The two men remained like that for some time…
Hands at each other's throats, neither one willing to give ground. This was the final fight, their only 'real' fight in fact, and both men were desperate to win. The Hooded Man because he saw it as his mission to rid the world of this new infection; the Frenchman because he needed to pluck this thorn from his side before he could rule completely.
Tighter and tighter they grasped each other, spinning in the dreamscape – the fire on the water raging higher all around them.
Then one of them removed a hand. It was the Frenchman, reaching down, grabbing a hidden knife and bringing it up. It was too quick for The Hooded Man to block and he looked down, eyes wide, as the blade slid into him. It pierced his stomach, slipping through flesh and into him almost up to the hilt. He gave a cry and coughed up blood, his grip on his opponent's throat weakening.
Neither of them said a word; they didn't have to. It was obvious what had happened. The darkness had triumphed, winning out overall.
The time of the hero had almost passed.
And The Hooded Man would pass just as quickly into the arms of death.
De Falaise had woken with a smile on his face.
He couldn't remember all of the dream but he recalled the ending, recalled sliding the knife into Hood's gut and killing him.
Au revoir, he said to himself, you've proved a worthy adversary, but it is time for this whole affair to draw to a close.
The Frenchman looked over and saw the woman from Hope lying there, asleep. He contemplated waking her so that he could begin the morning by celebrating, but he had so much – too much to do. There would be time later, when he'd dealt with his enemy. All the time in the world, in fact; perhaps even time for a change. When she'd been getting dressed the last time he'd noticed his plaything was putting on a little bit of weight. He was obviously feeding her too well.
He'd got to bed late last night, after overseeing the last few hours of construction himself: the culmination of two days' labour. The men had worked hard, but then so they should have. They were doing it for their Sheriff. The platform and gallows were crude but sturdy. A series of six in a row so they could get through the executions as fast as possible, regardless of whether Hood showed up – though De Falaise was positive he would come. The platform, located out on the grass where Middle Bailey had once been, was high enough to accommodate the trap doors. These could be released by a single lever. That idea had been his and he'd explained in great detail how it could be achieved, muttering afterwards about the shortcomings of the British school system when it came to carpentry and woodwork.
What a sight it all was when it was finished, much better than simply hanging bodies over the sides of the rocks. This had style, flair – panache, as his people would say. It would be a spectacle; just one of the things that he would be remembered for. De Falaise had even appointed an official photographer, a soldier named Jennings who had an interest in such things and could develop film as well as take the actual photographs.
His inspiration had been the photos down in the basement of the castle, depicting all those different eras. One day, he realised, people would look back and remember what he had done here and applaud him for having the vision and bravery to pull it off. They would cheer his achievements, bringing Britain together again – perhaps even under a different name? Yes, something more fitting like… like Falaisia. That had a certain ring to it.
But he was taking small steps: towards a much larger goal. The only thing standing in his way was Hood and his malcontents. Once they were out of the way he could rule this region however he wanted. Build his army up even more, spread out and conquer from this one, fortified base.
It was his right, and his destiny.
One day those who came after him would look to his lead in governing their own lands. Just as he'd drawn from the past to establish his empire.
He'd left the woman and gotten into the outfit he'd handpicked for the day's proceedings – the red dress uniform adorned with medals and topped off with a ceremonial sword. Practically ignoring the new guard on duty outside his room De Falaise made his way down into the basement one last time. He had examined the history of this castle and its surrounding areas frequently, but only today did he feel like he was making a contribution to the museum. He would have his men erect some kind of memorial to his achievements before too long, continuing on the story of Nottingham and its castle.
De Falaise paused to examine the model of the place he now called home. Bending, he placed both hands on the glass cabinet.
"You are not just living history, De Falaise, you are making it," he said to himself.
Next he made his way upwards through the castle and onto the roof, putting on his sunglasses as he went. He walked across to where Reinhart was camped out. He'd been up there for two days straight, watching the city – if not with his sniper's scope, then with the binoculars De Falaise had left him. The Dutchman was like a machine, never complaining, never faltering. Just watching, ever vigilant.
"Anything to report?" De Falaise asked.
Reinhart shook his head. "No unusual activity at all."
"And our scouts in the city?"
"Checking in as usual – once every half-hour."
"Good, good. We will begin the executions within the hour. If you see any sign of The Hooded Man…"
"I will let you know, my Lord," Reinhart promised, holding up his walkie-talkie.
So that was that. It only remained for them to ready the prisoners, roust them and get the first batch onto the platform. De Falaise would allow most of his men to watch, those who were not busy patrolling the walls, that was. It would serve as both example and, he hoped, entertainment. There was so little on TV these days.
As for The Hooded Man…
De Falaise would await his presence with eager anticipation.
Gwen felt De Falaise shift about in bed first thing, then heard him laughing as he woke. His dreams had obviously amused him. He'd been restless prior to that, though, just like he had been the night she missed her opportunity to kill him. She hadn't been able to find the right moment since.
She'd feigned sleep in the hopes that he would leave her alone, knowing that nine times out of ten he'd do whatever he damned well pleased, not giving a toss whether Gwen was awake or not. This was the tenth time, obviously, because he got up and got dressed, barely making a sound. If he had tried something then she might well have reached for the knife now under her pillow, ramming it into his throat as he groped her. He was clearly waiting until after the day's events for that particular 'delight'.
Not that she had any intentions of still being here then.
Not that she had any intentions of still being alive. Her plan was simple. Free the prisoners, kill De Falaise. Yes, she was aware she was just one woman. Yes, the odds were impossibly against her, but still she had to try.
She couldn't leave that young boy to his fate. Hopefully, he could lead them all back to his hideout where they'd be safe (if you can get them past that nutjob on the roof with the sniper's rifle – don't forget about him, Gwen.)
They had to make a run for it, at least. They'd be dead anyway if they stayed here.
She was surprised, given his heritage, De Falaise hadn't insisted on a guillotine. But then, they'd executed the nobility that way, hadn't they – and that's what De Falaise aspired to be. Hanging was for peasants and criminals, historically speaking. Today, it would be used to put an end to the lives of people like she'd known in Hope, who just wanted to get on with their existence from day to day; just wanted to forget about the horrors that had befallen them during The Cull.
You're thinking too far ahead, Gwen, she told herself. First things first… The guard.
She got up off the bed, grabbing her robe. She didn't have too long before she'd be expected to join De Falaise at the ceremony, wearing yet another ornate dress he'd picked out. Gwen had other ideas. She slipped on the silk, hastily fastening the dressing gown with the belt around the middle, and made her way to the door. Controlling her breathing again, she took hold of the handle and turned it, opening the door a crack.
There was the guard, sitting opposite and to the right: a yobbish-looking youth today with a scar across his jawline. He didn't appear to notice the door opening – obviously the perfect choice for a guard – so she had to cough to get his attention. Now he looked up, then stood, raising his rifle as he did so.
"E-Excuse me…" she said in a low voice.
"What are you doing out? It's not time for you to come out yet. The boss will go spare."
"I-I don't want to come out. I want you to come in." Gwen let the door open a bit further, hoping she'd read this one as well as the shy boy. The thug in front of her was a different kettle of fish – no virgin, and probably cut from the same cloth as De Falaise.
Well then, let's give him what he wants, shall we?
"You what?"
She crooked her finger. "I said I want you to come in, pass the time a little."
He licked his lips. "I-I can't. The boss would kill me. He was bad enough when I forgot to tell him about…" The soldier realised he'd said too much and shut up.
"About?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Is that why you pulled guard duty?" A blink of the eyes told her it was. "Can't be much fun, playing nursemaid."
"Isn't."
"Bet you'd rather be out there getting ready for the executions."
He nodded, grinning.
Oh, you're a piece of work. I might enjoy this after all.
"De Falaise has left me all alone, he's too distracted with the preparations. Didn't even have time to see to my needs. A woman has needs, you know." As before, she let her gown fall open a little way and she saw his eyes flash downwards. Unlike the other guard, though, they stayed there. It made her feel sick, but she knew it was just a means to an end. "What's your name?"
"Jace," he told her, eyes still cast downwards.
"That's a nice name, I like it. Why don't you come inside for a minute or two, so we can talk properly. Doesn't have to be long. No one will know. You can keep an eye on me much better from in here."
Jace looked left and right. "All right," he finally said.
She allowed him in and his eyes lit up when he saw the unmade bed. "I've heard what they say about you," he told her.
Gwen smiled, getting more and more into the part with each passing second. "And what do they say?"
"That you let him do things. All kinds of things to you."
She closed her eyes slowly and opened them again. "What would you like to do to me, Jace?"
His cheeks were glowing bright red, but there was none of the hesitation of the other soldier. Jace planted a kiss on her; rough, without any feeling. Gwen tolerated it, putting her arms around him, more in an effort to lead him to the bed than anything else. They inched their way across with her guiding him, until the backs of his legs hit the mattress. Gwen pushed him onto it, climbing on top.
Jace lay back, rifle still in his grip, so she bent down to kiss him again. Her robe fell open even more and his eyes were glued to her breasts. "That's right," she said seductively. "You get a good look…" Gwen bent further down, and while he was distracted she snaked her hand under the pillow and brought out the knife. She held it against his neck and, for a second or two, he didn't even realise what was going on. "Move and I'll slit your throat. I mean it!"
With her other hand she reached down and relieved him of the rifle.
She rose from the bed, putting the knife in her pocket and training the weapon on Jace. "Now, stand up and get undressed."
Jace still seemed bewildered, as if he couldn't quite understand how the situation had gone from one thing to the other.
"Fucking well get undressed!" she hissed, jabbing the barrel of the rifle in his direction. "Lose the sidearm first." Jace scrambled to his feet. With fumbling hands he undid the belt of his holster. "Slowly," Gwen warned him. He dropped it to the floor with a clunk, then began to take off his clothes. "All of them…" Gwen ordered, then laughed as he took off his boxers. "I don't know how you were expecting to do anything with that maggot."
"You fucking bitch!"
Gwen hefted the rifle and hit Jace squarely in the face with its butt, and with enough force to knock the beret from his head. He collapsed onto the bed, unconscious.
Quickly, Gwen took off her robe and began to get dressed in the uniform. It was loose in places, but would disguise her well enough to get to the caves. She tucked her auburn hair up into the beret, strapped on the holster – hiding the sharpened knife away in a front pocket of the combat trousers. Then she left Jace behind, opened the door a crack again to check that nobody was around, and slipped out.
Gwen was already on the ground level, so only had to make a bolt for the exit to get outside. Rifle over her shoulder, she skirted the building, keeping her head down and praying that nobody would notice her. Thankfully everyone was busy today, men dashing to and fro, and hardly anyone gave her a second glance. Once she was on the other side of the castle, she saw she was too late.
The prisoners were already being led out from the caves under heavy guard – up the steps and into the light, hands shackled in front of them, shielding their eyes from the brightness. Gwen scanned the line as the soldiers forced them up at gunpoint, but she saw no sign of the boy.
Dammit, I waited too long…
What she did see, however, at the end of the line, was Javier. A thinner, more defeated-looking version of the Mexican, with a large plaster over one ear. But it was him. She'd never forget that face. What was he doing out of his makeshift cell? He was in uniform, too, but didn't look to be giving orders. If anything, he was just milling around observing what was going on. He didn't even appear to be armed.
Gwen ground her teeth. There was no way she could take on all the guards and free the prisoners, much to her regret – it would just get them killed all the quicker – but the temptation of taking some kind of revenge on Javier was simply too much to resist. Head down again, she made her way across to the far end of the line, striding confidently as if she belonged there.
Coming up behind Javier, she took the pistol out of its holster.
"Hello Major," she whispered, jamming her weapon into his ribs.
"Who-"
"Quiet…" she growled. "Let the soldiers go on ahead, you're coming with me. We have unfinished business."
As the string of people and soldiers headed off in front, she steered Javier to the side and then marched him back down into the caves.
"And how is our prize this morning?"
Mark grimaced at the man who'd entered the upstairs room, the Sheriff as he called himself. He'd ordered Mark to be kept inside the castle for the last day or so, too valuable to be lumped in with the rest of the bunch. Tanek had kept a watchful eye on the pale boy, now strapped to another chair, to keep him from falling into unconsciousness, perhaps even dying. De Falaise couldn't have that… Not before his time, at any rate.
"Are you ready to be our star attraction?"
"G… Get stuffed," Mark managed, croaking out the words.
Tanek pulled his head back by the hair. "Show some respect."
De Falaise waved his hand. "It is all right, I understand totally. The boy is upset. But do not worry, you will soon see your beloved Hood again. If he doesn't just leave you here to hang."
Mark scowled.
"Bring him," De Falaise said to Tanek. "It will soon be time."
Tanek undid the bonds tying Mark to the chair and the prisoner almost collapsed. Picking up his crossbow, the big man dragged Mark to his feet and half carried him out of the room by the scruff of his neck, following the Sheriff to the landing. They made their way down the stairs, and out onto the eastern side of the castle. De Falaise led them towards the stone steps, overlooking where Mark and the other prisoners had been examined when they first arrived.
Now that area was looking very different. The platform for the gallows took up much of the space, with men still making final adjustments to the structure.
"What do you think? I may even leave it there for future occasions." De Falaise mused out loud.
Mark was quiet.
"I think our star attraction is lost for words, Tanek."
The big man nodded.
"In awe, I'd say," De Falaise went on. He bent, smiling. "How would you like to be the first to try it?" The man talked as if he'd just unveiled a new theme park ride.
Mark attempted to break free of Tanek's grasp but even with all his strength present he wouldn't have stood a chance.
"Better hope The Hooded Man comes for you, then," said De Falaise, chuckling, "but I'll let you into a little secret, shall I? It doesn't matter anyway. You are still going to die. You all will. Now come along, do not dawdle. We both have a date with the inevitable."
Gwen forced Javier back down the steps and into the now abandoned cave system. There were no soldiers or guards down here, as there were no prisoners left. It was just the two of them.
"Am I at least allowed to see who my executioner is?" he asked as Gwen ushered him onwards.
She stepped down and spun him around. "There – remember me now?"
He screwed up his eyes in the half-light. "Yes, I remember you."
"Then you remember what you did, to Clive… to me, back in Hope."
Javier's eyes brushed the floor.
"He… He was the one good thing that's ever happened in my life," Gwen said, raw emotion in her voice. "He never mistreated me, never used me. He just wanted to give me the life I'd always dreamed about. But then you came along, you and the Sheriff."
"The 'Sheriff' is totally insane," Javier replied. "I once believed in him, but I was wrong. I was frightened."
"So you did it to save your own skin, is that it?" Gwen raised the gun higher, hand trembling. "Just like you turned the boy over to him."
Javier appeared shocked she knew about that, but he nodded a third time. "What can I say? I am a weak man. A selfish man."
"You enjoyed the power, though, anyone could see that. And you enjoyed killing Clive."
"No. That was an accident. If the holy man hadn't-"
"He was trying to stop you."
Javier shook his head. "If your friend hadn't argued in the first place…"
"He was protecting me, you idiot! He was killed because he was protecting the woman he loved, the place he loved. And now…" Her hand grew steadier, her aim true as she pointed the gun at his head. "Now you're going to feel what it's like to have your own brains blown out, Major."
Javier winced. "That is the second time I've heard such words in as many days, Senora."
"And what, you're scared? Good!"
He shook his head once more. "I am not scared of you. But I am scared of what waits for me when I die."
"Judged by a higher power, is that it?"
"Yes. That is why I say to you, put down the weapon. If you kill me like this you will be damned just as surely as I am." He held out his hand for the weapon.
Gwen's laugh was harsh. "You've got to be kidding me!"
"No. I wish to save you this."
Her gun arm began shaking again, and it lowered a fraction. Only a fraction. Maybe he's right; are you really a killer? she asked herself. Won't that make you just as bad as him, as De Falaise? Isn't that why after all this time you still couldn't murder the Frenchman? Couldn't stick the knife in him and twist it? Not even to rid the world of his sickness?
Gwen shook her head. No, she had to do this. Do it to avenge Clive, for her own satisfaction – even if the man in front of her in no way resembled the bloated slug who'd driven into Hope. First Javier, then De Falaise.
She made her mind up.
Closing one eye, Gwen took aim.
The people from the villages were being herded onto the field by De Falaise's men.
One man looked over at the gallows and made a run for it. He didn't make it as far as the pathway before being gunned down. De Falaise clapped at the action, nodding curtly to the men who'd opened fire. Then he motioned for Tanek to bring Mark up to the platform.
Jennings, who had been taking shots of the crowd and capturing a general sense of the occasion, began to snap De Falaise.
"Where is that woman?" De Falaise said under his breath, hardly breaking his camera smile. "I told her to be here for the pictures."
"Shall I send someone for her?" asked Jennings before Tanek got a chance. This earned him a hateful look from the Frenchman's second.
"No, no, no. It is high time we started. It is her own fault if she misses it. I will think of a suitable punishment later." De Falaise called for five 'volunteers' from the crowd. The soldiers pushed forward the handful of people, at gunpoint. They were forced to climb the steps to the raised area, where a couple more soldiers placed their heads in the nooses. Tanek brought down the rope so that he could shove Mark's head into the gap.
The first six were ready.
"This is an historic occasion," De Falaise said, walking along in front of them, looking down at the faces of those who would be next and the soldiers he had allowed to watch. He resembled a game show host in front of an audience. "The first hangings in your country for over forty years. And not a moment too soon, I say. Stop jostling down there! If you are well behaved I might still let some of you live to tell of what transpired here today." De Falaise turned to the poor unfortunates about to be executed. "If any of you have anything to declare, it is too late now anyway." He tittered to himself. "I suppose I am not alone in my disappointment that the man you put so much stock in has not even bothered to show up. At least it tells you all that your faith was misguided. He is both a coward and a murderer, responsible for all your deaths."
De Falaise looked across at the soldier holding the lever. He held his hand up, ready to give the signal.
When his radio crackled into life.
"My Lord…" came a voice over the airwaves. De Falaise raised an eyebrow, looking down at the walkie-talkie hanging from his belt. "My Lord, The Hooded Man is here. Repeat: The Hooded Man is here!"