by Paul Kane
“I know people in lots of places, I could keep tabs on what’s going on and get back to you with –”
“Didn’t you just hear what I said?” Robert’s tone was harder now. “I can’t... Look, I just can’t. Okay?”
Mark frowned. “I’ll pull my weight, honest. I’m a hard worker.”
“No,” Robert told him.
Mark pulled items out of his bag now, as if he was trading at the market. “Please. Here, you can have it all... And I have other stuff, stashed away, really cool stuff that –”
“I said no!” Robert surprised himself with the harshness of his reply.
The boy’s face fell sharply, and for a moment Robert felt sure he was going to cry. As he’d suspected, the streetwise attitude was simply a front, and now Mark had let Robert see too much of the real him. Slowly, the lad began to gather the things back into his bag.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” began Robert, reaching out a hand as if to place it on Mark’s shoulder, then quickly withdrawing it. “It’s just that... I can’t let you come with me.”
Mark stared at him. “Why?”
It was a simple enough question, but the answer was so complicated. “I can’t tell you that, either. Go back to Bill, Mark. You’ll be safe with him.” Robert pulled up his hood and stepped around the boy. This time Mark didn’t try to stop him.
What are you doing? said a voice in Robert’s head, the small part of him still connected to the past: to his family, to his job. He needs help... they all do. But he’d ‘helped’ enough for one day, caused more trouble than he’d prevented, probably. So what, you’re just going to run away now and let them get on with it?
Robert tried to force the thoughts out of his head, but they persisted. Can you do that? Can you really? Have you strayed so far from who you used to be?
He was tempted to look back over his shoulder at Mark, but gritted his teeth and told himself that the kid would be better off without him; a dysfunctional excuse for a human being. Robert couldn’t give him what he so obviously wanted, someone to look up to, someone to admire.
After a few minutes Robert broke into a run. Pretty soon he was swallowed by the wilds he now called home.
DE FALAISE NEVER liked to be interrupted when he was entertaining. Especially with news like this.
The knock on the door of the converted office was light, but curt. It had been followed by a cough, then: “My... my Lord?”
De Falaise answered the door dressed in his robe. He recognised one of the young men they’d recruited on their travels – he didn’t remember his name (it began with ‘G’... Granville, Grantham possibly?), but he’d been a member of that ridiculous gang that called themselves The Jackals, and De Falaise did remember ordering one of his friend’s deaths. Yes, there was the scar on the back of his raised hand, where Tanek’s bolt had found its mark. Now the only thing that had stopped De Falaise from grabbing this silly boy by the throat and carving onto his chest ‘Do not disturb’ was the use of his new title, a mark of respect he was owed.
“Ahem...” said the young man, attempting to keep his eyes dead ahead, and not on De Falaise’s lack of clothing, nor what was beyond him in the room. “My Lord, I bring news of an incident involving one of our units.”
“What kind of incident?”
“We’re... we’re not quite sure. Tanek sent me to fetch you, he said it would be better if you talked to one the survivors yourself. He’s down in the stables.”
De Falaise caught the youth gazing past him, at the woman on the bed. “Tell Tanek I will be with him momentarily, oui?” The youth made to leave. “Oh, and next time you see too much, I will take out your eyes. Do you understand?”
Granville or Grantham, or whatever his name was, nodded. There was no hint of disobedience anymore, just terror – pure and simple.
“Run along, run along.” De Falaise clapped his hands to get the moron moving, then closed the door and prepared to get ready.
Ten minutes later, after dressing and posting a guard to watch the woman from Hope, he’d joined Tanek and a handful of others in the former stables. He was not at all surprised to see that the big man had already put the stocks there to good use, but he did raise an eyebrow when he saw that the youth occupying them was wearing a uniform. As De Falaise joined them, Tanek explained that the ‘soldier’ and a couple of others – currently being held down in the caves – had been caught trying to flee the area by one of their routine patrols.
De Falaise bent slightly and asked the man his name.
“R-rory,” he gasped, obviously having trouble breathing in the stocks.
“Was he not in Henrik’s unit?” De Falaise asked Tanek. The larger man nodded.
“What happened? Why were you trying to escape?
At first Rory didn’t answer, but then De Falaise gestured to Tanek, who grabbed hold of the captive, yanking his head up by his sweaty hair. “Answer!”
“Gak... I was scared... Scared of... of what you’d do to me.”
“I see,” De Falaise said, “as opposed to what we are doing now, you mean? No one has the option of walking away from my army, my young friend, I thought I had made that abundantly clear?”
Tanek pulled Rory’s head back further and he let out a frightened choke.
De Falaise leaned in, his face inches from Rory’s. “Tell me what happened. Tell me what was so... frightening that you could not return.”
Rory’s eyes flitted from Tanek to De Falaise. “Our... our unit...wiped out.”
De Falaise raised another eyebrow. “A whole squadron of men, with jeeps, motorbikes and a tank?”
Rory tried to nod, but Tanek’s grip held him fast.
“And your commanding officer?” De Falaise enquired.
It was barely a shake of the head, thanks to Tanek, but it was enough.
“Impossible! Henrik was one of my best!” De Falaise searched Rory’s features for any hint that he might be lying. “How could this be? A gang, a group of resistance?” Had the people of the region banded together to fight back so quickly? If so, it was serious news indeed, and they would require wiping out. Then another thought occurred to him. “Or did you organise this yourself, perhaps? Kill the rest of the men and then make a run for it?”
Again, Rory attempted to shake his head, his breath coming in quick gasps.
“Then what? I need to know!”
“A... A man.”
“What? Just one man? You’re lying.”
Rory forced out the words. “No. A man... one man did it all. He came from the trees.”
“The trees? What on Earth are you talking about?”
“A man wearing a hood. He was like a ghost.”
De Falaise frowned. “Where did this skirmish take place?”
It was Tanek who answered him this time. The incident had occurred not far from Rufford. De Falaise stood up and felt the corners of his mouth rise slightly. In spite of himself, and in spite of the fact he’d just lost one of his most capable and trusted fighters in Henrik, De Falaise was smiling. Then that smile turned itself into a chuckle, the chuckle a laugh. Suddenly De Falaise was guffawing like he’d just heard the funniest joke ever. Rory gaped at him, then stared upwards at Tanek, who appeared equally mystified.
“Can none of you besides myself see it?” De Falaise asked as he looked from the captive to Tanek. “Someone else is playing the game.” They looked at him blankly. “Do you not understand? A man wearing a hood... A hooded man? Just like the statue outside this very castle!”
He waited for it to dawn on them. This all made sense now, especially when you factored in what Javier had told him about Hope; about the name De Falaise had acquired there. If he was to play the role of the Sheriff of Nottingham, then someone was auditioning for the part of his arch nemesis. Someone who was a little too enamoured with the old legends of this place.
“Gentlemen, history is repeating itself, is it not? But there will be a different outcome this time. History is written by the victors, and it has painted my
‘predecessor’ in a remarkably bad light. That will not be allowed to happen again. This hooded man must be destroyed at once, before news of what has happened reaches the rest of the towns and villages. Before we really do have rumblings of rebellion.”
De Falaise ordered Tanek to extract as much information from Rory as he could about what had happened. “Use any means necessary; and when you are finished with him, work on the rest. Then we will send out as many men as we can spare.”
“Where to?” Tanek enquired.
De Falaise grinned once more. “Where else would we send them to hunt for the hooded man, but to Rufford? Rufford, at the heart of Sherwood Forest!”
CHAPTER NINE
IT WASN’T AN easy thing to do, but Robert was putting what had happened behind him. Not the big thing, not the thing that sent him out here in the first place, but the thing that had happened a couple of days ago at the market. He’d returned to his life as ‘normal,’ busied himself with the everyday, with catching food and living out his time. At night he still dreamt of the men, of his son, of Mark, but on waking he was able to slot them into some hidden compartment of his brain. He’d quietened the voices that told him he was leaving Bill and the others to fend for themselves against overwhelming forces; armed men that he’d brought down on them. It was none of his business – Oh, so suddenly it’s nothing to do with you? Weren’t saying that when you were rushing to their defence, were you? – it didn’t matter anymore what happened, he of all people should know that.
He could just keep on running, keep on hiding. It was for the best.
But when you cast a stone into the water it creates ripples. He could no more run from his destiny than he could kill himself.
A FEW DAYS later he spotted an intruder near to his camp.
Or at least he thought it was an intruder – he’d been on edge since his encounter with De Falaise’s men, for which no one could really blame him. Robert had been bringing back some of the day’s spoils when he spotted movement in the undergrowth not far from his tent. Robert had done his best to camouflage his home, and doubted whether any passers by would see it from a distance. But what if they were looking for it?
Relax, he told himself, might only be an animal. Though it hardly ever happened, deer had been known simply to walk into his camp before now. They never stayed long, though, and could count themselves lucky that the times they’d done so had been when he’d had more than enough meat to last him.
But it wasn’t an animal. As Robert crouched down he saw the shadow cast across the trees. Leaving the catches where they were, he began to move around, encircling the camp, keeping low and nocking a freshly-made arrow onto his bow at the same time. The approaching figure was stealthy, but over time Robert had become the master. When he was close enough, he rose up out of the woodland, aiming his arrow at the intruder’s head. His finger twitched, almost releasing the missile.
What he saw made him ease up, and let the tension of the bow lapse. There, holding his hands in the air, was Mark. “Don’t shoot!” he urged, a little too late.
Robert let out a long sigh. “What are you doing here? I could have killed you.”
“I...” Mark began, the implications only now sinking in. “You could’ve as well, couldn’t you?”
Robert’s gaze never faltered. “I still could,” he informed him. “Why have you come here when I specifically told you not to?”
He wasn’t expecting Mark’s answer. “To warn you.”
“What?”
Mark nodded. “They’re coming for you, Robert. De Falaise’s men.”
“How do you know?”
“How do I get to know anything?” Mark said with a smile. “I keep my ear to the ground. And right now I can hear marching feet.”
“Let them come.”
The boy moved closer. “You don’t understand, they’re coming in mob-handed. De Falaise got wind of what you did and he’s going to take you down before you cause any more trouble for him.”
“Is he now?”
“Yes,” said Mark. “And they’re on their way from Nottingham. You have to get out of here.”
Robert gave a hollow laugh. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Don’t you understand? They’re going to kill you!”
“I understand, and what I said the other day still stands. Get out of here – go where it’s safe, Mark.”
Mark scowled. “After all that? After risking my neck to come and tell you, you still –”
“Sshh,” Robert told him, holding his finger to his lips.
Mark froze; he’d been too busy talking to notice. “What?”
“Gunfire,” said Robert. “They’re already here.”
MAYBE IT WAS being the one to deliver the news that had landed Granger in this mess. Here they all were, entering a forest, looking for someone who had taken on a whole unit of De Falaise’s men and won. Granger thought of them as De Falaise’s men rather than his own now, though there were a few other former members of the Jackals here today with him. They’d been through too much on the road up north to ever be the same again. If the Cull had changed them once, set them free, then meeting De Falaise had changed them back again, into drones of a new machine.
Every night when he slept – when he could even get to sleep in the crowded makeshift barracks on the upper floor of the castle – he saw the bolt entering Ennis’s head. Saw what that git Tanek had done to him on De Falaise’s orders. He’d wake, sweating, the scar on his hand throbbing.
And he’d seen many more die at their hands when they’d refused to sign up for this mad army, run by an even madder dictator. Christ alone knew what he was doing to that poor woman in his bedroom.
You can hardly talk, what about the girls that The Jackals took in? That was different, he argued with himself. They needed protection, they knew what they were doing and got something in return. The woman brought back from that village by ‘Major’ Javier – who’d be leading them into the forest today – had been virtually catatonic. He’d seen her eyes when they ushered her into the castle. They were cold and dead. Whatever had been done to her, even before De Falaise entered the picture, must have been enough to bend her mind.
So here he was, serving that lunatic, calling him ‘Lord’ just so he wouldn’t do to him that he’d done to those men they’d caught deserting. One poor sod was still hanging in the stocks after he’d been tortured for information, his screams heard throughout the grounds as Tanek had done things to him Granger didn’t even want to think about. The others had been interrogated down in the caves.
It was how they knew what they were up against today: a single bloke who’d shot out the wheels of bikes and jeeps just using arrows. Who’d killed that psychotic cigar-smoking kraut, Henrik, blowing up his toy tank in the process.
Yep, they were looking for bloody Rambo out here.
Given the option, Granger wouldn’t have been present at all – he would have been cheering this guy on from the sidelines. This man had the guts to take on De Falaise and obviously had him rattled. So much so that he’d sent along a bunch of heavily armed troops to bring back the man’s body. De Falaise was definitely taking no chances.
Something rustled in the undergrowth to their left and, almost in unison, the men turned and fired. The forest came alive with light, the muzzles of machine guns flaring. Even before Granger had a chance to aim, the ceasefire had been given. Javier stepped in front of the men, examining the shredded bushes and trees.
“It’s nothing, false alarm. Just a hare or something,” he said to his men by way of headsets.
Granger groaned. So they were shooting at Thumper now? What next, Bambi’s mother?
“I don’t like this,” muttered a soldier to Granger’s right. He knew what the guy meant; even with their firepower, it felt like they were sitting ducks, felt like they were the ones being targeted. And they’d just told whoever was out there exactly where to find them. Smart.
They moved forwards, following Javier,
knowing that they didn’t have a choice in the matter. The overweight Mexican was De Falaise’s eyes and ears; he might as well be him. If they revolted, more men who had no choice would come after them. Granger knew that, they all did.
“Why don’t you try picking on someone your own size?” came a voice out of nowhere. It echoed all around them, impossible to trace. “If you can find anyone.”
“There!” shouted Javier, “It’s him!” He pointed, and the men opened up on the trees once more. Except for Granger. He had his finger on the trigger of his weapon, but something told him he’d be wasting his ammo.
When the gunfire died down, he was proved right. All was quiet and still for a moment or two, then came the voice again. “Nice try.”
“Bastardo!” spat Javier, red faced.
There was movement again in the foliage – but this time Javier himself was on it. He brought up his M16/Colt Commando, firing an incendiary from the grenade launcher fitted underneath. He laughed crazily as the forest burst into flames, burning everything ahead of him. “How does that suit you, my friend?”
There was no answer this time.
The next movement was sudden, and from a completely different direction. Javier pointed, ordering a handful of his men into the trees, Granger included.
Shit! he thought. More orders, more trouble.
Granger held well back as the troops moved in. They crept along as they scanned the area. A guy on his right was the first to go down. Granger heard a snapping sound and turned, quickly enough to see a snare around his ankle yanking him sideways as the branch it was attached to dragged him away into the foliage.
“Place is booby-trapped. He’s led us into a fucking trap!” shouted another man, right before his leg disappeared into a hole covered over with bracken. He cried out in pain, eyes watering. Another ran across to help him, tripping some twine on the floor, which in turn dislodged the stick holding a weighty branch in place. This swung down and hit the man squarely in the chest, sending him reeling backwards, rifle flying out of his grasp.
