Hooded Man (111 page)

Standing directly opposite him was a man. Dressed in black, dark-skinned, with dark hair to match his attire. He looked more like a shadow than a man. As Tate had described him, he was Native American in appearance, had a backpack over his shoulder – containing his quiver – with an axe and knife at his belt. He had his own bow drawn, aimed at Robert. For a second or two both men stood their ground, fingertips pulling back on their twines. The bows shook slightly with tension.

Each man had one eye closed, leaving the other open to judge the distance to his target. But with that one eye each was also judging his opponent. What he might do, when he might loose his shot.

It was Robert who released his arrow first, sending it flying towards what should have been the stranger’s head. The man moved out of the way, though, allowing Robert’s arrow to embed itself in the tree just behind him.

“Impressive,” came the response, even as the stranger was shooting himself.

Robert saw the arrow coming and dived out of the way, feeling its wind brushing his ear. The other man’s arrow thudded into an oak several metres behind him, causing Robert to flinch. Already both bows were nocked again and ready to shoot.

“What do you want?” he asked, more to stall than anything, although he was genuinely curious.

There was no reply, except for the release of another arrow, again flying directly towards Robert. He flopped to the ground to avoid it, the missile whipping over his hood and sailing off into the woodland beyond. Robert’s answer was to shoot from the ground, the arrow aimed at the Native American’s head. But, again, the stranger was quicker; sidestepping this shot with ease and allowing it to disappear off into the forest.

The pair exchanged a couple more shots like this, pulling arrows from quivers and letting them loose, as Robert managed to get to his feet. Then they wound up where they’d first began; staring each other down. Both men with bows primed and aimed at the other.

Time this was ended,
thought Robert, searching for a sign the Native American was going to shoot. When he found it, he released his own arrow.

Both pieces of wood and metal twirled in the distance between the men, heading directly for each other. They met almost head on, but it was the stranger’s that had the advantage while Robert’s suddenly flew way off course. The stranger’s projectile struck Robert’s left shoulder, lifting him up off his feet and back into one of the oaks he’d once considered his only true friends. The arrow carried on through the shoulder and into the wood behind, pinning Robert there.

“Dad!” screamed Mark, struggling to free himself from his bonds without success.

Robert dropped his weapon, writhing in agony. It was now that he knew exactly what had happened – somehow this man in front of him had
stolen
his advantage. Taken away the protection the forest once afforded him, leaving him defenceless against this new threat.

“How?” shouted Robert. “How have you done this?”

He could tell by the Native American’s face that he understood the question. But he didn’t answer. Just walked over with a satisfied smile on his face – so slight it would have been missed by the average person – and stood in front of his impaled prey.

Robert reached for his sword, but the stranger grabbed his wrist, pulling the length of metal out of its sheath and flinging it away. There was a part of Robert that wondered if it was because of his exhaustion, the burns he’d suffered at the Widow’s hands. But he’d endured more in a shorter period before – and it wasn’t just the fact that he was getting older, either. This man had taken something from him, of that Robert was certain. Not just the dreams, but the almost superhuman strength he apparently drew from this place. If he’d faced the Tsar’s men at this point and fallen in battle, there was no way he’d be getting back up to finish what he’d started. If the stranger chose to end this now, then Robert – the Hooded Man – would be dead. No two ways about it.

But that wasn’t his intent. It
never had been
his intent. The stranger examined the arrow, nodding. “Clean wound. You’ll live.”

“D-do what you want with me,” Robert said, breath coming in sharp gasps. “But let my boy go.”

The stranger regarded him with those dark eyes. “That was always my intent. This was never about him.”

That’s what this man had in mind all along. Like him, he was a hunter. Mark had been the bait, obviously, but this stranger had never wanted to kill either Robert or his son. Especially not the latter.

“Then what’s this about?” asked Robert.

“That is not for me to tell, but rest assured, I will free your son now I have you. There is nothing he can do to stop me, anyway.”

“Stop you from what? Who are you working with: Tanek? The Germans?” Robert’s questions went unanswered once more.

“It is time,” said the stranger, then he took something out of a pouch at his belt. He emptied the contents – which looked like tobacco – into the palm of one hand, then grabbed Robert’s chin with the other.
Not again
, he thought.
I’m not being drugged again!

“This will help the journey pass more quickly,” the stranger told him, forcing the weed into his mouth. Robert spat the first lot back into the stranger’s face, but he just squeezed harder on his cheeks, forcing more into Robert’s mouth, clamping his mouth shut. Though he didn’t chew, Robert felt some of it slide down his throat. The weird concoction was dissolving on his tongue. In his own way, this stranger was just as much a magician as the Widow.

No, have to fight it
,
Have to
–

But already the stuff was having an effect. The stranger’s face looked to be melting, the whole scene falling away in front of Robert. He tried to look over at Mark, but couldn’t focus.

“Sleep now,” he heard the stranger say.

It seemed like such a good idea. He was exhausted, and it
had
been a gruelling couple of days. Some sleep would do him the world of good.

Robert felt his eyelids closing, then there was blackness.

But there was also the total absence of dreams.

CHAPTER TWENTY

S
HE’D BEEN GONE
for hours now. And while they all knew the trip to Nottingham was quite a trek, things were growing desperate at New Hope.

People were sick of the periodic attacks on the walls since Tanek arrived – scared that at any moment, the Germans would just come crashing inside – and their friends were dying. Graham and Andy weren’t doing well at all, in spite of Jennings’ best efforts. One of the bolts Andy caught had caused internal injuries that the doctor couldn’t do much about. “We need to get him somewhere we can operate. Otherwise I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

Gwen had gone to see Andy, at his request, and they’d talked: about the old days, about what had happened to New Hope, about the direction she was taking. “Y-you have to promise me,” Andy said, “that you’ll turn away from this course you’re on.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she’d told him, avoiding his eyes.

“There’s so much hatred inside you now, Gwen. This...” Andy winced. “This isn’t what Clive would have wanted for you.”

She’d said nothing. She wanted to get up and leave when he started talking like that, but she owed him her time. Owed him the opportunity to get whatever this problem was that he had with her off his chest. Regardless of how things were with them now, Andy had done a lot for New Hope. He’d been there with her and Clive right from the beginning, just like Darryl, just like Graham. And this might be the last chance he’d get to say his piece.

He’d reached out for her hand and she’d let him take it. “You promise me, Gwen. Don’t let it eat you up inside. I’m worried about you.”

“You don’t need to be. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Andy insisted. “You –”

“Listen, I should go and see what’s happening out there. You get some rest.” Gwen removed her hand and let Andy’s flop back down on the bed. “Look after him,” she told Sat, the doctor’s assistant, as she left. She looked back just once to see Andy staring at her. He didn’t believe for one minute she was all right, but she didn’t know what to do to convince him. More than ever, she felt guilty for striking him when they were interrogating the prisoner. And, in a way, Andy had been right; they’d gotten nothing more out of the man, even after she’d gone back again.

During the last session overnight, she’d dismissed the guards keeping an eye on him and got down to business. “Just you and me now,” she’d told the soldier. “I know who your boss is, outside.”

The man had laughed. “You know nothing.” That earned him a punch in the face which broke his nose. He hadn’t been laughing then.

“Me and him go back quite a way, did you know that?” Gwen said. “There’s not much love lost between us.”

“Go to Hell,
hure
!”

“You first, fucker!” She’d kicked him hard in the side, where his injuries were, and smiled as he’d howled in pain.

They’d gone on like this for about an hour, until Gwen was satisfied she’d get no new information. In the end she’d wound up kicking the chair over, placing her foot on his windpipe and threatening to crush it just to try and get some answers. “
Why
does he want my son?” she’d spat into the German’s face. He’d remained silent, either not willing to say or because he didn’t know.

Gwen left the room, calling the guards back in and giving them specific orders not to fetch Jeffreys when they saw the state of the prisoner. “We might still be able to use him if push comes to shove, but it won’t matter what condition he’s in. He’s alive, that’s good enough.”

Was there a part of her that connected Andy’s words with her actions? No, she felt them entirely justified. She was protecting her village, protecting her son at all costs.

When she looked into the faces of those villagers, however, she didn’t think that they felt the same. Yes, they wanted to keep this place safe, but she wasn’t convinced they wouldn’t just fling Clive Jr over the wall to save
themselves
. She’d thought about telling them: “I know Tanek. He’ll kill you all anyway, then, just for fun. The only thing keeping you alive right now in fact is that he wants my son and daren’t risk storming in and harming him.” But they wouldn’t have listened. She’d need to keep a close eye on them, especially when it all hit the fan. Darryl was still the only one she trusted to keep watch over her child, and she was pleased to see he’d almost fully recovered from giving his blood to the German.

Gwen had been on her way from seeing Andy when she heard her name being called. “Come quickly,” came the cry, and when Gwen reached the part of the wall it had originated from, she got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was the section directly overlooking the opening of their tunnel’s hidden trap door. The man who’d called her across – Henry Collins, a middle-aged ex-veterinarian who helped look after their livestock – was crouching, holding his rifle and jabbing his finger in the direction of the secret entrance. Gwen climbed the ladder to join him, not liking the stern look on his face.

“What is it?”

“See for yourself,” he told her, taking off his glasses and rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.

Gwen peeked out through the gap, and spotted it instantly. A group of German soldiers at the opening. They’d uncovered the camouflage Karen had replaced and were pointing down at the door. One was running some kind of wire from it.

“They’re getting ready to blow it,” Gwen said.

Henry nodded. “Bingo. And guess where they’re going once they have.”

Up the tunnel and into this damned compound. How had they found out about the door in the first place? Must have been Karen, the stupid idiot! Someone must have seen her. Or maybe the Germans had just stumbled on it by accident? Gwen hoped that was the case, because if anyone had seen Karen then it meant she’d either been followed, or killed, or both. In spite of herself, the first thing Gwen found herself thinking was not about Karen’s death, but that they shouldn’t rely on any help from the castle now.

More important even than that, their enemies were about to step the siege up a notch. If the people of New Hope weren’t going to give them what they wanted, their enemies had just discovered a way to come inside and get it for themselves.

T
ANEK WAS HAPPY.

For the first time in a long while, he was really, truly happy. And he was
never
happy. It didn’t happen. There was always something that came along to balls things up. Not this time. Luck was on their side for a change.

Even before they’d made arrangements to begin the next phase of this campaign, they’d been given an unexpected break. Determined to get to the bottom of how his man was snatched, Tanek had ordered a thorough – if covert – search of the perimeter. It was then that they’d discovered the trap door. It hadn’t been concealed properly, and was almost definitely the way they’d snuck in and out. It could have been used to go and fetch help; Tanek had to move now. They’d forced his hand. But they’d also given him the perfect way to gain entrance.