by Paul Kane
I’m bloody well not, you know. I’m me. I’m your brother.
“Oh, shut up,” Mary said, drawing Adele’s attention.
The woman, standing at the bottom of the steps, about to ascend, waved at her. Mary let her head droop, then lifted it again. She didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was upset.
“Mary, hi!” the woman called out, coming over. Reluctantly, she met her halfway.
“Adele.”
“I was hoping to run into you. I wanted to say thanks.” The woman’s eyes sparkled when she spoke. Mary looked puzzled, so she continued: “For this, the coat.”
“Oh, yes... That’s...” Mary didn’t know how to complete that sentence because, until a few moments ago, she had no idea Adele was even wearing it.
“Rob said it would be okay to borrow some of your gear.”
My gear? “Did he?”
“Er... yeah. Hope that was okay? You’ve got a really nice room, you know. Love what you’ve done with it. Considering. I guess anything’s a step up from the forest.” Adele smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
“You’ve been in my... in our room?” What she was really asking was, had Adele been in there alone? Not because she thought her and Robert had snuck off there – apart from the fact he hadn’t had time before leaving, Mary did know the man well enough that he wouldn’t be able to hide that one. (What about the other night, what about the cosy little drink in the café? He still hadn’t mentioned that to her.) No, it was the thought of a complete stranger going through her stuff, poking around, maybe laying down in the bed she shared with –
“I... I wasn’t in there very long,” Adele promised, as if that made it all right.
Mary said nothing, but found herself clenching and unclenching her fists.
“Look,” Adele went on, “you’ve all been really nice to me, and I’m so grateful. But, well, there aren’t very many women around here, are there? Bit heavy on the testosterone. I suppose I was hoping you and me could be... well, I had hoped we could be friends. You know?”
“You’re thinking of staying a while, then,” was all Mary could muster.
Adele smiled again. “Thinking about it, yeah, if you guys will have me. Sure beats being out there on the streets, being chased by murderers and rapists.”
“Right.”
“I hope it isn’t going to be a problem or anything?”
“I hope not as well.”
Adele frowned. “Forgive me for saying this, Mary, but you seem to have a... I don’t know. Have I done something wrong? Something to you?”
Mary felt like saying, “Cut the crap, you know exactly what you’ve done. And it’s what you’re going to do when Robert gets back I’m interested in.” Instead she said: “No, not exactly.”
“Only I’m getting some really weird vibes from you.”
Mary shook her head, this wasn’t the time or the place. “No, everything’s fine. Really.”
“Ah, okay.” Adele’s smile widened, but seemed even less genuine. “Right, well I suppose I’d better go and get ready.”
“Ready?”
“I’m having something to eat with Jack.”
Now it was Mary’s turn to frown. First this woman had been flirting openly with Robert, then she’d caught them having a little late night rendezvous. (It was hardly that, Moo-Moo. Might’ve been completely innocent.) now she was making a play for Robert’s best friend.
Don’t do it, warned David. Seriously, keep your mouth shut.
She couldn’t help herself. “What exactly is your game, Adele? What are you up to?”
The smile faded fast. “Excuse me?”
“I saw you with Robert the other night.”
Adele looked horrified. “What?”
“Don’t act all innocent,” Mary said, pointing her finger. “I could see what was going on. What you were trying to do.”
Adele stepped back. “There was nothing going on. Robert dropped a glass and I got some in my foot.”
Mary pursued her, moving forward, still pointing. “You’re after him. And now you’re leading Jack up the garden path.”
“You’re insane.”
“Am I?” Mary let the words settle and neither of them spoke for a second or two. Then Adele turned to leave, and Mary grabbed her wrist.
“Let go of me!” she spat.
“I’ve got my eye on you, Adele.”
Adele grinned. “You’d be better off putting your energies into hanging onto your man. There’s obviously something lacking in your relationship, if you’re this insecure. Maybe you don’t know Robert as well as you think you do.”
Mary was about to bring up her hand to slap the woman, when she heard someone shouting her name. It sounded urgent.
“Mary... Mary!” She let Adele go and whirled around. One of Robert’s men was racing down the corridor. “You have to come quickly – bring your medical stuff. Someone’s been injured at the Britannia.”
“Injured?” asked Mary.
“Stabbed. You have to come quick, Robert said –”
“Hold on, Robert?” Mary looked at him, then back at Adele, who was still smirking in spite of the news. “He’s back? But –”
The man pleaded with her to come with him, saying that there wasn’t time, so Mary did. But before she’d got out of earshot, she heard Adele reiterate: “No, maybe you don’t really know him at all.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE FELT LIKE Jonah in the belly of the beast.
Tanek sat in one of the cargo bays, working away on his secret project; he’d been labouring on it since they set off across the Baltic. It was important that he got it right. The various parts were all laid out in front of him on the table, which at the moment was vibrating slightly. Tanek reached for one of the pieces of wood and his sandpaper, running it smoothly across the face. Every curve, every inch would be lovingly crafted, just like the last one.
He recalled the man who’d taught him how to build this weapon – a man skilled in the ancient arts of combat and defence. His name had been Liao and he’d been good to Tanek, offered him a place to stay when he’d had none, a stranger in their land. Liao had been an expert in all kinds of weapons, though the modern ones didn’t interest him as much as those from the past.
“You can learn much from studying history, my friend,” he’d told Tanek in one of their late night drinking sessions. They were words that another man would echo years later. Both were dead now. The Frenchman, De Falaise, who Tanek followed without question, had been killed by the Hooded Man. Tanek had not been present at his execution, but he’d felt the man’s passing.
Liao, who had looked so similar to the Tsar’s twins he could have been their father, had died at Tanek’s hands long before that. Once he’d learnt everything he could from the man, and it had been time to move on, Tanek had simply snapped his neck, leaving Liao for his wife and children to find. He’d had no qualms about doing it, the man had been of no more use to him. And to Tanek, a quick death was kindness – better that than to be tortured at his hands.
Oddly enough, he’d never foreseen a time when he would have done something like that to De Falaise. He felt the Frenchman would always have something to teach him, only disclosing his nuggets of genius tantalisingly slowly. Before they met, in that Turkish tavern where De Falaise had saved his life – something that didn’t always guarantee the same in return from Tanek – he thought he knew everything about warfare, about killing. Listening to De Falaise, he realised he knew nothing at all. Not really. He also knew nothing about ambition. De Falaise’s plans saw him one day stretching his hand out to rule the entire world.
With Tanek by his side.
So much for that plan. But the Tsar; oh, the Tsar... Now he’d done what De Falaise had only dreamed about. Become the ruler of his country, with a force under his command that made their army look like the bunch of disorganised yobs they’d been. Apart from some of the more seasoned veterans, like him, they’d been kids with
toy guns and tanks. When it came right down to it, they were no match for Hood’s sheer deviousness. While De Falaise and his men had been up front about their business in Nottingham, their enemies had chosen to sneak in and attack.
And it had worked. And one thing Tanek knew about De Falaise was that if something worked, you adopted it yourself. It was the tactic he’d used to get to the Tsar: hide in plain sight. If you want to reach the very heart of your opponent’s camp, let them think they’ve captured you, let them escort you into the belly of the beast.
The tipping of the floor reminded Tanek that, right now, he was in the belly of a Zubr class military hovercraft: one of a fleet the Tsar had dispatched for the trek across the sea. Tanek finished sanding and placed the part down on the table, picking up a rectangular box.
Anyway, just like Hood, he’d been delivered unto his target. The only difference was that he’d come to talk, not kill. Luckily, his reputation preceded him.
“The giant Tanek, De Falaise’s right hand man. I heard you were both dead,” the Tsar said to him after they’d retreated to a more private place, his luxury suite at the Marriott Grand. And after Tanek had been offered use of the facilities, including a working shower – something he hadn’t seen since well before the virus struck.
Tanek had sat in a plush chair, eyeing up the twins that flanked the Tsar, swords resting on their arms. But, more importantly, the Tsar’s second: Bohuslav. He was potentially trouble. “De Falaise is. I was,” he replied, his face stern.
He remembered the final moments on those gallows, fighting the man with the staff; the infuriating child Mark (oh, how he savoured the memories of torturing the boy, wishing he had the opportunity again, wishing he could go further this time... payback for ramming that knife into Tanek’s foot); and the man with the shotgun who’d blasted him and sent him toppling. In the confusion that had followed, as De Falaise had escaped in the armoured truck – driving into the platform and unwittingly giving Tanek the opportunity to crawl away once he was on the ground – he’d made good his own escape.
Tanek had staggered to his feet, stumbling towards the buckled side gates as best he could. The chest wound from the shotgun was stinging, but not instantly fatal, and with a painful summoning of strength, he’d made it out into the street. One of Hood’s men spotted him and tried to take him down, but Tanek – as weak as he was – still managed to knock him to the ground and stamp on his skull.
He’d lurched from the scene, making for one of the narrow adjoining streets, flinging himself forward; ever onwards, away from the castle. How he’d made it to the outlying regions of Nottingham, he still wasn’t sure. Exhaustion and blood loss took their toll. Tanek had passed out by the side of a country lane, in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. The world around him started to fade. Then all he knew was darkness. He was surely dead – had been from the moment the man shot him. He was just too stubborn to lie down and let nature take its course.
But somehow he wasn’t in that ditch anymore. He was in a forest. All the colour had bleached out of the scene. Greens and browns replaced by greys and blacks. Tanek approached one of the trees – apparently able to move quite freely now, his wounds gone. He touched the bark, and where it came away the wood was bleeding, red and moist. In the clearing beyond he saw an indistinct figure – the more he concentrated the more it came into focus. It was his superior, the Sheriff, except he had no eyes and didn’t appear to be able to speak, though his mouth was opening and closing. Tanek walked towards him, and as he did so the forest caught on fire. The blind De Falaise held out a hand as if pleading for help. Tanek’s pace picked up, running through the flames towards him. The injured Frenchman was mouthing the words, “Help me.” Tanek ran and ran, towards the figure, fighting back the fire until –
He woke up panting. For long seconds he blinked, looking up at the ceiling. How, he wondered? How could he be awake when he’d died back there in the ditch? It didn’t make any sense. And how could he be here? Tanek was in bed, covers pulled over him. When he moved, the pain in his chest and foot returned, proving that this was no longer a dream. That he actually was still alive. Lifting the covers, he was suddenly aware of his nakedness – save for the bandages around his chest. And, yes, when he wiggled his foot there was one around that too.
All became clear when an overweight, middle-aged woman with a tight home perm – wearing a hideous floral dress – came into the room to check on him. “Ah, you’re awake at last,” she said, “that’s a good sign. I thought you were going to sleep away the rest of the year.”
Tanek sat up slowly, looking at the woman sideways.
“Don’t try moving just yet, your body’s still recovering,” she told him, sitting down on the end of the bed. “It’s just lucky that William found you when he did. If we hadn’t got you back to the cottage, Heaven knows what might have happened.”
William? A husband? A son, or maybe a brother? A threat!
“How...?” Tanek asked, then realised that talking hurt.
“Brought the car back for you. Only an old Morris, but... It was too far to drag you, and you’re very, well, very big.” The woman smiled coyly, looking down. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? It’s just been so long since we’ve had company.” She rose and went to the door. “I’ll fix you something to eat, you must be starved.”
She disappeared, leaving a puzzled Tanek to take in his surroundings: the hideous floral wallpaper, the wooden dresser and wardrobe. From the window sill leered down photos from the woman’s life. Her with several children, then at the seaside with a tall man much older than her, who had grey hair.
The woman returned about fifteen minutes later with a tray of scrambled eggs. “From the chickens,” she explained, kicking the bedroom door shut. “They’ve been a godsend.” Tanek devoured the meal in minutes. “My...” said the woman, touching her hand to her throat, “you were hungry, weren’t you?”
Tanek gave a single, curt nod.
The woman sat down on the edge of the bed again. “I’m Cynthia. Cynthia Reynolds.” She looked like she was waiting for his name, but he didn’t oblige. “It... It doesn’t matter to me, you know.”
Tanek cocked his head
“Your wounds. I don’t care where you got them. I just wanted you to know that.” She was playing with her obviously fake pearl necklace. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I know what it’s like, out there.” It was painfully obvious she didn’t have the first clue what it was like. She reached out to touch his arm. “And don’t feel you have to repay me or anything.”
He didn’t. Tanek pulled away sharply.
“I’m... I’m sorry.” Cynthia looked like she was about to cry. “It’s just that, like I said, I haven’t had much company these past few years. Only William. But, well, you know, a woman has certain needs that he can’t fulfil.”
Tanek looked again at the man with grey hair in the photo.
“Others have come, but they’ve never stayed. Then, when we came across you while we were out walking...”
“I need clothes,” he snapped suddenly. “And your car.”
“You’re not going?” It was phrased like a question, but it was also a statement. “You’re not well yet.”
Tanek was well enough. Better than he had been when he’d staggered away from the castle... how long ago? Days? Surely not weeks? He got up, letting the covers drop and not caring about Cynthia seeing his body. It must have been her who’d undressed him, anyway. But she seemed coy again, as if she hadn’t just been suggesting he stay for more than his health.
Ignoring Cynthia, he checked the wardrobe first – finding a mixture of men’s and women’s clothes. The trousers, shirt and jumper obviously belonged to the man in the picture; large enough to fit him, but tight where Tanek was broader across the chest, shoulders and legs.
“Please,” said Cynthia as he was getting dressed, “stay with me. I’ve looked after you, haven’t I?”
Tanek grunted, tugging on a pair of shoes
he’d found in the bottom of the wardrobe. He made his way over to the door, once again disregarding Cynthia’s pleas. Then she grabbed him by the arm. He’d had enough; the woman should have known when to leave well enough alone. Tanek took hold of Cynthia by the shoulders and pushed her up against the wall.
It was then that he heard the growling.
Tanek turned to see the door had been nosed open by a large Doberman pinscher.
“William,” he said.
Cynthia nodded. “I had hoped you might be different; William really liked you. I hoped you’d join us here, stay and be our guest for much longer. But, well, as you insist on being so rude.”
Tanek never saw the command if there was one, but the dog leaped straight for him, teeth bared. His reactions were dulled from being flat on his back for so long, but the sight of that mutt coming for him soon sharpened them. Tanek let go of Cynthia, whirled around, and punched the dog in the side of the head. It fell across the bed.
Little wonder no one had stayed for very long when this was Cynthia’s protector. Leaving the woman, Tanek ran across to the bedroom door, slipping through and slamming it shut just as the hound had recovered sufficiently to leap again. He held onto the door handle for a few moments, grimacing at the snarling and clawing on the other side, and taking in what was around him: a small landing, a steep staircase that led to the front door.
Tanek let go of the handle and pelted down the stairs, almost tripping on the final few. He scrambled to open the front door, only to find it locked. Meanwhile, Cynthia had flung open the bedroom door and was ordering William to attack. Bracing himself, Tanek rammed the door, causing it to loosen at its hinges. There was a growling from behind, very close behind, and he slammed into the door again – this time knocking it flat.
Ahead of him, parked next to the cottage, was the Morris car Cynthia had mentioned. Tanek lumbered towards it, aware the dog was only seconds behind. The car was locked as well, so he elbowed in a window, pulled up the knob and climbed into the driver’s seat, barely fitting.
