by Matthew Cody
But it was worth it if they could save John and Rob.
She’d just stepped out into the open when a horn sounded.
Much looked to the walls. Was that Will? Was that his signal? He’d said that he’d find a way to distract the guards so that Much could free the prisoners, but if that was him, then he’d timed it too soon.
But it wasn’t Will. Someone was at the gate. There was a great groaning squeal as the giant wooden doors were pulled open. Beyond, Much could see a small company of mounted men, and at their head was the sheriff himself.
Much froze on the spot as another figure strode up behind her. Sir Guy was flanked by a small guard of his own, including Tom Crooked. They were all armored to their teeth, but their weapons were still sheathed. As Sir Guy passed her, he gave her a curious little nod. Perhaps he was trying to appear regal in front of the wide-eyed young kitchen maid. She would’ve liked to spit in his face, but instead she did her best bow and curtsy. It was an awkward and rather sad show.
Unfortunately, Sir Guy and his men crossed right between her and the prisoners. Not that she could do anything to help them now, not with Guy and the sheriff right there. She was frozen, not sure where to go or what to do. She’d suddenly found herself standing mere feet from Sir Guy and the sheriff.
If Will was going to create a diversion, this was a good time.
“You wanted to see me?” asked the sheriff.
“Knock it off,” said Guy. “You’ve got half of Nottingham sitting out there waiting to bury me! It’s a hell of a way to treat a friend.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” said the sheriff. “Hand over the bandits. Agree to pay restitution for the homes you destroyed. Then I’ll take my half of Nottingham and go home.”
“I’m not some poacher or pickpocket!” said Guy. “You don’t have the authority to arrest me!”
The sheriff pulled a scroll from his belt.
“I’ve been given the authority. This is a decree signed by Prince John himself. I warned you that you would go too far, burning down homes and harboring fugitives.”
The sheriff leaned in on his saddle and lowered his voice, but it was still loud enough for Much to hear.
“You’re making him look bad,” he said, smiling.
“Fine. Here are your bandits,” said Guy, pointing to Rob and the rest. “They’ll hang at dawn.”
“Those are not the men I’m after, Guy,” said the sheriff, pointing at Tom Crooked. “You let that lunatic and his thugs loose on my lands! The peasants are ready to revolt!”
“One hanged man looks as good as another,” said Guy, with a smirk. “Good enough for the peasants, I should think.”
“But not good enough for me,” said the sheriff. “My terms are simple, Sir Guy. I ride back to Nottingham with Tom Crooked and his men in chains and you pay for the damage you’ve wrought, or I will take this castle by force. You’re outnumbered, and the walls of Shackley House won’t save you. And no one will come to your aid. You’ve made too public a mess of things. I’m offering you a way to save your head.”
Sir Guy smiled as he seemed to be considering this. Much began to wonder if the knight had truly and finally lost his mind.
“I’ll await your answer before dawn,” the sheriff said.
“You can have it now—” said Guy, stepping forward.
But he was cut off by a sudden shout from the wall. Two shapes were fighting up top. They struggled for a moment, then one fell screaming from the edge. As he did so, he grabbed hold of a large watch fire cauldron, pulling it over and raining fire down upon the stable beneath. At once, the stacks of straw took up the flame, spreading it to the wooden timbers.
Guy spun back around to the sheriff, his hand going for his sword.
“You rode in here under a banner of truce!” he shouted. “So you could send a sneak attack over the wall!”
With a shout, Guy charged toward the sheriff. Tom and the rest surged forward as well. The sheriff, looking totally bewildered, drew his own sword to defend himself.
Much understood what they didn’t—there wasn’t any sneak attack, at least not from the sheriff. Will had promised a distraction, and as the courtyard erupted into fighting, that was exactly what he’d delivered.
Then the sheriff’s soldiers and Guy’s mercenaries rushed toward each other with weapons drawn. Someone was shouting to close the gate, while another was shouting for water to douse the spreading fire. But smoke from the burning barn was already filling the air as the flames quickly spread. The courtyard was in chaos, and Much was standing in the middle of it. In a dress.
TWENTY-FIVE
Archers! Kill him!
—SIR GUY OF GISBORNE
There were ways to move around Shackley Castle without being seen, and in his years spent running from Nan and her paddle, Will had learned them all. One of his favorite places to hide had been the wall itself. Out the hallway window just past the kitchens there was a grinning gargoyle that one could use to climb to the drainage gutter. The gutter made the perfect makeshift ladder to take a nimble person all the way to the wall. Best of all, the gutter ran along the edge where the wall met the castle keep, and at night the shadows were so thick that anyone climbing it would be mostly invisible from prying eyes below.
Atop the wall, the watch fires still burned; few were manned. Everyone’s attention was on the sheriff and his men at the gate. The archers were the problem. Will needed to get everyone’s attention off the prisoners down there and onto him up here. But he needed to do so without getting stuck full of arrows.
Odds were he wouldn’t make it out of here tonight, but if he could create an opening for Much, she just might be able to free Rob and John, and with a bit of luck, the three of them could escape in the confusion.
The gates were open; the sheriff sat mounted on his stallion as he faced off against Guy and his bandit-mercenaries. There wouldn’t be a better opportunity.
Will had just reached the first watch fire when he heard a board squeak behind him. He turned in time to see a guard not two steps away, ax in hand. Not everyone, it seemed, was interested in the sheriff.
Will was outmatched in size, but he had one advantage the big fighter didn’t—Will knew this castle. Milo and he would run laps around the battlements, earning curses from the watch guards. And it was dark up here despite the fires, and the guard was on uncertain footing.
Will pivoted away so that the watch fire was between him and the guard, making the man come to him. As the guard crossed in front of the burning brazier, he took a swing at Will, but Will parried it easily. The man wasn’t balanced well enough to put much power into his blows, and Will leaped to the side and stuck out his boot, tripping the man as he took a follow-through step.
The ax slipped from the man’s fingers, and he shouted in pain as his arm went into the fiery brazier. Instinctively, he jumped backward from the flame and right off the edge of the wall. But in his panic, he’d upended the brazier as well, and it toppled and then rolled off the ledge with him.
Will heard a crash below him, followed by a sharp whispering sound. He peered over the edge and saw that the whispers belonged to the greedy flames spreading over a heap of straw piled up against the stable. Milo’s stable.
Already he could hear the whinnies of panic from within. In minutes, the barn itself would catch and everything inside would burn.
Will had begun searching for a ladder down when he heard a voice call out from below.
“Archers! Kill him!” shouted Sir Guy as he pointed up at the wall. Will knew the Horse Knight wouldn’t be able to identify him up here in the dark. But then, he didn’t need an excuse to have him killed. An arrow landed in the wood just inches from his foot. Below him, the rest of Sir Guy’s men were drawing their weapons and squaring off with the sheriff.
Will sheathed his sword before dropping to his stomach and crawling toward the edge overlooking the courtyard. Milo and he had once devised a dangerous game, wherein you would hang
from the edge of the battlements and drop to roofs of various buildings below. It was quite a drop from the wall to the buildings, so you had to be careful when you landed that you didn’t twist an ankle or, worse, tumble off entirely. But back when he and Milo had made a sport of it, the rooftops hadn’t been on fire.
As he dangled his legs over the stable, he prayed that the same rising smoke that stung his eyes would make him a more difficult target for the archers. Below, the flames had crawled up the side of the stable and had begun licking the thatch roof. Once that caught, the rest would go up like tinder. Will kicked his legs as best as he could away from the flames and dropped.
He landed on the roof without slipping and quickly scrambled to the far side of the stable, the one that wasn’t on fire. From there, it was a small jump to the ground below. The courtyard was in turmoil as the sheriff’s men on horseback fought with Sir Guy’s foot soldiers. There were a couple of riderless horses wandering about and several bodies lying on the ground riddled with arrows.
No one else seemed to have noticed him yet, so Will unlatched the door to the stable and, covering his mouth and nose against the growing smoke, ran inside. One by one he threw open the stalls, just barely dodging the panicked horses as they kicked their way free. By the time he’d freed them all, the stable was so thick with smoke that he couldn’t see the exit. He ran blindly, following the horse stampede out to safety.
After taking a few moments to clear his lungs, Will saw what he’d wrought. What had been a chaotic battle a few minutes ago had been transformed into pure pandemonium. The courtyard was filling with smoke as spooked horses ran everywhere. Servants had given up on putting out the fire and were abandoning the castle and running for the gates, while Sir Guy’s guards and the sheriff’s soldiers still hacked away at each other. And somewhere, in all of that panic, was Much.
TWENTY-SIX
Robin Hood dares!
—ROBIN HOOD
All pretense of this being a sneaky rescue was gone. Much’s only goal as she weaved her way through the courtyard was not to get trampled. If Will’s aim had been to create a distraction, he’d succeeded. If his aim had also been to bring the castle down around their ears, he might well succeed at that, too.
With the smoke, the stampede, and the fighting soldiers, no one paid her any mind. By the time she reached the prisoners, the Merry Men were crying out for help even as they tried to cover their mouths against the smoke. But Wat and the rest of those scoundrels could wait. Much set about working on the locks to the stockade to free Rob and John.
“Who’s it?” croaked John, squinting up at her. “Who’re you, girl?”
“Stop talking, you giant oaf,” said Much. “Save your strength.”
“Eh?” said Rob, craning his neck to see. “Is that … Much?”
“You drunk, Rob?” said John. “This is a girl. Much is a boy!”
“Will you both shut up?” Much said. She couldn’t focus on the lock with the two of them arguing.
“My Lord,” gasped John. “It is Much! Why are you in a dress?”
“Much? Really?” another voice called, and she looked up to see Wat holding out his shackled wrists. “Throw us a pick there, boy! Er, girl …”
She bit back the choicest insults that sprang to mind and chose the best tool for her own job. Then she tossed the bag to the toothless outlaw. She felt the click of the tumblers moving, but the lock slipped and she had to take another breath to calm herself—her hands were shaking with excitement and fear and more than a little bit of anger. It was hard to focus on something as tiny as a lock when the world was literally burning down around you.
On the second try, it gave way, and she lifted the top of the stock, which was surprisingly heavy. But not for John Little. He threw off the wooden cuffs and let out a load moan as he straightened himself. His face was bloody, lips swollen and cracked.
“Much,” he said. “You haven’t got a sip of water, have you?”
She did. As John sucked gratefully on a waterskin, she freed Rob. He looked no better than John. Worse perhaps.
As Rob worked life back into his raw, chafed wrists, John handed him the drink.
“Wine?” asked Rob.
John shook his head.
“What kind of rescue is this?” asked Rob, but he drank anyway.
In the time it took Much to free John and Rob, Wat had picked the lock of every surviving Merry Man. Six in all. The man really had a talent for skulduggery.
But they weren’t free yet. There was still an entire courtyard of men with swords between them and freedom. And the fire was spreading. If they didn’t get out soon, they’d burn right along with the castle.
But the men didn’t seem too concerned with that. They were all staring at her.
“So … are you …,” said Wat, his face in obvious pain from the mental acrobatics his brain was being forced to do just to comprehend what he was seeing. “Why are you wearing a dress?”
“I knew it all along!” said John.
“No, you didn’t,” said Rob. “But we’ll discuss the dress later. Though it is a fetching color, Much—”
“Shut up,” she said.
“But right now we need to clear a path out of here,” Rob said, ignoring her.
At that moment, they spied a man on a white stallion. He was making for the gate, and Much recognized the shining gold badge across his chest.
“The sheriff!” she shouted, pointing.
“He’ll do,” said Rob, and he began climbing the gallows.
As the sheriff rode by, Rob swung from the gallows on a loose stretch of rope, his hands gripping the noose. He landed atop the horse, knocking the sheriff from his saddle.
The sheriff rolled to his knees and reached for his dagger.
“Who dares?” he asked as he struggled to stand.
“Robin Hood dares!” cried Rob. “Remember the name!”
Then he reared the charger up on its hind legs, and as the sheriff made a grab for him, one of the hooves caught him in the head. The sheriff fell back, knocked unconscious.
“Robin Hood!” Rob said, laughing. “Look at that, John. I’m beginning to like the sound of it!”
But Rob didn’t see the large shape emerging from the smoke behind him, a man Much recognized at once—Tom Crooked himself.
Even with Rob on horseback, Crooked still had the reach he needed. He’d run Rob through before the man could blink. Much shouted a warning, but she was too far away to do anything about it.
John moved with a speed that belied his great bulk. As Crooked’s sword swung, John’s hand reached out and grabbed hold of Crooked’s wrist. The murderous bandit snarled, the veins in his neck bulging as he fought to free his arm, but John had him now. With his other hand, John grabbed Crooked’s shirtfront and lifted.
Tom Crooked screamed as he was hoisted high over John’s head and then thrown, headfirst, into the wall.
“Eh?” said Rob, turning to see Crooked lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. “What’re you all shouting about?”
“Tom … Crooked,” breathed John.
“So?” said Rob. “Look at him. He’s out cold. You really do worry like an old woman, Little John.”
John gritted his teeth and muttered something awful about Rob’s parentage; then the lot of them began making their way toward the gate.
Rob led the escape on his stolen charger, dodging fighting men and fleeing horses, while Much searched desperately for any sign of Will. Her stomach turned whenever they came across a new body on the ground, but John wouldn’t let her stop long enough to check the dead. The inner buildings were already engulfed in flame, and the fire would soon spread to the main keep. Shackley Castle was going to burn to the ground. John wrapped one strong arm around Much and dragged her away from what would soon become an inferno.
By the time they reached the gate, most of the soldiers had given up the fight and were fleeing, too.
Outside, the servants who’d pulled themselves clear
sat on the grass, coughing and gasping for breath or tending to their fellow wounded.
Much and John searched the faces of the survivors for Will, but he was nowhere to be found. If he wasn’t here, then that meant he was still in there. Somewhere.
John grabbed Much just as she turned to run back to the gate.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“Will’s still in there,” she said. “I’ve got to find him!”
She saw the worry on his face as he looked past her to the castle. The entire night sky was aglow with flickering amber light. It looked like the end of the world.
Rob rode up on his big white horse, grinning from ear to ear.
“Now that is what I call a rescue!” he said.
“Will’s gone missing,” said John.
“Scarlet?” asked Rob, the smile slipping from his face.
“He’s still in there somewhere, and John won’t let me go!” Much hit the big man with her fists, but he didn’t loosen his grip on her.
“I’ll go,” said Rob. “John, take the rest and make for the old crone oak in Sherwood. We don’t want to stay here long enough for the sheriff’s men to start asking questions.”
“Rob, that thing’s going to come down any moment!” said John, but Rob had already turned his horse around and started galloping toward the castle. He didn’t make it twenty yards before there was a terrific cracking, the snapping of timber and the creaking of stone, and the front gate came crashing down in a hail of ash and smoke.
Even as far away as she was, Much could feel the wave of heat roll out from the collapse as a hot wind blew across her face.
Rob stopped his horse and stared. With the gate, a part of the stone wall had collapsed, creating a barricade of fire and stone. There was no way in now. And no way out.
John slung Much over his shoulder as she began screaming Will’s name.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Wolfslayer.
—SIR GUY OF GISBORNE
Will’s father often compared being in a battle to being lost in a heavy fog. It was why it was so important to have well-trained soldiers, because once on the battlefield, an undisciplined army would break down. Wars were unpredictable and battles were confusing, and in the end only discipline kept a force together.