by Paul Kane
Tanek nodded. “She is De Falaise’s child.” He exchanged a long look with Adele, who smiled. “The person I came here to find.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THEY’D BEEN LIES, pure and simple.
No two ways about it. Tate had lured her here under false pretences, as she’d told him repeatedly. When the message had reached her about the approaching army, one that apparently made De Falaise’s look like a joke, she’d leaped at the opportunity to come to the castle for more weapons. If the soldiers passed through New Hope, then her people would need all the help they could get. It wasn’t as if Robert was using them, was it? Gwen had to admit she’d been puzzled as to why they were suddenly going to give them to her, after denying them for so long, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Telling Andy, Darryl, Graham and the others that she’d be back soon, she’d headed off for Nottingham with Clive Jr.
When she’d driven back through the gates and found the Reverend, he’d stalled her to begin with by offering her food and drink after her journey, then insisted that they should stay at the castle overnight as it was growing late. It was then that she discovered Robert and a good chunk of his men had gone off to meet the Tsar’s forces, taking with them only rudimentary weapons.
“He’s completely crackers, you do know that?” Gwen told Tate.
The Reverend said nothing, no doubt thinking God would be on the man’s side. Oh, well, it was his funeral – and it meant that there would be more real weapons for her to take back with her (and they’d damned well need them after Robert had finished agitating the Tsar). When she discovered that would not be the case, Gwen went ballistic.
She argued with Tate until she was blue in the face, but he refused to see reason.
“Is this about what happened before?” Gwen asked him. “About how you left me here?”
“I didn’t...” Tate faltered. “I wanted to come sooner, but –”
“But you didn’t because of Robert, right? Meanwhile that lunatic Frenchman was...” Gwen’s eyes hardened, the memories too painful. “You want to help me, salve your conscience? You give me those weapons and let me return right now.”
That hadn’t happened, of course, and they’d been discussing it yet again when Mary and Jack had joined them. Apparently the army was coming to the castle. Robert’s men had hardly slowed them at all. Tate had screwed up again, and he knew it. Now she and her baby had been placed right in the firing line, when she’d probably have been much safer back home.
There was a part of her that recognised Tate had only been doing what he thought best, that he genuinely did care about her. But he’d deliberately misled her, and for that she would never forgive him. If only to protect Clive Jr, she’d done as he’d asked when he’d told her to go and wait in one of the bedrooms, while outside she could hear explosions and gunfire.
Gwen had sat there holding her child, telling him everything was going to be alright, but knowing that it really wasn’t. He’s placed you in so much danger, little Clive, Gwen said to herself, looking down at her son. What in Heaven’s name was he thinking?
She peeked out of the window, and it was then that something hit the side of the castle. The whole room shook and she grabbed Clive Jr, dashing out as quickly as she could. She ran back up along the corridor, desperate to find somewhere safe. She’d brought a machine gun with her in case she’d been attacked on the journey, but that was in her jeep. Luckily, she’d kept her pistol about her person, in spite of the ‘rules,’ which she didn’t give a shit about. If Mary could break them just because of some sentimental rubbish, so could she.
Gwen reached around and pulled the gun out, tucked away in the back of her jeans, under her baggy jumper. No sooner had she done so than she heard voices below her, heading up the stairs. Russian voices.
She backed away, but Clive chose that particular moment to start crying. Gwen shushed him, but he cried all the more. She turned to run, only to crash into a figure that appeared in front of her.
The man was wearing dark red robes, a hood pulled up over his head. In his hand he held a lethal-looking blade.
He was not alone. There were two more dressed just like him. Gwen knew who they were. Members of the cult Robert had told Tate about. What they were doing here was another matter. She’d been expecting to see soldiers, not religious fanatics.
It wasn’t important. All that mattered was they meant her and her son harm. Gwen raised the handgun. None of them even twitched.
“Don’t move!” Gwen warned them.
The closest raised his hand.
“I said don’t you fucking move! I’m not afraid to use this thing.” She meant every word. It wasn’t like the first time she’d held it, when she’d made her first kill: shooting the bastard who’d murdered her beloved Clive. She’d hesitated then, but she wouldn’t now.
It didn’t stop the cultist from continuing to raise his hand, peeling back the hood to show her his face, painted to look like a skull, a tattoo on his forehead, the one Robert had described. That fazed her momentarily.
But then the cultist on the right rushed forward, raising his machete. Gwen fired twice, hitting him in the chest. He dropped to the floor, blood pooling around him.
The taller one, Skullface, looked down slowly at his fallen comrade. If he was angry or upset by the man’s demise, he hid it well.
Gwen heard noises behind her. The soldiers! She’d forgotten all about them. As she pivoted, she saw uniformed men holding automatics, training them in her direction. Holding Clive Jr in the crook of her arm, she fired the gun with her other hand, causing the little one to cry out even louder. Gwen hit the first soldier in the neck and a red spray jetted out of the wound.
Gwen spun round again, aware that she’d taken her eye off the cultists, and saw the man rushing forward, brandishing his machete. It connected with the end of her pistol and sent it flying out of her hand, over the rail of the stairs to fall somewhere below.
Now she was defenceless.
Gwen saw the machete blade rise again. “No, please,” she implored. “Spare my son.”
The robed figure didn’t answer, but Skullface stepped forward, looking down at the crying child she was holding. He cocked his head.
Yes, that’s it. That’s right. See Clive Jr as a person. See him as a person who could grow up and have so much potential, who could do so many things in this shitty world we’ve found ourselves in. So much good. Yes, that’s it. See him. Really see him.
It might be the only thing that saved her child.
The lead cultist was staring at Clive Jr, dark eyes fixed on him. But other one was about to finish her off. If Gwen didn’t do something now, it would be too late. “No, please!” she screamed.
“Wait!” ordered Skullface. “Look.”
The machete hung in the air above her like the sword of Damocles. But then, slowly, it began to drop.
Gwen didn’t have time to relax. There were more Russian troops suddenly at the top of the stairs.
The cultist pulled Gwen and Clive Jr around, putting himself between them and the guns. Seconds later, she heard the rat-ta-tat of automatic weapons, and the man who’d protected them was toppling over, his body riddled with bullets.
Skullface rushed forward, waving his arms for them to stop – which they did, too late for the Morningstar who’d given his life to save them. Gwen looked down at the man, unable to figure out what had just happened. It was one thing for them not to be able to take a mother and child’s life – though that still didn’t tally with what Robert had said – but it was quite another to protect them from the Russians.
Why would they do that? she asked herself, and would keep asking herself, even as she was taken away.
Taken prisoner again in this castle.
THE TSAR SURVEYED the devastation and laughed.
The battle, if you could call it that, was over. They had crushed what was left of Hood’s men in less than twenty minutes. It was what they were best at,
crashing in and stamping out all resistance. He stooped to pick up one of the arrows that had been used against them, turning it over in his hands. Now this place was his, and – he had to admit – it felt good. He was glad he’d listened to Tanek, even to the point of coming over here himself to be involved in the final stages. Back in Russia, his empire was being run by underlings who knew that if they put a foot wrong, they could kiss their private parts goodbye once he returned victorious from English soil, leaving similarly loyal subjects to rule here in his name.
Which he would, as soon as he had confirmation that Bohuslav had done the same thing to the rest of Hood’s forces. Once he knew that the Hooded Man himself was dead. Maybe they’d put his head on a spike outside the castle walls, as a reminder to others that the Tsar was now the great power in this region. And, in time, the greatest power in this country.
Then, perhaps, once he had more soldiers drafted in from England, and even Europe, they could think about turning their attentions to the US. Their real enemy.
The Tsar waited while his troops brought him progress reports on the mopping up operation, which included disabling Hood’s people at the hotel prisons and assessing which of the prisoners might be of use. The twins were, as ever, by his side as he looked down on the grounds below. He’d feared he might lose them during the confrontation with the man with the staff – one of Hood’s lackeys named Jack, he was reliably informed (who’d been taken away for Tanek to have his fun with a little later). But they’d been saved by an unexpected new ally.
De Falaise’s daughter, who had gone off with Tanek to look for the other members of Hood’s inner circle. The Tsar had to admit she was as deadly as she was desirable. When this was all over, he would seal their newfound alliance in the bedroom – however much that might pain Xue and Ying. Yes, she definitely looked like a woman who would respond well to his particular appetites.
It wasn’t long before the pair returned, descending the steps to the Middle Bailey with a prisoner in tow. A woman being held up by a couple of his soldiers.
“There is no sign of the holy man, Tate. Nor of Hood’s adopted son Mark and his little girlfriend,” Adele said in that accent the Tsar found so sexy. “But your men did manage to dig out this whore from the rubble.” She looked at the woman being held up and spat on her. “I thought I’d killed the cow when I blew up the caves.”
“Who is she?”
“Hood’s woman,” Tanek replied.
Hood’s woman did not look very well. She was unconscious for a start, her face and arms battered and bruised, blood pouring from several wounds. One of her legs looked severely twisted. If she was still alive, she wouldn’t remain that way for long.
“She needs medical attention,” Tanek said, “if she is to survive.”
“And why would we want her alive?” the Tsar said. “I thought the intention was to kill all those close to Hood, including the ones that you have clearly let escape.”
“She might yet prove useful,” Tanek retaliated.
“The big man will tell you where the others have fled, will he not?”
“Possibly.”
“If your skills are lacking, my friend, then I’m sure Bohuslav will oblige upon his return.”
Tanek shot him a contemptuous look. “I was thinking more in terms of leverage... against Hood.”
The Tsar laughed. “Hood? I would not worry about him. He will soon be dead, if he isn’t already.”
“Don’t underestimate the man.”
“He’s right,” Adele said, siding with the brute who had once been her father’s second. “Not that I want to save her, but I’ve seen the man fight, my lord.”
The Tsar smiled. He liked the way that sounded coming from Adele’s lips: my lord.
“Nonsense,” he said. He gazed down and saw people being herded in through the castle’s entrance, the first batch of prisoners from the nearby hotel, under armed guard. “We let her die. Look at her, she is well on her way already. She might even have died as we stood here talking about it.”
Tanek looked her up and down, and the Tsar was satisfied he’d made his point. Apart from anything else, there weren’t many men with medical knowledge amongst his troops. If one of his men was injured, then he was of no use anymore and would either be left to die or shot right there and then. And the Tsar himself relied on Bohuslav to see to his personal health needs. With his detailed knowledge of anatomy, he was better than any doctor. But Bohuslav wasn’t here, and even if he was, the Tsar wouldn’t waste his talents on this whore.
“Sire, sire!” This came from behind and the Tsar whirled around. It was the radio operator from the AFV they’d travelled in. “I have news of the other skirmish.”
“Ah, excellent.” The Tsar’s smile intensified.
“Our... our forces have been...” – the Tsar smiled expectantly – “...defeated.”
“What?” The Tsar grabbed the messenger by his collar. “Repeat that, man.”
“I... They have been defeated, sire.”
“You lie!”
The man shook his head. “One of the remaining vehicles just checked in. Commander Bohuslav’s.”
Remaining vehicles? What the fuck was this cretin talking about? The Tsar had sent enough firepower to lay waste to an entire city. And what did Hood’s men have? Sticks and stones! How was this possible? Bohuslav. He was to blame. Oh, when he got his sorry hide back here the Tsar would personally punish him.
“He himself is reported to be extremely badly injured,” the man blurted out, still petrified. “Near to death, in fact.”
“Bohuslav?”
The Tsar looked across at Tanek, who was nodding and grinning, probably at the thought of Bohuslav’s fatal wounds. “Impressive,” said the giant, “even for Hood.”
The Tsar shook his man again, tightening his grip.
“They... the enemy suffered heavy losses as well, majesty,” he blurted, probably hoping to be spared the Tsar’s wrath, “including the Hooded Man himself.”
At this news, the Tsar did let him go. The messenger fell to the ground, landing on his backside. Without even bothering to get up, he crawled away in case the Tsar should change his mind.
“Not so impressive, after all,” the Tsar countered, and forced a smile – though he couldn’t help thinking it had taken all those tanks, armoured vehicles and men to bring down that one man.
“Can we be certain he’s dead?” This came from Adele.
The Tsar glowered. “What is the matter? You seem disappointed.”
She shook her head. “It’s just that I hoped I might be the one to kill him.”
The Tsar nodded. He could understand that. He’d never met the man and he wished he could have done the deed personally. Now they’d both have to settle for recovering the body and putting the head on a pike.
“Those still alive will return to the castle,” Tanek said, not reacting to the news about Hood at all. Perhaps he didn’t really believe it.
“But they will not be expecting us to be here. They will return, battered and exhausted, leaderless, demoralised, expecting a warm welcome... only to find guns jammed in their faces instead. We have more than enough men to stand against them, taking into account our new comrades from the cult and these prisoners.”
As he waved a hand at the folk from the hotel, there was a sudden cry from one of them, a short woman dressed in scrubs, with a Ranger’s jacket on top. “Mary!” She’d broken ranks and was attempting to get to them, in spite of several automatic weapons now trained on her. But she was unarmed, and the Tsar was curious about who she was. He held up a hand to signal the men to hold their fire. She couldn’t do much harm with the twins and Tanek standing so close by.
“Mary,” cried the woman again, tears in her eyes. “Mary, what have they done to you?”
“And who might you be?” the Tsar asked.
She glared at him before answering. “Lucy Hill.”
The Tsar looked across at Adele, who shrugged. She’d ob
viously not had much contact with this woman who’d been lumped in with the prisoners. Lucy took another step towards Mary, but it was one of the twins – Ying – who stood in her way this time, arms folded.
“Please,” said Lucy, the tone of her voice changing from defiant to pathetic, “let me go to her. She’s been training me as a nurse and –”
“Oh, dear. If only you’d been here ten minutes ago,” the Tsar cut in. “We have just learned that we have no further use for her. You see, Hood is dead.”
“Robert?” Now the tears ran freely down Lucy’s cheeks. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you like. It is the truth.”
Tanek placed a hand on Ying’s shoulder, and was lucky the bodyguard didn’t cut it clean off. “Let her go to the woman,” he said, making it sound more like a command.
“But why?” asked the Tsar. “What purpose would it serve?”
He didn’t answer, but that just backed up what the Tsar suspected. Tanek didn’t believe Hood was dead either. He sighed and nodded for Ying to let the nurse through. What did it matter to him if Hood’s woman was fixed up, only to be executed later? It was their time and energy they were wasting, not his.
Ying moved aside and Lucy went to Mary, immediately checking her over. Tanek moved to join her, but the Tsar was not quite finished with him yet. “I want to know where Hood’s closest companions are,” he told the giant. “That is your priority.”
Tanek tipped his head, then continued on his path. Lucy said something to him the Tsar didn’t quite catch, but the next thing he knew Hood’s woman was being taken back up to the castle with the nurse. Tanek and Adele followed on behind, but took a different route when they reached the steps, heading down instead of up.
“As useful as he has been, I think Bohuslav may have been correct about Tanek. The time is fast approaching when he will have outlived his usefulness. Do you not agree?” the Tsar said to Ying and Xue. The women concurred with silent nods. “And when that time comes, I will call on one of you to do the honours.”
