Hooded Man (17 page)

“They’re bound to be spotted by patrols, and they know too much about where we are.”

“They know we’re in the woods, in the forest. De Falaise knew that already. Don’t you see that this sends him a clear message?”

“Aye, come and get us.”

“Let him come,” answered Robert firmly. “We’ll be ready.”

One of his men interrupted Robert’s thoughts, bringing him back to the present. He’d found a list of villages that the unit had passed through on its expedition. Robert had heard of a lot of them and Bill knew the rest. In any event they had a map they could follow, replacing what had been stolen from people in those communities. It would be a long job, but splitting up would make it easier. And at least the people out there wouldn’t starve. Then they’d do the same again with any other supply lines to the castle.

“Right, then,” Robert said. “Let’s get all this stuff back to where it belongs.”

In his head he heard that voice again:
“Read it to me again, read the part about where he robs from the rich to give to the poor...”

I
T HADN’T COME
as a total shock, of course.

News about the bound men walking through the streets of Nottingham had been radioed in from look-outs near the train station more than fifteen minutes ago. Orders had come back to leave them be, and so they’d walked past the red brick of the Gresham Hotel, over the bridge, past derelict shops, making their way up towards the centre of the city.

So no, it hadn’t come as a complete surprise to De Falaise, who was now standing on the roof of the castle, but it was still an unexpected turn of events. To his left, the Dutchman, Reinhart, was on one knee, leaning over the side. De Falaise had swapped his sunglasses for powerful binoculars and was watching the tiny group of men shuffling along the road towards the Britannia Hotel, wrists tied in front of them: trussed up like Christmas turkeys. All that was left of the assault team he’d sent to dispose of the hooded man.

Right at the very front was his Major, Javier, looking like the sorriest turkey of the bunch. Around his neck was a crudely painted sign. The message read: ‘You Missed.’ How could the simpleton have let this happen? De Falaise stamped his foot., his ringed fingers tightening around the binoculars. Reinhart watched through the scope of his sniper’s rifle.

“He failed me,” griped De Falaise. “And I don’t like to lose.”

“What would you have me do?” asked Reinhart.

De Falaise thought about this for a moment. “Wing Javier somewhere... uncomfortable, but not fatal. Kill the rest.” Before the man could fire, De Falaise laid a hand on his shoulder. “No, wait, shoot the others first. I want Javier to see them die.”

The Dutchman closed his left eye, centring a soldier’s head in the crosshairs. He pulled the trigger as De Falaise observed. The soldier carried on walking for a second, then stumbled and fell, the contents of his skull leaking out onto the road.

The other men only really began to register what was happening when two more of their team went down. They ran, then, not so much turkeys now as soon-to-be-headless chickens. Javier looked around him, screaming as more men were picked off.

“What is he doing?” asked De Falaise, watching as Javier dropped to his knees “Is he praying? I don’t believe it, he actually is! How pathetic.”

“What should I do?” Reinhart enquired.

“You have your orders.

The Dutchman picked a spot on his target, the side of Javier’s head. It would take all of his skill and precision; very delicate shooting indeed. Reinhart blew away the Mexican’s right ear. Though neither of the men on the roof could hear his cries from this far away, they almost felt they could. Javier clutched at the red mess the bullet had made, hands shaking.

“No, it is far too late to repent, my friend,” De Falaise said in hushed tones, then he radioed the troops he had on the ground, ordering them to bring the injured Javier to him at the castle..

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I
T CAME AGAIN,
the dream of water and fire.

Of De Falaise and his men.

But something was different this time, something that gave Robert hope. When the soldiers appeared brandishing their weapons, when De Falaise began his walk across the lake, Robert realised he was not alone. Not only was Mark by his side, but Bill was there, as were Tate and Granger, and another man that wasn’t so well defined. Behind them all stood a further line of defence, the new recruits who had chosen Robert over their former master. De Falaise’s face fell when he saw this united front. He was no longer dealing with just one rebel, but a group.

It came to the point in the dream where the Frenchman was about to shoot Max – but Robert was ready for him this time. Hands tried to stop him, but he ran across the lake of flames – towards De Falaise – the burning liquid somehow solid beneath his feet. Max was morphing into the stag once more, but the stag was also transforming. It was like watching one of those old Universal movies where the wolfman changed in dissolves under the influence of the full moon. The stag was taking on human features. De Falaise appeared totally oblivious to this – still intent on shooting the creature.

“Stop!” shouted Robert, notching an arrow. For some reason he felt sure that if the stag-man died, everything would be lost.

De Falaise laughed. Then pulled the trigger.

Robert could see the bullet leaving the chamber, as though it moved in slow motion, but he was powerless to stop it. The stag had changed into a man, though it still wore its antlers. The creature turned just before the bullet struck.

Robert drew in a sharp breath when he recognised the face. The features were his own.

He recoiled in terror, the bow falling from his grasp as he witnessed his death at De Falaise’s hands. But more than that, Robert was now the one facing the bullet, was now in its path, helpless to get out of its way.

Time speeded up and the darkness was deafening.

R
OBERT WAS BEING
shaken.

“Wake up –”

Robert was awake, and holding his knife blade to someone’s throat. He tried to focus on whoever had interrupted his sleep. It was one of his new ‘guests,’ a member of Granger’s old gang. After seeing what Robert had done to their unit, anyone would have thought he’d take more care. Robert asked him what he wanted, lowering his weapon.

“S-s-someone,” stuttered the lad, eyes still on the knife. “Mark says he saw someone enter the forest, told me to get you quickly.”

Robert let him go, pulling the weapon away. “Tell him I’m coming.” He watched the envoy scramble back and out of the tent, glad that he hadn’t accidentally hurt him. But he still wasn’t used to having people around, even after a week or more and a move deeper into the mature woodland areas of the forest. It would take a while to adjust.

The suggestion had been put forward that they make use of Rufford Abbey or the visitors’ centre at Sherwood itself – at least then there would be a roof over their heads. Robert had reminded them that they would be one of the first places De Falaise’s troops would search, and would be infinitely harder to escape from.

“You want a siege on your hands, that’s the right way to go about it,” he told them. “Here you have cover, roughly four hundred and fifty acres of forest, and you have the element of surprise. It was how I got the jump on you lot, remember?”

In truth that centre held too many memories for him. It was one of the occasional bank holiday haunts he and Stevie would visit: going in the shops and buying souvenirs; taking photos; walking the trail to see the Major Oak, its sagging branches held up by poles now. His son would marvel at the history connected with it, would imagine the outlaws hiding their stolen goods there before tackling the Sheriff’s men.

Robert never thought that he’d be doing it for real.

He grabbed his bow and arrows. Walking through the camp, he saw Granger and some of the others asleep in the army-issue sleeping bags from the trucks, the blackened remains of the fire from the night before now a charred heap. He’d show them how to build their own shelters at some point, along with a few other things, but for now he had other matters to deal with. Like the figure Mark had spotted. The kid was turning into quite the little lookout.

Seeing Mark, Robert went over to him.

“What is it?”

“A bloke, really big. He came into the forest not long ago.”

“Did he see you?”

“Naw, I kept well away. Looked like he meant business by the way he was sneaking through the trees.”

“Was he armed?”

“Couldn’t really tell,” admitted Mark. “What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinking the Frenchman has sent an assassin. He couldn’t get me by brute force, so he’s switching tactics. All right, take me to the last place you saw him.”

“You’re going up against him alone?”

“Better that way; only myself to worry about.”

“I don’t think you understand how big this guy is. I mean, he’s fu... well, he’s huge.”

Robert didn’t show that the size bothered him, but he was thinking back to what Granger had said about De Falaise’s men – about one man in particular he’d called Tanek. “Just take me there,” he said to Mark. The boy nodded, then led him into the undergrowth.

T
HEY’D BEEN TRAVELLING
ten or fifteen minutes, heads down, moving swiftly and silently, when Robert heard the noise. The snap of wood underfoot. A foot far too heavy to be that of a woodland creature. Robert tapped Mark on the shoulder, then signalled for him to stay and keep low.

Robert nimbly climbed the nearest tree, bow slung over his shoulder. From the upper branches, he surveyed the scene, and didn’t have to look too far to see the trespasser. Mark had been right, the man was gigantic! If anything, the description he’d given had been an understatement. He wasn’t dressed in a uniform like the rest of De Falaise’s men, but instead wore clothes pretty similar to Robert’s, designed to camouflage him. A cap was pulled down low on his head, obscuring his features.

He couldn’t see any weapons, but they could well be concealed about his person. Robert shifted his weight on the branch and nocked an arrow. Best to take this bloke out in one clean shot, he thought.

But before he had time to pull back the string, the man turned and threw something in Robert’s direction. A stone came hurtling towards him.

Robert flung himself out of its way, but in the process lost his footing and tumbled from the tree. He forced himself to relax as he fell and managed to land without breaking anything. When Robert looked up, he discovered he’d rolled right into the big man’s path. He reached for his bow but he appeared to have lost it in the fall.

The behemoth leaned down and hoisted Robert above his head.

Knife. Go for your knife
, he thought to himself, but as he reached for his belt he was thrown through the air.

Robert landed awkwardly this time, the air driven from his body by the impact. He shook his head, dazed, but he was given no chance to recover. Something was falling on him. At first his confused mind thought it was one of the trees toppling over; then he realised his attacker was dropping with all his weight behind him. Robert twisted out of the way at the last moment, as the big man flopped heavily onto the ground.

Robert staggered to his feet and adopted a defensive stance. The man suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm, swinging him around. He crashed up against the nearest tree. The edges of his vision began to blur, but he managed to shake away the haze in time to see the big man charging with his shoulder raised. He was going to ram Robert. If he wasn’t careful he’d end up being the filling in a very painful sandwich.

Robert twisted away just as the man rammed the trunk. The goliath cried out in agony and Robert could have sworn he heard the wood creaking as though the tree might collapse.

All I’ve done is make him angry
, Robert thought as he again went for his knife. But even as he was sliding it out, his opponent was slapping it from his hand, leaving Robert with no way to defend himself... unless....

As the man came at him again, Robert ducked sideways and picked up a fallen branch. It was almost as tall as he was, and strong with it. He hefted it like a staff, jabbing at the bigger man who kept trying to wave it away.

Robert slammed the staff forward with both hands, but the man grabbed it and pulled. Bringing a knee up, he shoved it into Robert’s stomach and flipped him over, losing his cap but gaining the staff. The man grinned.

It was his turn to jab at Robert, who snaked left and right to avoid the blows. Robert dropped and scrabbled around in the foliage. His fingers brushed another branch, not quite as big as the first, but beggars definitely couldn’t be choosers. Robert snatched it up and met the man’s blows, the stick almost splintering with the force. Wood smacked against wood and, suddenly, Robert spotted his chance. He lowered his weapon and struck the man’s knee, causing it to buckle. Then he hooked the bigger staff with his own, flipping it out of his enemy’s hands and catching it. Robert dropped the smaller branch and raised the huge staff. He was about to bring it crashing down on the man’s head when –