Hooded Man

by Paul Kane

  She’d never visited it before, having opted to remain at home when the Winter Festival had been going on here, probably because Darryl had stayed behind, too. Karen had no idea whether this was the norm, but there didn’t appear to be many Rangers in evidence as she was taken through the gates. She was greeted by a portly man she hadn’t seen before, walking with a stick. But she knew immediately who he was from his dog collar. The man who used to live at New Hope, but who Gwen threw out for his actions. The holy man who’d left her at the castle during De Falaise’s reign; who’d coaxed her back and almost got her killed during the Tsar’s invasion.

  “Welcome, my child,” said the bald fellow. “Welcome to Nottingham Castle. I’m Reverend Tate.”

  Karen was helped down off the horse and shook his hand. “Karen Shipley. I’m from New Hope.”

  “So I gather. The men here mentioned something about a siege?”

  “Germans are shooting up the place. Gwen told me to tell you Tanek is with them.”

  “Tanek? She’s certain?”

  “There are injured people, too. Look, I need to see him. Robin... Robert... whatever he prefers to call himself.”

  The Reverend sighed, then rubbed his chin.

  “Is he here?”

  There was another pause. “He is, just got back after we managed to get hold of him. But you couldn’t have picked a worse moment.”

  It was then that Karen noticed the bruises on the holy man’s chin and cheek; he’d recently been in a fight, and looked like he’d come off worse. Still, Karen had a mission. “Please, I need to see him.”

  Tate nodded and took her up the long path towards the castle. They ascended a set of steps, the Reverend appearing to have trouble with them. Karen took his arm and he thanked her. He led her inside the castle itself through a set of double doors, then up some more stairs and along a corridor. She could hear raised voices even before they reached the room Tate was zeroing in on.

  “...even if you do go,” Karen heard someone say, a woman’s voice.

  “You read the note.” A man’s voice. “He wants me, Mary. Alone.”

  Tate knocked on the door, which was ajar, then pushed on it when he heard: “Who is it?” The woman – Mary, Karen assumed.

  Tate entered first, leaving Karen waiting in the doorway of the small room. “Someone to see Robert.”

  Karen could see the pair now, the woman with her dark hair tied back; the man in his trademark greens, that famous hood hanging down his back. His face was stubbled, as if he’d been away from home for a while. “Can’t it wait?” This was Mary once more, looking past Tate. Directly at Karen.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Robert came forward. His movements were slow, as if he’d been injured. But he had a bow in his hand and looked like he was either packing, or getting ready to go out again. “Reverend, you of all people should know this isn’t the time for –”

  “This lady, Karen Shipley,” Tate interrupted and moved aside so that Robert could see her, “has come from New Hope.”

  “You’ll forgive me, but that place is the last thing on my mind right now,” snapped Robert. “I’ve just rushed back here after being held prisoner and nearly roasted alive, because my son’s missing. Kidnapped. His girlfriend’s frantic, blaming herself for not doing more to prevent it. The man who took him says he wants me to come alone to Sherwood. I don’t know whether Mark’s alive or dead, and you’re asking me to listen to someone Gwen’s sent?”

  Tate was silent, then said: “Yes, I really think you need to hear what she’s got to say.”

  Karen came forward, not waiting for the answer. She was sorry for what had happened here, but they needed help too – if not from the Hooded Man himself, then at least from his Rangers.

  “Please, Mr Hood,” Karen began, “our village has been surrounded. Armed soldiers, Germans. They came a couple of days ago.”

  “How did you get out?”

  “It wasn’t easy. I don’t know how much longer the other people there can hold on.”

  “Thought that place was like Fort Knox now?” Robert said.

  “These men are professionals. If they want in, they’ll get in.” Karen was beginning to see what Gwen meant about Hood. He wasn’t the easiest of people to talk to, and she had caught him at a spectacularly bad moment. “People are injured, they’re dying.”

  “Dying? I’ve just come back from a battle to take Edinburgh Castle from a cannibalistic witch woman, a battle that some of my Rangers lost. I’ve heard my other troops in Wales have suffered casualties, as well, trying to remove another crazed dictator from power. We only just made it back alive, and now you’re asking me to help a village that pretty much turned its back on us?”

  Karen wasn’t around when the bulk of this bad feeling had built up, so she couldn’t comment. She said the only thing she could. “I understand what you’re going through with your son, and I really do hope you get him back safely. But Gwen has a son, too. A son these people want to get their hands on for some reason.”

  Robert frowned, then looked at Tate.

  “Tanek is with them, Robert,” said the Reverend. “There’s definitely a link between the Germans there and what’s been happening in Wales and Scotland.”

  Karen could see Hood thinking about it, brought up short by the mention of Tanek. Then he waved his hand. “I don’t have time for this. I need to get to Sherwood. Mark’s been missing for over a day now as it is.”

  “Even if you can’t come yourself, could you at least spare some of your Rangers? Then we might stand a –”

  “Look around you! Most of my men are still in the North and the West. The castle’s practically defenceless, and you want me to send more of them away with you?”

  “Robert,” chastised Mary.

  “I’m sorry, but Gwen and her lot have made their own beds as far as I’m concerned. She’s repeatedly ignored our warnings about what would happen if she carried on arming herself to the teeth, poaching people from other communities just because they’re useful to her. She’s also point blank refused any protection from us in the past. Gwen likes to do things her way, and look where it’s got her!” Robert turned to Karen. “I don’t care for or condone the way you people operate. Like attracts like, Miss Shipley.”

  “Please, you have to help us.”

  Robert pointed a finger at her. “Give me one good reason why I should.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Karen said: “Compassion.”

  He looked into her eyes, then hung his head.

  “If you won’t send anyone else, then I’m going anyway,” said Tate. “I’ve let Gwen down twice in the past before. I will not do so again.”

  “That,” said Robert, “is your choice. I’m going to try and save my son.”

  Tate took Karen’s arm this time. “Come on. Robert, I pray for you and that you will bring Mark safely back home. I’m only sorry I couldn’t stop the man who took him.”

  As the Reverend was walking out of the room with Karen, she heard Robert call after them. “Take a dozen Rangers with you, but bring them back in one piece.” Tate smiled at her, as if knowing he’d do that all along.

  Karen felt less reassured, though. A crippled Reverend and a handful of men. What good would they be against the German troops and that giant they called Tanek? She was almost embarrassed to be returning with them.

  “Don’t worry,” Tate had said as they’d made their way back out of the castle. “It’s going to be alright this time. I’m going to make up for everything.”

  Karen hoped to God that the holy man was right.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ROBERT RODE LOW on his horse, trying not to think about the events that had forced him here.

  But he couldn’t help it. That had always been his trouble, dwelling on things. His mind harking back to the past. In his early days at Sherwood, it had been the life he’d led with his former wife and son. Now it was the events of the last few days, and hours.

/>   After Bill had shown up at Edinburgh Castle, freeing the other members of his captured team – rectifying Robert’s first, but not his only, major mistake of late – the resistance had soon been quashed. Once word spread through the Widow’s men about her death, it hadn’t taken long. Even the depleted Rangers on their side had been enough in the face of these thieves and yobs. Bill had already destroyed most of their heavy armaments in his initial run with the Black Shark, and though Robert had to openly disapprove of these actions – having denounced modern weaponry in all its forms – there was still a part of him that was glad they didn’t have to tackle these with bows and arrows after what he’d already gone through.

  The victory had been hard won, but satisfying, leaving the way clear for the local Rangers to set up their own HQ at the castle in the future. Securing a way of life for the Scottish people which didn’t involve bowing down to that mad woman. They’d once said no-one could ever take away their freedom, but hadn’t banked on one of their own trying it. At least now the bare bones of a free Scotland – protected by a Scottish contingent of Rangers – looked more likely.

  Then, when most of the fighting was over, the message had come in about Mark. That someone had broken into the castle the previous evening and taken him, leaving a handwritten note by the radio which read:

  Hooded Man. You will come to the forest alone if you ever want to see him alive again. Send anyone else and I will kill him. I will wait for you there.

  It had been signed simply ‘S.’

  Tate had described the intruder as being Native American, which didn’t give Robert much to go on. But the very fact the holy man had been bested by him spoke volumes. Though at first glance Tate might look like he was a helpless old cripple, he could actually handle himself extremely well in a fight.

  That Mark hadn’t been able to take the man, either, further emphasised that his kidnapper was a professional. Mark had been coming up in the ranks over the last twelve months. He was no longer the boy Robert had first met at an ad-hoc market three years ago; he was a fully grown man – however he might be treated sometimes by them – and had been training with the Rangers for a long time. He’d handled himself excellently during the Tsar’s invasion and had even started to have the same prophetic dreams Robert had, especially during their frequent visits to the forest he was heading towards today. He was becoming everything Robert had anticipated he would. But then he’d heard this, and it took him right back to that day when De Falaise had taken the boy. To when that bastard Tanek had cut Mark’s finger off.

  In the time since, Mark had become every bit as much a son to Robert as Stevie once was, and would always be. In fact he liked to think Stevie might have grown up to be something like Mark. Obviously if the virus hadn’t happened, then Stevie would have aspired to being something other than a Ranger; but that was another life, an alternate Stevie, living happily in an alternate universe. The important thing was that Mark was his own man, and he’d chosen to follow in Robert’s footsteps. In fact, Robert liked to think that Mark might well take over this whole operation one day. But he couldn’t do that if he was dead. Robert needed Mark, probably as much as his son needed him right now.

  But as much as Mark was now his son, Robert couldn’t help thinking about the Widow’s revelation – that Mary was pregnant with his baby. They’d yet to confirm or deny it, but Robert had the weirdest feeling it was true. As did Mary, going by her words when they’d found out about Mark. “You might have another child,” she’d said – not to suggest that Mark wasn’t theirs, because he was, no matter what. But Robert knew that she’d said this to remind him the Widow was right; that they might be having a baby together. And that if Robert got himself killed she’d be bringing it up alone. The Widow could just have been playing another mind game, granted, but there wasn’t time to find out one way or another.

  Ultimately, weakened and wounded as he was, Mary knew Robert had to do as the message said. She hadn’t said anything more as he’d prepared to leave, other than pointing out the obvious, that it was a set up. She was worried about him; they’d almost lost each other up in Edinburgh, and hadn’t even had time to draw breath before the next crisis. Then the woman had arrived from New Hope.

  Robert had conflicting feelings about that place. The last time he’d seen Gwen properly, to talk to, not simply across the way at the Winter Festival, she’d made it quite plain what she thought about him. He might as well have been to blame for leaving the woman there at the Castle while De Falaise had his way with her, although he hadn’t even known her at the time. Robert’s forces weren’t anywhere near organised or strong enough to tackle the Sheriff when Gwen was taken, but when Mark and those other villages had been taken and threatened with execution, he’d been forced to act. The simple fact was he hadn’t been able to do anything about Gwen’s situation, as rough as it had been for her, just like he couldn’t do much for the people of New Hope now. His Rangers were scattered all over the country; even letting Tate take half a dozen with him was leaving the Castle open to serious trouble. But he’d done it anyway, because of what that Shipley woman said. Because of what the Rangers should stand for: the compassion she’d spoken about.

  Would Gwen show the same if Nottingham Castle came under attack and needed a return favour? Robert seriously doubted it. But then, didn’t Tate say they should always turn the other cheek?

  All this and more was racing through Robert’s mind as he raced towards his former home – the one he’d retreated to after the Cull, been talked out of by Tate, and remained estranged from to this day.

  When he came to the outskirts, he decided to leave his horse tethered there, rather than come in through the more obvious entrance: up through the Visitors’ Centre and into the forest that way. It was asking to walk into some kind of ambush. Robert instead entered the forest the way he had when he’d first come here: through Rufford. He was acutely aware of his lost connection to this place, but he still had tracking skills he could rely on, and his enemy had left a trail even a blind man could follow. But as Robert crept through the forest, he almost fell into the most rudimentary of traps: a concealed hole underneath him. He felt the ground slip away, just quickly enough to grab the side of the pit, scrabbling up and back onto terra firma. God, that hurt! It was a sign that his enemy had left the trail on purpose. And also proved his opposite number had the upper hand. Back in the old days, when Robert had lived here, he would have been the one setting the traps, Today, he knew he was walking right into one.

  Picking himself up, Robert stumbled further into the forest that had once felt so familiar. He didn’t have far to go before he saw a figure tied to a tree, slumped against the trunk as if drugged. Or beaten. And as Robert crept closer, he saw that yes, it was Mark, head lolling, a red welt on his temple. He had no idea whether the lad was still alive or not, but knew he had to find out. Find the man responsible.

  Robert crawled along, using the woodland as cover, just like he always used to do. But he didn’t feel at all confident this time. Felt that somehow the grass and trees just weren’t on his side anymore. That it was revealing snatches of him where once it had hidden his presence completely. Robert might as well have a neon sign above his head telling anyone on the vicinity that he had arrived.

  Undaunted, he pressed on. He had to reach Mark, free him, ascertain what injuries he had sustained. Robert was almost at the tree when he heard a rustling to his right.

  “Dad, look out!” This was Mark shouting – at least he was still alive. Robert rose and brought his bow and arrow to bear.

  Standing directly opposite him was a man. Dressed in black, dark-skinned, with dark hair to match his attire. He looked more like a shadow than a man. As Tate had described him, he was Native American in appearance, had a backpack over his shoulder – containing his quiver – with an axe and knife at his belt. He had his own bow drawn, aimed at Robert. For a second or two both men stood their ground, fingertips pulling back on their twines. The bows shook
slightly with tension.

  Each man had one eye closed, leaving the other open to judge the distance to his target. But with that one eye each was also judging his opponent. What he might do, when he might loose his shot.

  It was Robert who released his arrow first, sending it flying towards what should have been the stranger’s head. The man moved out of the way, though, allowing Robert’s arrow to embed itself in the tree just behind him.

  “Impressive,” came the response, even as the stranger was shooting himself.

  Robert saw the arrow coming and dived out of the way, feeling its wind brushing his ear. The other man’s arrow thudded into an oak several metres behind him, causing Robert to flinch. Already both bows were nocked again and ready to shoot.

  “What do you want?” he asked, more to stall than anything, although he was genuinely curious.

  There was no reply, except for the release of another arrow, again flying directly towards Robert. He flopped to the ground to avoid it, the missile whipping over his hood and sailing off into the woodland beyond. Robert’s answer was to shoot from the ground, the arrow aimed at the Native American’s head. But, again, the stranger was quicker; sidestepping this shot with ease and allowing it to disappear off into the forest.

  The pair exchanged a couple more shots like this, pulling arrows from quivers and letting them loose, as Robert managed to get to his feet. Then they wound up where they’d first began; staring each other down. Both men with bows primed and aimed at the other.

  Time this was ended, thought Robert, searching for a sign the Native American was going to shoot. When he found it, he released his own arrow.