'How…?' Tanek asked, then realised that talking hurt.
'Brought the car back for you. Only an old Morris, but… It was too far to drag you, and you're very, well, very
She disappeared, leaving a puzzled Tanek to take in his surroundings: the hideous floral wallpaper; the wooden dresser and wardrobe. From the window sill leered down photos from the woman's life. Her with several children, then at the seaside with a tall man much older than her, who had grey hair.
The woman returned about fifteen minutes later with a tray of scrambled eggs. 'From the chickens,' she explained, kicking the bedroom door shut. 'They've been a Godsend.' Tanek devoured the meal in minutes. 'My…' said the woman, touching her hand to her throat, 'you were hungry, weren't you?'
Tanek gave a single, curt nod.
The woman sat down on the edge of the bed again. 'I'm Cynthia. Cynthia Reynolds.' She looked like she was waiting for his name, but he didn't oblige. 'It… It doesn't matter to me, you know.'
Tanek cocked his head
'Your wounds. I don't care where you got them. I just wanted you to know that.' She was playing with her obviously fake pearl necklace. 'You don't have to tell me anything. I know what it's like,
He didn't. Tanek pulled away sharply.
'I'm… I'm sorry.' Cynthia looked like she was about to cry. 'It's just that, like I said, I haven't had much company these past few years. Only William. But, well, you know, a woman has certain needs that
Tanek looked again at the man with grey hair in the photo.
'Others have come, but they've never stayed. Then, when we came across you while we were out walking…'
'I need clothes,' he snapped suddenly. 'And your car.'
'You're not going?' It was phrased like a question, but it was also a statement. 'You're not well yet.'
Tanek was well enough. Better than he had been when he'd staggered away from the castle… how long ago? Days? Surely not weeks? He got up, letting the covers drop and not caring about Cynthia seeing his body. It must have been her who'd undressed him, anyway. But she seemed coy again, as if she hadn't just been suggesting he stay for more than his health.
Ignoring Cynthia, he checked the wardrobe first — finding a mixture of men's and women's clothes. The trousers, shirt and jumper obviously belonged to the man in the picture; large enough to fit him, but tight where Tanek was broader across the chest, shoulders and legs.
'Please,' said Cynthia as he was getting dressed, 'stay with me. I've looked after you, haven't I?'
Tanek grunted, tugging on a pair of shoes he'd found in the bottom of the wardrobe. He made his way over to the door, once again disregarding Cynthia's pleas. Then she grabbed him by the arm. That was it, he'd had enough. The woman should have known when to leave well enough alone. Tanek took hold of Cynthia by the shoulders and pushed her up against the wall.
It was then that he heard the growling.
Tanek turned to see the door had been nosed open by a large Doberman pinscher.
'William,' he said.
Cynthia nodded. 'I had hoped you might be different, William really liked you. I hoped you'd join us here, stay and be our guest for much longer. But, well, as you insist on being so rude.'
Tanek never saw the command if there was one, but the dog leaped straight for him, teeth bared. His reactions were dulled from being flat on his back for so long, but the sight of that mutt coming for him soon sharpened them. Tanek let go of Cynthia, whirled around, and punched the dog in the side of the head. It fell across the bed.
Little wonder no one had stayed for very long when this was Cynthia's protector. Leaving the woman, Tanek ran across to the bedroom door, slipping through and slamming it shut just as the hound had recovered sufficiently to leap again. He held onto the door handle for a few moments, grimacing at the snarling and clawing on the other side, and taking in what was around him: a small landing, a steep staircase that led to the front door.
Tanek let go of the handle and pelted down the stairs, almost tripping on the final few. He scrambled to open the front door, only to find it locked. Meanwhile, Cynthia had flung open the bedroom door and was ordering William to attack. Bracing himself, Tanek rammed the door, causing it to loosen at its hinges. There was a growling from behind, very close behind, and he slammed into the door again — this time knocking it flat.
Ahead of him, parked next to the cottage, was the Morris car Cynthia had mentioned. Tanek lumbered towards it, aware the dog was only seconds behind. The car was locked as well, so he elbowed in a window, pulled up the knob and climbed into the driver's seat, barely fitting.
William jumped at the side of the car, desperate to climb inside and bite Tanek. He leaned over just enough to stay out of the reach of those vicious teeth, as he broke open the ignition housing and hot-wired the engine. Shoving the gear stick into first, Tanek drove off, and William lost his grip. Through the rear-view mirror he saw the dog chasing after him, Cynthia at the front door watching the pursuit. Tanek sped up and pretty soon he'd left the woman, the animal, and the cottage behind.
With no real strategy in mind, except to get out of the region because he knew Hood's men might be searching for him, Tanek headed east. There was nothing for him on this island anymore and his best bet was to retrace his steps, head back over to Europe. Maybe even head back towards Turkey.
The Morris had an almost full tank of petrol — Tanek doubted whether Cynthia had driven more than a few miles since the time of The Cull — and it was enough to get him to the coast. In a small seaside village, Tanek appropriated a sailing boat and made his way back across the ocean. It wasn't as easy as their bike ride through the Channel Tunnel, but he'd finally made it to the Netherlands.
On nights when he'd let the boat drift and slept down below, Tanek had been surprised to find himself dreaming. He hadn't been able to remember his dreams before. Now they were so vivid, always set in the burning forest and always featuring De Falaise. Somehow he knew, without it having to be explained, that the link his leader shared with The Hooded Man now extended to him. In each dream Tanek had got closer and closer to the man, and in one a stag had trotted up beside De Falaise, seemingly oblivious to the flames licking around it. The Frenchman had pointed to the animal.
'I do not understand,' Tanek had told him.
The flames turned to snow, falling on cold, bare branches. De Falaise looked at him with those black, empty eye sockets. 'Help me,' he mouthed again.
'How?'
The dreams always ended at that point, leaving him none the wiser. That is until a few months ago. He'd been sleeping rough on the streets of Warsaw when he'd had his most vivid dream yet. This time it all fell into place: what De Falaise was telling him to do, where he was telling him to go. The stag, the snow… He wanted Tanek to avenge him, kill The Hooded Man — something that had crossed the big man's mind on more than one occasion, but he'd had no idea how to go about it. Now he knew. The trail was taking him to a person they'd often talked about — someone De Falaise had both hated and admired, because he'd succeeded where the Frenchman had failed.
It was how he'd ended up fighting in The Tsar's arena, then sitting in his hotel room. His fighting skills, built up slowly again after suffering his injuries, had impressed. And his statement about having a proposition had intrigued Russia's new monarch.
'So, what is it that brings you to our country?' The Tsar asked eventually, pouring a measure of vodka for himself and another for his guest.
'You obviously know what happened in Nottingham,' Tanek said to him, at the same time accepting the drink with a nod.
'I've always kept my ear to the ground.'
'Then you know the threat Hood poses.'
The Tsar started laughing, almost choking on his alcohol. 'Threat?
