Hooded Man (50 page)

“I’ll remind you of that sometime,” Mark said bitterly.

“Hmm... What?”

“Nothing,” sighed Mark. Adele disappeared from view and Jack brought his attention back to his pupil.

“You up to carrying on with your training, or do you need to take a time out?” Even before Mark could open his mouth, Jack said: “Good, that’s good, kid. Azhar, he’s all yours again.”

With that, Jack was off up the walkway, heading in the direction he’d seen Adele going. “I’m... I’m not a kid,” Mark whispered.

But no-one was listening, least of all Azhar, who was urging him to get back on the spot they’d occupied before. The dark-skinned man picked up the sword and started spinning it around again.

Mark hunkered down, trying to recall what Azhar had just done in his position.

“H
EY...
H
EY THERE,
hold up.”

Jack called out to Adele. The woman had certainly made tracks since he’d spied her, and was now past what had once been the main entrance to the museum. She appeared to be looking for something, when she heard his cries.

“Hey there, Adele. Wait up!”

She waved to Jack then waited for him to reach her. When he got closer he saw that, like Sophie, she was wearing a winter coat – only Adele’s clung to her, pulled tight in all the right places. He recognised it as one of the long coats Mary sometimes wore. The kind-hearted woman must have lent it to Adele to keep her warm.

“Jack,” she said, smiling warmly. “How are you today?”

“Well, I’m just fine. All the better for spotting you up here. Haven’t seen you much since you arrived.”

Adele’s smiled broadened. “I’ve been... busy.”

“Have you now? Doing what?”

“Trying to get my bearings, mostly. One whiz around the block wasn’t quite enough to familiarise myself with this place.”

Jack looked up at the castle. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I used to come here sometimes, y’know? Visit in the week. It was always free to get in.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you were the type to wander round stately homes and castles.”

“I’m a man of hidden depths,” Jack announced proudly. “Do you mind if I walk with you for a spell?”

Adele hesitated for a second, then gave him another smile. “No, of course not.”

“Forgive me for asking this, ma’am, but I figure I don’t really know much about you and, well, I’d like to. It’s kind of what we do around here when we bring someone into the fold.”

“What would you like to know?”

Jack laughed. “Wanna hear somethin’ funny? Put on the spot like that... I haven’t a blessed clue.”

Adele laughed too. “There’s not that much to tell, really. I was an only child, my mother brought me up alone because my dad died when I was very little. Average kind of education, did okay at school. Left school, did some travelling, you know how it is?”

“Indeed I do,” said Jack, whose own wanderlust had taken him from his native upstate New York, into the lights of the big city, then finally to England where he’d made his home.

“Drifted from one job to the next, never really settling on anything. Never really had something I wanted to do, a life purpose like some people have.” She paused to take in the stunning view of Nottingham. “Not like you; I heard you were a pretty good sportsman. A wrestler, wasn’t it?”

Jack nodded.

“I’m envious. Not of the wrestling, obviously.” She laughed again and touched him on the arm. “But that fact you always knew who you were.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure I always knew. But yeah, I guess you could say I was lucky. In more ways than one, when the virus hit.” Adele pulled up sharply and her smile suddenly faded. “Hey, I’m sorry... I... That was real thoughtless of me. What you said back there in York, about having no-one. You lost your family, didn’t you?”

“Can we change the subject, please?” Adele said, bristling.

“Sure. Hey, no problem.”

She began walking again, without waiting for him to catch up. All it took for Jack was a couple of strides. “Do you know where Robert took off to in such a hurry?” she asked then.

“Robbie? Why do you ask?” Jack fought to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

“Oh, no reason. It’s just that he left without saying goodbye or anything.”

“You get used to that,” Jack told her, resting his staff on his shoulder as they walked. “You should have seen him in Sherwood. One minute he was there, the next...”

Adele looked wistfully out at the view. “I really wish I could have seen that. It all sounds so... I don’t know, romantic. Living in the forest, with the Hooded Man.”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know if
romantic
’s the right word. It was dangerous, I know that. Especially when we came up against the Frenchman’s men.”

She stopped again. “De Falaise?”

“You’ve heard of him.”

Adele nodded. “You hear things. Rumours of what happened.”

“It was a tough time.”

“I can imagine.”

Jack looked at her, searching her eyes. “Adele, you –”

“You never answered my question about where Robert went.”

“To... To get help. We need to know more about the cult, the people who were chasing you.”

“Right,” said Adele, nodding. “When’s he due back, do you know?”

“Any time, I guess. But –”

“Jack,” said Adele, pulling him towards a set of steps with a locked gate across it. “You never did tell me what was down there.”

“Oh, that’s just the caves. You wouldn’t like it down there.”

“Is it where prisoners are kept?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Not anymore. Not since we took over. It’s just where we keep the stuff De Falaise left behind. Y’know, weapons and such.”

Adele looked puzzled. “Robert doesn’t use them?”

“You’ve seen what Robert uses,” replied Jack, a little more impatiently than he’d meant to. Here he was, trying to get to know this beautiful woman, and all she wanted to talk about was Robert.

“I’m sorry,” Adele told him, sensing the mood. “I don’t mean to ask so many questions. I’m just curious about what happens here.” She took his hand. “Forgive me?”

“Er... Yeah, of course.” Jack could feel the colour rushing to his cheeks.

“Listen, how about you give me a bit of time to freshen up – then maybe we could grab a bite to eat? God, that sounds so normal, doesn’t it? Sounds like what people used to do.”

“It does.”

“Okay, then. Meet you in the dining area in about an hour?”

Jack nodded.

“And listen, thank you, Jack. You’ve been really sweet to me.” She leaned in and kissed him, before running off to the nearest entrance.

Jack beamed from ear to ear. “You’re very welcome, little lady. Very welcome indeed.”

It was a good few minutes before his thoughts returned to Robert. And Jack wondered how he’d got on himself, and whether his trip had been worthwhile.

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
HE GUARDS WEREN’T
that surprised to see the horse come trotting up St James Street. Robert had already checked in with Rangers positioned at the city’s edge, telling them not to inform the castle yet, just his people at the Britannia.

“They’ll only want to join us, and I’d rather this was just you and me, Reverend,” he’d told Tate. “I don’t want Mary being placed needlessly in danger here.” He’d registered the holy man’s look of fear when he said that, possibly the only real time he’d ever seen Tate scared.

Robert tried to tell himself that these were just men whose minds had broken, probably during or after the Cull. It would have been an easy thing to slip into madness back then; he’d come close himself. But Tate’s words about the Devil, about worship and sacrifice, had spooked him. Any kind of organised religion bothered Robert, but one which called for the death of innocents... He’d hidden it, but when Tate had been talking about Hell, Robert suddenly had a mental image of flames, of fire licking up around him.

His house burning to the ground, torched by the people in power trying to contain the virus. Robert’s family, dead inside.

The lake he’d dreamed of at Rufford, ablaze and then –

The market square where he’d confronted De Falaise finally, their crashed vehicles catching light; the fire spreading out across their battlefield.

In spite of what Tate might think, Robert did like him. More than that, he respected him. They might never agree about their chosen professions – Tate would say callings – but the man talked a lot of sense. Depending on how you looked at it, Robert either owed him for making him face up to his responsibilities, or was the catalyst for everything that had happened since: leaving Sherwood, being put in charge of the Rangers, becoming a figurehead for something much greater than he could ever be.

Robert pushed all this to the back of his mind as they approached the hotel entrance, its glass doors cracked but still in place – the steps stained a faded red with blood that had long since dried.

The guard there – Robert searched for his name, it was getting much harder these days, the more his team grew... Kershaw, that was it – stood to attention. Robert thought he was going to salute and he’d have to go through that whole business of reminding them they weren’t in the army. He wasn’t their general.

“You just don’t see it, do you? I’m no better than De Falaise.”

Robert swung down off his mount, then helped Tate from the saddle. The holy man was stiff, and it took him a moment to regain the feeling in his legs. Robert tethered his horse to a nearby handrail.

“I’m here to see the prisoners, Kershaw,” he told the guard, pulling down his hood at the same time.

The guard swallowed hard. “We... we thought it best to tell you when you got here. There’s been a problem.”

“Problem?”

“The men watching them tried to stop it, but... Well, I think it’s probably best you see for yourself, sir.” Kershaw waved a hand for Robert and Tate to enter. They were met inside by another of Robert’s men – and this one he did recognise. Geoff Baker, the man he’d left in charge of this improvised jail, having been a warder in a real prison for years until the virus struck.

Geoff ran a hand through his thinning hair before offering his apologies. “It all happened so quickly, there was very little we could do.”

“What did?”

“Go easy,” Tate said. “Give the man a chance to explain.”

“They did it all at once. We managed to get to one of them, but...”

“Geoff, talk to me.”

Instead of saying anything else, Geoff took them to a storage room just to the right of the lobby, past a huge wall-length mirror, and unlocked the door. Inside were several bodies, stacked on top of each other, all wearing the robes of the Morningstar cult. Robert looked at Geoff, confused. “They committed suicide, Rob.”

“What? How? You had them secured, right?”

“Two or three swallowed their own tongues, another one managed to get one hand free of the ropes and tear his own throat out.”

“Dear Lord,” whispered Tate.

“One tipped the chair over that he was tied to, angling it so he struck his temple on the side of a nearby table. Another actually lifted up the chair and ran at a wall, hard enough to smash his own skull in.”

Robert was having difficulty understanding. He’d never had to deal with these kinds of prisoners before, people who would gladly end their own lives rather than divulge any information.

“But why weren’t you lot keeping an eye on them?” There was more frustration than anger in his voice, but Geoff reacted as if chastised.

“We were doing our best. I don’t exactly have a full staff here,” Geoff reminded him, his tone hardening. “And when a crisis crops up out there, a few of my men always seem to be called away even though they’re vital for guarding this place.”

Robert nodded. “Point taken. You say you managed to get to one of them, though?”

“Yeah. We’ve been keeping him dosed up to try and stop him from doing anything similar.” Geoff gestured for them to follow him.

“Just one moment,” Reverend Tate said. He made the sign of the cross at the door and closed his eyes.

“Why are you wasting your time with that?” said Robert. “They don’t want your help, and they definitely don’t want to go to your Heaven.”

“We’re all God’s children, whether we’ve strayed from the path or not. They deserve the chance of forgiveness. Of mercy.”

Robert could see he wouldn’t be argued with.

They left the room behind and headed for the stairs. Tate had trouble with these, but refused both Geoff and Robert’s help, intent on climbing the two flights himself. Finally, they made it to what had been the bar area, an expanse of carpeted floor that once contained comfy chairs for residents, but now only boasted tables running into the restaurant section. On either side was a long glass window – the left one cracked in places – and the bar at the back was smashed to pieces, graffiti sprayed across the walls, probably during or after the Cull by someone looking for booze.

At each corner of the room stood a Ranger with a bow and arrow primed, keeping an eye on what was taking place. It was lunchtime, Geoff explained, and as they didn’t have the time and resources to feed each prisoner individually, they had to do it en masse, bringing out vats of stew from the reclaimed kitchens beyond the restaurant. Robert had to admit, it didn’t look very appetising, but it was all they could manage under the circumstances.