Hooded Man (98 page)

It was one of these Shadow was stalking.

He leapt across rooftops, he darted through streets, his agility second to none. Not one patrol or guard spotted him and not one alarm was raised. Pretty soon Shadow came to the castle walls. Scaling the cliff was one option, and held the least risk of detection. Then there were the caves at the Brewhouse Yard, although they were sure to be guarded and he would have to incapacitate the Rangers there. Unfortunate, especially if someone happened to stumble upon them while he was still inside.

That left the walls, which were patrolled regularly, or the main gates. Not an easy decision, but he was running out of time.

As he was waiting, Shadow observed an unusual amount of activity just beyond those gates. Several units of Rangers mounting horses, readying themselves to leave the grounds. There must be something going on, some kind of emergency. This was good timing, and good news in two ways: there would be fewer Rangers inside, which slashed the chances of him being seen, and it suggested a way to gain entrance. Quickly, he made his way across the roof he was on, swung over the edge and began climbing down, just as the gates were opening and the first batch of Rangers were departing. The noise and confusion of so many horses and their riders leaving the castle at the same time was excellent cover, and Shadow was able to slip through the gates easily. He pressed his back up against the wall while another stream of Rangers flowed through. Shadow became his namesake; entering silently and unseen, keeping to the pockets of blackness where the torches illuminating the castle grounds didn’t extend. As invisible as the wind, he began exploring. It was an interesting experience. Even at night the castle was a place of safety, a haven for those living under Hood’s protection. He was no evil overlord, rather someone trying to bring back balance to a world that had tipped too far over the edge.

Handfuls of Rangers – men and women alike – laughed and joked as they toured the grounds; there were families here, children. Shadow almost envied these people their existence. He had never known a proper home, never felt that he fitted in, not even with his own people. Shadow shook himself. He couldn’t let thoughts like this distract him from his task. Making his way silently through the grounds, he discovered a set of steps leading to the castle itself. Then, looking left and right, he entered without making a sound.

M
ARK SAT STARING
at the radio, trying to get his head round everything that he’d been told in the last twenty-four hours. The airwaves had never been so busy, communications coming in from Ranger groups on routine assignments, from Bill, from Jack. And there was something to be said for the old adage – no news is good news – because everything they’d received had been bad: pure and simple.

First, Bill had informed him that they’d heard nothing from Robert and Mary since they’d taken a team of Rangers to Edinburgh Castle to check out this Widow. What had happened, no-one yet knew, and although Mark still held out some hope they might return, it was looking increasingly likely they’d either been captured or –

To take his mind off that, Mark recalled what Jack had said earlier on that day – relaying information about the Dragon from Dale. He’d been sent inside to spy on the man; a mission Mark had actually argued
he
was ready for, but Jack and Robert had vetoed him as usual. Even after everything he’d gone through in the field, Mark knew when they looked at him they still saw that kid with the dirty-blond hair they’d first met when De Falaise invaded England. He’d changed so much since those days. Mark was an adult now, even had a girlfriend – the lovely Sophie – which he had to admit had taken up a lot of his time in recent months. Sooner or later the others were going to have to accept he’d grown up.

Hadn’t he shown them he was ready for combat? What did Mark have to do to prove he was worthy? Even the dreams he’d been having since starting those trips with Robert into the forest had suggested he should be given more responsibility. He’d learnt to interpret them quite well, the symbols and meanings; talking to Robert about them, because he knew his adoptive father had them as well. The last one Mark experienced had seen him running through the forest, too close to the ground to be on human legs. His running was awkward, not coordinated – at first, anyway. But Mark found that the further and faster he ran, the stronger those legs became. And then he could see them beneath him, a browny colour with white specks. The legs of a young fawn, but one that was growing fast.

Soon enough, Mark found himself at the lake at Rufford, where he stared down into the water at his reflection. There were antlers there now, budding now, but growing at the same pace as the rest of him. Something was wrong, though; droplets of red in the water, falling from a wound Mark couldn’t see. He looked up and saw a grown stag across the water, looking at him. Behind the creature was a man dressed in red, with a sickle for a hand. In one movement, he drew that blade across the stag’s throat, allowing a jet of red to shoot out across the lake. Mark tried to scream, but a shadow fell across the lake from behind him.

Mark hadn’t had time to register anything else, because he’d been woken out of the dream by Robert calling him for breakfast by the campfire. If nothing else, the analogy about growing up was clear. Mark was almost there, and he deserved the right to be treated like a grown man. He should be –

Mark stiffened. There was someone behind him, just like in the dream he’d had all those weeks ago. He pulled off the earphones, rising from the chair at the same time; his heart going like a piston. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Sophie standing there with a plate, holding a beef sandwich.

She smiled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just thought you might like a bite to eat.”

Mark smiled back. That sandwich did look good. “I’m sorry. Just a little on edge is all. Ta.” He leaned over, took the plate gratefully, and gave her a kiss. Taking his face in both her hands, she pressed her lips harder against his. When she pulled away, his smile grew even wider. “What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?”

Mark laughed. “No, I guess not. And I’m
so
not complaining.”

“I just haven’t seen much of you today.”

Mark pointed to the radio. “Been stuck monitoring, in case anything else came in. You heard about what’s going on, I suppose?”

Sophie nodded. “I’m worried about Robert and Mary.”

“Me too. At least when we were fighting the Sheriff and the Tsar, we were dealing with them one at a time. Now we seem to be split between tackling these Dragon and Widow loonies.”

Sophie leaned on the table next to him. “What exactly did Dale say about the Dragon?”

There was a time when Mark would have felt threatened by that question; by the implication that Dale was on Sophie’s mind. But way too much water had passed under the bridge for that. He felt secure now about how Sophie felt, knew she only saw Dale as a mate. In fact, he’d got to know Dale a lot better himself over the past year, and once that initial jealousy had evaporated, Mark actually found himself liking the guy, too. “You mean what did he say about our mutual friend?”

Sophie nodded again, more sombrely. She remembered fighting Tanek last year as well as he did – it was one of the things that had brought them closer together. “I heard he was acting as some kind of go-between, supplying weapons and vehicles. But didn’t Bill also say that the Widow was being supplied with arms from somewhere?”

“He said the weapons they took from her raiders were German.”

Sophie looked at him seriously. “You don’t think there could be a connection, do you?”

“What, Tanek dealing with both the Dragon and the Widow? Working with the Germans?” Mark bit his lip. It was a thought that hadn’t occurred to him, but now Sophie had put it in his head, he couldn’t shake it. And it terrified him. “God, I hope not.”

“Isn’t that what he and De Falaise used to do before? Gun-running?”

“Amongst other things.” The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to fire up that radio and ask Jack and Bill’s opinion. Sophie had definitely struck on something. Mark jotted down a note on the pad by the side of the radio as a reminder to broach it when Bill and Jack next checked in. He picked up the sandwich Sophie had brought, considered taking a bite, but found he’d lost his appetite.

“So what are Jack and Bill going to do?” she asked.

“Jack’s requested more Rangers, in addition to those who left this afternoon. They’ve just been sent. I think he wants to go in and sort the Dragon problem before it gets any worse. Reading between the lines, he also wants to get Dale out of there as quickly as possible.”

“Understandable. And Bill?”

Mark shrugged. “Don’t think anything’s been decided yet. For one thing, if we send any more men up there, we’ll hardly have anyone left at the castle. And the last time we did that, it didn’t end well.”

“So Lord knows what could be happening to Mary and Robert, and we just have to sit here?” Sophie said, folding her arms.

“That’s about the size of it. Welcome to my world.”

Sophie reached over and stroked his hair, brushing a strand off his forehead. “Your time will come, Mark, you’ll see.”

Man, he loved this girl – and as he thought it, he rose and kissed her again. She responded in kind, wrapping her arms around him. More than anything in this world, Mark wanted Sophie right then. But it was her that broke off the kiss.

“Not like this, Mark,” she said, looking into his eyes, then looking around. She knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking it herself. If they didn’t stop now, they never would – and on the table of a radio room was not the most romantic place for your first time. Mark was surprised they’d been able to hold off this long, but he hadn’t wanted to rush Sophie. They’d talked about it, sure, and been on the verge several times, but somehow never quite got it together. Mark sensed that tonight they were both ready.

“How about I get someone to take over here?” he suggested. “Then we can find somewhere a bit more private.”

Sophie smiled again, then nodded enthusiastically.

Mark kissed her a final time, excited but petrified. Emotions were coursing through him, and doubts about whether he’d be any good, what Sophie might think of him afterwards... But none of that would matter once they were shut away alone.

It was as he was heading towards the door that he heard it. Sounds of a scuffle outside. Punches being thrown and a cry.

Sophie looked at him. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Mark replied, realising that the chances of him and Sophie being alone right now had just taken a massive dip. “Let’s find out.”

R
EVEREND
T
ATE HAD
just rounded the corner when he’d spotted the intruder.

Dressed in muted colours, in clothes that looked handmade, the figure almost blended in with his surroundings – making good use of the dim lighting in the hallway. Tate doubted very much whether he would have spotted him at all, but the man had sacrificed the shadows in order to spy inside a room to his left: the radio room. Tate had heard the reports about Robert and Mary going missing, the Dragon being in league with Tanek. It had made him more vigilant. Usually when things like that started happening, someone, somewhere made an attempt at the castle.

And perhaps this man in front of him was part of the first wave? Tate took in the rest of the fellow. He didn’t seem to be armed with any kind of modern weapon, no machine-guns or pistols. There was a bow and quiver at his back, and what looked to be an axe and knife on his belt. Tate couldn’t see the man’s face at this angle, and given the length of his black hair. Though it was hard to tell, the man’s skin tone was slightly darker than his; perhaps from the Middle East? Tate hesitated, reminded of a moment in his own past...

Now wasn’t the time.

He definitely spelt trouble. Gripping his stick tighter, Tate made an effort to get nearer. He wasn’t the most practised at this kind of thing – not like Robert or Azhar, say – but he had his moments. He could still remember how to sneak up on an enemy.

The intruder didn’t seem to notice him – he was transfixed by what was being said inside the room. And Tate could now hear voices: Mark and Sophie’s. They were discussing the day’s events, unaware that everything was being overheard.

Then Tate was behind the intruder. He realised he hadn’t thought the rest of this through. Would he just hit the man over the head with his stick, or confront him, try and find out what he was doing here? Or maybe that should come later when they had him locked up?

In any event, he didn’t get the chance. The man whirled, ready for him. He’d heard Tate’s approach all along, just wanted him to get closer so he wouldn’t have to make as much noise incapacitating him. Or maybe he just wanted to see who was stupid enough to think they could take him down. In the instant Tate had time to register what was happening, he finally saw the man’s face. The arching eyebrows sheltering intense, dark eyes; the distinctive shape of the nose, cheekbones and mouth. He hadn’t seen many of this man’s kind, but he recognised the features immediately: a Native American.

Tate didn’t have any more time to consider this, because as the man turned he also brought round a fist. The punch would have knocked him clean out had the holy man not been quick enough to block it with his forearm. The intruder tried again with his other fist, but Tate blocked that as well. This was one of the things in Tate’s favour, it seemed; the Native American hadn’t been expecting him to fend off the first blow, let alone the second. He’d done as most people had, to their cost: underestimated the Reverend, written him off as just an overweight cripple with a stick. That was their first mistake.

They didn’t usually get a chance to make a second.

This man did, blocking Tate’s own swing with the stick – catching it between two hands and attempting to force it out of the Reverend’s grasp. But Tate was stronger than he appeared and, with a grunt, held on to the only weapon he ever carried.