Everyone else wanted to believe in their imagination. They put their stock in empty hopes, in religion, in rumors. In Tuck’s stories, and his “give Him credit” horseshit. If Marion’s group got themselves killed before Arthur saw them again, he could drop just as much blame on the friar’s little ass head as on Marion’s.
“Why’s it called a liar’s nail?” Stutely asked, huffing to keep up.
Will groaned. “Comes from carpenters, I think? A good carpenter knows to stop once he’s driven a nail down to the wood. A bad carpenter would keep on hammering. Smashes a big ugly hole into it.”
“Why would he be a liar?”
“What?”
“Well, I get why a liar keeps on selling his lie,” Stutely argued, “but what does being a liar have to do with being a good carpenter?”
“Maybe he lied about being a good carpenter,” David suggested.
“He keeps on hammering…” Will repeated.
“Yeah, I understand it. Just seems like the name doesn’t make any sense.”
Zinn reeled around on them and halted their group. “Who the fuck cares why it’s called that? Shut the fuck up and keep your heads down.”
Stutely’s face turtled down into his own beard. Once they were moving again, he muttered to himself, “Just think it ought to have a better name.”
The wharfside alleys ended abruptly against a small rise of rock to the north, only a few stories tall, which ran long and level to the east and west. From his small talk with hawk boy and dog scabs, Arthur had learned it was a natural divider between the broad marsh of the dock slops and the finer wards above. A ramp had long ago been cut at a gentle slope on the side of the rock face—the Long Stair—wide enough that merchants could cart their goods up to sell to betterfolk who had real coin to spend. Up and above the Long Stair, the shadow of a huge church with a square tower looked down on them all. Tuck would’ve fucking loved it.
But Zinn led them—rather than up the ramp—against the rock wall until buildings began to nestle against its craggy surface. Here she tugged aside a piece of canvas at the corner of the rock and building, revealing a thin crevice that slipped behind the stone structure. It was barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through, and only then by wedging sideways and scraping uncomfortably against the walls.
Stutely might not be able to fit at all.
Arthur peered into that crack, feeling something fucking stupid for squinting. As if he were going to notice, just barely, some trap that would otherwise have killed them all. Their only real choice was to trust that Zinn actually knew half the shit she talked.
Will paused before they entered. “Zinn, how long have you known your Robin Hood?”
“Longer’n I’ve known you,” she sneered back.
“Thank you for that sass, it was delicious. How about a real answer?”
She humphed. “Long enough.”
“You knew him before he called himself Robin Hood, then.”
She shifted her weight.
“What was his name before?”
Zinn pouted for a bit, seemingly torn between her instinct to be a little bitch and some long-buried drive to communicate like a normal fucking human. “Red Fox,” she answered at last, as if it were a dare, and then slipped into the crack.
Will made a noise.
“You know him?” David asked.
“No,” he exhaled. “At least, I don’t think so. But everyone takes some kind of red name when they move up in the Red Lions, so could be.”
“Red Fox,” Stutely mumbled. “Robin Hood as a fox? Who’s supposed to be afraid of that?”
Probing his hands forward in the pitch blackness, Arthur clenched his neck and went in first, finding nothing but the dust of sandstone to his left and cold stone on his right. He bumped his head twice and cursed each time, resorting to placing one hand on his forehead with his fingers outstretched like antlers. Eventually the rock opened up and he didn’t have to stoop to stand, though he could still see nothing and had to tap blindly to find his footing. Zinn’s hand found his and she pulled him a few feet farther.
By the hollow sounds of his own breath, he could tell the space had widened into a small cave. Behind him, the grunts of his friends muffled anything else.
“This is just one of the entrances,” Zinn whispered. “They lead down, these tunnels spread across half the city, let the Red Lions disappear and move about unnoticed.”
“They can see in the dark then?” Arthur asked back.
“Havin’ a hard time, Grumbles?” She snorted. “Doncha worry, someone’ll meet us here in a bit with a big bright torch an’ everything.”
“Hey Zinn,” Will’s voice came, cutting off Arthur’s urge to throttle her. “I wanted to mention this—you’re a sharp one with that scorpion’s tail, you know? Very good, nobody wants to get near you when you keep it moving like you do. But when you strike out, you’re forced to drop your guard. You have to catch the tail when it comes back, and for a moment you’re defenseless.”
“I’ll be sure to put that on a list—”
“And you do the same thing with your tongue,” Will interrupted her. “You’re sharp, you’re quick with the little insults and jaded barbs. You put up a good defense so nobody wants to get close to you. But when you lash out at someone for no reason,” his sentence lingered, “you show your weakness.”
The little bitch shuffled. “You all sure love to talk, doncha?”
“Do what you want,” Will chuckled. “You’ll figure it out someday. There’s a time and a place for that brat you’ve got in you. But if you don’t balance it out with something else, it isn’t a tool anymore. It becomes a crutch.”
He was talking about himself, of course. And goddamn it was good to hear that kind of advice from Will. If nothing else, Will seemed to discover himself again in this city, reclaiming the confidence that had fettered away to grief in the Sherwood. Perhaps Lady Marion was wrong.
Perhaps he’ll teach us all how to swim.
“Alright, girl,” Will finished. “You’d best be off now.”
She laughed in protest. The noise disappeared down some nearby tunnel. “I’m going with you.”
“You are not.” Will’s voice was cold. “What’s to follow is for us men. You’re too young for this.”
“I’m the one who brought you here.”
“I’m not fucking playing you,” he replied, still evenly, his tone giving away nothing. “This isn’t pinching errant coins and buying stale bread. You’ve got years, God willing, before you should be dealing with the level of shit we barter in.”
“If I’m so young and useless why did you need me to get you here?”
“Don’t be sour, girl,” David said, softly. “You did us right, and we appreciate that. But we’ll handle it from here.”
Arthur tried to aim his voice toward hers. “That’s just the way it is.”
“You can’t make me leave.”
“You don’t want to test that.” Will’s words were too precise, and they left nothing but silence. “It’s for your own good. So if I have to hurt you to get you to leave, I will.”
Arthur wondered if that were true. He didn’t care much for the little bitch, but he wouldn’t actually hurt her. He just liked the idea of it.
Her voice tried to mature. “Maybe I’ll hurt you instead.”
“You’re too young!” Will snapped. “It took me ten minutes to figure out your game at the fish market, and following your slights through the streets was a joke. I disarmed you in one move. How long do you think you’d last against someone who actually means you harm?”
She started to say something, but a commotion between them meant Will was probably pushing her back toward the crevice.
“Get over yourself and learn your fucking place. I’m done putting up with your shit. You open that mouth again and I’ll close it for you.”
There was a quick breath, maybe a gasp from Zinn, or the beginning of a whimper? She was, despite all her bramble
, just a young girl who thought it was fun to play at street rat. And Will was right, this was over her head.
Out of a curious sense of protection he hadn’t expected, Arthur knew it’d be best for her if they chased her off. Like a dog. “Go on, off you little cunt!” he growled, and her noise shuffled out the way they came. A few seconds later the heavy flap of the canvas snapped back in place, and they were alone in the black cavern.
“You didn’t have to be so harsh with her,” David muttered.
“Yes I did,” Will said with finality.
Those three words spoke volumes, as Arthur knew full well what the rest of the sentence would have been. I should have been harsher with Much.
He pictured Zinn, held aloft by a blade in her throat, tumbling to the ground.
No more children helping out.
This was no game they were playing. It was no place for those who couldn’t handle it.
As a slog of time passed, Arthur could begin to make out the outlines of their cavern. The chamber they were in was even smaller than he thought. Eventually a light jumped harshly around the curve of tunnel, and a torch crackled into view and blinded them. The deep ribbons of the cave wall wrapped around themselves at the flame’s whim.
“Come along then,” said the torchbearer, and they did.
Down and away from the children’s playground, and into the bowels of men.
SEVENTEEN
CAITLIN FITZSIMON
THE LIONS DEN
FOUR STRANGERS, EACH STRANGER than the last, darkened the floor at the foot of the Lions Den. Not true strangers, no, Cait grinned. Not as much as they thought. They formed a diamond and the one in the front—the short little bushy creature—well, that was Will Scarlet.
“Greetings,” he said, and the battle had officially begun.
His history with the Lions earned him a parley, and not an inch further. Not a black crag of an inch further, no. There was only so much room at the top, and not a bit of it was for Scarlet. One king, which was Alfred’s title now. And Cait at his side, no other. There was a time when Scarlet had the opportunity to claim leadership of the whole gang, and instead he walked away. In some ways, Caitlin FitzSimon wondered if she ought to thank him for that terrible decision. His departure left an empty hole that she and Alfie had filled, like water flooding through sand. Her father would call that a change of the guard, to replace the old and tired with the fresh and new.
Two years ago, that was.
Five days ago, they received word Scarlet was back, and wearing the wrong name. The Lions had watched him and his men in that time—used them, tested them—while Cait learned everything she could about Will Scarlet. Now she knew it all, except for what in sweet hell he was doing here.
“Hullo?” Scarlet tried again. This boy who called himself Robin Hood looked as impetuous as the stories described. He looked about the cave, but none of its many inhabitants gave him any heed. The Lions Den sprawled over three mismatched tiers of empty slag in the hollows beneath Nottingham, a slanted cavern of granite and sandstone. Its harsh walls constantly changed shape at the whim of the braziers, whose smoke drifted up into wormholes in the rock and out to the streets of the Parlies above. The den was filled with assorted tables and chairs they’d pilfered from the topside city, where they were no longer welcome. Wretched, that this was what she was defending.
Scarlet’s fingers lingered at the knives sheathed in his belt, and Caitlin wondered who she should punish for letting him in with weapons at hand.
“Oh look,” Cait announced at last, as bored as possible. “Guests.”
She made a labor of strutting forward, dragging the heel of each boot against the uneven rock floor, telling their visitors exactly how unimportant they were. Inside, her guts were roiling. If Scarlet meant to take the Lions from her, from her and Alfie, then hell would ope its jaws. Some in the room would side with him. Even if he stayed in Nottingham, he’d find enough support to be a rival. Even if they warred, even if she killed Scarlet, her group would be split. They’d only survived this long by avoiding infighting, and Scarlet would ruin that. No, the only way to win was to win completely—and that started with pretending that Scarlet wasn’t a threat at all.
“Did you hear, love?” She dropped her hand onto Alfred’s shoulder as she came ’round the back of his throne. No doubt the intruders wouldn’t call it a throne, they’d see it for the ramshackle pile of scunner it was. They’d probably see the Red Lions the same way. What Will Scarlet probably didn’t see was that he was to blame for it all.
“Steady on, lads!” Alfred, ever the showman, clapped his hands several times, calling the room to attention. The hubbub settled, if reluctantly. The whores silenced themselves first, since, being whores, they were good at doing what they were told. The men at the horns followed, swallowing down their ale and abating their arguments, then the boys at the dice games threw their last grumbles. All of them were hers for now, but they were all up for grabs. The upcoming conversation was the game, her cubs were the wager … the room, an arena.
“Steady on, I say,” Alfred cooed again as the chamber settled. “I’ve been looking forward to this all night.” He unfolded himself from the throne like a spider, snapping his long duster down as he stood at his full height. In better light the duster was a rusty red, but down here so was everything else. The blond of his mane positively glowed, making a halo of his drawn face. “A bit of entertainment for us all, if we be lucky! If not, then I promise we’ll put a fine hurt upon these strangers. So, entertainment either way, now that I think on’t!”
“Oh no,” Will Scarlet moaned.
“Oh no, he cries!” Alfred span theatrically.
“Not this.”
“This, indeed!”
“I was worried about who I might find down here. There are brutal, violent men in the Red Lions, some of the very worst…”
Alfred raised a finger. “You are lucky we consider those words compliments.”
“… but nothing could be worse than being talked to death!”
Alfred reeled backward to Caitlin. He was a master of faces, though his features were ever handsome and sharp. “‘Talked to death!’ That had a mean-spirited quality to it, no?”
“He’s a tiny little thing,” Caitlin responded, not to them, but to Alfred directly. They were not yet worth her attention. “Look, he’s only got room for two knives on his belt.”
She spread her own coat open, proud to show off her size. Cow, they probably thought. Pig. Fussock. She’d heard it before, from every arrogant bawbag she’d smashed down on her way to the top. And these arrogant bawbags before her were particularly arrogant and particularly bawbaggy. She stared Scarlet down for an extra few seconds, refusing to give any ground. Not now.
“Look, love,” she said, pointing at their guest. “He’s even shorter than you described.”
“Not true!” Alfred shot a finger up. “If my account of the man did not paint an accurate image, that is the fault of your imagination, and not my description. I think I described him thusly: he is exactly one head shorter than any man should be, and one head taller than he is like to remain.”
“God’s balls,” Scarlet replied dryly. “That’s so clever.”
“I’m saying you’re going to get your head cut off someday,” Alfred explained.
Will nodded over and over. “Yeah, I got that.”
“Just making sure.”
“It was pretty clear.”
“Really?” Alfred squinted. “I was afraid it might go over your head.”
“No, it—goddammit.” Scarlet’s shoulders slumped. A few Lions let out their laughter, and eventually Scarlet succumbed and did the same. Cait inhaled deeply—she wanted to look around the room, catalogue reactions, to know if anyone was already falling on the wrong side of the line. But she couldn’t. This Scarlet runt couldn’t be seen to crack her composure.
So far, so good. He’d taken his insults, and had yet to demand anything. Maybe he wasn’t here t
o play king after all. Maybe he just wanted to join again—and backstab them later. She couldn’t allow that, either. The boy had to leave Nottingham, tail between his legs. It was the only way. If she and Alfred had refused him parley, it would have reeked of cowardice and played to his favor. No, no, a smile was the best way to disarm him.
Alfred was Red Fox, and the throne was his. Scarlet would learn it, in his bones if he had to. Of course, Alfie wore the crown only insofar as that Cait let him, and every one of her cubs knew she shared that power as much as he. But a ship needed both a captain to love and a first mate to fear, and Cait was better at the latter. Any fool cub who thought her word wasn’t an equal with Alfred’s was quick to get learned.
She wasn’t giving that up.
Alfred slapped his throne. “I’m not going to lie and say it’s good to see you, Will. But still … it’s not the worst.”
“Thanks. Same to you, Freddy.”
This elicited a gasp that went around the cavern. Caitlin chased its path, stalking it in a circle, daring any one of her cubs to so much as breathe that name. That was a child’s name, from his time as a pup in Severn’s Yard. But now, reputation was everything.
“The first man here who repeats that name,” Alfred craned his neck back, “will be given one far worse.”
Caitlin snickered. “The first man?”
“Or woman!” Alfred followed quickly, and the edges of his lips gave way a smirk. “In this, at the very least, let the sexes be equal.”
The whores cooed again, being whores. In their middle was Clorinda Rose, wrapped in red and sex, hoping for an errant glance from Alfred. It was hard to tell, but it looked as if her whore lips mouthed the word Freddy as if it were her own little secret. Calm your thighs, slag. Not to some painted knob-gobbler. Not to some chest-beating weasel.
“So you knew it was me?” Scarlet asked. “How?”
Alfred bent over like a toy doll and rippled his spindly fingers before his face. “Inklings,” he proclaimed, as if summoning some dark magic. “Your name carries a lot of deeds on its back. Not many are either brave enough or ignorant enough to call themselves Robin Hood.”
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