Robyn and the Hoodettes

by Ebony McKenna

  “And you are her daughter?”

  Again with the knowledge. Seriously, how did this woman know so much already? Or was she making really good guesses? Robyn turned to Ellen for some clues. Maybe Ellen had begged for Mother Eleanor’s release already?

  “It’s complicated,” Ellen said with a shrug.

  Which gave Robyn precisely nothing more to go on. Only extra confusion.

  “Lady Maudlin,” Robyn’s voice came out scratchy and meek, because her body was about to fall in a heap of pathetic begging. At least she hadn’t burst into tears. Yet. “I understand my Mother Eleanor has been arrested. I’m sure she meant absolutely no harm at all. We are newcomers to Sheffield and–”

  “–I asked if you were her daughter. A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ is all I require.”

  “Yes.” Robyn said, then nearly bit her tongue to stop it running on.

  “And you have funds with which to bail her?”

  “I beg yours?” Robyn turned again to Ellen to see if she could translate the lady’s speech into plain English.

  “Bail, my dear,” Maudlin said ahead of Ellen saying anything.

  The little crow fluffed her wings out on her shoulder, growing to double normal size.

  “The gold,” Ellen whispered.

  “Oh yes. I have gold. Here,” Robyn said, reaching for her purse. It didn’t weigh as much as it should, on account of her halving it with Marion. What if she didn’t have enough? “I’m ever so sorry. None of us have ever been in trouble before, so I have no idea how any of this works. How much do you need?”

  “All of it.” Maudlin said, unfurling her palm.

  Acting before her brain had time to engage, Robyn held the purse and stepped closer to Maudlin. That’s when the jackdaw took wing and flapped over, ripped the purse from Robyn’s hand (making her yelp in shock) and flew back to her mistress.

  Maudlin looked in the bag, jingled it, then looked not to Robyn, but to Ellen. “Is this all?”

  “I’m sure there was mo–” Ellen sucked in her breath.

  At which point Robyn’s brain finally caught up to speed. She stared daggers at Ellen the betrayer. “You . . . You!”

  Marion had been right! He’d tried to make her stop and think, but she’d been so worried about her mother she’d run blindly into a trap.

  Maudlin wasn’t going to let her mother go. She probably didn’t even have her! The woman was only interested in their money.

  “Calm down Robyn or she’ll arrest you too!” Ellen said.

  The betrayal stung worse than a thorn in her shoe. They’d been so welcoming towards Ellen. Given her warm milk, a ride to Sheffield, a warm place to stay and bread with honey for breakfast. “What did we ever do to you?”

  “This,” Ellen lifted her tunic to show the purple-yellow bruises flourishing across her sides and back. “Your friend the giant walloped me a good one the other night on the King’s Road.”

  “You were there?” Confusion curdled Robyn’s stomach. “You burned our village!”

  To her credit, Ellen looked ashamed. “I won’t lie to you, I was in Roger’s gang. But I never struck the flint or set fire to anything.”

  Robyn didn’t want to hear excuses. Her hands clenched and unclenched, her body burned to punch a hole in something. Ellen’s throat for starters.

  But then she heard Marion’s sensible voice in her head saying something like ‘you need a plan’. Being angry and kicking and screaming, although immensely satisfying in the immediate sense, wouldn’t get her anywhere.

  No plans came to mind. Nothing sensible anyway. Maybe she should overturn the tables and throw furniture around the room. At least she’d feel better for having a tantrum.

  Which would get her arrested no doubt, so it wasn’t an option.

  Whoa, maybe Marion’s planning is having some kind of calming affect?

  Ellen crossed the floor to be closer to Maudlin and the all-seeing bird.

  “You’ve done well,” Maudlin said to Ellen. “For now.”

  For some reason, Ellen didn’t look too happy with herself. Could it be regret Robyn read on her face?

  It gave her hope and she once again reached for the security of sarcasm. “Yes, well done. I didn’t see it coming.” She gave a slow clap of applause.

  The jarring percussion ricocheted off the walls. The jackdaw’s feathers fluffed out as she shook herself. Who would have believed a little crow could look rattled?

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Robyn,” Ellen said. “You’re all such nice people, to be honest. Maudlin, why don’t you let them go? You’ve got the gold now.”

  Maudlin made a wry grin and said to Ellen, “But you said there was more.”

  While they were distracted, Robyn took her chance to turn slowly around and take in as much detail of the room as she could. Marion’s “make a plan” doctrine really was helping. Not that she’d tell him that, it would give him a big head.

  How many windows? Were any of them open? The roaring fire could be useful, and the tools in the hearth. What else could she use for weapons? A broken chair leg? That could be good. And most importantly, where were the exits, and was anyone guarding them?

  “I’ve got to hand it to you,” Robyn made another loud clap. The jackdaw cawed with annoyance. Good. “You’ve got the rest of my villagers, you’ve got my mother and no doubt someone has already taken our cow from the green. But there’s something you’ve overlooked. A few things really.”

  Maudlin smirked. “Oh?”

  “You’ve overlooked the fact that I don’t care.”

  “You’re bluffing,” Maudlin shot back.

  “You’ve also overlooked that you’re all the way over there, and I’m way over here.” At which point Robyn shot off like a startled hare for the doors. She threw the timber slat out of its bolt and pushed the door free.

  Not stopping, she darting through the alleyways. Just in case someone was following her, she ran in the opposite direction from the sheep pens where she hoped Madge, Grannyma, Wilfred and Joan would be waiting for her. Oh, and Marion.

  Damn that Marion. She’d have tell him what had happened, then endure a lecture about how foolish she’d been.

  But she also knew a things Marion didn’t know:

  Ellen was working for Lady Maudlin.

  And loud noises ruffled that hideous bird’s feathers.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wrung out from an evening spent explaining everything to Grannyma, Madge, Wilfred, Joan and Marion, Robyn yearned to curl up into a ball and hide from the world. But that was never going to be an option, not with the way everyone was looking at her.

  Expecting answers.

  Naturally, they’d taken the news of Eleanor’s arrest badly. And Maudlin’s play for their coins. And Ellen’s betrayal.

  And the unknown whereabouts of the cow–because Robyn had run the other way and didn’t know if Bella was still on the green or not.

  So it was a lot to process in one hit.

  “We’ve been asking around,” Madge volunteered, “There are so many new people in town, but none hailing from Loxley or Littleton. Maybe they are in the dungeons.”

  “Should we look for Bella?” Joan offered.

  “Probably,” Robyn said.

  Marion said, “We should stick together. No more getting split up.”

  That was met with a round of assenting murmurs and nods.

  Robyn moved things forward. “OK. What next?”

  “No idea,” Joan said.

  “I’m not even sure where the dungeons are,” Grannyma Miller said, feeding Tuppence some thin porridge.

  “Me either,” Madge and Wilfred shrugged in unison.

  How much could they trust Wilfred? He’d only joined them the day before. He was sticking with them because they were paying him. He and Madge had taken a shine to each other, so perhaps he was one of them now? Or would he lure Madge away and their numbers would drop even more?

  Hmmm. Madge hadn’t seen Will in his fu
ll puffiness around horses, maybe the sight of his scarlet face would turn her off?

  “The horses!” Robyn mentally slapped herself for being so dense.

  “Oh yeah!” Marion said. “Good thinking.”

  Happiness beamed through Robyn like a rainbow after a shower. They’d left Shadow and the other mare in the stables, back at the first inn, The Goose and Bridle, not at The Unicorn where they’d stayed the night.

  Oh dear, she remembered something else. “Ellen knows where the horses are too. What if she and Maudlin are waiting for us when we get them?”

  Marion made a thinking face for a while. “Got it. Ellen hasn’t met Madge or Grannyma, so we send them.”

  Grannyma dropped her spoon, making Tuppence cry. “Count me out, I’m no horse thief!”

  “No Grannyma, these are our horses,” Robyn said.

  Grannyma’s voice slipped into ‘scold’ gear. “Don’t tell big fibs. No matter how much you and Shadow might have bonded, she belongs to the Sheriff of Nottingham. They hang horse thieves, you know.”

  Darn those facts getting in the way of a good plan. Robyn sighed and mentally rubbed out the idea of taking Shadow back. “So, what are we going to do then?” she asked.

  Marion put his warm arm around Robyn’s shoulders and gave a comforting squeeze. Her need for reassurance took her by surprise and she leaned into him.

  “We’re all a bit strung out and tired. Why don’t we have something to eat first and then we might be able to think straight.” Marion said.

  “Now that’s a plan,” Robyn said.

  “Back to The Unicorn?” Wilfred asked.

  Robyn jumped in with too much haste. “What about The Goose and Bridle?”

  “Where the horses are?” Marion looked at her with one raised brow.

  Robyn gulped. “Well, yes, but no, but . . . OK. Yes. I want to make sure Shadow is all right. I won’t get us in trouble. And anyway, Ellen’s just as likely to be looking for us at The Unicorn as the other inn.” It made perfect sense to Robyn.

  Grannyma huffed. “Don’t blame me if we all end up in the dungeons.”

  ***

  The rowdy din at The Goose and Bridle made it hard to hear each other without shouting. On the plus side, it guaranteed nobody could overhear them unless they too shouted really, really loudly.

  And they weren’t that silly.

  Smoked belched from the open fire with each new log thrown on it. This was a crowded and popular inn, heaving with people and glowing with warmth. Exactly the place to be on a chilly autumn afternoon.

  The landlord brought a pot of stew and a tankard for everyone at the table. Madge used one tankard as a ladle and served everybody. Robyn noticed how much extra Madge gave Wilfred.

  The parts of the stew that weren’t gristly were slimy, but Robyn didn’t care. It was some kind of meat, probably rabbit or pigeon, along with grains of wheat and chunks of turnip. By the time she drained her tankard she had a full belly and felt warmed inside and out.

  Across the other side of the room, a table of people started all shouting at once.

  “Come on!”

  “Wrong way!”

  “Miserable little–”

  “Move it!”

  Curious, Robyn wandered over to check out why so many of them were shouting, transfixed by something on the tabletop. She had to stand on a chair to see what was going on, and found they were betting on snail races. Standing up high to get a better look meant she’d also raised herself closer to the ceiling, thick with fire smoke. A coughing fit made her stumble from the chair.

  “Careful!” Marion was by her side, giving her soft pats on the back.

  “I just need some fresh air,” she said, slipping free and heading out the closest door.

  Boosh! Robyn walked straight into the human wall of Roger of Doncaster.

  Explosive curses leapt out of Robyn and Marion’s mouths.

  “Get out of my–” Roger started, then he grabbed Robyn by the shoulder, “–I know you!”

  “No you don’t!” Robyn said.

  “Run!” Marion grabbed Robyn by the hand and charged away from the inn.

  “Hold it!” Roger’s vice-like hand clamped on her shoulder.

  Robyn’s joints strained from being pulled in opposite directions. “Ow! Let me go!”

  “Not until I work out who you are,” Roger said.

  “I’m nobody!” she cried.

  “Get your hands off her!” Marion yelled.

  “Seize him!” Roger called out.

  People appeared from nowhere and grabbed for Marion.

  “Run!” Robyn begged him. One of them had to get away, to warn the others.

  Darting between their assailants, Marion got away, shouting as he ran. “I’ll come back!”

  “Stop wriggling, little fish,” Roger said, his breath sickly sweet.

  Had he been in the inn at the same time? Robyn hadn’t even noticed. Saints! She should have known he wouldn’t be gone from Sheffield for long.

  Rain fell over them in cold splats as she struggled.

  He bellowed, “Tell me who you are?”

  Robyn kicked him in the shins.

  “Ow! You little–” Roger howled. “I’ll have you for assaulting an officer of the King!”

  Happy she’d landed a blow, Robyn said, “I’m not telling you anything.”

  “You will tell me or I’ll throw you in the dungeons!”

  Wait a minute, her mother could be in the dungeons. This could turn out to be a good thing. “Oh no! Please, sir, don’t put me in the dungeons. I’ll be ever so good.”

  Roger’s voice cracked. “Really?”

  “Course not.” Robyn kneed him in the thigh.

  Roger roared in frustration and wrenched her arm back, sending fresh pain through Robyn’s shoulder and biceps. “I don’t care who you are, you’re going down!”

  There was a scuffle and a dragging sensation as one of Roger’s helpers grabbed her other arm and they dragged her away.

  When they reached the dungeons, Roger shoved Robyn into the arms of the turnkey and said, “Lock her up for as long as you like.”

  “What are the charges?” The guard asked.

  “Whatever you like,” Roger said, then turned and stomped off.

  It would have been the perfect plan if the dungeons, as Robyn had imagined them, had been one big room full of prisoners.

  In reality they were a series of dark, dank and draughty cells.

  The guard was a tall woman with an iron grip and a deep love of her profession.

  “Please don’t do this,” Robyn said, only half acting. She figured most prisoners begged for freedom. But also? She didn’t have to act too hard because the guard had a phenomenal grip on her upper arm. Robyn was beginning to lose sensation in her hand.

  “It’s my job,” the guard said, giving Robyn a smile full of busted teeth.

  The guard was such a giant, she reminded Robyn of Joan.

  “But it wouldn’t be your job, not normally. It’s only the war that’s taken most of the men away. You should be home in your village, making clothes and keeping the fires going and–”

  “BORING!” The guard tightened her grip and Robyn nearly passed out from the pain. “In you get now.”

  The cell she threw Robyn in–then clanged the door shut and fastened the padlock–had nobody else in it. Judging from the echoing silence, the cell next door had to be empty too. Down the hall somewhere, she heard moaning. Somebody clanked a tankard on the bars.

  “Hey Turnkey! Water.”

  “You should have collected it when it rained!” The woman yelled, then gave a wheezy laugh.

  As Robyn rubbed the feeling back into her limp arm, she looked for a place to sit. The rubbing helped remind her she was still alive. Still OK. Still had friends on the outside who would bust her out.

  Unfortunately, with only her deteriorating thoughts for company, she started to wish she’d taken Marion a little more seriously and made a better p
lan. A plan that involved all of them being on the outside of the dungeon for starters.

  Rubbing her arm created enough noise to drown out the silence as she looked around her small cell for somewhere to sit.

  Nothing.

  Not even a large stone on the murky floor to use as a stool. After a few minutes she could feel her fingers and arm again, and her eyes adjusted to the gloom.

  “Anyone here from Loxley?” She called out in hope of getting an answer. “Littleton? Anyone?”

  Her voice bounced around the stone walls, mocking her.

  From another cell, a croaky old man’s voice said, “I’ll be from anywhere you want, love.”

  Oh great. A comedian.

  “I’m looking for the people of Loxley and Littleton.”

  “There’s just me here. And the voices. There’s enough of them to fill a village.”

  If it didn’t promise to hurt so much, she might bang her head against the wall in frustration.

  In between cackles from the vagrant, Robyn’s ears strained for sounds of others. If there were more people down here, the air would feel different. It would smell like stale sweat and animal skins and wool. It would smell like bodies and mingled breaths. But the only smell Robyn could detect was her own body, and the remnants of whoever had been in here before. Using the corner to relieve themselves.

  Oh please, let me get out of here before I have to use that.

  The wall chilled her as she leaned against it. The pressure against her body offered little comfort. But soon, one wall wasn’t enough security, so she squished herself into the corner–the opposite one to the open latrine–to feel the comforting pressure on two sides.

  The floor was no doubt filthy, but it offered pressure from a third side and she took it.

  And lay there curled up for goodness knew how long, straining her ears for noises.

  No noises.

  Nothing.

  It’s a strange thing, nothing. Because it’s never completely nothing. The more nothing she heard, the more the tiny movements of her body sounded louder and more unbearable. Her pulse beating in her neck. The scrape of her tunic against her skin when she turned this way or that. Her fingers scratching her scalp whooshed in her ears like the bellows at Marion’s forge.