“That’s dangerous,” she said.
She must be feeling better. “I almost lost you, and I’m not sure if I could go through something like that...” Robert let the end of that sentence float away. “Mary, I guess what I’m trying to say is –”
“The answer’s yes, you know. It always was.” She smiled back at him. “You looked like you needed helping out.”
And that had been that. They’d set a date over the summer, a special one that marked the anniversary of becoming a proper couple, and asked Tate if he’d perform the ceremony. His answer had been: “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” Now, if this quiet period would just hold out till then.
They’d had no more reports of invasions, nothing about the Morningstars – it was as if they’d vanished, just as they did from the castle – no trouble yet from the prisoners that had got away, and that was how Robert hoped it would remain, for the time being.
As Mary joined him on that sunny, but slightly chilly morning – still using a stick to get about – he thought about what he’d said, about almost losing her. Not even the castle had been safe; they both realised that now.
“When you’re feeling up to it,” he told her, slipping an arm around her waist, “how about we go out on a few patrols together? I know Dale would welcome the back-up. So would I.”
“You old romantic,” she said to him, slapping his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, feigning pain at the wound he’d received at the hands of Bohuslav. “Oh, I’m sorry, love.”
“Maybe you should kiss it better.”
Mary grinned. “I think that can be arranged. I wonder if the stables are free...” She took him by the hand and led him down the path.
As she did so, Robert realised that he didn’t feel lost anymore. He been found, in more ways than one. He was both Robert Stokes – the man – and the Hooded Man, the legend.
There were worse things in life he could be, and this woman had rescued him from that.
In a broken world, he said to himself, what more could anyone ask for?
T
HE COUNTRY HAD
welcomed him back into her arms like a concerned mother.
One that also admonished him for ever wanting to leave. He comforted himself with the knowledge that none of this had been his idea. It had all been the Tsar’s, the old Tsar’s. Now that man was dead, along with Xue and Ying. Just as he had almost been.
As he stepped out into the cold, flanked by soldiers to the left and right, on his way to the combat arena from the Marriott, Bohuslav’s wrist throbbed again, at the stump he’d cauterised himself, almost passing out from the pain.
He felt the pull of the stitches at his stomach, the wound which would have seen his intestines spill out on the floor had it been a couple of millimetres deeper. As it was, he’d had to sew up the flesh with his one good hand – his driver useless at anything medical, it seemed – dosing himself with antibiotics against infection.
By the time he was fit enough to travel, news had reached them of the failure of their troops to retain the castle. Bohuslav had been numbed by the realisation that their entire operation had been a spectacular catastrophe.
There had been only one thing to do at that point. Waiting for them just off the coast were the fleet of empty hovercrafts, including the Tsar’s. He’d told his driver to radio that he would be returning, and that he would now be taking charge of the fleet – and indeed of the Tsar’s entire army. They would return home to Russia to bide their time and replenish their forces.
It had been enough of a pasting to make him think twice about trying it again for a good while. Or at least without any major allies. One day, however, one day...
Because, as much as he loved his motherland, Bohuslav was also thirsty for vengeance. Not just on those who had done this to him, but also on the man who had lured the Tsar and his men across to that fated isle in the first place.
Tanek.
Even the name caused him to clench his fist as he climbed into the limo. He couldn’t clench the other, as that position was now occupied by a sickle, attached directly to the stump.
Yes, one day he would meet both Hood and Tanek again. And when he did...
Bohuslav wondered where that cowardly giant had run off to after leaving his leader in the lurch. Reports were sketchy, but he’d apparently abandoned him at Sherwood after a confrontation with their enemies.
“Drive,” he instructed the man in front, once his personal bodyguards were seated on either side. (They were no oriental beauties, but they would give their lives for him.)
As the car pulled out into the snow-covered road, Bohuslav cursed Tanek, hoping that wherever he was, he was suffering.
F
OR WEEKS NOW,
he’d sat there, beside her, watching her suffer.
Quite how he’d managed to keep her alive was beyond him, not with the wound she’d suffered. He could put so much of it down to his skill with the blade, his knowledge of anatomy allowing him to perform the operation and remove the bullet – which had come so very close to penetrating her heart.
After leaving Sherwood, Tanek’s plan to return to the castle had been waylaid by Adele, who had finally passed out from the loss of blood, in spite of the field dressing he’d applied. He needed to get her to an old hospital, anywhere he might be able to find replacement blood quickly. Tanek already knew her type: O-Neg. He consulted the map he found in the jeep they’d taken, and decided to head for King’s Mill in Sutton-in-Ashfield because it seemed to be closest to their current position.
As he’d expected, the place was run down. People had picked over the stocks of drugs, but some of the medical equipment remained and the emergency operating theatre was still relatively intact – if woefully unhygienic after years of disrepair. They weren’t in a position to be choosy, though.
Placing Adele on the table, Tanek went off and gathered what he could find – including tubes and needles for a transfusion, seeing as there were no stocks of blood that he could find. Running out of time, he’d hooked himself up and conducted the transfusion at the same time he began to operate. Not ideal, but necessary. There was alcohol in the medical kit from the jeep, so he’d been able to sterilise the bullet wound that way. He hadn’t needed to knock Adele out with anything as she was totally unresponsive.
Tanek had cut into her with a scalpel that had survived the scavenger hunts, searching for the bullet that was causing all the bleeding. Little wonder, because it had glanced off the ribs and come close to puncturing her heart. Tanek had managed to remove it, stemming the blood flow; stitching her up and treating her with antibiotics, also from the jeep. But he knew they couldn’t stay there for ever.
He was too woozy to drive that night, but once he’d recovered enough, Tanek carried her to the jeep and prepared to make the trip back to the castle in Nottingham.
He hadn’t got to the city limits when he saw that Hood’s men back on point. Tanek knew what that meant – they’d taken back the castle. He was tempted to go there anyway, gun them all down, but realistically he wouldn’t get very far. And he had to look after Adele.
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.
G
WEN 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
O
NCE 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.