The Doomsday Code

CHAPTER 62

1194, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire

Liam eyed them cautiously as he stepped through the camp. There were expressions of hostility. Someone picked up and threw a handful of horse dung at him. It broke up in mid-air and rained down his chest as Liam covered his face behind bound hands in case there was any more coming his way.

Behind him, the tall hooded figure silently prodded him forward with the tip of his sword and the crowd jeered as Liam stumbled and nearly fell. They made their way across the camp, the crowd parting reluctantly to let him through; he felt the soft tap of spittle on his shoulder and in his hair, and grimaced beneath his hands. The crowd was growing noisier.

‘Bloody French scum!’ a woman shouted and Liam felt something hard and sharp bounce off his back.

‘CEASE!’ boomed Bob from behind him.

The effect that had on the press of gathered people was instantaneous. An utter silence. So quiet, in fact, that Liam could hear the gentle crack of burning kindling and the bubble of simmering water from a cooking pot nearby.

They’ve never heard the Hood talk before.

Perhaps that was a mistake. He wondered if the silence would be broken by someone claiming the hooded form was some impostor. But instead the respectful silence remained, and the crowd parted before them … all the way towards Locke’s hut.

Liam led the way, doing his best to continue to look cowed, beaten and humiliated. With one last unnecessarily hard prod from behind that made him yelp, Liam stooped down through the low entrance and Bob followed behind.

The hut was lighter. Of course it was. Bob had casually demolished one side of the round wall.

He saw Locke standing, a gun aimed at them held in his shaking hands. ‘Stay where you are!’ he snapped. He glanced at Bob. ‘Where is it? What have you done with my combat unit?’

Bob pulled the hood down. No point maintaining the ruse. ‘Your combat unit has been deactivated.’

Locke’s eyes narrowed. ‘Good God … you’re a — you’re a genetic model, aren’t you?’

Bob nodded. ‘W.G. Systems combat prototype. Foetus batch WGS09-12-2056.’

‘My God!’ he uttered with a smile of admiration.

‘Lower the weapon,’ said Bob.

Locke hesitated, staring at the tip of the blade and realizing his gun wasn’t going to stop the giant standing in front of him. He slowly dropped his aim. ‘What now?’ he asked quietly.

Liam flexed his wrists and wriggled out of the loose rag binding. ‘The Grail. It’s here somewhere in the camp, isn’t it?’

Locke was silent. His face offered nothing.

‘Come on, Locke,’ said Liam. ‘We’re here for the same reason as you. We need to know what’s in it!’

‘The prophecy?’

Liam shrugged. ‘If that’s what it is. If that’s the big secret in there … then yes!’

Locke’s eyes remained on the sword.

‘Come on … Look, we’ve got the same goal, right? We can work together, so we can. There’s something coming, right? And there’s a warning about it in the Grail? Tell us where it is and maybe we can work out how to read the thing together!’

The man shook his head. ‘King Richard possesses the only way to decode the Grail.’

Liam glanced at Bob for help. But the support unit had nothing to offer at that moment. ‘We could take it back to our field office. We’ve got a powerful computer. There’s got to be a way we can use that to help us decode the thing.’

‘You have a way back!?’

‘Yes.’

‘A way back to the future?’

‘Of course! We’ve got a rendezvous — time, place and everything.’

Locke shook his head. ‘You’re lying! Apart from Waldstein, no one’s ever managed to develop a reliable return system!’

‘We have.’

‘My God,’ he whispered. ‘Good God … then you people are for real. This agency of yours …’

‘The agency is real,’ said Bob.

‘Come on, what do you say, Mr Locke?’

‘We … we need what King Richard has in his possession. We would need the grille. There is no mathematical way to decode it.’

Liam’s brow locked. ‘There must be another way. But look … it seems to me, the one thing we can’t do is allow King Richard to have both, right?’

‘Affirmative,’ said Bob.

‘History as it is says the Grail is a myth,’ continued Liam. ‘That’s how it goes. It gets lost. It becomes a myth and that’s all there is to it, no matter what secrets lie in there. It certainly doesn’t end up being found by King Richard and … and inspiring him to run off again to conquer the world on some fourth crusade or something.’

‘Information: the correct history is that King Richard attempts no more crusades. The last five years of his reign are spent attempting to re-establish royal authority in England and reclaim his lost territories in France.’

‘Right. No Grails. No more crusades. He’s all done with that.’

Locke stroked his bearded chin thoughtfully.

‘If we can work out how to decode it, we will, you and me. And if we can’t, well …’ Liam shrugged. ‘Then we make sure it stays lost. Mr Locke? What do you say to that?’

He pressed his lips together. ‘Perhaps.’

‘There is little time to delay,’ said Bob. ‘If King Richard’s forces are on the way to Nottingham — ’

‘The Grail would be safer in Nottingham Castle than out here in the woods,’ cut in Liam.

‘Affirmative.’

‘And then we can decide our next step.’

‘All right.’ Locke finally nodded. He handed the gun to Liam. ‘All right. I … I suppose, yes, I should speak to my people out there.’

‘What will you tell them?’

He looked at Bob. ‘If you wear the hood as you just did, they will believe you are the Hooded Man.’ Locke again stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘I will tell them we must offer our loyalty to John. That we should prepare to leave for Nottingham.’ He stepped towards the doorway and then turned to Liam. ‘If they return to Nottingham … you do still have the authority to pardon them all, correct?’

Liam nodded. ‘Yes. Until I hear otherwise from John, I suppose I’m still the sheriff.’

Locke smiled. ‘Thank you. They’re not outlaws. They’re not bad people … they’re just hungry, desperate.’ He ducked and stepped out of the hut.

Liam let out a breath and waited until the sound of Locke’s footsteps was lost amid the babble of voices outside. ‘Well, that went better than I thought it would.’

‘Do you trust Locke?’ asked Bob.

‘He’s after the truth; that’s all. He’s after the same thing as us. And he came back here using a one-way time machine. That’s a pretty brave thing to do. Not sure I’d have the guts to do that.’

‘But do you trust him?’

‘Yes … yes, I think I do. I think we have to. It makes sense we should work together, right?’

Bob didn’t look entirely convinced. Liam nodded at the torn remnants of Bob’s arm. ‘How is it?’

‘Gone,’ replied Bob flatly.

Liam winced. ‘Well, what I mean is, how’s what’s left of it — the upper bit?’

‘The arteries are sealed. There is no additional blood loss. I will need to dress the wound to ensure no foreign matter gets into the wound and causes secondary infections.’

‘It will regrow, right? You’re not going to be stuck as a one-armed support unit forever, are you, Bob?’

Bob shook his head. ‘It will not regrow on its own. I will need to return to a growth tube for healing.’

‘Right. Well …’ he slapped Bob affectionately on the back, ‘that’ll be first thing on the “to-do” list when we get home,’ he grimaced. ‘Poor you, it always seems you have a tough time of it, each occasion we’ve gone back.’

‘That is my role.’

‘Aye, but … Ah well, I suppose I — ’

They both heard a sudden commotion: voices calling out, the sound of horses’ hooves thudding on soft ground.

‘What’s going on?’ Liam ducked down and stuck his head outside to see Locke’s people standing around bemused and motionless, watching the retreating rear of a baggage cart bounce across the lumpy ground of the camp and rattle on to a narrow track that curved and weaved into the forest and out of sight.

Liam cursed. He stuck his head back in. ‘That slippery sod!’

‘What has happened?’

‘Locke — he’s only bleedin’ well done a runner!’