Arrowhead ac-5

by Paul Kane

  Gwen smiled, getting more and more into the part with each passing second. "And what do they say?"

  "That you let him do things. All kinds of things to you."

  She closed her eyes slowly and opened them again. "What would you like to do to me, Jace?"

  His cheeks were glowing bright red, but there was none of the hesitation of the other soldier. Jace planted a kiss on her; rough, without any feeling. Gwen tolerated it, putting her arms around him, more in an effort to lead him to the bed than anything else. They inched their way across with her guiding him, until the backs of his legs hit the mattress. Gwen pushed him onto it, climbing on top.

  Jace lay back, rifle still in his grip, so she bent down to kiss him again. Her robe fell open even more and his eyes were glued to her breasts. "That's right," she said seductively. "You get a good look…" Gwen bent further down, and while he was distracted she snaked her hand under the pillow and brought out the knife. She held it against his neck and, for a second or two, he didn't even realise what was going on. "Move and I'll slit your throat. I mean it!"

  With her other hand she reached down and relieved him of the rifle.

  She rose from the bed, putting the knife in her pocket and training the weapon on Jace. "Now, stand up and get undressed."

  Jace still seemed bewildered, as if he couldn't quite understand how the situation had gone from one thing to the other.

  "Fucking well get undressed!" she hissed, jabbing the barrel of the rifle in his direction. "Lose the sidearm first." Jace scrambled to his feet. With fumbling hands he undid the belt of his holster. "Slowly," Gwen warned him. He dropped it to the floor with a clunk, then began to take off his clothes. "All of them…" Gwen ordered, then laughed as he took off his boxers. "I don't know how you were expecting to do anything with that maggot."

  "You fucking bitch!"

  Gwen hefted the rifle and hit Jace squarely in the face with its butt, and with enough force to knock the beret from his head. He collapsed onto the bed, unconscious.

  Quickly, Gwen took off her robe and began to get dressed in the uniform. It was loose in places, but would disguise her well enough to get to the caves. She tucked her auburn hair up into the beret, strapped on the holster – hiding the sharpened knife away in a front pocket of the combat trousers. Then she left Jace behind, opened the door a crack again to check that nobody was around, and slipped out.

  Gwen was already on the ground level, so only had to make a bolt for the exit to get outside. Rifle over her shoulder, she skirted the building, keeping her head down and praying that nobody would notice her. Thankfully everyone was busy today, men dashing to and fro, and hardly anyone gave her a second glance. Once she was on the other side of the castle, she saw she was too late.

  The prisoners were already being led out from the caves under heavy guard – up the steps and into the light, hands shackled in front of them, shielding their eyes from the brightness. Gwen scanned the line as the soldiers forced them up at gunpoint, but she saw no sign of the boy.

  Dammit, I waited too long…

  What she did see, however, at the end of the line, was Javier. A thinner, more defeated-looking version of the Mexican, with a large plaster over one ear. But it was him. She'd never forget that face. What was he doing out of his makeshift cell? He was in uniform, too, but didn't look to be giving orders. If anything, he was just milling around observing what was going on. He didn't even appear to be armed.

  Gwen ground her teeth. There was no way she could take on all the guards and free the prisoners, much to her regret – it would just get them killed all the quicker – but the temptation of taking some kind of revenge on Javier was simply too much to resist. Head down again, she made her way across to the far end of the line, striding confidently as if she belonged there.

  Coming up behind Javier, she took the pistol out of its holster.

  "Hello Major," she whispered, jamming her weapon into his ribs.

  "Who-"

  "Quiet…" she growled. "Let the soldiers go on ahead, you're coming with me. We have unfinished business."

  As the string of people and soldiers headed off in front, she steered Javier to the side and then marched him back down into the caves.

  "And how is our prize this morning?"

  Mark grimaced at the man who'd entered the upstairs room, the Sheriff as he called himself. He'd ordered Mark to be kept inside the castle for the last day or so, too valuable to be lumped in with the rest of the bunch. Tanek had kept a watchful eye on the pale boy, now strapped to another chair, to keep him from falling into unconsciousness, perhaps even dying. De Falaise couldn't have that… Not before his time, at any rate.

  "Are you ready to be our star attraction?"

  "G… Get stuffed," Mark managed, croaking out the words.

  Tanek pulled his head back by the hair. "Show some respect."

  De Falaise waved his hand. "It is all right, I understand totally. The boy is upset. But do not worry, you will soon see your beloved Hood again. If he doesn't just leave you here to hang."

  Mark scowled.

  "Bring him," De Falaise said to Tanek. "It will soon be time."

  Tanek undid the bonds tying Mark to the chair and the prisoner almost collapsed. Picking up his crossbow, the big man dragged Mark to his feet and half carried him out of the room by the scruff of his neck, following the Sheriff to the landing. They made their way down the stairs, and out onto the eastern side of the castle. De Falaise led them towards the stone steps, overlooking where Mark and the other prisoners had been examined when they first arrived.

  Now that area was looking very different. The platform for the gallows took up much of the space, with men still making final adjustments to the structure.

  "What do you think? I may even leave it there for future occasions." De Falaise mused out loud.

  Mark was quiet.

  "I think our star attraction is lost for words, Tanek."

  The big man nodded.

  "In awe, I'd say," De Falaise went on. He bent, smiling. "How would you like to be the first to try it?" The man talked as if he'd just unveiled a new theme park ride.

  Mark attempted to break free of Tanek's grasp but even with all his strength present he wouldn't have stood a chance.

  "Better hope The Hooded Man comes for you, then," said De Falaise, chuckling, "but I'll let you into a little secret, shall I? It doesn't matter anyway. You are still going to die. You all will. Now come along, do not dawdle. We both have a date with the inevitable."

  Gwen forced Javier back down the steps and into the now abandoned cave system. There were no soldiers or guards down here, as there were no prisoners left. It was just the two of them.

  "Am I at least allowed to see who my executioner is?" he asked as Gwen ushered him onwards.

  She stepped down and spun him around. "There – remember me now?"

  He screwed up his eyes in the half-light. "Yes, I remember you."

  "Then you remember what you did, to Clive… to me, back in Hope."

  Javier's eyes brushed the floor.

  "He… He was the one good thing that's ever happened in my life," Gwen said, raw emotion in her voice. "He never mistreated me, never used me. He just wanted to give me the life I'd always dreamed about. But then you came along, you and the Sheriff."

  "The 'Sheriff' is totally insane," Javier replied. "I once believed in him, but I was wrong. I was frightened."

  "So you did it to save your own skin, is that it?" Gwen raised the gun higher, hand trembling. "Just like you turned the boy over to him."

  Javier appeared shocked she knew about that, but he nodded a third time. "What can I say? I am a weak man. A selfish man."

  "You enjoyed the power, though, anyone could see that. And you enjoyed killing Clive."

  "No. That was an accident. If the holy man hadn't-"

  "He was trying to stop you."

  Javier shook his head. "If your friend hadn't argued in the first place…"

  "He
was protecting me, you idiot! He was killed because he was protecting the woman he loved, the place he loved. And now…" Her hand grew steadier, her aim true as she pointed the gun at his head. "Now you're going to feel what it's like to have your own brains blown out, Major."

  Javier winced. "That is the second time I've heard such words in as many days, Senora."

  "And what, you're scared? Good!"

  He shook his head once more. "I am not scared of you. But I am scared of what waits for me when I die."

  "Judged by a higher power, is that it?"

  "Yes. That is why I say to you, put down the weapon. If you kill me like this you will be damned just as surely as I am." He held out his hand for the weapon.

  Gwen's laugh was harsh. "You've got to be kidding me!"

  "No. I wish to save you this."

  Her gun arm began shaking again, and it lowered a fraction. Only a fraction. Maybe he's right; are you really a killer? she asked herself. Won't that make you just as bad as him, as De Falaise? Isn't that why after all this time you still couldn't murder the Frenchman? Couldn't stick the knife in him and twist it? Not even to rid the world of his sickness?

  Gwen shook her head. No, she had to do this. Do it to avenge Clive, for her own satisfaction – even if the man in front of her in no way resembled the bloated slug who'd driven into Hope. First Javier, then De Falaise.

  She made her mind up.

  Closing one eye, Gwen took aim.

  The people from the villages were being herded onto the field by De Falaise's men.

  One man looked over at the gallows and made a run for it. He didn't make it as far as the pathway before being gunned down. De Falaise clapped at the action, nodding curtly to the men who'd opened fire. Then he motioned for Tanek to bring Mark up to the platform.

  Jennings, who had been taking shots of the crowd and capturing a general sense of the occasion, began to snap De Falaise.

  "Where is that woman?" De Falaise said under his breath, hardly breaking his camera smile. "I told her to be here for the pictures."

  "Shall I send someone for her?" asked Jennings before Tanek got a chance. This earned him a hateful look from the Frenchman's second.

  "No, no, no. It is high time we started. It is her own fault if she misses it. I will think of a suitable punishment later." De Falaise called for five 'volunteers' from the crowd. The soldiers pushed forward the handful of people, at gunpoint. They were forced to climb the steps to the raised area, where a couple more soldiers placed their heads in the nooses. Tanek brought down the rope so that he could shove Mark's head into the gap.

  The first six were ready.

  "This is an historic occasion," De Falaise said, walking along in front of them, looking down at the faces of those who would be next and the soldiers he had allowed to watch. He resembled a game show host in front of an audience. "The first hangings in your country for over forty years. And not a moment too soon, I say. Stop jostling down there! If you are well behaved I might still let some of you live to tell of what transpired here today." De Falaise turned to the poor unfortunates about to be executed. "If any of you have anything to declare, it is too late now anyway." He tittered to himself. "I suppose I am not alone in my disappointment that the man you put so much stock in has not even bothered to show up. At least it tells you all that your faith was misguided. He is both a coward and a murderer, responsible for all your deaths."

  De Falaise looked across at the soldier holding the lever. He held his hand up, ready to give the signal.

  When his radio crackled into life.

  "My Lord…" came a voice over the airwaves. De Falaise raised an eyebrow, looking down at the walkie-talkie hanging from his belt. "My Lord, The Hooded Man is here. Repeat: The Hooded Man is here!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Reinhart couldn't figure it out.

  He'd had his scope trained on the city below, moving left and right, taking in as far as a mile ahead of him. None of the teams had reported anything suspicious, all checking in on their half-hourly rota as per normal. Then, suddenly, there he was. The Hooded Man. As large as life, walking up Friar Lane towards the main entrance to the castle. Reinhart blinked several times. He couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him. It was as if the man had just appeared out of nowhere.

  In reality, he knew Hood must have come out of one of the buildings nearby when he wasn't looking. But how had he come this far into the city without any of them knowing?

  Reinhart watched as the man proceeded slowly up the road, bow and arrows on his back, that trademark hood of his pulled down over his face. There was something dangling at his hip as well, which glinted in the morning sunlight. It was a sword. So this was the person who had caused them so much trouble? Hardly looked like a threat at all. Why, with one bullet Reinhart could just end his life right there and then. No more problems. De Falaise would probably thank him for it.

  Or would he?

  The Dutchman knew his superior wanted to do that job personally. Had arranged all this just for that purpose, in fact. Quickly, he snatched up the radio and called it in.

  Within seconds De Falaise had answered him back. "You are quite sure?"

  "I am," confirmed Reinhart.

  "Very well. Keep your eye out for anything else suspicious." Reinhart heard De Falaise switch to the other channel, ordering his men at the gates not to open fire on pain of death. He was glad now he hadn't acted so rashly.

  By this time Hood had reached the entranceway, passing beneath a tree briefly, then vanishing out of Reinhart's sight at the gatehouse.

  But he heard the knock as The Hooded Man demanded entrance.

  De Falaise gazed down the incline, towards the gatehouse.

  They all heard the banging on the old doors, a fist smacking the wood.

  He was aware that his free arm was still in the air, frozen at the moment of ending the six prisoners' lives. Slowly, he withdrew that arm – staying the execution for now. He had other – more pressing – things to deal with first.

  Even if he hadn't just aborted the hangings, De Falaise doubted whether the order would have been obeyed. The soldier at the lever was staring down at the gate as well, along with the assembled crowd.

  The banging came again.

  "Sir…" A crackle over the radio reminded him he still had it in his grasp. "Sir, should we let him in?" This was a soldier at the gate.

  The Sheriff brought the radio to his lips. "Yes, of course, you imbecile. Open the gate. This is what I have been waiting for. He is just one man, alone. He is not to be interfered with."

  De Falaise walked to the very edge of the platform, Tanek joining him.

  Several men ran out of the buildings at the gatehouse, clambering to undo the huge doors.

  "Come on, come on!" De Falaise said under his breath.

  The doors opened wide and The Hooded Man stood there, a dark figure in the shadows. He took a step forward, then another. The men at the gate watched him pass.

  In spite of the fact The Hooded Man had his bow slung over his back and a sword at his hip, the men there did nothing to take them. They'd been told not to interfere with the visitor, so they didn't. It wasn't as if the man could do anything with such antiquated weapons anyway, not before being gunned down.

  The Hooded Man strode up the pathway, his gait confident, his head bowed so that they still couldn't make out much of his features.

  He began up the incline, and as he did so De Falaise's men at the rear of the crowd ran to the edge and trained their guns on him. The Hooded Man gave the war memorial on his right a glance, then continued up the snaking path, until finally he reached the summit – steps that led up to the East Terrace on his left, the crowd and the platform on his right.

  "So," shouted De Falaise, holstering his radio, "you finally came."

  The Hooded Man moved forwards, still with dozens of guns trained on him. One false move and he'd be torn to pieces, with no forest to cover him or swallow him up this time. Now he was
on De Falaise's home turf.

  A strange thing happened as he walked towards the crowd. To begin with, the nearest few people moved aside – they didn't really have much of a choice, as the man was coming no matter what. It caused a ripple effect, and soon another path had been created for him up towards the platform. Like a human version of the Red Sea, the people – soldiers and prisoners alike – parted almost as one, creating a safe passageway for him.

  The Hooded Man walked through them, looking neither left nor right. But the people stared. If there was to be anything worthy of record today, then it was this – something Jennings also recognised as he snapped off several pictures of the event. De Falaise glared across at him and he lowered the camera slowly.

  "Sorry."

  "Take as many as you like when I kill him," said the Sheriff.

  The Hooded Man was almost at the steps to the platform. He paused there, looking up slightly at the wooden construction. At Mark, slumping in his noose; it was the only thing keeping the boy on his feet.

  "Do you like my new little toy?" De Falaise asked.

  In a low voice, The Hooded Man replied: "Every pantomime villain needs a stage."

  De Falaise pouted. "Why do you not come up onto my stage, then, and participate in the production."

  The Hooded Man accepted this invitation, but drew out the act, taking one step at a time. For De Falaise, the wait was agonising, and he nearly ordered Tanek to put a bolt through the man's head immediately. But he wasn't quite finished with Hood yet – not after everything he'd put him through. For one thing he needed to see his face; needed to look into his eyes. If he was to let some of these peasants go today to tell the tale, he wanted them to spread the word about the death of Hood. How the Sheriff of Nottingham – by Christ, of Britain! – humiliated him first, then shot him… no, wait, slit his throat… no, perhaps strangle him? De Falaise realised he'd given absolutely no thought whatsoever as to how he would actually finish this. How he would see an end to The Hooded Man, who was still wearing that damned piece of clothing even now: his trademark, his mask. Then he remembered the sabre hanging from his hip. It mirrored Hood's own sword, one which he would never get to use. That was a good way – with Jennings documenting proceedings for posterity.