Hooded

by H. J. Mountain

  “And how do you plan on doing that?” I say.

  He speaks over his shoulder. “Either come now or I will let Pelaw look after you.”

  I weigh this up. I want badly to leave: Pelaw’s stare is reason enough. But where will they take me and why? Guy will be desperate by now.

  “I must visit Sherwood Castle first.”

  “See!” Pelaw says.

  “I’m not going near Sherwood Castle,” Maroon Eyes says. “You stay here with Pelaw or leave with us. Your choice, princess.”

  “That’s not a choice.”

  “Beg to differ.”

  My hand has a mind of its own. It snatches the bow from my back. Plucks an arrow from the quiver. It does all this with a force of action that stuns me. It is only when I have the arrow placed and pointed at his back that I stall. My grip shivers. Pelaw’s slingshot is set on me.

  “Put it down!” she orders.

  I do not.

  Maroon Eyes turns around. “Don’t worry, Pelaw. She doesn’t strike me as a natural with the bow.”

  “I could still strike you from this distance.”

  I do everything to steady the arrow. To keep the nerves in my arm from passing down through the sleek tunnel of wood and revealing what is inside me. He does not blink.

  “Princess, you really should have stayed safe in your castle. You’ll miss your shot. And then you’ll pay for it dearly.”

  “No, she won’t.”

  We all turn at the new voice. The young woman comes from behind a tree, her eyes fixed on Pelaw, a dagger poised in her hand.

  **

  I gasp. “Marian! What are you doing here?”

  “Helping you! Now, drop your slingshot, little girl.”

  “Little girl?” Pelaw’s face is flushed crimson. “You aren’t much taller!”

  “So much for you coming here alone, princess,” Will says, as if this confirms his every suspicion. “Now we got a right hornet’s nest, don’t we?”

  And so we do: my arrow pointed at him, Pelaw’s shot on me, Marian’s dagger set to her. I am panicked at the thought that Marian could get hurt here. But I must use her unexpected arrival to our advantage.

  I breathe in. “Are you so certain I’ll miss, you would chance your life upon it?”

  There is a faint flicker in his jaw.

  “The story,” I demand.

  “You’ll have to come with us.”

  “She isn’t going anywhere with you,” Marian says.

  But I consider this bargain. “Where?”

  “Nottingham.”

  “Why?”

  “I have my reasons. But I’ll give you one for the hell of it. The story we heard and I can’t rightly remember, the old man who told it, he stops there. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about the black lion.”

  I do not know if I believe any of it.

  “Brya,” Marian says. “Let’s go. Now.”

  Then I hear her gasp. I look across. It is the young boy. Slate. He has rolled away to the side of the group. Produced a blade of his own and has it readied at his throwing shoulder, directed at her. Marian cannot possibly mark them both.

  “Why don’t you put that dagger down, lady,” the Green Giant says, in a deep timbre.

  Marian is looking at me, desperate. I nod. I cannot face her being in such danger because of me. She sighs and mutters under her breath and then slides her blade into a sheaf in her belt. Pelaw cheers their victory.

  “You will bring me to this man,” I say to Maroon Eyes.

  He grins. “We make a stop first.”

  “Fine. And you let Marian go.”

  “So she can go raise hell? No chance. She goes when you go.”

  “Then she comes with us.”

  “I’m not looking after the both of you, princess. She stays here till we all return.”

  “No!”

  “I can speak for myself,” Marian says, her cheeks hot. She glances at me, her gaze still bold, before she turns it on Maroon Eyes. “I will stay here, if I must. But know this: if you are not back by nightfall, with Brya, safe, it won’t matter. You’ll have the Sheriff and my father’s men, and plenty more beside, coming for all of you.”

  Maroon Eyes stares back at her, seemingly impressed. “We better get on then, princess.”

  I don’t like it one bit, but I lower my bow. Pelaw keeps her slingshot raised at me till Maroon Eyes growls at her.

  I hurry to Marian, clasp her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “Is this about the girl?”

  “I hope to find where she has been taken. But why did you come after me?”

  She looks at me like I am mad. “You went charging off towards Sherwood Forest! After whatever happened to you last night…I was worried about you, Brya.”

  I am touched more than I can say. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, it really worked out well.”

  “Are you sure you can stay here?”

  “Oh, I’ll be alright.” She leans into me. “I left a marker on the roadside. They will be looking for us soon enough.”

  That worries me. “Please be careful.”

  She squeezes my hand. “You just watch yourself with that rogue.”

  As if on cue, Maroon Eyes whistles from his horse. I gather up Farragut’s reins. As we leave, I hear Marian saying, “I’m getting my horse.” Glance over my shoulder to see Pelaw tracking her like a bloodhound.

  ***

  Away from the camp, I keep wondering how Marian will fare: whether she is safe with that crazed Pelaw. I ask my companions. The Green Giant nods sagely. Maroon Eyes shrugs.

  “Long as she doesn’t try anything.”

  It’s not exactly reassuring. I wonder if I should have tried harder to stay with her, or better yet, get her to come with us. She would be safe, or safer, and I would be riding with someone I could trust.

  “What are your names?” I demand. “You know mine. Tis only fair.”

  “Ai but you’re not an outlaw,” Maroon Eyes says, with a little too much satisfaction.

  “Go on.”

  The Green Giant purses his lips, as if to say: so be it. Maroon Eyes says, “This here is John Little. Though I prefer Little John.”

  I stifle a grin at the name, which makes a mockery of how John looks on his ride. Faintly ridiculous on the small, patched horse, his legs near scraping the ground. I cannot but feel for the poor animal.

  “Thank you, William Scathelock,” Little John says, in that measured way of his. “Or should I say, Will Slap-a-lot?”

  Maroon Eyes – Will – hoots.

  “Or perhaps Will Scarlett,” I offer.

  Will scowls at me. “Scarlett?”

  It is Little John who chuckles now. “Will Scarlett, now that I like! With them lovely locks in your hair, mate!”

  “Eat a rat,” Will says.

  I am rather pleased to find a chink in his armour of confidence. I decide to try to for a truce, which I hope may encourage him to tell me about the story he heard.

  “John, Will. Despite how we met, I thank you for this escort to Nottingham, and to this man you speak of.”

  “Fool, I said,” Will replies, harshly. He grows tense, like when he first found me in the cabin. “And this is no escort. I’d gladly leave you tied to a stump in the forest, if it wouldn’t attract the crows and then the Sheriff’s men. Least this way we might get some use out of you.”

  I abandon the effort at truce. “That is the second time you have spoken like that. I didn’t care for it the first.”

  “Oh you didn’t, did you?” He shoots me a sideways look. “Well, accept my most humble apologies.”

  I glare at him.

  “Children…” Little John says.

  For a while we ride in blessed silence. The woods rise up in thick grandeur around us. Sherwood, in its depths, has a beauty I did not expect. Though I will still be glad to leave it forever.

  Then, out of the blue, Will breaks the silence. “I remember he kept smiling like a mad man when he spok
e of it.”

  Little John sighs. “But I don’t think he was smiling cause it pleased him.”

  I lean forward in the saddle but do not speak. Not wanting to risk breaking whatever openness has come upon them.

  “Cause he didn’t believe any of it himself then?”

  John shakes his head. “Or he could not forget it.”

  I cannot resist. “Forget what?”

  “We were all ploughed,” Will says, as if that explains everything.

  “Ai, we were,” Little John says. “But you remember. What Old Harvole said about them nobles, them gathering on the darkest night.”

  “The darkest night?”

  Wills looks over. He speaks with sureness. “Ai, he said he served a nobleman. An alchemist. And they travelled to this castle. There were other noblemen there. They all wore the mark of a Black Lion.”

  “An alchemist is a sorcerer of gold, right?” I recall a book in our house that had spoken of such things; I read a chapter before Lady Ariel snatched it from me, saying it was nothing a girl should be reading.

  Will plays with the reins. “Some say they seek more than gold.”

  “What then?”

  He shrugs. “Old Harvole said it was a ritual of transformation. A form of alchemy that is banned in every church in every land. He said the nobles sought the anima mundi.”

  The words creep on my skin.

  Little John nods. “Ai, and a reign of a thousand years. Harvole said he heard cries in the castle too, that night. Girls. And then he fled. So he told us.”

  I look back and forth between them. My skin feels cold. I think of Sara bound in the chamber room.

  “Who was this alchemist?”

  Will shakes his head. “Never said a name. Funny that.”

  “Why do you not believe the old man?”

  “Because he was an old fool long gone to the ale. Trying to impress younger men in a tavern. I guess it made for a pretty good story.”

  “Yet he knew of the Black Lion.”

  Will says nothing to this. I stare down at the unsightly face on the cloth. Suddenly picture dozens of men wearing it.

  “What did he mean by the anima mundi?”

  “Now that’s far too mighty a question for our station, princess. Only a true high-blood could possibly begin to know the Force of God.”

  “Tis the soul of God, isn’t it?” Little John says.

  “Tis something, alright.”

  “You think this is so funny,” I say, furious at his levity. “Noblemen taking girls and doing whatever these rituals are…you think there is nothing wrong with that?”

  His smile fades. His maroon eyes turn sharp upon mine and he speaks with a force that makes me sit up in the saddle: “Ai, there is something wrong and rotten in this land. But it’s not Sherwood ghouls or some order of dark alchemists, whatever tale folk want to spin to each other in the winter night. It’s men like your father who have so much they are never satisfied and so they start wars just to keep themselves amused. And the rest have nothing at all but to fight for them.”

  I am stunned. “You don’t know my father,” I say, although the same is true of me.

  “I don’t need to. I’ve met his daughter.”

  I could throttle him.

  Will stares off into the forest. Eventually he waves an arm. “Enough. We ride to Nottingham. Go to Prendergast’s. Then take the princess to the tavern. Let her take her chances with Old Harvole, since she is so insistent. But let’s on: this day is already long in the tooth!”

  Will kicks at his horse and leads. Little John glances over. His thick black eyebrows cluster up in a look, perhaps, of wearied friendship. It is short work for Farragut to catch them up. But we are silent thereafter, each a prisoner to their own thoughts. I cannot speak for theirs but on through the wooded dales of Sherwood mine veer back and forth between Marian, back at the camp, and Will’s impassioned speech. Something about it gnaws away at me. Finally I understand what it is: some order of dark alchemists, he said. His words mix with those issued by another in the dust and fury of the chamber.

  Vesilly’s faceless voice, taunting me:

  Beware the Order.

  10.

  “Here!” Will tosses over a garment from his saddlebag. We have left the woods for the road and there is a wagon and driver up ahead. “Wear this.”

  I am sorely tempted to throw the cloak back in his face. Who does he think he is, ordering me so? But I do not care to be seen either. Not until I have met with this old man and heard everything he has to say. A ritual of transformation...but what does it mean? I look over at my riding companions, but do not want to give Will another chance to mock me. His temper is as loose as the afternoon’s winds, blowing the trees this way and that. Another reason to pull the grey cloak on and lift the cowl. Disappear inside the hood.

  The road bends through small villages of squat thatch homes and then the walls of Nottingham appear up ahead. A flow of wagons, horses, men and women approaches the main gates. Like other riders, we dismount. I keep one hand on Wolf’s leash, the other on Farragut’s rein. Two guards hover at the gates. They stop one or two and pull them to the side. We keep to the middle and pass through with the crowd.

  Inside the town walls the road runs softer with mud and traffic. It is lined with houses and taverns. Stalls and traders turn the air thick with braying voices, selling their wares. Scents of onions and fowl-meat tease my nostrils, waking my stomach again. Narrow alleys lead down to who-knows-where.

  Close by, Will turns. “You ever visited Nottingham, princess? Your family?”

  I shake my head. I take all of it in with wide eyes. It is by far the biggest town I have ever seen. It crackles with life.

  “Good. Follow me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Down here!” He slips into an alley on our left. Far fewer people take it. The lane is only wide enough for single-file. I am in the middle with Little John bringing up the rear. We take a few bends and along a fetid ditch. Then we come to a courtyard on the right. A stone building with a plague beside the door: Prendergast and Son.

  I am suddenly on edge again. “Who is Prendergast?”

  “He likes to collect things,” Little John says.

  “What things?”

  “Anything worth a coin, borrowed or lent,” Will says. “Only he’s respectable now, is Prendergast. That’s where you come in, princess.”

  I stare at him, making sense of it. “You’re going to sell him my family’s belongings, aren’t you?”

  Will smiles thinly. He pulls a blue pouch from his jacket. “Are you willing to let them go, if it gets you closer to what you’re after?”

  Something about his expression – its half-mocking quality, as if he has poked me in the ribs – raises my blood. And this just feels wrong. Though Lady Ariel and Beatrice have more necklaces and bracelets than they know what to do with, this is theft, pure and simple.

  “How do I even know you will take me to this Harvole?”

  “You never done a trade before?”

  “Not like this.”

  “Well, live and learn. You come inside. You play along. And I’ll do mine.”

  I glance at Little John. He gives nothing away.

  “What do you mean, play along, Will?”

  He licks his lips and knocks thrice on the wooden door. Then, like that, he snatches my hand up in his. “I mean, play along.”

  *

  The man who opens the door is Little John’s equal in height and girth. Only he is much older. Grey and grizzled and with a sour look in his deep-set eyes as they run over the three of us. He seems to recognise Will and Little John. He points a thick finger across the courtyard.

  “Horses,” he grunts. “Dog.”

  Will and Little John exchange a look.

  “I’ll stay with them,” Little John says, reluctantly.

  Will grimaces but nods. The huge manservant turns into the house. Will’s low parting words to his friend do
nothing for my edge: “If I’m not back in two songs, come howling, mate.”

  Still holding hands, Will and I pass into a small entranceway. Down through a corridor into a large room, well lit by candles on the wall and a single window that overlooks a passageway behind the house. The contents are impressive, especially given the house’s humble setting. There is a fine desk and chair of dark wood and shining leather; mantled walls of gilded vases, glossed shields, and pictures of rare quality. Much of this would not be out of place in Lord Anson and Lady Ariel’s home.

  Next to me, Will takes a breath. Do I imagine a faint tremor in his hand?

  “Now, you know I do not care for hoods in my place of business.”

  The voice, from our backs, is high and nasal. Stood in a doorway to the end of the room is a very short man of perhaps forty years of age. Tufts of tawny hair sprout from the sides of his pointed head like horns. His face and limbs are skinny yet a very full belly presses against the buttons of his fur-lined coat. A bright silver cross on a chain nestles in his vest.

  “Prendergast,” Will says. I note a rare flicker of unease in his voice. Will pulls back his hood. He nods at me to follow suit.

  “William Scathelock! Why, I thought you were dead, my boy.” The short man, Prendergast, steps toward us. The room is far from cold, but for some reason his hands are gloved. He also wears the most ridiculous shoes I have ever seen: long and yellow with great tassels on the toes. “And who do we have here, William?”

  Will cracks a proud grin. “This here is my love.”

  My throat tickles. I fight a blush of outrage spreading in my cheeks.

  “My congratulations!” Prendergast appraises me with a penetrating eye. I glance away from him, but the giant servant is watching from the doorway at the back of the room. There seems nowhere safe to look. “She looks a little above your station, William.”

  “The heart is a strange beast.” Will squeezes my hand. Is this what I am supposed to play along with? I force a dutiful smile onto my lips.

  Prendergast does not let up with his gaze. “Does she not have a name?”

  “Myrtle,” Will says, without pause.

  “Can Myrtle not speak for herself?”

  “I certainly can.” I nod to our host. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sire.”