Paul Kane - Arrowhead

De Falaise's initial explorations of the castle and its grounds had taught him much about this place, all of which had earned his respect and confirmed that it was the best location he could have possibly chosen to mount his takeover.

Surprisingly, the castle had been left relatively untouched by those still alive in the City. As expected, there had been some vandalism – such as spray paint on the side of the castle and various colourful phrases inscribed on the wooden doors that opened into the main souvenir shop, as well as defacement of the busts that guarded the door. Lord Byron would definitely not have been happy that they'd turned him into a buffoon with a moustache and a red nose. And the vandals had done some damage inside, too, beginning with the shop – its contents strewn about the place: books about the castle shredded, plastic figures torn from their packaging.

Once it was ascertained that nobody was in residence, De Falaise had insisted on taking his initial tour alone. The ground floor contained the remains of a museum. Glass cabinets that housed examples of metalwork, ceramics and woodwork, had been smashed, their contents tossed aside. Security grilles over the windows in the shape of branches and leaves remained intact, but ironically useless since the doors had been breached. In one room De Falaise discovered a children's mural depicting an ark, which asked 'Can you Help Noah Find The Animals?' There were bloodstains smeared over the simplistic paintings of a horse, lion, elephant and toucan.

Similarly, the exhibition called simply 'Threads' had been ravaged, the clothes from various centuries broken out of their cabinets and tried on, then discarded as if part of some high street shop sale. Dummies were on their sides, some headless, some stamped on till they were flattened.

But it was on this level that De Falaise also found one of his favourite rooms, containing items from the history of the Sherwood Foresters Regiment. The glass cabinets here had been broken into, as well – presumably so that people could reach what they thought were working weapons inside. Upon finding they were either too old, or merely replicas, they'd left them behind. De Falaise was surprised that they'd also left the rather lethal-looking sword bayonets and knives, but then he had no way of knowing how well armed the people who'd broken in here had been. If they'd already had guns, they probably wouldn't have felt the need for such close combat weaponry.

He'd noted that the case containing the book of remembrance had also been smashed, the book itself thrown on the ground. De Falaise had stooped to pick up the tome, placing it back where it should be, when his eye caught a pair of dummies wearing full dress uniform: red jackets, white shirts, bow ties and cummerbunds. They were standing in front of a couple of silver cups, worthless now. But, if nothing else, this reflected the more civilised side of war. To the victor, the spoils, thought De Falaise absently, making a mental note to come back and check what size the uniforms were.

Parts of the wrecked cafe could be salvaged and used as a mess hall for the men – though as their numbers grew this might have to be reconsidered. In the South Hall he found the long, regal-looking stairs, the white banisters dirty and the grey steps chipped. There were torn posters for an exhibition on the upper floor, which must have still been running when the virus struck Nottingham. De Falaise gazed up at the images showing historical characters who may or may not have existed, but had become legend. The exhibition was all about the latest TV incarnation of these characters, information about each one contained on huge cardboard standees.

It took him through into the long gallery, once a place where the great masters hung: home to Pre-Raphaelites and Andy Warhols alike. The paintings that had run the length of this airy room, its creamy walls smudged with dirt, had now either been slashed or stolen. It upset De Falaise a little, not because he was any great lover of art, but because he loved the 'idea' of it. He'd always imagined himself surrounded by the finer things in life. And art was a connection to the past, to history.

Descending into the bowels of the castle, he found one of the most interesting areas – and one remarkably still intact. If there was anything he needed to know about the history of the Castle or the city, it was down here. When the castle had power, a movie theatre had played a twenty-minute film. 'Relive the excitement of battles, intrigues and power struggles' it announced on the sign, and De Falaise wished that it was still working. Of all the things on this level, De Falaise found three the most fascinating. Firstly, there was a model of the castle as it was in its prime, a natural fortress – at its highest two-hundred feet – protected by three sheer rock faces. Many of the same principles of defence still applied, and it would help him considerably when he came to position guards.

Secondly, he found skulls and bones behind glass: 'Evidence from Cemeteries'. He crouched to look at the long-dead, those who had made their mark in history – pledging to do the same. Down another flight of steps, he found the more recently deceased – or pictures of them, anyway, next to a gigantic representation of one of the lion statues from the Council House they'd fired upon. 'Meet You At The Lions' this display was called, revolving around a focal point in the city where people would get together. Metal rods held plastic squares with photographs of people and messages. Men, women, children: families that were long gone now. De Falaise stared into the faces of the dead citizens, snapshots of a frozen moment in time.

"Rather you than me, mes amis," he whispered to them.

A side exit took him back into the open air. He wouldn't stay there long, because he was desperate to check out the famous caves. Man-made, carved out of the rock, he'd had to smash some of the locks that kept out intruders – nobody had bothered before; why should they want to come down here? – and he'd made use of the industrial-strength torches they'd brought with them. Down in the western defensive wall he found a chamber that had been meant for a medieval garrison, and 'David's Dungeon' where King David II of Scotland had once been held captive. It hadn't been used for this purpose for quite some time, but De Falaise fully intended to put that right. In fact, walking up some steps and outside again, he found a pair of stocks that would also be ideal for his needs.

Down yet more steps, just off from the cafe, was another man-made structure. De Falaise navigated the sandstone stairs which took him into 'Mortimer's Hole', a lengthy tunnel named after Roger Mortimer: an Earl of March once taken captive by Edward III (who'd used the passage to enter the castle). The first thing De Falaise would do would be to secure the entrance at the bottom of the tunnel, at Brewhouse Yard, so that nobody could do the same to him. The castle was only vulnerable at points like these – leaving the iron side-gate and the arched Castle Gateway the main causes for concern. As soon as he was satisfied he knew the castle inside out, De Falaise had ordered those defensive positions fortified.

He left the balcony rail now and strolled round the property, along the East Terrace. A glance up to the rooftop revealed the barrel of a sniper rifle, ably handled by Reinhart. Men were positioned at various points along the balcony and armed guards patrolled on a constant basis in shifts. As he made his way along to the steps De Falaise looked out over the piece of overgrown grass that had once been the site of the Middle Bailey. Now that, and the small car park behind, were home to just a few of the vehicles they'd brought with them – those not out and about, that was.

De Falaise smiled. He thought about the troops already in circulation, making 'contact' with the small communities that had banded together, letting the people know that there was a new force to be reckoned with. They would not just be left alone to get on with things, but would have to bow down to him if they wanted to live. As in Nottingham, as in all of the places over here they'd ploughed through, they'd encountered little resistance. Most saw the wisdom of giving him his tribute, especially with a couple of deaths to illustrate the alternative.