky was a canopy of the richest blue, cloudless and never-ending, and despite her grief she acknowledged there couldn’t be a more beautiful day for a funeral.
At noon, everyone gathered on the edge of the camp. Will’s body had been wrapped in a green linen shroud and placed in an oak coffin, which Eldred Mulch and Arthur Berrymead had crafted during the night, whittling scenes from Will’s lifetime on the wood like the panels of a comic book.
