“Luncheon, Scar,” he called.
Sighing, I rolled back into the hammock. John would have talked to him by now. And John were probably down there as well.
My hat were half off my head, so I twisted my hair back and pulled the hat down low over my eyes. I began hopping through the branches—I liked that part. The branches were a little rough underhand, and I gripped one, then the next, dropping through the tree and wending a path through the branches. I fancied going where lugs like John couldn’t.
With a final jump, my feet hit the ground and I crouched over them. Robin were standing right in front of me. “We need to talk, Scar.”
Much were over by the fire, stirring a pot, and John were sitting in the crook of one of the lower branches, but he didn’t look over to me.
I crossed my arms. “Talk.”
“Walk,” Rob said, pointing to the trail. I scowled.
We began walking away from the others, and I kept a fair distance from Rob. I always have. He’s just . . . he’s the type you get attached to pretty easy, and I don’t want that. I always figured staying away from him is best. He weren’t a lug like John by any stretch, but he had broad shoulders that took up most of the path, and I shrunk into some shrubbery to keep away.
“Gisbourne is the thief taker?”
I nodded.
“How bad is that for me?”
“Bad.”
“And how bad is that for you?”
“Worse.” It popped out of my mouth before I could stop it. Rob had that effect on me.
He fell silent for a while, and the dry leaves were pretty loud underfoot. I counted out paces in my head.
“Will you ever tell me how you got that scar?” he asked.
I covered it with my hand. Why did he think of that? “Not if I can help it,” I told him. “But it’s old. From a whole different life.”
He raised an eyebrow and I swallowed, knowing that were the first time I’d let on that I weren’t exactly born into thievery, or London for that matter. There were another existence before this one. I liked this one better.
He stopped, and I leaned against a tree, fixing my hands behind me so they were pinned there. I tried not to look back. He were handsome, God knows that. All soft wet-wheat hair, eyes that were gray blue like the English Channel, and a jaw that were strong enough to take a few punches. “Are you thinking of leaving because of Gisbourne?” he asked, his voice soft. He came close to me. His hand rested on the tree by my head, and he were close enough that his body were warmer than the rest of the forest.
I nodded. My pipes felt thick, like I couldn’t swallow proper.
“When you’re ready, Scarlet, you can trust me. I’m not going to force it out of you. And as far as leaving goes, you know I won’t keep you here, especially if you’re in danger. But if you stay, I’ll keep you safe as best I can.”
Our eyes met. I didn’t like to do that real often because I have funny eyes, and people both tend to remember them and tend not to be too comfortable with them. Especially during the day. See, when Rob says stuff like that, it sounds like he’s just worried about me. But I watched him swallow and I weren’t so sure. I’ve been with Rob a long time, and he’s lost people like I’ve lost people. He’s alone like I’m alone. And I may be stupid, but I think me leaving would hurt him too.
“I’m not going. Just thought about it,” I told him. “’Sides, we keep each other safe.” I said it for Robin, but I weren’t so sure. I weren’t sure if anything could keep me much safe from Gisbourne.
He sucked in a breath, holding my eyes, and his face came a little closer to mine. He were looking at my scar when he said, “Yeah, we do.” He let the breath go, rocking his body back and away. “Don’t go to the prison alone anymore, all right?”
A frown rolled over my face. “Don’t make me promise that.”
“Scar, please. Doesn’t matter who you take, just take someone with you. It’s not much to ask.”
’Course it were. I weren’t the sort to have people to go with, people looking after, and I were fair sure I didn’t want to change that none.
We turned around to go back, and his shoulder brushed against mine. He pulled away quick. I scowled.
That’s how it were between me and Rob—he’d say such things that made my chest feel like porridge instead of a heart, and just when I thought it might mean something more than me being a fool girl, he’d pull away sharp. It were just Rob’s way—he were the hero with everyone, and like Much couldn’t help but be enthralled, sometimes his hero’s ways sucked me under like a current.
But it weren’t nothing. He were the leader and I were the bandmate, and any words I heard come soft from his mouth were just my mind tricking me. Again.
When we turned the corner to the camp, I felt John’s eyes burning into us from ’cross the camp. I moved away from Rob, going to sit by Much.
“We need to talk about Gisbourne,” Rob said, sitting on the log closest to me and Much. John hopped down from the tree, coming over to the fire.
Much passed me food first, some kind of slop with barley and carrots in it and a hunk of stale bread. I pushed the bread into the bowl while he passed food around to the others.
“Rabbit stew,” Much told me. “It’s good. Mrs. Cooper told me the recipe.”
My fingers curled round the bowl. It were hot, and it smelled fair good, but the thought of Mrs. Cooper and her little ones made my stomach fill with ash ’stead of hunger.
“Scarlet, you’re the only one who’s heard of him. What do you know?” Rob asked.
I shrugged. “He’s ruthless. Cruel.” Rob’s mouth got a little thinner, and for a breath he looked so much older than his twenty-one years. “He’s got a fair sterling name as a thief taker. He’s the oldest son—doesn’t need the money. He does it for sport. Hasn’t got a family. He were set to marry a while ago, but the girl died.”
“Did he have anything to do with it?”
I looked down. “She hanged herself, so I’d reckon so.”
I felt their eyes on me.
“And he never married?”
“No.” ’Course, there were much more to the story than that, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t need to know the rest of it. “Most of the thief takers in London, they get some of the action. They’re crooks themselves, right, and say they’re thieves. Well, they get a crew together, make a few big thefts, and then the thief taker turns one of his own men in to the lords what hired him. Thief taker usually cuts his man free from the hangman’s noose, too, but he ain’t always so lucky and sometimes a thief has to die. Don’t matter none. The takers collect a bounty for the thief and keep collecting from their thefts. Fair heartless work. They still make a big profit, but the law don’t look too hard as long as they keep turning people in.”
“Cunning,” said John.
“Yeah, ’cept Gisbourne never did. He only turned them in when he had to; he prefers to send them for a sleep in the Thames with a grinning throat.”
“What does that mean?” Much asked.
“He’d slice their throat before putting them in the river,” Rob said.
Much shuddered. “I don’t know if we’re lucky or not that there’s no river. The Trent would be a bit of a walk.”
“Not,” the rest of us chorused.
Much looked into his food.
“He’s prideful to a fault. I could listen outside his window and he’d never suspect a thing because the palace is fortified. But we can’t pull the same gag twice—he’ll learn right quick.”
“And for reasons Scarlet won’t let on, I think if Gisbourne finds her, he’ll kill her,” Rob told them.
“He won’t know me,” I promised. ’Cept the eyes.
“Regardless, we all keep him away from Scar, all right?” Rob asked.
Much nodded, and I were surprised that even John nodded without hesitation.
“He won’t know me,” I said again.
“Yeah, but you’re the only one who’s an hones
t-to-God thief by trade, Scar. Know him or not, I reckon we should keep you away from the thief taker,” Much told me.
“You lot steal just as much as I do.”
Rob smiled. “You taught us how.”
My eyes went to Much’s arm, where it were missing a hand. I didn’t teach Much soon enough, and the sheriff had cut off his hand when he’d tried to steal food for his family. That were before I met him, but it still didn’t sit easy.
“Freddy got to m’dad’s okay, right?” Much asked through a mouthful of food. I looked down at my bowl. I ought to at least eat a bite. I took a piece of the broth-soaked bread.
“Just fine. He’s a brave kid,” John replied, slurping up some of his stew.
“Scarlet, I want you to keep an eye on the family. John, you too. I’m trying to get them a place to stay and positions outside of Nottinghamshire, but they’ll have to stay until we can arrange it. We’ll get them to Worksop first thing in the morning, but the sheriff will be looking for blood, so we need to have someone keeping watch.”
“I locked the cell,” I told them. “After he were out, I locked it again.”
Rob grinned. “Ha! They’ll probably think he was small enough to slip out.”
“They hit him, you know. Whipped him, too, reckon, but I didn’t see.” I hadn’t really wanted to know.
“I don’t think they did,” John said, and his voice were softer, like he were trying to make me feel better. I didn’t like it. “I grabbed his back and he didn’t react.”
I nodded but didn’t look up at him.
“Boys, why don’t we patrol the roads today, see what we can stir up. And Scar, I want you to keep an ear out for information.”
“You get more loot when I’m with you,” I reminded. I were good at spotting who had money and where they kept it.
“But we need information more than money until we know what Gisbourne’s about.”
I touched the brim of my hat in his direction.
“And I would like you to eat more of your food.”
“Stop pushing food down my throat, Rob. I eat when I’m hungry.”
He cocked one eyebrow, and I glared at him. I don’t back down. Rob worries. There were times when we first met up that I were awful sick on account of how long I didn’t eat, and he never forgets it. ’Course, I don’t forget it neither, but thinking of it makes things worse. I remember that I’ve gone weeks without eating much, days without eating nothing, and I can survive. I reckon the little Cooper kids couldn’t.
And Rob should understand. He takes the guilt and responsibility that others can’t. John takes the punches. I just take the hunger, and most times it feels like awful little.
“Well, if you’re not hungry, I am,” John said, coming and taking the food away from me. He were doing it to be mean, but I really weren’t hungry, so I let him.
He sat down next to me and ate it noisy. He sat right up against me and pressed his elbow into my side. I hit his arm and he spilled the spoonful down his tunic. “Perfectly good food, Scar.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t sit so close to me.”
He pushed closer, which only made me push against Much. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”
I stood up and slapped his bowl up, spilling it over him. “Didn’t think you liked sitting with rats,” I snapped, stalking off.
“Scarlet!” he roared.
I smirked but kept ambling on. Served him right.
I made a pass through Edwinstowe, keeping my head down but eyes open. The houses were all set off from the central water well, little thatched roof bits with rickety fencing for their chickens, if they were lucky enough to have one or two. There were one or two farmers in Edwinstowe and they kept their livestock in a corral by the well.
I didn’t see any castle guards or any of the sheriff’s men. They were the only ones around here who wore armor, so it made them easy to spot. Lady Thoresby walked the small town as well; she were the wife of Lord Thoresby, who protected the town from the sheriff. He weren’t very good at it, but he did his best.
Lady Thoresby were pretty as far as those things went. So pale and blond, she kind of looked like the sun in the day and the moon after night fell. She were taking her pretty skirts to the Coopers’ house; I wondered if she were fixing to tell Mistress Cooper that her son had escaped the prison. She were kind like that—even if she couldn’t do much, it were a help to warn the family that the sheriff might be coming down on them. It made our job easier too.
She had a guard with her, but he were no threat to the townspeople, so I began to walk toward Nottingham. It weren’t really the right time of day for wagon fare, so I climbed a tree and began to run through the overlapping branches. The trees were old and the branches were decent thick; as long as I ran fast, they bare had time to bend. It were the best way to get around during the day. It didn’t make too much of a clatter neither.
Nottingham were a market town, but the market weren’t as good as Worksop, most because the sheriff just scooped up anyone who were any good and stationed them in the keep. As sheriff, he set the taxes in Nottinghamshire, and it were how his big castle ran itself; they taxed the grain from the farmers, the weapons from the smiths, the cloths from the weavers and dyers, and so on. Sheriff never had nothing what he made himself. He also had a tendency to take the best grain and food as a tax. Showing at Nottingham meant you’d often lose your wares, but some still did it.
I nicked an apple as I went past, leaving a coin in its place. The coin were worth far more than the apple, but that didn’t matter much. I didn’t steal from people who couldn’t afford it, but I also didn’t like to barter neither.
A little girl and her brother were curled on the ground beside their father’s shop, and the whole set looked threadbare and thin. My stomach growled—I were a little hungry for once, not having eaten the yesternight—and I sighed. Without looking at her, I pushed the apple into her hands, sinking back into the crowd before she really saw me.
The gates were open, so I walked right in past the heavy guard. I’m fair good at not being looked at.
I walked round the lower bailey, listening. The laundress and baker were down in the lower one, and they were women with other women working for them, so they tended to cluck up a storm while they worked.
I had sewn my vest special; it had a pocket against the small of my back that I could fill up with whatever I needed, and despite making me look a fair bit thicker, you couldn’t tell what were in it. I began sliding rolls into it and nicked a fine pair of black woolen hose. Then I just leaned into a shadowy corner and listened. I considered eating one of the rolls, but too many faces from the village popped into my head. Tuck would give me food later on.
One of the girls laughed, and I heard a snap as she whipped out the wet cloth. “These that fancy man’s things?” she asked.
“Aye,” said the laundress.
“They’re not much more than threads!” she said.
“He’s been wearing them, but they’re not his,” another girl said. “Jameson told me that his things are being sent up from London.” She made a noise. “Don’t like him. Eyes look like God took the light from ’em.”
The laundress laughed. “Jameson? Like him well enough to be running off with him every chance I give you.”
“Oh, no, I like Jameson very well. That Sir Guy. He’s terrible.”
“Least he keeps his hands to hisself,” another said.
“God’s truth.”
“I heard he was in the Crusades.”
“I heard he’s killed a hundred thieves. God’s own work, that man is after.”
I heard a splash. “That’s not on, Margery. He’s been called to string up Robin Hood. Not God’s work at all.”
“Careful with that tongue, little one. You may be new here, but there are things we can’t talk about.”
“Well, the Hood may help us with the washing, leastways,” said the one who carried on with Jameson. “I heard they’re awful afraid that Hood?
??s men will nick Gisbourne’s things. They were sending it up the river, but Jameson’s been sent to bring it through Sherwood, disguised somehow.”
The laundress laughed. “Robin Hood won’t be fooled by a disguise! Best tell Jameson he’s off on a fool’s errand.”
“I tried, but he’s gone already. Hopefully they’ll be back with it tomorrow.”
The women started whistling, though I couldn’t much tell why. “Remember, lass, there’s the milk and there’s the cow, and the cow part should come first.”
The women hooted at this, and the girl were giggling too.
I left Nottingham fair quick; it were a walled city, and they closed their gates at dark. For the hour after the end of the market, in the late afternoon, the city emptied of people, and I could hide easy in the tide.
I went to Edwinstowe and got there just before dark. Men were out corralling their livestock, and women were taking in the laundry. I went through the town and passed out the rolls where I could, and I gave the hose to Mistress Clarke. She had three growing sons and her husband’s harvest hadn’t done well.
I tried to leave the things in such a way that I wouldn’t have to face their thanks. I didn’t like being thanked for my sticky fingers. It ain’t me going to Heaven, so no need to fuss about it.
I were due at Tuck’s, which were by the road, a little farther away from the villagers and the manor, and I were on my way there when I heard someone bawling. And then a crack, like someone got hit.
I crouched down to the ground, listening. I heard it again, and I whipped around the corner to see two of the sheriff’s men holding Amy Cooper by the dress front. She’s bare nine, a little slip of a girl. She were carrying on and had a big cut under her hair, like the brute hit her with his armored hand.
I slipped a knife from inside my vest and aimed at the brute’s open hand, the one not shaking Amy, with the unprotected palm toward me. I whipped it at him and yelled, “Amy!”
He dropped her with a roar of pain, and she shrieked and ran to me. I crouched down and caught her. “Run to your mam’s; don’t open the door for them,” I whispered to her.