His nose rubbed mine. “Scarlet.”
It tickled and I sniffed. “What were that for?”
He tilted his head a bit. “You.”
“Why you kissing me?”
“’Cause I like you, Scar.”
I shook my head. “You like every girl, John.” I smiled a little. Something ’bout a kiss makes you feel silly, and a kiss from John somehow felt more silly than most. “I’ll be back in a day or two.”
His arms went looser. “What does that mean?”
I pulled away from him. “I’ll let you know. If you go to the tunnel, there’s a fair bit of loot.” I walked a few paces and stopped, looking back. “And thanks, you know, for the kiss.”
He just stared so I kept walking. Might as well be polite.
Chapter Nine
I didn’t get far. I went east through Sherwood to Worksop and stayed there during the day, helping Much’s father and checking on Freddy Cooper. He stayed when the rest of his family went on to Dover, making what wages he could till they were settled. The miller were at the grinding part of the harvest, and he always needed extra help, and Freddy were taking to it like a duck in water. Much’s father didn’t talk a lot. Freddy talked enough for the two of us, and that were a whole different kind of silence that my mind knocked around in. When night fell, Freddy and Much’s father wheedled and begged till I stayed for supper, and they set up a bed for me to sleep in. I nodded, because it were easier, and then when they went off, I left the house.
I liked wandering the night. The animals were different. They talked to each other in soft twitters, little whistles, hoots, and such. They had a nighttime way of talking.
There were an inn at the edge of the village that I liked. The innkeep were a woman, which were fair unusual. It used to be her husband’s, but he keeled over and she took it on. She were always good to me. Sometimes girls had troubles that boys weren’t meant to know nothing ’bout, and she helped me out once or twice.
I went in and she nodded to me. I slid into a table in the back. She sent over an ale and I nodded to her again, settling into the corner to watch and listen. There were a few travelers eating their supper, but most were locals sitting for a drink. I recognized many of the men, most farmers and craftsmen, and a few farmhands.
“Lena!” bellowed a gruff voice. Three of the sheriff’s personal men walked in, dressed all in the sheriff’s black and silver, like death and metal. I looked to Lena; she were smiling, but it weren’t one of her big wide smiles that I got. She sent one of her girls to get some drinks and ushered the men to a table. They sat and took the drinks, and the ringleader grabbed Lena’s wrist and dragged so she leaned hard over his shoulder. “You know that’s not why we’re here, Lena.”
She shot a look to her muscle, a hulk of a lug everyone called Pea, but he were already on his way. He stood over the men and the ringleader let Lena’s wrist go. “I don’t have the money. I’ll have it next week.”
“Sheriff doesn’t believe you. Sheriff thinks you’re holding out.”
She flushed. “Well, what does he expect me to do? I don’t have any money. I can have it next week.”
“Lena, the sheriff gave you meat for your customers when you needed it. He expects his investment returned.”
She crossed her arms. “If I had known his ‘gift’ came with such a price, I wouldn’t have taken it. You’ll get your money when I have it.”
“Sheriff’s cracking his whip, Lena.” His fellow took the candle from the middle of the table and held it underneath the wood table. The other two men grabbed Lena and Pea as she screamed at them.
I whipped a knife at the candle, pushing it from his hand. The flame doused before it hit the ground, and the table were black but not burning. The ringleader whipped his head round to see who did it. “Someone bein’ a hero, then, eh?” he asked, drawing a knife and turning toward Lena. She screamed again, and as I drew another knife, a customer tackled the guard. The place split open into a brawl.
Lena began yelling for people to get out, and sent one of the girls upstairs to warn the travelers. If they meant to burn the place, they wouldn’t stop there. I ran outside with a nasty feeling in the pit of me.
Sure enough, I heard a horse’s scream and saw another set of guards lighting the barn on fire. They put a torch to the hay, and the animals started to fret something awful. I ran at them, taking five knives in my hands and starting to throw. I hit two guards with the hilt of a knife tossed to the back of their necks, which dropped them to the ground. The third turned to face me, which were a stupid move on his part.
I jumped onto my hands and flipped to kick him square in the chest. He went down. I didn’t much care if they stayed down or not; I needed to get the horses free. The fire were spreading quick with so much hay, and they were kept in by ropes across their stalls.
With a knife in each hand I sawed the ropes loose one by one, letting the panicked horses run out. I had two left to do when one of the guards pushed me hard against a stall wall. I grabbed the wood of the wall and slammed my head back, connecting with his nose—including the nosepiece, which set my head to ringing—and stepped hard on his foot. He scooted back enough for me to cut another rope and grab the last one. The horse were rearing on his hind legs, and I did my best to forget I might well be trampled soon as I loosed him.
I ducked to miss a kicking hoof, sliced the rope, and curled off to the side. The horse bolted and the guard grabbed me by the throat, pulling me off the ground and ramming me against the wood. Black smoke were billowing and it swallowed the horse up whole. The whole barn were popping and cracking like a heaving giant.
“And you must be the famous Will Scarlet,” he said, spittle flying at my face. “Sheriff’s been dying to meet you.”
I sent the spit right back with a fair helping of my own. He cocked his arm back to throw a punch.
An arm shot out and hooked the guard’s, sending him off me. Robin stepped out of the smoke like a god and delivered a sound punch to the guard’s face. Without a breath he turned, grabbed my hand, and ran out.
The night were much, much colder than I remembered. Robin were holding my hand tight and I clutched at him like he were a handhold on a cliff and I were slipping off, like he were the difference between life and not.
When the smoke let us go Rob dragged hard on my arm, enough for me to yelp and twist back, which landed me fair square against his chest. His arms latched round me like iron bands, and for a stupid second I shut my eyes and squished my head to his shoulder. His face pressed to the side of mine, and hard breaths huffed out over my hair. “Thanks, Rob,” I whispered.