buried in his leg, but he didn't seem in any rush to take it out. Beyond him she saw buildings going by. He took a right at speed, almost causing the truck to tip over. It was all Mary could do to keep quiet.
Good, said David. He still thinks you're out of it, so there's no reason for him to question otherwise, is there? He also thinks you're unarmed. Oh God, Moo-Moo, however did you get yourself into this mess? Because you thought you felt something for someone you hardly even know? Because you always said to yourself even though you were hiding away that one day the perfect man would come along and you'd know it instantly?
Mentally, she told him to shut up. Mary needed to concentrate, which wasn't easy when you were pretty sure your nose was broken and your head was splitting. She waited, watching De Falaise through the slits of her barely open eyes. Waited for him to turn the wheel again, so that she could use it as a cover to flop a hand below the seat. Then, with his attention still on the road, she reached that hand up behind her, reaching under the bottom of Robert's hooded top, reaching for the Peacemaker she had tucked away there, hidden in the folds.
She wasn't expecting to still have the gun by this late stage in the game – just how stupid were the soldiers under the Frenchman's command? – but then she wasn't expecting to fight De Falaise, get knocked senseless, and get dragged along for the ride in his mad dash for freedom.
And he was mad, no mistake about that. As Mary and the others had suspected all along, this guy was a total loon, playing out his fantasies of being a dictator in a world where he thought nobody could stop him.
He was wrong.
Mary had her fingers curled around the handle of the gun, her thumb ready to cock it. She wasn't thinking about what would happen once she'd shot him, whether he'd crash the truck and kill them both, she just wanted to end this right here and right now.
'Merde!' She flinched at De Falaise's raised voice, thinking that he must have noticed what she was up to. But he had caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye in the wing mirror. Something following them. Mary could just about make out the shape of the vehicle from her angle – but it didn't look like any car or jeep or truck she'd ever come across. 'The cretin does not know when to give in. But I will show him.'
'Robert,' she whispered, too quietly to be heard.
Yes, said David. He's come for you, Moo-Moo. He's come for you. Perhaps you were right after all.
De Falaise stamped on the brakes, sending her back into her seat as the low-flying helicopter crashed into their rear.
Robert grappled with the controls. It was taking all his effort and concentration just to keep the Sioux several metres off the ground, but it had done its job – got him high enough to pinpoint where De Falaise was going, heading blindly towards the market square. Then, having little choice in the matter, he brought the damaged chopper back down to hover as near to the ground as he could. The landing gear scraped the road, causing sparks.
Knowing De Falaise's direction helped Robert to take a short cut, emerging from one street just in time to see the truck go by. He was then in full pursuit.
Robert kept just a little way back, trying to hide behind the vehicle and hoping that the Sheriff wouldn't see him. But it had to happen eventually, and so Robert found himself having to pull on the collective control quickly, as the truck braked, slamming into the front of the helicopter. Then it rose, groaning in protest, but just about made it above the height of the truck, settling down on top of it as it accelerated again.
The truck wove this way and that, trying to shake the chopper. Robert fought to keep her level with the vehicle below him. They were driving down a road heading along the tram tracks when De Falaise pulled his braking stunt again.
This time, the helicopter shot forward and over the front of the truck, and suddenly both vehicles clipped the side of a building. They crashed through overgrown foliage onto what had once been the fountain of the square. Robert attempted to disentangle the chopper, but that only made matters worse, and soon they were heading towards the Council building.
Grabbing his bow, Robert opened the door of the chopper. He was just about to jump clear when he remembered something else he'd brought with him, and leaned across quickly to retrieve it. He dove out just as the truck rammed into one of the once majestic stone lions, a match for those back at the castle. Whether De Falaise had been deliberately trying to crush the chopper was unclear, but Robert hit the concrete and rolled, feeling something pop in his shoulder as he did so.
From his position on the floor, Robert raised his head and looked up at the mess of twisted metal. The truck and the helicopter were fused together like a piece of modern art. A river of diesel ran all the way across the market square like a slug's slime trail. And it was spreading into a lake…
'Mary…' groaned Robert. He had to get her out of the truck.
Hauling himself to his feet, he slipped the broadsword he'd grabbed into his belt, and staggered across to the wreck. He'd only got a few feet when two figures came into view around the side. It was the Sheriff and Mary, the former holding his sabre to her throat again, the latter still out of it.
Robert slotted an arrow into his bow and raised it, wincing at the pain from his shoulder. The pair moved sideways like a crab, De Falaise dragging Mary away from the truck as if he still thought escape was an option. Robert moved with them, keeping his arrow on the pair, but not being given the opportunity to take a shot.
'Let her go!' ordered Robert as they hobbled away, though his voice lacked any kind of authority.
'I think not,' replied De Falaise.
'Look around you, it's over. You're done.'
'Non. It is only just beginning, mon ami. We are-' De Falaise's face crinkled up, then he let out a piercing cry.
Robert glanced down and saw Mary's hand, twisting the knife still embedded in the Frenchman's leg. She'd only been pretending to be unconscious, and was now fully awake, intent on causing De Falaise the maximum amount of torment.
He threw her roughly to the side and she hit the ground, rolling over twice. It was as she came to a stop that Robert saw what she had in her hand. Her Peacekeeper, trained on the Sheriff.
'Mary, no…!' But she didn't hear him in time. Mary fired at the Frenchman, missing him, but hitting the truck some way behind them, igniting the leaking fuel tank.
De Falaise looked behind him, looked down at the trail of diesel, and began to limp quickly away. Robert ran for Mary, but the resultant blast as the truck and helicopter exploded knocked him off his feet – pitching him backwards into the middle of the square. A streak of heat whooshed between the two enemies as the diesel caught fire, then fanned outwards.
Robert slipped in and out of consciousness. He was back in the dreamworld suddenly, back at the lake of fire – then he was here, at the market square. There seemed little difference. The Sheriff came at him, but he couldn't tell whether it was real or an illusion. The man appeared out of the flames, burnt, his clothes smouldering, but he wasn't stopping.
It was only when his sabre descended that Robert realised this was no dream. He rolled over and the blade connected with the concrete, clinking loudly. Robert struggled with his own sword, but couldn't disentangle it from his belt at this angle.
De Falaise struck again. 'I will kill you,' he said, his face wild.
Robert kicked out, knocking his attacker backwards and reversing the descent of the sabre. While De Falaise wobbled back, Robert clambered to his feet, and finally pulled the broadsword from his belt. When the Sheriff attacked this time, metal clashed against metal. The strokes were clumsy – only to be expected from such inexperienced swordsmen – but any one could have ended the fight, skewering through flesh.
Neither man had the strength to really fight anymore, so in that respect they were evenly matched. After several slashes at each other with the swords, they grabbed one another's wrists at the same time. Robert squeezed as hard as he could, forcing De Falaise to let go of his sabre, while his opposite number followed suit, wrenching Robert's arm forward and aggravating his shoulder. Robert let go of the broadsword and it landed with a clatter.
They locked eyes, set against a backdrop of flames. It was clear that they recognised this scene, and knew what came next. Letting go of wrists, they went for each other's throats. Both men found reserves of energy, just enough to try and choke the life out of each other. Robert had a slight edge, and could feel De Falaise's grip on him weakening.
Too late, he remembered the dream – and what the Frenchman had done in it. Robert let go of De Falaise's
