John smiled and gave a dark, throaty chuckle that put gooseflesh on my arms. “Angry is always a good idea.”
Much scoffed. “Why do we always start the trouble?” he mumbled to himself.
“We don’t,” I said, probably a lick harsher than were right. “We finish the trouble they start.” Much looked down, and I sighed. I didn’t like making Much feel small but I weren’t the sort to apologize. “Did you get good loot today?”
John scowled. “No. Pains me to admit, but we need you on the roads with us.”
Rob came out from around the building, sliding in the darkness and nodding to us. “The family is safe and calm.” He nodded to me. “And grateful, Scar.”
I nodded back. It were dark, so they couldn’t prove I were blushing.
“Much, why don’t you and I take them back over to Worksop? Scar, John—go back to the Oak. We need to be on the roads early tomorrow, and I want your eyes sharp.”
“Scar has information that Gisbourne’s effects are coming up through the forest. At dawn, disguised,” John said.
Rob smiled. “Very interesting. We’ll all meet at the archway an hour before dawn. Agreed?”
We nodded, and I took my chance to run off. And I ran. And ran. It took an hour to get to Thoresby Lake, the farthest bounds of Lord Thoresby’s property far in the deep of Sherwood Forest, so I were running as hard as I could. I felt filthier than in London. It weren’t the blood. He hit me and broke my knife. For one measly second I were scared, and I needed to get that off me before the dawn, before we patrolled the roads, when I couldn’t be one inch of scared.
My fists were shaking as I ran, sweat pushing out the filth, desperate for the water. I jumped the big rock and dove in, breaking the surface and crashing into fierce cold.
I hung there, under the water. My eyes were closed and my skin went fair numb. My lumps and slices went to ice. There were no room for nothing in my mind but cold.
When I pulled out of the water, heaving shivery breaths on the shore, I were fearless.
Chapter Four
The air were fair crisp, with the kind of crunch to it like a sweet apple. The leaves hadn’t fallen yet, which were good. When the leaves fall the trees get thin, and I have to try harder to hide. When the leaves fall, though, the whole forest is covered in a blanket. Leaves cover the pitfalls and ditches and level off the bumps, but it’s all lying in wait for them that don’t know what’s there. I like to know my forest better than those that might chase me into it.
I were crouched low on the archway. It weren’t a proper arch: two trees knitted together over the road years ago, forming a big curve with their branches. I couldn’t see John, Rob, or Much, but I knew where they were, and they were waiting for my signal. It were dawn and the road led to the markets, so several wagons had come through. Most of them we knew; some of them were strangers, but they didn’t look like they had much in the way of coin. Besides, this morning weren’t about money.
The wind were coming through the trees fair hard when I spotted them down the road. It looked like a coffin cart, with two souls in boxes, and two monks were at the reins. It were a good disguise, but the monks were half a belly short of the typical breed, and the chain mail beneath their robes clinked soft with every pitch of the wagon. What mucked it up true, though, were the horses. No religious house would have solid war destriers like that.
I threw a small dagger with a long red ribbon attached to it into the tree by Rob’s hiding spot. I never heard so much as a rustle, but I knew they’d be ready.
When the cart rolled close, I dropped to the ground, my thinning wool coat spreading out beneath me. The leaves whooshed away and I smiled, lifting my head slow.
“Whoa,” they called to the horses. “Out of the way, ruffian!”
“You ain’t no monks,” I said. “And those ain’t no bodies.”
They jumped to their feet at this, pulling swords from their robes. “Let us pass, or our master will make you regret it.”
“Don’t put much faith in masters, myself,” I told them. “So, are you gents going to pay the forest tax?”
“You want a tithe of a body?”
I looked them over. “If you’re offering, then I’ll take your hand. Maybe a foot. You have lovely feet, sir.”
“He meant the corpses, whelp.”
“Oh, are we still trying to wink by that you have bodies in those coffins?”
The one on the left jumped down, and I heard the chain mail rattle like rainfall. I stepped back, crossing my arms over my chest to grab two knives under my coat.
“Time to run off now, vermin.”
Honestly. Why does everyone think I’m a rat? “So you’ll not be paying the tax, then?”
“I’ll take a tenth of your neck if you try,” he growled.
I shrugged. “S’pose that’s fair. I’ll be on my way. You might want to make sure those bodies are still safe, though. Don’t want a dead’un rolling around.”
I grinned, and they both turned to look at the cart that were very much empty. By the time they turned round again, I were hidden in the tree and they were cursing a blue streak.
They hacked around in the underbrush for a little while, but they couldn’t find our men. The longer they looked the more they argued with each other, and after a bit they got back in the cart, red faced, and drove on to Nottingham.
As they drove, I hoped they were the sheriff’s own men. Then, at least, Gisbourne wouldn’t have no authority to kill them where they stood.
I helped John with his coffin while Rob and Much struggled with the other; my arms were right sore by the time we got it back to the cave, and that were even with John hauling most of the weight. I hated that I weren’t more strong. Much were sweating and pale, leaning back against the weight with his one good arm. Maybe it weren’t the worst fate to be the weakest of the group.
We brought it deep into the cave. We kept this place separate from our camp; we found it last winter and stored any loot we came ’cross here until we could get it to the townspeople. We also had a few crucial supplies that would get us through the winter and such. A calico cat had taken up in here to have her babies, and one of the little kittens seemed to like me. He clawed up on my shoulders like always.
“Hey, Kit,” I said, scratching his ear. He were warm at least.
“Let’s crack them,” John said.
I nodded, kneeling down to the locks and pulling my pick from my vest. I had the lock opened in a second or two. I stood and John stretched out his arms.