'I know how weak you must be, but it will take only the slightest of pressure – the mechanism is spring- loaded. Do it, Javier,' ordered De Falaise. 'Do it and prove that you are one of us again.'
Javier saw the bodies in his mind's eye, saw flames this time accompanying them. Saw Tate, heard his words about damnation. 'God will punish you for all you have done wrong. Repent, repent!' He felt the throbbing in his ruined ear.
His hands shook, causing the blades to scrape against the sides of Mark's finger.
'Do it!' De Falaise screamed. 'Do it or I will blow your brains out all over the wall.' The Sheriff had snatched Tanek's pistol and was aiming at Javier. This was no bluff. He would shoot if Javier defied him.
Clenching his teeth, Javier snapped the blades together. The little finger fell to the ground. If Mark had howled before, then that had been nothing compared to what he did now. Bucking in the chair, his head rocked backwards, the intense pain causing him finally to black out.
Javier dropped the cutters. He took a step back.
De Falaise clapped, then began to laugh. Tanek came over and stemmed the bleeding. They didn't want Mark to die quite yet.
'Good work, my dear Javier. You overcame your fears. He was only a boy when all was said and done.'
No, not just a boy – a man today. ('Your friends have caused me much pain, little man.') More man than you'll ever be… My…My God, what have we… what have I done?
It was then that he was asked the question again, now by De Falaise. 'So, how does it feel to be back in favour once more, Major?'
Javier stared at De Falaise. If he was honest, he felt damned. More damned than he ever had before.
'He'll come for me,' Mark had said. 'And then you'll be sorry…'
Right now Javier didn't fear De Falaise with all his men and firepower, didn't fear God with all of His angels and the ability to cast Javier down into the pits of Hell.
He feared The Hooded Man.
And what would happen when he finally did reach the castle…
CHAPTER TWENTY
The training continued on into the next day, though by noon Robert and his men had things on their mind other than the battle to come.
One of the lookouts reported that a uniformed man on a motorbike had skimmed the border of the forest at about 11.30, acting strangely. The rider kept making passes at the perimeter but never actually came in. He then took his rifle and fired into the air. The lookout almost fired back, but then saw him sling off a backpack and toss it into the forest, riding in the other direction as fast as he could. The lookout assumed it must be explosives of some kind and raised the alarm.
Robert was called and, along with Jack, came to investigate. They got close, but not close enough to get caught in a blast if there was one. Both men recognised the backpack, and knew who it belonged to.
'Doesn't mean it isn't going to blow,' Jack reminded him. 'Haven't you ever seen those spy films with the briefcases?'
Robert gave a shake of the head. 'It's not a bomb.' He began walking towards it.
'For Pete's sake be careful,' Jack called after him.
He watched as Robert paused by the backpack, then as he toed it with his foot. 'There's something inside,' Robert reported back. 'Square but remarkably light. Doesn't feel heavy enough to be an explosive device.'
Robert opened up the bag, taking out the cardboard box inside.
'Don't you go opening it, now, Robbie,' warned the big man. 'I don't want to be scraping you off the trees.'
Robert ignored him, pulling open the lid. He gazed at the object inside, then blinked once, twice, as if making sure what he was seeing was correct.
'What is it?' Jack shouted, curiosity now getting the better of him. When Robert didn't reply, he came over – but soon wished that he hadn't. Inside the box was a severed finger packed in cotton wool. The stump end was caked in dried blood, and the whole thing had a rubbery quality to it, like one of those joke fingers people once bought to scare their friends. But this was real; it smelt bad, like it had been detached for a while. Jack honestly thought he was going to throw up. It's Se7en all over again, his mind kept saying, but he shouted it down – this was no time for stupid movie references.
There was a note next to the finger. It read: See you soon. D.F.
'The sick… You don't think that's really-'
'It's his,' Robert stated.
'So they know about Mark. That poor kid. Holy shit, Robbie! How do we fight people like that?'
Robert rubbed his forehead, and for a moment Jack thought he was going to run off and punch a tree, or do something to vent the feelings that were building up inside him. Instead, he put the lid back on the box, replaced it inside the pack, and began to walk off into the forest. Jack didn't question this, didn't ask if he was okay – Hell, he wasn't okay and he hadn't known the kid half as long as Robert.
Your biggest fan, eh, Hammer? Went to your matches… Now he's at the castle and they're cutting bits off him. Jack shook his head as he followed Robert. He just couldn't believe anyone could do that to a child, just to send a message.
Not a message: A warning.
It was designed to put Robert and his men on the back foot, to make them think twice about trying anything stupid. Now the more Jack considered the plan, the more unwise it seemed. He had come up against some vicious opponents in the ring, some of them bigger and stronger than him – hard as that was to imagine – but even the mightiest crumbled if they showed even a hint of self-doubt. If, psychologically, you could trick them into thinking you were playing for keeps, they'd slip up somewhere down the line. That's what De Falaise was hoping with Robert, that he'd think twice. That he'd realise the Frenchman was playing for keeps.
When they arrived back at the camp, Robert wouldn't – couldn't – answer any of their questions. He left Jack to handle all that and retreated into his tent. Jack thought it best to just let people see for themselves.
Tate crossed himself and Bill swore. If De Falaise had been around right then, Jack knew Bill would have blown his head clean off with that shotgun he carried around. Granger wasn't surprised at all by the sight.
'He's even more twisted now than when I was at the castle,' was his reply. 'We should think about moving the camp – the kid may have told the Frenchman where to find us.'
'No,' Jack said with confidence. 'He wouldn't have done that, no matter what. Besides, they'd be mad to come in here and risk being picked off. Not when they're banking on Robbie coming directly to them.'
'Should someone go and see how Robert is?' Tate asked.
'Best to just let him gather his thoughts, I reckon,' Jack told him. 'Unless… has anyone seen Mary around today?' She'd be the only one who might be able to comfort him right now. Jack had noticed the way they'd been together lately, the body language. They seemed closer to each other than anyone else in camp, that was for sure.
'She was training with a bow and arrow last time I saw her,' offered Granger. 'But that was last night sometime.'
'Fair enough,' said Jack.
'I still can't get over that poor mite back at the castle,' lamented Tate, who'd been left holding Mark's bag.
'The best thing you can do is pray for him, just like you've been doing for that gal the Sheriff took.' Jack straightened his cap. 'And the best thing we can do is prepare for what's to come. You all know what you have to do.'
They did, and they got on with it – more so now because of what they'd seen, throwing themselves into training to take their mind off it. Jack got on with the task of teaching some of the men wrestling moves.
But all the time his mind kept flashing back to that box, to the finger – and he couldn't help wondering how Robert was.
