Broken Arrow ac-8 Read online

  "Very impressive, kid. The old sliding on the snow manoeuvre." Mark cast his eyes upwards to see Jack standing there, leaning on his staff and chuckling. He helped him to his feet, then brushed the snow roughly from the front of his jacket.

  "It's not funny," said Mark. "And it's not fair, either. How come he gets a sword and I don't?"

  "You think you're always going to have a weapon to hand?" Jack shook his head. "Uh-uh. Nope. But your opponent might."

  "What if my opponent has a semi-automatic?"

  "Then you learn how to dodge bullets as well as swords."

  "This is pointless."

  "If it helps, think about it like Jedi training."

  Mark moaned. "It doesn't. I was never a big movie fan, Jack, remember? I was more into sports — which is how I ended up following your career."

  Jack smiled at the reference to his time on the wrestling circuit. "Still my number one fan, eh?"

  "Depends."

  "On what?"

  "On how long I have to keep doing this shit for."

  Jack clipped him around the ear. "That's cos Robert's not here, or he'd have done the same. It's not grown up to cuss like that."

  Mark let his shoulders sag.

  "Look, tell you what: Azhar, toss Mark your sword a second."

  The soldier threw his wooden sword over to the boy, who almost dropped it.

  "Okay, now you're armed. He's not. Think you can take him?"

  Mark grinned, swinging the sword to test its weight. It was payback time. He stepped into the area of combat, while Jack watched from the sidelines. Azhar hunched down low and matched Mark's circling movements, eyes flitting from his enemy's face to his hands. Mark swung the sword experimentally. He'd practised before with one of these, sneaked away when no one was looking to get the feel of what it was like. He'd taken on trees and fences, fancied himself as pretty good too — not in Azhar's league, of course, but given enough time… Except Azhar didn't have the sword anymore, did he? Now the advantage was all Mark's.

  He came at Azhar, swinging left and right. The darker-skinned man moved like a cat, making sure the sword never came within three feet of his body. Mark gripped the weapon with both hands, bringing it up in an arc which would ordinarily have caught his opponent beneath the chin — but Azhar had already leaned back. The difference between his move and the one Mark attempted earlier was that Azhar was soon upright again.

  Mark showed his teeth, in an effort to put Azhar off, but there was absolutely no reaction. This made him even angrier. He swung the blade this way and that, as he figured he was bound to strike something sooner or later — an arm, a leg… a whack in the head might be nice in return for all the pokes and prods.

  He hit nothing.

  Mark was on his final swipe — Azhar right in front of him — when suddenly the man wasn't there anymore. He was at Mark's side, having dropped and slid around, and was relieving Mark of the sword, grabbing his wrists and wrenching the weapon free. In seconds Mark was again on the wrong end of the tip, which was hovering between his eyes.

  There was laughter coming from somewhere. At first Mark thought it was Jack again, but it wasn't deep enough. When Azhar stepped back Mark turned and saw Dale sitting on the steps to the East Terrace. He had his guitar with him, and was shaking his head, clapping his thigh at the sight of Mark's defeat.

  "Nice one, Marky. You had him right where he wanted you," Dale brought his guitar around and started to play a melody, making up words on the spot.

  "You try your best, put to the test,

  But let's face it now you need a rest.

  Can't be easy, ohhh, it can't be easy…

  "Give it your all, but when you're small,

  You find out life just ain't no ball,

  Can't be easy, ohh, it just can't be that easy…"

  "Shut up!" shouted Mark, but Dale continued playing. Mark turned and saw that some of the other men training had stopped to listen.

  "He's just a child playing at bein' a man,

  It's hard and he don't know if he can.

  Oh, it ain't easy… It simply ain't that easy…"

  Mark's eyes narrowed and he marched towards Dale. "I said shut up!" Azhar came up behind to try and stop him, but Jack put a hand on his arm. This had been a while coming and the last thing Mark needed was anyone interfering.

  "What's the problem, Marky-boy?" answered Dale, resting his guitar against the wall and standing to meet him. "It was just a joke. What's the matter, can't you take a-"

  Mark grabbed him by the collar, swinging him around and onto the pavement between the steps and the field. He pulled back his fist, then struck Dale squarely in the face, making his nose bleed. Dale brought a couple of fingers up, touched the nostrils, and when they came away red he glared at Mark. "You little sod, look what you did."

  "Want some more?"

  Dale ran forwards, dragging Mark back onto the field. They slipped, then rolled over several times on the snow.

  "Let them work it out," Mark heard Jack saying as they rolled past him and Azhar. "Bit of old fashioned wrestling never hurt anyone."

  On the final roll, Dale landed on top of Mark, pinning him down. He brought his fist back, ready to retaliate, when there was a cry to their left.

  "Dale… Mark…" It was a female voice, too young to be Mary's. Mark recognised it instantly. So did Dale.

  "What's going on?" asked Sophie as she made her way down the steps.

  "Some other time," Dale said to Mark, tapping him on the cheek.

  Mark wrenched his head away and spat back: "Any time."

  "Jack, what's happening here? Why didn't you break the training up when it was getting too rough?" Sophie said.

  The big man held up a hand in mock surrender. "Hey there, little lady, it was nothing to do with me."

  "Wait till Mary hears about this," she told him.

  Dale was up and walking over towards her, wiping his bloody nose. Already, Sophie was pulling a tissue out of her winter coat to dab at it. "Look at you… You should know better. He's only just starting out."

  "Yeah," Dale replied, looking back at Mark. "I'm sorry, mate." He grinned as he let Sophie clean up his face.

  "You should go easy on him. Come on inside, let's get you cleaned up properly."

  Mark stared in disbelief as Dale grabbed his guitar and trotted off back up the steps with Sophie. Go easy on me! Go easy? I nearly bloody well broke his nose! He got up just in time to watch the pair disappear from view.

  Jack placed a hand on his shoulder. "All's fair in love and war." He said the words as if distracted.

  Mark followed his gaze and saw he was looking towards the far end of the Bailey, where a woman with short, dark hair was walking past. It was the woman who'd arrived with Jack and Robert the other day. Adele. She'd gone off with Jack then to have a tour of the castle and its grounds, but it was Robert she'd had eyes for — much to Mary's chagrin.

  "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.

  "Hey… Hey 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, remembering the wanderlust that 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. Luckily 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?"

  "Anytime 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 what she'd asked about: Robert. And Jack wondered how he'd got on himself, and whether his trip had been worthwhile.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The 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 by way of an explanation. "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. It was 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."