Hooded Man

by Paul Kane

  He dragged Mary down the rear steps, disappearing from sight. Robert skirted around the side of the platform, missing only a few moments, but by the time he rounded it, De Falaise and Mary were almost at the farthest end of the lawn. Almost at a truck parked there.

  “You’ve got to let her go to climb inside, you bastard,” said Robert under his breath.

  But De Falaise managed to keep Mary in front of him as he got into the cab of the truck, sitting her on his knee. The engine started up, the vehicle shuddering.

  “Damn it! Jack... Jack, get Mark off the platform – right now!” Robert kept a bead on the vehicle as it powered towards them, but also kept an eye on what was happening on the gallows. Jack had managed to drag Mark to the edge and then over it, both of them tumbling off the right hand side of the platform. The truck clipped the left hand side, ramming through it, just missing Bill and a prone auburn-haired woman. Robert barely had time to dive out of the way, rolling as the truck tipped over the incline and drove down past the helicopter, scattering people as it went.

  Robert raised his head in time to see the truck power through the devastated side gate and out onto the street.

  His eyes flicked back to the helicopter, its rotor still turning. “Bill...” he called out on his way over to the man. “Are you in a fit state to fly?”

  “Does it bloody well look like it?” Bill replied, nursing his wound. “Judas fucking Priest, I can’t even get up!” He thumbed back towards the helicopter. “And I doubt if she will, either.”

  Robert ground his teeth. The truck could be heading in any direction, even if he could get to a jeep or truck in time to follow. The helicopter was the only option if he was to find De Falaise and stop him.

  Bow in hand, he began down the path, ignoring the calls from Bill and Jack.

  What are you doing? What exactly are you doing, Robert? he asked himself. He couldn’t fly, not even with a chopper that was in any fit state to get off the ground. Robert knew all this and still he had to try.

  It was Mary’s only hope. God alone knew what would happen to her once she no longer served her purpose as a hostage. That lunatic De Falaise...

  He tried not to think about it as he threw the bow into the cockpit, then climbed in himself. Closing his eyes, he visualised what Bill had done before take off, remembered what he’d said about lightness of touch.

  With one hand on the collective and one hand on the cyclic, he attempted his first ever take off.

  For long moments nothing happened, and Robert wondered if this was because of the state of the battered machine. But then, all of a sudden, and with a lot of mental encouragement from its pilot, the Sioux rose a few feet off the ground.

  “Attagirl,” said Robert, coaxing more height from her. Once he was high enough to make it over the castle entrance, he pushed the chopper forward, practically kangarooing it, bouncing onto the other side. It would never get up to the height it had before, but Robert was hoping he could get at least high enough to see where the truck was going.

  As he lifted away, he saw the devastation of the battle he was leaving behind. His men were pretty much mopping up, and those soldiers who were left were surrendering in droves now De Falaise had cut and run. There would be time for sorting all that out later – time to find out how Mark was later. Right now, all he could think about was getting Mary safely back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  WAKE UP, MOO-MOO – you’re in serious trouble. Even worse than the last time.

  She heard David’s voice rousing her, but it seemed so far away.

  Moo-Moo, please wake up. The Sheriff has you as a hostage. You’re driving through the streets of Nottingham in an army truck and when you get far enough away he’s just going to kill you and dump you. Moo-Moo, are you listening to me! Mary! MARY!

  That did it. David very rarely called her by her proper name, only when he was angry with her about something. Right now, that would appear to be because she was going to die. Mary opened her eyes a fraction, looking to the side. She saw De Falaise in his dress uniform, hunched over the wheel of the truck. A knife was buried in his leg, but he didn’t seem in any rush to take it out. Beyond him she saw buildings going by. He took a right at speed, almost causing the truck to tip over. It was all Mary could do to keep quiet.

  Good, said David. He still thinks you’re out of it, so there’s no reason for him to question otherwise, is there? He also thinks you’re unarmed. Oh, God, Moo-Moo, however did you get yourself into this mess? Because you thought you felt something for someone you hardly even know? Because you always said to yourself even though you were hiding away that one day the perfect man would come along and you’d know it instantly?

  She told him to shut up. Mary needed to concentrate, which wasn’t easy when you were pretty sure your nose was broken and your head was splitting. She waited, watching De Falaise through the slits of her barely open eyes. Waited for him to turn the wheel again, so that she could use it as a cover to flop a hand below the seat. Then, with his attention still on the road, she reached that hand up behind her, reaching under the bottom of Robert’s hooded top, reaching for the Peacemaker she had tucked away there, hidden in the folds.

  She wasn’t expecting to still have the gun by this late stage in the game – just how stupid were the soldiers under the Frenchman’s command? – but then she wasn’t expecting to fight De Falaise, get knocked senseless, and get dragged along for the ride in his mad dash for freedom.

  And he was mad, no mistake about that. As Mary and the others had suspected all along, this guy was a total loon, playing out his fantasies of being a dictator in a world where he thought nobody could stop him.

  He was wrong.

  Mary had her fingers curled around the handle of the gun, her thumb ready to cock it. She wasn’t thinking about what would happen once she’d shot him, whether he’d crash the truck and kill them both, she just wanted to end this right here and right now.

  “Merde!” She flinched at De Falaise’s raised voice, thinking that he must have noticed what she was up to. But he had caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye in the wing mirror. Something following them. Mary could just about make out the shape of the vehicle from her angle – but it didn’t look like any car or jeep or truck she’d ever come across. “The cretin does not know when to give in. But I will show him.”

  “Robert,” she whispered, too quietly to be heard.

  Yes, said David. He’s come for you, Moo-Moo. He’s come for you. Perhaps you were right after all.

  De Falaise stamped on the brakes, sending her back into her seat as the low-flying helicopter crashed into their rear.

  ROBERT GRAPPLED WITH the controls. It was taking all his effort and concentration just to keep the Sioux off the ground, but it had done its job – got him high enough to pinpoint where De Falaise was going, heading blindly towards the market square. Then, having little choice in the matter, he brought the damaged chopper back down to hover as near to the ground as he could. The landing gear scraped the road, causing sparks.

  Knowing De Falaise’s direction helped Robert to take a short cut, emerging from one street just in time to see the truck go by. He was then in full pursuit.

  Robert kept just a little way back, trying to hide behind the vehicle and hoping that the Sheriff wouldn’t see him. But it had to happen eventually, and so Robert found himself having to pull on the collective control quickly, as the truck braked and the helicopter slammed into it. Then the chopper rose, groaning in protest, and just about made it above the height of the truck, settling down on top of it as it accelerated again.

  The truck wove this way and that, trying to shake the chopper. Robert fought to keep her level with the vehicle below him. They were driving down a road heading along the tram tracks when De Falaise pulled his braking stunt again.

  This time, the helicopter shot forward and over the front of the truck, and suddenly both vehicles clipped the side of a building. They crashed through overgr
own foliage onto what had once been the fountain of the square. Robert attempted to disentangle the chopper, but that only made matters worse, and soon they were heading towards the Council building.

  Grabbing his bow, Robert opened the door of the chopper. He was just about to jump clear when he remembered something else he’d brought with him, and leaned across quickly to retrieve it. He dove out just as the truck rammed into one of the once majestic stone lions, a match for those back at the castle. Whether De Falaise had been deliberately trying to crush the chopper was unclear, but Robert hit the concrete and rolled, feeling something pop in his shoulder as he did so.

  From his position on the floor, Robert raised his head and looked up at the mess of twisted metal. The truck and the helicopter were fused together like a piece of modern art. A river of diesel ran all the way across the market square like a slug’s slime trail. And it was spreading into a lake...

  “Mary...” groaned Robert. He had to get her out of the truck.

  Hauling himself to his feet, he slipped the broadsword he’d grabbed into his belt, and staggered across to the wreck. He’d only got a few feet when two figures came into view around the side. It was the Sheriff and Mary, the former holding his sabre to her throat again, the latter still dazed.

  Robert slotted an arrow into his bow and raised it, wincing at the pain from his shoulder. The pair moved sideways like a crab, De Falaise dragging Mary away from the truck as if he still thought escape was an option. Robert moved with them, keeping his arrow on the pair, but not being given the opportunity to take a shot.

  “Let her go!” ordered Robert as they hobbled away, though his voice lacked any kind of authority.

  “I think not,” replied De Falaise.

  “Look around you, it’s over. You’re done.”

  “Non. It is only just beginning, mon ami. We are –” De Falaise’s face crinkled up, then he let out a piercing cry.

  Robert glanced down and saw Mary’s hand, twisting the knife still embedded in the Frenchman’s leg. She seemed fully awake, intent on causing De Falaise the maximum amount of torment.

  He threw her roughly to the side and she hit the ground, rolling over twice. It was as she came to a stop that Robert saw what she had in her hand. Her Peacekeeper, trained on the Sheriff.

  “Mary, no...!” But she didn’t hear him in time. Mary fired at the Frenchman, missing him, but hitting the truck some way behind them, igniting the leaking fuel tank.

  De Falaise looked behind him, looked down at the trail of diesel, and began to limp quickly away. Robert ran for Mary, but the resultant blast as the truck and helicopter exploded knocked him off his feet – pitching him backwards into the middle of the square. A streak of heat whooshed between the two enemies as the diesel caught fire, then fanned outwards.

  Robert slipped in and out of consciousness. He was back in the dreamworld suddenly, back at the lake of fire – then he was here, at the market square. There seemed little difference. The Sheriff came at him, but he couldn’t tell whether it was real or an illusion. The man appeared out of the flames, burnt, his clothes smouldering, but he wasn’t stopping.

  It was only when his sabre descended that Robert realised this was no dream. He rolled over and the blade connected with the concrete, clinking loudly. Robert struggled with his own sword, but couldn’t disentangle it from his belt at this angle.

  De Falaise struck again. “I will kill you,” he said, his face wild.

  Robert kicked out, knocking his attacker backwards and reversing the descent of the sabre. While De Falaise wobbled back, Robert clambered to his feet, and finally pulled the broadsword from his belt. When the Sheriff attacked this time, metal clashed against metal. The strokes were clumsy – both men were inexperienced with a sword – but any one could have ended the fight, skewering through flesh.

  Neither man had the strength to really fight anymore, so in that respect they were evenly matched. After several slashes at each other with the swords, they grabbed one another’s wrists at the same time. Robert squeezed as hard as he could, forcing De Falaise to let go of his sabre, while his opposite number followed suit, wrenching Robert’s arm forward and aggravating his shoulder. Robert let go of the broadsword, and it landed with a clatter.

  They locked eyes, set against a backdrop of flames. It was clear that they recognised this scene, and knew what came next. Letting go of each other’s wrists, they went for each other’s throats. Both men found reserves of energy, just enough to try and choke the life out of each other. Robert had a slight edge, and could feel De Falaise’s grip on him weakening.

  Too late, he remembered the dream – and what the Frenchman had done in it. Robert let go of De Falaise’s throat, just in time to move back and see the knife as it was shoved into him. The crazed Sheriff had torn the weapon – a sharpened table knife – from his own leg and had been aiming for Robert’s gut. It embedded itself in his side instead, but was no less painful.

  Their faces centimetres apart, the Sheriff snarled. “And so it ends, English.”

  “Everything ends eventually.” Robert headbutted De Falaise, causing him to let go of the knife and stagger backwards.

  At the same time, Robert reached into his quiver, taking out an arrow. He held it as he would have done a dagger, then shoved it into De Falaise’s open mouth, ramming it home.

  The Sheriff’s eyes widened and he clawed at his throat, choking as he might have done on a fishbone.

  “That was for Mark. This is for Gwen and Mary.”

  Robert took out another couple of arrows, and this time shoved them into those eye sockets, snapping off the ends as he did so.

  De Falaise couldn’t scream, so he just gargled in agony, toppling to the floor, where he writhed about.

  Robert stood above him, holding his side. “And this,” he said, pulling out a final arrow. “This is for the rest of us.”

  De Falaise held up a quivering hand, but Robert ignored it, bent down, and plunged the arrowhead into the man’s heart, hard and deep. The Sheriff twitched for a few more moments, then lay still.

  Breathing heavily, Robert rolled off the corpse, still holding his side. He lay beside the Frenchman, not able to move any more – and to the casual observer there might have seemed hardly anything to choose between them. Two dead men, covered in blood.

  But one was alive. Even after everything he’d been through – even after willing it to happen – Robert was still alive. The difference was, today he was glad of the fact.

  He felt something, someone at the side of him. If he’d had the energy he would have brought up the knife still in his side, defended himself in case it was another attacker. But he didn’t. So he was glad when the face that appeared above him was a familiar, friendly one.

  “Yay you...” said Mary half croaking out the words. She wasn’t in a much better state, her face all banged up, dried blood at her nostrils – yet it was still beautiful in spite of all that.

  Robert laughed at her words, coughing, and when he did his shoulder and side felt like they were on fire, while the actual fire on the square was seemingly burning itself out. “Yay... Yay us,” he managed.

  Mary smiled and kissed his forehead, her hand reaching down and helping to stem the blood flow at his side.

  “You... you finished with my clothes now?” he asked her.

  “Why, you going to need this old hood again, Robin?” she asked him.

  He smiled weakly, the sound of vehicles in the distance reaching his ears. Maybe it was De Falaise’s men fleeing? he thought. But when he saw Mary waving he knew it had to be his own men, drawn to the place by the smoke from the crashed vehicles.

  It could mean only one thing. The battle for the castle, for Nottingham and the region, was finally over. Certainly the villain of the tale was dead...

  But what of the war?

  What of the future?

  Those were questions for another time, another day, he told himself as he closed his eyes.

  Yes, those
were questions for another day entirely...

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  IF HE HADN’T wanted to be found, he wouldn’t have let her.

  But Robert was getting better at allowing Mary to track him down these days – getting better at letting her in. It would still take time, and she knew that. This wasn’t some magical fairy story, and he couldn’t simply erase the past. She wouldn’t expect him to. Though the past seemed more distant, the more time he spent with her.

  “They said you’d come to the forest.” Mary joined him in the clearing. It was the same one she’d followed him to that night, when they’d both seen the stag – except now the leaves were turning autumn gold. He knew that once, she would have said it all looked the same, but now she actually recognised the place... he could tell from her expression.

  “They were right,” he said.

  “You’re waiting for it to come back again, aren’t you?”

  Robert sighed. “It won’t, I know that.”

  Mary closed the gap between them. “You miss this place...”

  He nodded. It had been two months since they’d taken over the castle, but he’d come back here often. He just couldn’t settle. Bill, Jack, Tate; they had things running pretty smoothly now they were all fully recovered – thanks in no small part to Mary’s attentions and a few other medical people who’d stepped forward. The soldiers who hadn’t fled had been either placed under arrest until they worked out what to do with them, or offered a minor post in their ranks... under supervision, of course. The dead, like Granger, had been buried – not cremated, Robert hadn’t allowed that – and words had been said by their graves in the grounds, near to the war memorial. They’d done this for their men and for those who’d sided with De Falaise. After all, many of them hadn’t had a choice. Some had, of course – some wanted the power that came with serving their demented master. Men like Tanek, whose body could not be found anywhere after the battle (“There’s no way he was getting up after what I did t’him,” Bill said, but still there was no sign of the man...). At any rate, word had gone out to the villages, and through the markets, that there was a new force in Nottingham, a force that wouldn’t tolerate violence or stealing or attacks on the communities it sheltered. If the region was to stand again on its own two feet, it would need policing; it would need defending. And they were the ones to do it.