by Paul Kane
The dreams, the promise... they were never far from his mind.
He needed somewhere quiet, out of the way, somewhere he could care for her. So he’d retraced his steps from over a year ago, returning to Cynthia’s little house out in the middle of nowhere.
The door had been wide open this time when he arrived. Stepping cautiously inside with his crossbow raised, Tanek had searched the place for any signs of the woman or her fucking demon dog. There were none, just evidence of some kind of struggle. Obviously someone had stumbled upon this place and they’d either fled, or been taken away and killed. There were no corpses to indicate it had happened in the house. He neither knew nor cared.
Tanek had carried De Falaise’s daughter up to the bedroom, placing her on the comfortable, still-untouched bed. Then he’d looked after her, continuing to give her the antibiotics until they ran out, mopping her brow as she sweated out the pain, and willing her to wake.
She opened her eyes only twice. The first time she asked for water, which he gave her. Tanek had been feeding her intravenously with a drip he’d found back at King’s Mill, while he’d been surviving on what he could hunt in the nearby meadows: small animals mainly, some birds he killed with crossbow bolts. He’d lived on less.
Adele told him she’d seen her father, that he’d talked to her.
Tanek nodded. She’d had the dream as well.
“He said I had to get better, had to... because...” She began to cough, and he gave her another sip of water.
“Take it slow.”
“No, I must... must tell you... We have to... have to save...” That was all she could manage before losing her tenuous grip on consciousness. There was something wrong with her, any idiot could see that. Even in sleep, her face was a rictus of agony. Maybe he’d missed something internally, some fragment from the bullet that he hadn’t spotted? Although he knew about the human body, he was no doctor and hadn’t had the best of facilities in which to work.
Whatever the case, it was too late to do anything but sit and wait.
The second time she woke, three days later, was the last. Tanek sat up when he saw her stir, especially when she’d grabbed his hand, gripping it tight. Adele looked at him, eyes wide, with an expression that only came when you knew you were close to the end.
“He made me promise,” she spluttered. “My father.”
“Promise what?” Tanek leaned in. Maybe if he hadn’t been able to keep his own pledge to De Falaise, he could fulfil Adele’s. Would that make up for his mistakes?
“Save –”
“You said that before. Save who?”
The grip tightened again. “His child.”
Tanek shook his head. He’d tried, he’d really tried.
Then Adele said her final words: “My brother. My little brother...”
She fell back on the pillow, letting Tanek’s hand go. Tanek felt her neck; she was gone. It had taken this long, but Mary had finally killed Adele with that bullet. He shed no tears, though. Not because it wasn’t in his nature – he was just too preoccupied with what she’d imparted.
A brother, a younger sibling. But where? In France, over here? A sudden thought struck Tanek. Perhaps the child De Falaise had been talking about in his dreams hadn’t been Adele at all. What if it never had been?
Perhaps he was meant to save someone else? Meant to keep someone else safe?
It was a thought that would plague him even as he buried Adele in an unmarked grave. Even as he left Cynthia’s house and drove on up the road again.
It was a thought that would continue to plague him for some time to come.
GWEN FINISHED FEEDING Clive Jr, spooning the food into his mouth and wiping it.
She sat back and looked at her son, and not for the first time she wondered just how and why they’d been spared.
He must be kept safe...
That’s what the cultist had said. A man she’d been led to believe was evil – who painted a skull on his face and had the mark of a sinner on him – and yet had actually saved her from Jace, smuggled her out of the castle when she was about to be used as bait, when Christ alone knew what was going to happen to her son.
What had he meant? She didn’t have a clue, and hadn’t had a chance to ask again. Because after they’d dropped her off near to New Hope, they’d all disappeared: Skullface and the rest.
Gwen had ditched the robes before walking into the village, Andy and Graham rushing over when they saw her. They’d bombarded her with a flurry of questions she either couldn’t or didn’t want to answer. But once she was safe again inside her own home, once she was sure she wouldn’t be spotted or followed, she took Clive Jr and headed out to retrieve those robes.
They hung, even now, in her wardrobe upstairs. Gwen didn’t know why she was keeping them. A souvenir of her escape? She doubted it, she wasn’t the sentimental type anymore. Not since Clive...
Then why?
That wasn’t all. Ever since she’d got back, every time she left the house to visit Clive’s grave, or walk through New Hope, or attend meetings about the best way forward for the village – by which she and the others meant the best way to get hold of more weapons – she’d had the uneasy feeling she was being watched. Gwen would turn around quickly in the hopes of catching a glimpse of what was in the periphery of her vision. But it would always be gone.
Now, as she rose and walked to the window, hugging herself in spite of the fire that she’d made in the hearth, keeping out the dying breaths of winter, she thought she saw something out there in the dark. Just a quick flash, a figure perhaps, amongst the trees, wearing a hood. But not him: not the person she’d sent away when he’d brought Tate back to plead forgiveness.
No.
This was a different kind of Hooded Man altogether...
His presence heralding a different kind of future.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ONCE AGAIN, A huge thank you to Trevor Preston for all his help with the weapons and military stuff – and for even knowing what thickness the metal should be for the Ranger shields! Cheers, mate. A big thank you to Sue Pacey for the medical and drugs advice, who didn’t bat an eyelid at my strange questions. My thanks once more to the staff at Nottingham Castle for that trip around the caves, and to Pete Barnsdale who gave us a private tour of the Castle itself. A thank you to Sherwood Forest Visitors Centre, and especially Mark for the archery lesson. To the staff at The Britannia – where Marie and I hosted our first FantasyCon as co-chairs, and the seeds were planted. Thank you to Simon Clark and Lee Harris for looking over the Robin Hood’s Bay and York sections. A massive thank you to Richard Carpenter, one of my heroes, who let me use the quote from Robin of Sherwood at the front (for my money the best adaptation of Hood there’s ever been). Thanks to Scott Andrews for the conflabs about where we’re taking this future vision of Britain, and how we can cross over our characters. Thanks to my support mechanism of fantastic friends and loving family. To Jon Oliver for his great edits, Mark Harrison for the excellent cover artwork (I was a fan even before he started bringing Robert to life), and to my darling wife Marie, who was – as always – the first to read this and give me such insightful feedback. Love you more than words can say, sweetheart; you’re the best.
BONUS STORY
Editor’s Note: For Christmas in 2009, the editors at Abaddon Books asked our various authors to offer up tidbits – short stories featuring the characters from their books, interviews, even one song! – to share with our readers as a thank you for enjoying our books.
Paul’s offering was the following story, ‘Perfect Presents,’ showing us a rather lovely episode from the lives of Robert, Mary and their friends at Christmas time.
‘Perfect Presents’ takes place in the December following the events described in Broken Arrow.
PERFECT PRESENTS
ROBERT HAD TO admit, they’d done a fine job with the decorations.
He’d barely noticed when he arrived back from patrol t
he day before – perhaps because he was tired and all he really wanted to do was get to bed, and get to sleep. Mary was still away from the castle; along with Jack and a clutch of Rangers, she was delivering much needed care packages to villages on the outskirts of Nottingham, to the people struggling at this time of year. (He wasn’t worried about her safety – she’d shown him time and again she could take care of herself, and over the past year had been out on any number of missions with him.) Mary was also out spreading the word about their big event.
They’d all missed out on a summer fête that year, the work that had gone into rebuilding the castle – and their lives – after what had happened with the Tsar had put them off any kind of big celebration. Even Robert and Mary’s wedding had been a low key affair (and deliberately so). Just the people closest attending, the people who mattered most, and Reverend Tate doing the honours, of course.
But by the time the end of the year was drawing closer, residents at the castle were starting to talk about the possibility of a winter festival. Dale especially had been bending Robert’s ear about it.
“I think he just wants the chance to show off again in front of an audience,” Mark had joked, referring to Dale’s previous life as a guitarist in the band One Simple Truth. “That and the chance to pull some groupies.”
Sophie had punched the lad’s arm. “Mark, you’re terrible.”
“You know it’s true.” He laughed and then put his arm around her shoulders. It was nice for Robert to see his adopted son so happy; it reminded him of the love he felt for the special woman in his life.
So, catching him at a particularly vulnerable moment, Dale had finally persuaded him. “Okay, okay. You’re in charge of the entertainment, then.”
“You bet!” Dale had said, grinning all over his face.
It was Tate who’d organised the decorations, though – getting Bill to tap a few contacts from his market routes, and drafting in a few of the Rangers to help set them up. Robert hadn’t noticed them much when he got back, but now night-time was falling and the candles were being lit, he’d wandered out into the grounds to be confronted by something out of an old Christmas movie. Tinsel adorned the trees, gold and silver streamers ran the length of the castle walls. Even Robert had to admit, it was a beautiful sight.
“You approve, then?” Tate asked, joining him at the top of the slope running down from the middle bailey.
Robert nodded. “It’ll be just the boost the men need.”
“Not to mention the people of Nottingham, and beyond,” Tate reminded him. “Looking forward to seeing Mary again?”
“Do I even need to answer that?” Robert said with a smile.
“I suppose you’ve got her something nice for Christmas – your first as a married couple and everything,” the holy man mused.
Robert’s face fell. “Oh, sh...” he began and then saw Tate’s raised eyebrow. “Sugar... I’ve been so busy with work and everything. I guess I just hadn’t really thought about it... Damn. Do you know if she’s got anything for me?”
Tate would say nothing, simply advised him that he’d better get his thinking cap on.
“And what about you?” Robert asked. “What would you like?”
Tate sighed. “What I want, my son, I don’t think even you can arrange.”
A FEW HOURS later people began to arrive for the celebration.
An hour after that, it was in full swing. Beer and wine was flowing, there was enough food for all, and Dale played his guitar and sang to a packed audience of men, women and children – all of whom had been through some pretty traumatic times. It even had Bill, who’d arrived with a number of his marketeer mates, tapping his toes to the beat.
When he took his break, leaving a battery-operated CD player to blast out festive tracks, Dale grabbed hold of the tall American, Jack, by the arm. “Have you seen the talent that’s here tonight?”
“Can’t say that I really noticed,” Jack replied.
“Come on, you need to get back on the horse again,” said the younger man; a few months before, with Adele, Jack had totally fallen for the wrong woman.
Jack snorted. “I just got off one. Leave me be, kid.”
Dale shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, but don’t complain when I’m unwrapping my presents and you get nothing.” He went off in the direction of a blonde and brunette who were about his age, putting an arm around each when he got there.
Robert caught the display and chuckled, then realised that if Jack was around it meant that –
A pair of hands covered his eyes. “Guess who,” he heard in his ear.
“Er... got to be Mark, but I thought your voice had already broken, son?” He heard Mary laugh and turned, gathering her up in a tight embrace.
“Miss me?” she asked when he put her down.
“That depends – did you miss me?”
Mary pretended to think about it, then broke into another smile. “What do you think?”
“Brought some more people with you?” said Robert, looking around as more bodies filled the grounds.
“I did indeed, and someone quite unexpected.”
“Let me guess,” Robert said. “Santa Claus.”
“Not really... look.” She pointed towards the gate and standing there was Gwen, holding little Clive Jr’s hand.
“But... but how...? I thought she vowed never to come near this place again.”
Mary shrugged. “Some of her ‘people’ wanted to come to the festival... Oh, wait...” Mary nodded across to Tate, who had now seen Gwen and was hobbling over to her, limping with his stick.
Robert and Mary moved through the crowd so they could listen in.
“Reverend,” said Gwen, eyeing up the man with what could only be classed as disdain. She still hadn’t forgiven him for luring her to the castle during the Tsar’s attack. Tate had only wanted to keep her safe, but that wasn’t how she’d seen it.
“Gwen, I...”
“Don’t get too excited, I’m just here to keep an eye on my lot.” She indicated a few of the residents of New Hope in the crowd.
“I see... Look, Gwen. I know you –”
Gwen turned her back on him, picking up her son and making to leave Tate’s presence – maybe even the party itself. She paused when he said, “Gwen... Gwen, please stay. I haven’t seen you or Clive Jr in so long.”
The willowy woman turned around slowly, then gave a small nod. They began to speak, but it was drowned out by a crowd of revellers going past. If nothing else, it was maybe a start to healing past wounds. And perhaps that was just the present Tate had been talking about. As Robert watched them, though, he could have sworn he caught sight of someone lurking behind them in the gatehouse – someone wearing a crimson-coloured hood. Someone keeping an eye on Gwen, perhaps? But when he blinked and looked again, the figure was gone.
“Robert,” said Mary, breaking into his thoughts, “I’ve got something for you.” She handed him a wrapped square, which he promptly undid, revealing a framed portrait of them both together – drawn by Mary herself.
“I... I don’t know what to say... It’s... I’ve never...”
“Shh, you don’t have to say anything, silly. Happy Christmas.” He kissed her and motioned for them to leave the party behind, stopping only briefly to note Sophie giving Mark a kiss under the mistletoe: his very own present.
Robert led Mary outside the castle, to where his horse was waiting.
“Where are we going?” she asked, as he climbed up and pulled her on behind him.
“You’ll see.”
The weather was much better than it had been this time last year, no snow in sight and a clear sky overhead. The journey took them a little while, but finally Robert guided his steed in through the gates of Sherwood.
He heard Mary laugh, holding on tighter to him. Leaving the horse tethered, he led Mary into the heart of the forest, with a lit torch in front of him. There, in a clearing, was a makeshift camp, complete with a fire that just needed lighting and a
lean-to tent cosy enough for two. Robert bent inside and brought out a bottle of champagne with two glasses.
“Sorry it’s nothing much,” he told her. “I just thought, well, we don’t get that much privacy at the castle...”
“Oh, Robert, it’s absolutely brilliant! But won’t we be missed?”
“Not for one night,” he promised, and drew her in close. Time alone was precious; the perfect gift they could give each other.
They kissed under the stars, the leafless oaks allowing their light to shine through.
“I love you, Mary,” Robert told her.
“And I love you, too,” she replied, pulling up his hood and losing herself inside the folds...
BONUS STORY
Editor’s Note: ‘Signs and Portents’ was published as a bonus story in the back of Scott K. Andrews' Children's Crusade. It sets the scene for Arrowland, introducing the three villains of the final volume in Paul's trilogy, and offering the reader some tantalising hints of the events to come.
‘Signs and Portents’ takes place shortly before the events of Arrowland, a few weeks after ‘Perfect Presents.’
SIGNS AND PORTENTS
IN THIS PLACE, he could see the past, the present... and the future.
Mostly the future. Incredible as it seemed – to him as much as anyone – visiting this land had granted him access to things that hadn’t happened yet; that might never happen if he was able to prevent them. It had helped him many times, warning him about his enemies, saving his life on numerous occasions. Never, though, had he found himself flying before. It wasn’t flying as he’d known it when he flew with Bill, though – into Nottingham to take the castle from the Sheriff, then taking control of the chopper himself to save Mary. Nor when he’d been delivered to the forest (again by Bill), half dead, after the assault on the Tsar’s army.