Ballots, Blasts & Betrayal, page 14
‘I don’t know my dad’s movements,’ Clare said, slightly irritated.
‘Gisborne better hurry up if he is,’ John said, as someone switched on a microphone up on stage and sent a squeal of feedback through the hall’s PA system. ‘Looks like we barely made it in time.’
At the front of the room, TV reporters touched up their hair and bright rectangular lights lit their faces as every channel covering the election switched to the live coverage.
The line between Gisborne and Hood supporters broke down as people surged towards the stage. Alongside the little platform, Ken Stalin was buttoning his jacket while a young woman brushed lint off his back.
Ken looked drained as he walked up to the microphone. John found himself holding Clare’s hand, close enough to the stage to overhear one of the live TV broadcasts.
‘This is Oluchi Chanara, live at Locksley town hall. Despite multiple allegations of fraud and vote-rigging by both sides, we are now expecting to hear the result in a sheriff’s election that the polls said was too close to call.’
Shouts and jeers from the crowd tailed off as Ken Stalin cleared his throat and began to speak. ‘I, Kenneth Derrick Stalin, duly appointed returning officer, hereby declare the result in the election for the office of Sheriff of Nottingham and Warden of Sherwood Forest. The votes were cast as follows:
‘Guy Montague Sebastian Gisborne, People’s Party candidate, four hundred and eighty-one thousand, seven hundred and sixty-two votes.’
‘Beat that!’ a Gisborne supporter shouted, as the rest of them cheered and clapped.
John squeezed Clare’s hand tight and held his breath as the room quietened down enough for Ken to resume speaking.
‘Ardagh Capulet Hood, independent candidate. Five hundred and—’
Ardagh’s supporters erupted as soon as they heard the first number.
‘Dad did it!’ John screamed, letting Clare go as he rushed towards his dad, sending a photographer flying. ‘You bloody did it.’
When the noise died off, Ken finally read the rest of the number. ‘Five hundred and one thousand, two hundred and eighty-two votes. I hereby declare that Ardagh Capulet Hood is the duly elected Sheriff of Nottingham and Warden of Sherwood Forest.’
‘You’re a dead man, Stalin!’ a burly Gisborne supporter roared as Ken backed away from the lectern. ‘Your family too.’
Another Gisborne supporter threw a plastic chair into the crowd of reporters. As Ken backed up, an egg splattered on the back of his jacket.
Across the room there were wild chants of ‘Ardagh, Ardagh,’ as Little John lifted his father onto his shoulders, almost bashing his head on the low ceiling. As a line of rebels and bikers stepped in to protect Ken Stalin from threats and missiles, TV reporter Oluchi Chanara pushed towards Ardagh, pursued by her camera operator.
‘I’m live with Channel 9’s election night coverage,’ Oluchi said as she reached way up to put her microphone in front of Ardagh. ‘How does it feel to be the new Sheriff of Nottingham?’
‘Fantastic, fantastic!’ Ardagh said, swaying on his son’s shoulders as a happy tear dripped off his cheek. ‘Nobody thought we could do this. This job is not going to be easy, but the one thing I promise everyone who voted for me is that I’ll be in the sheriff’s office every day, working hard to make people’s lives better.’
Oluchi nodded and a deafening cheer erupted. By the time it subsided, she’d thought of a tougher question.
‘Sheriff Hood, around eight hundred thousand adults were eligible to vote in this election. But it seems that you and Guy Gisborne polled almost one million votes. Does that not cast a shadow over this result?’
‘I led a clean campaign and am confident that this result will stand,’ Ardagh said, wobbling as John tripped. ‘If my opponent wishes to dispute the result, he has forty-eight hours in which to lodge a complaint with the Electoral Conduct Authority.’
Oluchi turned towards her camera operator as John put his father down. ‘Extraordinary scenes here at Locksley town hall,’ she said, speaking to camera. ‘Ardagh Hood is celebrating an astonishing underdog victory. But with so many allegations of corruption, you have to wonder if this result will stand. Now I’ll hand you back to Lynn Hoapili to get the reaction from our pundits in the Capital City studio.’
37. ONE NIGHT AT THE MARQUEE
23:50
The Marquee had been a legendary local music venue – the kind of place where massive bands played to twenty people before they got famous. Now it was a graffitied shell with a caved-in roof, not much different to a thousand other places that had gone under when Locksley’s economy tanked.
Marion and Robin took standard precautions as they arrived: shutting off the bike engine, walking the last half-kilometre and checking the dilapidated building from all sides.
Agnes cut a sad, lonely figure, sitting on the hood of a battered beige estate car. A sawn-off shotgun hung from her belt, but that was a standard precaution for a woman on the edge of Sherwood Forest at midnight.
‘Stay back and cover me,’ Marion whispered.
Robin had been betrayed by Agnes before, so was glad that Marion had chosen to be cautious.
‘We should have waited till tomorrow, in daylight,’ Robin said as he remembered his dad’s advice from earlier: put more thought into things instead of blindly following others.
‘I’d have preferred it if Grant and Lyla were still with us,’ Marion said. ‘But we’re here now.’
‘We could still back out,’ Robin whispered. ‘Call Agnes. Say we couldn’t get here because of the riots.’
But Holly made the decision for them with a sudden squeal. Marion hurried to lift Holly out of the crib, but Agnes had heard.
‘Is that you?’ Agnes said, raising her arms and moving away from the car.
There wasn’t much light, but what Marion could see of Agnes was pitiful. Tatty old trainers, severe acne and scared-looking.
‘It’s just me,’ Marion said, stepping out of cover. ‘I’ve got Holly.’
Agnes dabbed one eye with a fingertip. Marion felt sorry for her and felt her own tears well up because, if Flash was in jail, Agnes was unlikely to stick around. Which meant she might never see her tiny niece again.
‘Maybe my family can help,’ Marion said as she rested Holly’s crib on the hood of the car. ‘Money, babysitting. Being a single mum is hard.’
‘For sure,’ Agnes said, but she didn’t sound keen.
Robin was still in the bushes when he heard shuffling behind him. He swung around with his bow, but before he could fire something hit him in the arse. It stung horribly and his thoughts seemed to freeze.
Marion didn’t hear the ambush, but she did see one of Robin’s arrows launching horizontally into the canopy of trees. When she looked back, Agnes had the shotgun pointing in her face.
‘You,’ Marion growled as she ducked and butted Agnes in the stomach.
Agnes stumbled back and hit the dirt. Marion grabbed the crib with Holly inside and ducked around the back of the car. Agnes didn’t stay down for long, and took aim with the shotgun.
‘I’ve got your baby,’ Marion blurted, unholstering the pistol Lyla had given her.
‘What do I look like?’ Agnes said, as she fired her shotgun over the car, endangering her own kid with a shower of lead pellets. ‘You think I want that pooping scream-box hanging off my tit? What I want is a million for Robin Hood and two hundred grand for you and your wonky legs.’
Marion saw a shadowy figure stand up near to where Robin had been. She checked her surroundings as Agnes slowly walked around the car towards her. Marion saw that she only needed to back up a short distance to get cover behind the Marquee’s decaying roadside billboard.
‘Calm down, sweetie,’ Marion told Holly as the tiny girl screamed her head off.
While Agnes moved away from the car, trying to get a clear shot, Marion held the crib in one hand, then stood up and shot wildly over the top of the car. First towards Agnes, then at the shadowy figure striding out of the bushes. She had no chance of hitting anything with wild one-handed shots, but it was enough to make them take cover.
Marion scrambled around the side of the sign. After a couple of seconds squatting behind it, she took a peek. Agnes and her pal didn’t seem keen to go after Marion, so she decided the best thing to do was to get as far from the scene as possible, then figure out what to do next.
While Marion sprinted away with Holly, the man stepped out of cover. He wore a big smile as he carried Robin by the elastic waistband of his borrowed jogging pants, unconscious and with a tranquiliser dart sticking out of his butt.
‘What’s the old saying?’ Guy Gisborne asked Agnes as he dropped Robin face down in the dirt. ‘If you want a job done properly, do it yourself!’
As Agnes looked around to see where Marion had gone, Gisborne put two fingers in his mouth and whistled.
‘Forget her,’ Gisborne said. ‘You’re a rich lady now. The bounty on Marion Maid is chump change.’
‘I know Marion,’ Agnes said warily. ‘Don’t underestimate her.’
As Agnes glanced around, two tough guys came running in, drawn by their boss’s whistle.
‘Keep an eye out for Marion,’ Gisborne warned them. ‘We need to clear out of here and—’
‘I’ll head off,’ Agnes said, pointing a thumb at the car. ‘No point sticking around longer than I have to.’
‘You can keep the car,’ Gisborne told her as he stepped closer and offered his hand for Agnes to shake. ‘Did you count the money in the trunk?’
Agnes laughed. ‘Counting a million might take a while, but what I saw of it looked real enough.’
‘Pleasure doing business,’ Gisborne said, looking back to make sure Robin was still unconscious. He smiled and shook Agnes’ hand, then after letting go he palmed a tiny tranquiliser gun from his trouser pocket and shot her twice. Once in the stomach, then in the neck as she hit the ground.
Gisborne looked at his two sidekicks. ‘Mike, get the two suitcases of money from the trunk, then we’ll take my car back into town. Zig, gag and cuff Agnes and drive her to Chief Constable Saetang’s house in Queen’s View.’
‘Agnes tipped you off.’ Mike laughed. ‘That’s harsh, boss.’
‘Agnes is lucky I’m letting her live.’ Gisborne wiped his muddy shoe across Agnes’ chest. ‘She did at least three robberies on my turf without cutting me in.’
Zig nodded. ‘Am I taking Robin too?’
‘No chance,’ Gisborne said, scowling at Zig like that was the dumbest idea he’d ever heard. ‘I’ll be having some fun with that little brat before he dies.’
38. TONGUE-TEARERS
00:04
Marion ran away through the Marquee’s parking lot, diving for cover when Mike and Zig ran in front of her.
When she reached the Marquee’s overflow parking lot on the opposite side of the road, she recognised the customised Mercedes G-Wagon that Gisborne liked to call Black Bess II, parked among waist-high weeds.
‘Oh no,’ she gasped, as she realised who had just grabbed her best friend.
Marion put Holly’s crib down and glanced to make sure nobody else was around. As she approached the boxy Mercedes, she pulled out the hunting knife she always carried in her front pocket and used it to stab both tyres on the driver’s side.
She briefly considered an ambush when Gisborne and his men got back to the car. But while Robin might have been able to take out Gisborne, Agnes and two goons with his bow, Marion was sure she’d be outgunned with the pistol that Lyla had given her.
At least slashing the tyres would slow Gisborne’s escape. Her next step was to let Rebel Control know what had happened. Even when the cops weren’t switching the phone network on and off, it was tricky to get a mobile signal out here, so Marion went straight for the walkie-talkie clipped to her belt.
Except it wasn’t clipped to her belt.
As Marion frantically patted her pockets, she remembered that they’d hidden her radio in Ken Stalin’s suit trousers earlier in the day. And in all the chaos, she’d never asked for it back.
She felt sick with fear as she picked up Holly’s crib and started to walk fast, not running because she didn’t want to make a noise. She was pleased to get back to the two dirt bikes, but approached slowly, fearing that Gisborne had more people waiting for her.
It was a desperate situation, but Marion still took time to check and double-check the Velcro straps as she attached Holly’s crib to the front of the bike. The five-week-old must have somehow sensed Marion’s fear, because she seemed startled and oddly still.
‘You’re a good girl,’ Marion said soothingly, straddling her bike. ‘Nice and quiet.’
Marion had her thumb over the bike’s starter button as she heard a car start, but she had a decision to make before setting off.
Do I ride to the castle, or into town?
Normally I’d ride to the castle. But Azeem, Will and all the important rebels are at Locksley town hall. And Gisborne’s based in Locksley, so if I head into town I’ll likely be closer to wherever he’s taking Robin.
She hit 140 kph as she reached the elevated highway that ran into central Locksley. Her hair was going wild with no helmet and Holly was getting buffeted and started crying, but her priority was saving Robin. Every second mattered.
Even at high speed and with the constant fear of being wiped out by one of the highway’s large potholes, Marion sensed that the city was calmer. Orange blazes had turned to smoky wisps, and the streets that ran below the highway were eerily empty.
Three kilometres from Locksley town hall, she decided to pull over and call Rebel Control. But the moment coincided with passing a cop car, parked on the hard shoulder.
As it turned out, the two officers had no interest in chasing a speeding dirt bike, but by the time Marion knew that, the overhead gantry signs were showing the turn-off for Central Square.
She felt scared and vulnerable as she slowed down: a forest kid who’d never navigated city streets alone. When she saw a sign Town Hall Parking, she turned left down a narrow alleyway, almost running over a frail homeless man pushing his belongings in a shopping trolley.
‘Sorry!’ she blurted, but kept riding.
At the bottom of the alleyway there were people in the street. Mostly student types, happily chanting ‘Ardagh Hood’. Marion realised that Ardagh must have won, but she couldn’t enjoy the victory while Robin was in danger.
The alleyway opened out into a wider street. A bunch of giant trash containers smouldered from an earlier fire. Marion felt sure she was behind Locksley town hall, but she couldn’t see a way inside.
Just as Marion had convinced herself to turn the bike around, she spotted a ramp with a temporary sign at the top:
BALLOT BOX DELIVERIES: BAYS 4–6
CAR PARKING FOR ELECTION OFFICIALS ONLY
Marion flew down the ramp. At the bottom, she was surprised to see an enormous, armoured limousine parked. She feared the bike would get trashed or stolen, but she had no choice but to abandon it. She grabbed Holly’s crib, then ran to a fire door that was jammed open and stepped into the back of the count room.
The rowdy crowd had dispersed after the result. The floor was covered in litter. Two caretakers were stacking the counting tables and the media was folding camera tripods and winding lengths of cable.
‘Where is everyone?’ Marion gasped as she spun around, hoping to spot a familiar face.
It seemed that Ardagh and his rebel security team were long gone. Marion recognised Oluchi Chanara, a journalist she’d met while liberating a group of hostage workers at a sneaker factory a year earlier, but what use would she be?
Marion was a wanted fugitive. Since an unaccompanied thirteen-year-old holding a baby in a crib at one in the morning was likely to draw attention, she leaned against a wall and hid her face as she pulled out her phone.
She was pleased to see a couple of signal bars, and decided to try the number for Rebel Control first. But as she scrolled through her contacts, a looming giant came at her from behind.
‘Marion?’ Little John said, making her jump. ‘Why are you here? You’ll get busted!’
‘Gisborne’s got Robin,’ Marion blurted desperately. ‘Is anyone still here? Azeem? Ísbjörg? Any of the Scarlocks?’
‘Gisborne’s people might cause trouble, so everyone split after the result. I’m just waiting for my driver to come out of the toilet.’
‘Dammit,’ Marion gasped, just as John’s brain processed what she’d said.
‘What do you mean, Gisborne’s got Robin?’
‘We were in the forest. Agnes McIntyre betrayed us. Robin got taken out with a tranquiliser dart. Probably by Gisborne himself.’
‘You definitely saw Gisborne?’
‘No, but I saw Black Bess II.’
‘Who saw my dad’s car?’ Clare Gisborne asked as she walked up, shaking her wet hands and complaining, ‘Not one paper towel in that bathroom.’
Marion held her hand over her gun, suddenly unsure whose side John was on.
‘Your dad’s got Robin,’ John explained for Clare’s benefit.
‘That explains why he didn’t show up here for the result,’ Clare said, then she noticed Holly. ‘Is that your baby?’
‘I’m thirteen.’ Marion tutted. ‘Of course it’s not.’
‘We have to find Robin before your dad kills him,’ John said, then looked at Clare. ‘Where would your dad take him?’
‘I slowed them down,’ Marion interrupted. ‘Slashed two of Black Bess’s tyres.’
‘Time might be on your side,’ Clare said thoughtfully. ‘My dad’s a sadist who gets off on hurting people. He’s been after Robin for months, so he won’t just kill him. He’ll whip and torment him for hours. Maybe even days.’
‘Where would Gisborne take him?’ John asked. ‘Like, is there a torture chamber in your garden or something?’
‘Dad’s got places all over town, but my best guess would be Wally’s Steakhouse,’ Clare said. ‘There’s a private bar above the restaurant where my dad and his top cronies hang out playing darts. Often till three or four in the morning.
