Hooded Man

by Paul Kane

  “Was that you who trailed that mud into the house, Achim?”

  “No Mütti, I swear.”

  Remembered its whine as his mother had thrashed it.

  And he thought about how, in the end, the dog had finally got its own revenge.

  Finally had its day.

  FIRST A WEDDING, now a funeral.

  Not for one person, but many. The Reverend Tate had presided over the internment of all those dead at New Hope, even the Germans, who were buried out in the woodland. The villagers who’d been killed during their brave offensive had found their ultimate resting place in the graveyard, with Tate leading the prayers for them. It had been a touching and poignant day, the service attended by those still left alive, as well as many from Nottingham Castle – including Mary and, yes, even Robert, though he seemed embarrassed and ashamed to be there.

  Probably because of what he’d said to Karen Shipley, even though he’d relented and sent Rangers to assist. She’d been there on the day also, pushing a recovering Darryl in a wheelchair to pay their respects. Doctor Jeffreys’ assistant Sat had been able to stem the bleeding from his wounds after the battle, until they could get him back to the castle for proper medical care – along with Graham Leicester – but could do nothing for Andy. Nor for Gwen, ultimately.

  It was her grave Tate was standing over today, mourning the loss of the courageous woman, who’d died after Tanek had shot her. She’d died cradling her beloved son, Clive Jr, who Tate had saved from a Morningstar Servitor himself. The cult had gone to ground again after being defeated here by the Rangers – those taken captive during the fight having already committed suicide, as was their way. He had to admit, it had been a shock to see them there as well as the Germans, and Tate had reported the fact to Robert immediately upon his return from Russia; while the rest of the surviving German prisoners – including a very battered captive they’d discovered in the Red Lion – were being locked up in Nottingham’s hotel jails. The Reverend doubted they’d see the evil cultists or Germans again anytime soon, but just in case, Robert had allowed a contingent of Rangers to remain in New Hope to make sure.

  “I’d like to stay as well,” the Reverend had informed him. “These people need my guidance, Robert. They’ve lost their way a little.”

  Robert had agreed, but was sad to see Tate leaving again, especially when he was so settled now at the castle. But he also recognised the fact that the holy man had been there at the village’s birth, that he’d been best friends with the man who founded it. Perhaps it was time to take the place back to that original vision, under the Rangers’ protection. Tate also owed Gwen – buried beside that man, who she’d loved with all her heart – because he’d been too late once more. And this time it had cost her dearly.

  As for Clive Jr, Darryl and Karen had offered to bring up the child. “It’s what Gwen would have wanted,” Darryl told him. Tate had a feeling Karen was only helping out to get closer to the man she quite clearly adored, but then maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. In time, perhaps they’d become the family that Clive, Gwen and Clive Jr should have been. And while Tate was on the scene, he’d make sure that not only were the villagers brought back into the flock, but Gwen’s son was taught right from wrong according to the Good Book.

  Tate wiped a tear from his eye, saying the words he’d said every day for a month now. “I’m sorry, Gwen. So sorry.”

  As he turned away and began his walk down the path of the graveyard, Tate paused and looked back over his shoulder. Was it his imagination, or had he felt a presence? Just for a second seen a glimpse of a figure. Someone on the periphery of the graveyard itself? Someone who might also have come to pay their respects, but hadn’t ventured inside for whatever reason?

  Tate shook his head. Just his imagination, he told himself.

  That was all.

  THE TREES HID him from view as he sped through the forest.

  He was alone today, but then he needed to be. He would spend time with Mark here soon enough, spend time with Mary elsewhere, but first Robert needed to reconnect with Sherwood. Needed to feel the grass beneath his feet, hear the birdsong; needed to fly.

  All was well back at the castle, and reports were coming in that the establishment of both the Welsh and Scottish arms of the Rangers was going very well. Dale had asked to remain as liaison in Cardiff, ostensibly to help with that regional chapter’s growth, but reading between the lines he’d fallen for this girl Jack had told them about. It also appeared to be catching, because the big man himself had talked quite a bit about the girl’s aunty, Meghan. Robert hadn’t met her yet, but there was talk of the woman coming to visit Nottingham. Hopefully she would help Jack get over the heartache of Adele.

  Tate was the only one sad at the moment, thanks to the way things had gone at New Hope – to not being able to save Gwen. But, helping to piece that community back together was at least taking his mind off things.

  And their enemies, including the Morningstars, Germans and the Russians, seemed to be out of the picture for now, thankfully, either lying low or fighting each other. What would happen in the long term, though, was anyone’s guess.

  He’d been thinking about that a lot recently: the future. Thinking about what Mark would become. The young man had told Robert when they were alone that he’d seen the Tsar in a dream, back when they’d been camping out in Sherwood, before the Native American did his thing. “I just knew where I’d find you,” Mark said. “Don’t ask me to explain, because I can’t. And definitely not to anyone but you. That’s one of the reasons I couldn’t tell the others. And I wanted to return the favour by saving you this time.”

  Robert also wondered what his new daughter or son might be like, whether they’d have the same kind of insights eventually. He supposed he’d find out in time.

  Robert’s legs pumped harder. With his hood up he was like a green blur streaking through the forest. It was as if he was getting to know it again, everything fresh and new – and that was re-energising him. He should have felt old, worn out, but right now he felt young.

  He’d found evidence of the man in black’s presence in Sherwood, primarily the sweat lodge he’d constructed and used to tame the forest somehow. Robert had released the contents of the pouch here, a formality, but one which he knew he had to go through for things to get back to normal. For the magic – the dreams – to return. They hadn’t so far, but he figured that was only because they were granting him a desperately needed respite. He’d been through so much over the past few weeks and he was far from ready for any more emergencies.

  It was strange, but he still felt the Native American here today as he was running. Felt like he might be behind the next tree about to spring out, or watching from a distance. Robert scrutinised every single patch of blackness as the day was waning, in case it might be him. No, the Native American had his own agenda. Something to do with what the Tsar had given him.

  Just a stone, Robert told himself, but he didn’t believe that for a minute – and he also wondered whether there were more where it had come from.

  As if to prove him wrong, the shadows ahead lengthened and he saw movement behind one of the oaks. Robert stopped, his bow primed in seconds, ready for another duel if necessary.

  But it hadn’t been the Shadow. Robert eased back on the tension when he saw his old friend. The creature he’d left alive all that time ago, now walking through the forest towards him. Not scared at all, not worried Robert was going to hunt or kill it. Because the stag was him. He’d seen that so many times in those dreams.

  It was wounded, or had been – red stains on the back of its neck. Robert was only guessing, but perhaps the animal had been trying to defend Sherwood against its intruder, in lieu of him being around.

  They regarded each other, just as they’d done that first time – an understanding passing between them. They were guardians of worlds: both real and imagined. They were the stuff of legend, just like this place.

  The stuff of song, of words and of
deeds. They had always been here and always would be.

  And really, their story was only just beginning.

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PAUL KANE HAS been writing professionally for almost fifteen years. His genre journalism has appeared in such magazines as The Dark Side, Death Ray, Fangoria, SFX, Dreamwatch and Rue Morgue, and his first non-fiction book was the critically acclaimed The Hellraiser Films and Their Legacy.

  His award-winning short fiction has appeared in magazines and anthologies on both sides of the Atlantic, and has been collected in Alone (In the Dark), Touching the Flame, FunnyBones and Peripheral Visions. His novella Signs of Life reached the shortlist of the British Fantasy Awards 2006, The Lazarus Condition was introduced by Mick Garris, creator of Masters of Horror,and RED featured artwork from Dave (The Graveyard Book) McKean.

  As Special Publications Editor of the British Fantasy Society, Paul worked with authors like Brian Aldiss, Ramsey Campbell, Muriel Gray, Robert Silverberg and many more, and he is the co-editor of Hellbound Hearts for Pocket Books (Simon and Schuster), an anthology of original stories inspired by Clive Barker’s novella.

  In 2008, Paul’s zombie story ‘Dead Time’ was turned into an episode of the Lionsgate/NBC TV series Fear Itself, adapted by Steve Niles (30 Days of Night) and directed by Darren Lynn Bousman (SAW II-IV). He also scripted the short film The Opportunity,which premiered at Cannes in 2009.

  Paul currently lives in Derbyshire, UK, with his wife – the author Marie O’Regan – his family, and a black cat called Mina.

  CHRONOLOGY

  1. School’s Out by Scott K. Andrews

  2. Death Got No Mercy by Al Ewing

  3. ‘The Man Who Would Not Be King’ by Scott Andrews (short story included with Broken Arrow by Paul Kane)

  4. Operation Motherland by Scott K. Andrews

  5. Arrowhead by Paul Kane

  6. The Culled by Simon Spurrier (takes place simultaneously with Children’s Crusade)

  7. Children’s Crusade by Scott K. Andrews (takes place simultaneously with The Culled)

  8. ‘The Servitor’ by Paul Kane (short story published in Death Ray #21, Oct/Nov 2009)

  9. Broken Arrow by Paul Kane

  10. ‘Perfect Presents’ by Paul Kane (short story featured in Abaddon Books’ ‘A Very Abaddon Christmas’ blog event, 2009)

  11. ‘Signs and Portents’ by Paul Kane (short story included in Children’s Crusdade)

  12. Arrowland by Paul Kane

  13. Dawn Over Doomsday by Jasper Bark

  14. Blood Ocean by Weston Ochse

  For information on these and other titles,

  visit www.abaddonbooks.com

  ‘AFTER THE WORLD DIED, WE ALL SORT OF DRIFTED BACK TO SCHOOL. AFTER ALL, WHERE ELSE WAS THERE TO GO?’

  Lee Keegan’s fifteen. If most of the population of the world hadn’t just died choking on their own blood, he might be worrying about acne, body odour and girls. As it is, he and the young Matron of his boarding school, Jane Crowther, have to try and protect their charges from cannibalistic gangs, religious fanatics, a bullying prefect experimenting with crucifixion, and even the might of the US Army.

  Welcome to St. Mark’s School for Boys and Girls...

  School’s Out Forever collects School’s Out, Operation Motherland and Children’s Crusade, with the short story The Man Who Would Not Be King, an introduction by the editor, interviews, and new, previously unpublished material.

  ‘Youthful idealism conflicts with jaded experience, and the characters are frequently forced to balance ruthless effi ciency with utopian optimism... A lot of provocative discussion sneaks in under the cover of machine gun fire.’

  Pornokitsch on Kitschie Award Finalist Children’s Crusade

  www.abaddonbooks.com

  LIFE AND DEATH ON THE WAVES

  Kavika Kamalani is a Pali Boy, a post-plague heir to an ancient Hawai’ian warrior tradition that believes in overcoming death by embracing one’s fears and living large. His life on the Nomi No Toshi, the floating city, is turned upside down when one of his friends dies, harvested for his blood, and he sets out to find the killer.

  Kidnapped himself and subjected to a terrifying transformation, Kavika must embrace the ultimate fear – death itself – if he, his loved ones, and the Pali Boys themselves are to survive.

  “Weston is one of the best authors of our generation.”

  – Brian Keene, author of Take the Long Way Home and City of the Dead

  “Weston Ochse is a mercurial writer, one of those depressingly talented people who are good at whatever they turn their hand to.”

  – Conrad Williams

  www.abaddonbooks.com