Free Hooded Man by Paul Kane Page B

that. In the years to come everyone will know it. Cooperate and things will go smoothly for you. Oppose him, and they will not.”
    “What does this De Falaise want with us?” Clive asked.
    “Your fealty, your tribute,” came the answer. “You have stocks here of food?”
    “They are for trading, for feeding my people.”
    Javier wagged a finger. “Except they’re not your people anymore, are they? Were you not listening, Señor Maitland?” He waved a hand around to indicate the community of Hope. “They belong to De Falaise: just as this village is now under his ‘protection.’”
    So this was what would fill the void. He’d been expecting something one day, but not this. Not a return to the old days that history warned them all about. “He’s like a monarch, then,” observed Clive. “Or would he prefer Sheriff?”
    Javier thought about this for a second. “Sheriff? Yes, I think he would like the sound of that title very much. We will take most of what you have to feed our troops.” He rubbed his inflated stomach. “Like me, they are all growing boys.”
    Clive stepped forward. “But how are we expected to eat? There are children here.”
    Javier paused before answering. “That is not my concern. But if you keep this up, we might well be tempted to take a few... other things back with us as well.” He leered over Clive’s shoulder at Gwen. “She’s yours, yes?”
    “She doesn’t belong to anybody!” snapped Clive.
    “What did I just say? You all belong to De Falaise. And I think he would be more than happy if I brought her back for him.” Javier pushed Clive aside and made for Gwen. Darryl looked like he was going to do something, but the raised pistol dissuaded him. Clive knew that Gwen no longer carried the knife she’d once used to protect herself. If only he’d left her at the bus stop, she might have been safe. Or she might be dead already, he told himself. At least this way they had a fighting chance.
    “Wait... wait,” said Clive, following Javier. “Look, take the food – you’re welcome to it. We’ll manage somehow.” There were a few gasps from the villagers, but he knew they’d understand. This was one of their own at risk, and any of the women could be next.
    Javier turned. “I don’t need your permission. And the more I think about it, the more De Falaise will be pleased if I bring back such an elegant lady.” He stepped forward, reaching out to touch Gwen’s cheek. Her face soured, then she bit the hand he was proffering.
    “Ahwww!” screamed Javier, sticking it under his arm. “You’ll regret that!” He struck her across the face with the pistol, sending her reeling back.
    “Gwen!” shouted Clive and dove at the fat man. He didn’t want to join the rest of the survivors in their grieving, couldn’t bear to lose the only person he’d ever truly loved – not now, not like this. But sensing the imminent attack, Javier spun and fired a single bullet. It hit Clive in the ribs, tearing into him and out the other side. He dropped to his knees, glasses falling from his head. Clive clutched his side, bringing one hand up and seeing the blood there – his blood, spilling out of him like juice from a punctured carton. The people of Hope gaped, horrified. Gwen lay on the floor, blood and tears pouring down her face.
    “I have to ask myself, is it brains?” said Javier as he approached Clive. “Is that why they follow you? Is that why she looks at you that way?”
    Clive didn’t know how to answer.
    “I think it is.” Javier leaned over him and snatched the glasses from his head. “You want to see them, Señor Maitland? Want to see those brains?”
    “No!” shouted a voice. Someone, a blur to Clive, was moving towards them. It was too big and bulky to be Gwen, that was for sure. He squinted and saw the outline of Reverend Tate there. “In God’s name, no!” He brought down his walking stick hard across Javier’s shoulder blades. The Major let out another