by Paul Kane
“You know, I think Meghan’s taken quite a shine to you as well,” Dale told him.
“Hey, now –”
“All I’m saying is think about it, mate. She’s really nice.” And he had a point. She’d even come down to the entrance to see Jack off.
“I hope things work out okay,” she told him, then kissed him on the cheek. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you and Dale for what you’ve done.”
Jack had felt his face reddening, just as it had once done when he’d helped rescue Adele from the Morningstars. It was those kinds of memories which held him back, forced him to keep Meghan at a distance. Not that he was saying she was a traitor or anything; she was far from that. But Jack still had trust issues and they weren’t going away anytime soon. “All in the line of duty, ma’am,” he told her, “nothing more.”
But he’d spent the first few miles regretting that cool response. Hoping maybe someday he’d get to put that right. Perhaps get to know Meghan better, become friends, then – No, he wasn’t about to jump in again. His poor heart couldn’t take another battering like the last one. But Jack was lonely, and had been for some time.
Not that any of this was a priority at the moment; just something to take his mind off his real concern of the day. It was funny; all that fighting, everything that had happened with the Dragon, and the disappearance of just one boy could send him into a tailspin. But then Mark was a very special young man.
They’d always had a connection, Jack and Mark. He remembered their first meeting, when Robert had mistaken Jack for an intruder in Sherwood. It had been Mark who’d recognised him as The Hammer, a former professional wrestler who the boy had followed on the circuits. Robert had taken Mark’s word when he vouched that Jack was one of the good guys, and a good fighter to have on board. Jack had returned the favour by teaching Mark, training him whenever Robert wasn’t able, taking him under his wing and showing him all his own moves, and a few more besides. Mark was family, like Sian was to Meghan. Jack had always thought of himself as an uncle to the boy. Which was why, when he’d heard about the kidnapping, he’d told Mary he was on his way back to the castle ASAP.
“Bill’s already been told,” she explained over the radio, “and he’s coming back here. Jack, we need you.”
“I’m already there, little lady.”
Except he wasn’t. It was taking forever in this piece of shit, made more for protection than speed. It wasn’t just the fact that Mark was missing, although that was bad enough. Robert had gone in after him, alone; heading to Sherwood, like the note said. Who the Sam Hill was ‘S’?
“I’m coming with you,” Dale had said when he heard, but Jack had shaken his head.
“You’re still getting over being pummelled by the Dragon. No, you stay here and do what you said you were going to do: look after Sian and get things in motion for setting up the base.”
“But –”
“You’re more use to me here, Dale,” he’d insisted, then clapped the lad on the shoulder. “Please.” Jack had put him through enough already, sending him on this mission; he didn’t want to be worrying about him all over again. They’d hugged and Dale had told him to look after himself. The kid was worried about Robert and Mark, just as much as he was. Now that they’d got over their difference of opinion about Sophie, those two had become quite good pals.
The radio crackled into life and Jack looked at Doherty. You know what they say about the best laid plans, Jackie-boy. He picked up the receiver and identified himself. It was Mary again, calling from the castle, but he was having trouble hearing her.
“Say again. Over.”
“Found... I repeat... Mark... unharmed...”
“Sounded like you said Mark’s been found? Over.”
“Affirmative.”
“Wahooo!” Jack removed his cap and slapped it on his thigh. If he’d been out in the open he might have thrown it into the air. But he was celebrating too soon.
“...missing now...”
“Didn’t catch that, Mary. Could you repeat? Over.”
“I said...” And he could hear the tears in her voice. “Robert’s missing... same... took him... Over.”
That wiped the smile off his face. They’d been given one member of their family back, only to lose another. Mark had been the lure all along, it seemed, and Robert had been the real target. But what did this ‘S’ want with their leader? He had a lot of enemies at home and abroad, but why now, and why take him rather than kill him? Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that. There was a distinct possibility that whoever the kidnapper was, or whoever he worked for, wanted to have a little fun with Robert before finishing him off. A slow death. Jack said nothing about this to Mary, but she’d probably already thought of it.
“Took him? Took him where?” asked Jack. “Do we have any leads? Over.”
There was silence at the other end, static at his. Then Mary said: “Maybe. Over.”
Maybe was better than nothing. She wouldn’t be drawn on the rest, preferring to wait until Jack was home so she could report in person. It was probably wise – this frequency might well be monitored by third parties.
When he hung up the radio, Jack looked out at the open country roads stretching before them, and then across at Doherty.
“Hey man, can’t this thing go any faster?” he repeated.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
IT WAS THE smell that roused him.
Cold as it was, this place stank of sweat. There was also the coppery stench of blood, and another scent that was harder to pin down, distinct and sharp.
Death. That was it. This place smelled of death.
Robert had smelled it many times before in battle. It was rank and he couldn’t stand it in his nostrils for long without opening his eyes. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. He felt the ache in his shoulder where the arrow had passed right through; still blinking, he reached up to touch the wound. It had been stitched. The stranger had obviously wanted Robert in one piece before delivering him God knows where. Robert also felt as though he’d slept for decades: drugged, obviously, but at least he felt rested.
He shivered. Robert had been stripped down to just his vest and combat trousers, he realised. He blinked a few more times then heard the noise, the sound of people all around – not saying anything, remaining as quiet as they possibly could, but giving themselves away with their breathing.
He put a hand beneath him, feeling concrete. Where in Christ’s name was he?
The first thing he saw were people, surrounding him. Lots of people. Some dressed in uniform, some in little more than rags. They were staring at him, and all had that same tired, resigned expression on their faces. The hard lives they’d lived were reflected in every downturned mouth, every crease of the brow. These people were pissed off, Robert just didn’t know why.
If it was with Robert, he was in trouble. Kidnapped and dumped here to be pulled to pieces by an angry mob. He couldn’t hope to fight off a fifth of them, especially without his weapons, which – yep – he checked again and confirmed he definitely didn’t have.
And why was it so bloody cold? Even the harshest spring in England was never this chilly.
There was a groan from behind, and Robert was suddenly aware of someone else on the floor with him. Someone not that far away. He looked around, though it hurt to do so.
The other man was face down on the ground, also just waking up. Robert couldn’t see his face yet, but could see a bandage on the back of his head, cuts on his arms that, like Robert’s wounds, had been stitched. Our Native American friend’s been busy, he thought. Glad it’s not just me that he’s been dicking around with. Why should I have all the fun?
It did beg the question: what did he have in common with this other prisoner, and could he use that to his advantage? Shadow had nobbled both of them and brought them to this place; that demanded a little payback, didn’t it? If nothing else, Robert might have someone to stand alongside as the mob closed in
on him and –
The man on the floor put an elbow underneath himself and raised his head. Robert’s face fell. He’d seen that face on two occasions in the past – when he and Bill had flown into the middle of the fight for Nottingham Castle, and then at Sherwood a little over a year later. This was one of the most dangerous people on the planet, and that was saying something these days. Robert would rather face a dozen Widows than this man.
“Tanek,” he said.
The giant shook his head and opened his eyes. “Hood,” he snarled – not looking at anything else, not the crowds surrounding them, nor the armed guards now dotted here and there. Armed, Robert noted, with AK-47s; meant to keep the people in line, but also maybe to stop him and Tanek from escaping.
When Robert looked back at the large man, he found he was already up and ready to charge at him. Robert rose too, only just avoiding Tanek’s assault – but made the same mistake a lot of people had in the past. Assuming that Tanek’s size made him slow. When Tanek swung round, striking Robert on the back with his laced fists, it felt like a battering ram hitting him. Robert was sent hurtling across the pit. He fell and rolled, wincing when the ground caught his injured shoulder.
Woozy as he was, Robert staggered to his feet. He couldn’t afford to be lax with this big ape after him. And, sure enough, Tanek was lunging towards him again. Robert faked one way and slid the other, bringing his fists down between the bigger man’s shoulder-blades. It actually hurt his hands, the man was so solid, but it did unbalance Tanek enough to send him tumbling head over heels. Robert looked around: the crowd was going wild. They weren’t here to attack, they were here to watch him and Tanek fight. There was even a cordon, almost totally obscured by the throngs of people. Keeping them out and the contenders in.
Tanek was on his feet once more. “I’m going to kill you!” he shouted, rushing towards Robert.
“You and whose army? Oh, that’s right – you tried that twice already.”
It had the desired effect, making Tanek’s next move clumsy, easier to avoid. Robert rolled under the punch his opponent threw, barging into Tanek sideways and almost pitching him over with the giant’s momentum. It was the only way he’d be able to keep avoiding Tanek, but he couldn’t keep it up for long. Already the giant was lunging back round again, delivering a kick that practically flipped Robert over in mid-air. He landed on his front, winded for the second time in as many minutes.
The crowd was cheering with delight, and Robert felt Tanek standing over him, about to deliver a killing blow. Though it took just about all the strength he could muster, Robert shuffled backwards and out of reach as Tanek’s fist came down. Instead of grinding Robert’s head into the dirt, the giant punched the floor and growled with pain. Robert scrabbled back further away from the man.
Tanek was about to leap on him again when a sharp banging from above interrupted. It reminded Robert of old courtroom dramas, of a judge striking the bench with his gavel.
“Enough!” came a voice. Robert recognised the accent, and sadly recognised the voice, too. He looked up for the source, spotting a ledge with a railing. Part of what had once been an overhanging office, stripped bare to provide a viewing platform.
It was then that Robert matched the voice to the face, and the face to the name. “Bohuslav. This day’s getting better and better.” The new Tsar of Russia, crowned after Robert had killed his former master. Bohuslav was dressed in what looked like a red velvet uniform with yellow piping – replacing the previous Tsar’s leather – and a flowing cape. In place of the hand that Dale had taken from him was Bohuslav’s favourite weapon, the sickle, and in his other hand a heavy metal hammer with which he’d struck the edge of the rail. He was a living embodiment of the Russian flag.
Robert glanced over at the man who’d been about to kill him and saw that Tanek was equally surprised to see their captor.
“Do not kill each other so quickly. I have gone to great pains to arrange this. I want to savour it,” Bohuslav said with a wide grin.
Great pains, thought Robert. Now I understand. He could see the Native American on that viewing platform as well. He was looking on with interest, arms folded. A satisfied Bohuslav turned to one side, now, nodding to one of his personal guards, who gave the man in black a bag. His payment for services rendered. Robert wondered what was inside; thirty pieces of silver would get you nowhere nowadays. Had to be something else, something –
“I will kill you!” This was Tanek, now addressing Bohuslav, who turned back to face them.
“Not before you’ve killed Hood, surely? You just said that was your intention.” His broken English was exactly how Robert remembered it. The last time he’d clapped eyes on this nutter it had been when his Rangers had defeated the Tsar’s not inconsiderable forces. If Dale hadn’t come to the rescue... Robert had assumed the man had been killed by the wounds that lad inflicted, but obviously not. And the new Tsar wanted revenge, not on the man who’d mutilated him, but on the man responsible for the Rangers in the first place. The man who’d killed his lord and master.
When Tanek said nothing, Bohuslav laughed. “So, kill him, and we will talk about what happens after that. On the other hand, Hood might kill you. He has just as much of an axe to grind.” The new Tsar nodded to a guard below, who tossed a weapon into the area of combat: a large, double-edged axe. “If I remember rightly you, Tanek, favoured the pollaxe the last time you were here. Yes, Hood, Tanek has an advantage over you. He has fought in this place once before.” And with that, a staff with a lethal-looking blade on the end landed near Tanek’s feet. He looked at it, then up again at Bohuslav.
The Tsar banged his hammer on the rail again, before tucking it into his belt. “Go on, pick up your weapons. If you do not, then your opponent might gain the advantage.”
Robert was about to say something to Tanek when the bigger man grabbed his pollaxe and tested its weight.
Okay... thought Robert, snatching up his axe. A large net and a round shield were also thrown into the ring, for whoever picked them up first.
Tanek made it to the shield, so Robert had to settle for the net, winding the thick rope around his hand and wrist. Just in time, because Tanek made a swift lunge with the pollaxe, which Robert snagged in the netting, attempting to swing the larger man round. Tanek held his ground, however, raising the weapon and almost taking the netting with it. Robert held on, feeling himself being lifted along with the mesh. He used it to his advantage, swinging forward and bringing his axe around in an arc to try and hit Tanek. The giant was forced to lower the pole, and in doing so both of them wound up on the floor.
“Tanek,” said Robert, catching his breath. “Tanek, listen to me. He’s playing us both off against –”
The big man was up and swinging the pollaxe at him again. Robert sighed, ducked, then rose to block the next swing. The wooden hafts of both his own weapon and the pollaxe juddered with the strain, but Tanek was just too strong. Robert had to defect the blow sideways or risk being struck full in the face by the business end, which would have cleaved his skull in two.
“Tanek, dammit, listen to me! You know he’ll kill whoever’s left when –” Robert had to step sideways to dodge yet another attack, but this time he clambered onto Tanek’s back, kicking as he used it as a springboard. The larger man lost his footing and ended up on the ground, while Robert landed awkwardly and turned. “He’ll just kill whoever wins,” Robert finished.
“He will not get the chance,” Tanek said, sneering. Then he righted himself and came at Robert once again. He lunged with the axe, but then twisted and brought round his shield, using that as a weapon instead. Robert barely had time to lean back, falling over in an effort to prevent the edge of the shield connecting with his windpipe.
Damn and blast, the bastard’s stubborn, thought Robert. “Unless we work together, it’ll –” Robert rolled to the right, missing another stroke with the axe. He couldn’t believe this; it wouldn’t be his first choice to try and work with one of his
greatest enemies either, but Tanek was too obsessed by the idea of killing him and Bohuslav to see clearly. To see how they could win. There was only one way Robert could convince him, that he could see.
That was to beat him.
Robert hunkered down, trying to ignore his body’s protests and waiting for the next strike from Tanek. When it came, he clumsily swung his blade – but hit the handle nonetheless and splintered it. Then he cast the net, but instead of tangling up Tanek’s weapon, he laid it on the ground, so that Tanek would step into it, pulled forward by his momentum. Robert put the end of the net over his good shoulder and tugged as hard as he could. Tanek wobbled, but didn’t fall – so much for that plan – so instead Robert ran around the big man, tangling him up. It was then a matter of batting the axe out of Tanek’s grasp as it poked up through the net, leaving Tanek with just a shield that was bound up with him and couldn’t be shifted.
Robert saw a newfound respect for his fighting abilities in Tanek’s eyes. With shaky hands, he lifted his weapon aloft, blocking out the cheers of the crowd. “The only way we’re going to do this is together,” Robert said, close enough that only they could hear. “Remember that.”
He brought the axe down, but veered off at the final moment, cutting through the netting to free Tanek. As far as the onlookers – and indeed Bohuslav himself – were concerned it simply looked like he’d missed, but what he’d done was not lost on the olive-skinned giant. Again, Robert could see in his eyes that an understanding had finally been reached.
Which was why he was surprised when the big man got up, leaving his shield on the floor and grabbing the pollaxe, lashing out again with it seconds later. Robert blocked him with his own axe, but this time he could feel there was no real tension. Tanek grunted, as they drew closer together in a struggle with the weapons. “I will settle with you later,” he promised Robert, then suddenly turned his back, and thrust his axe into the nearest guard.
