Scarlet

by A. C. Gaughen

  She continued to cry but she obeyed me, running like the Devil himself were on her heels.

  The man pulled out the knife as his counterpart unsheathed his sword. Swords are terrible. They are naught but big, heavy knives that most don’t know how to use right. I drew two more knives as they came at me.

  “You’ll regret that, lad,” the one said. His hand were dripping red, though, so I were fair sure I wouldn’t regret that.

  “Make me,” I challenged.

  They ran at me and I turned and bolted, hearing them chuckle as they chased me against the tanner’s fence. ’Course, this were my plan.

  I didn’t hesitate, leaping up and using the fence to flip over their heads. I dropped behind the uninjured one and sliced my knife along the back of his knee, and he screamed. I didn’t like to kill people, but that kind of slice meant he couldn’t do much chasing from here on.

  The injured one hammered his sword down, aiming to hack my head, but I slid back and he caught just my knife, snapping the blade.

  “Son of a whore,” I snarled. His blade stuck in the soft ground, and I slammed a punch to his crotch. He let go of the sword with a growl, but he cuffed me with his bloody hand.

  I twisted away with stars in my eyes, but the instant thought of John Little saying I couldn’t take a punch gave me iron in my blood. I turned back to the guard and threw a fist as fierce as I could muster to his face, the little of it not covered by chain mail. He fell and hit the ground, and I took off running into the forest.

  I didn’t go far, ’course. I wheeled back through the woods and came up on Mistress Cooper’s house. Seeing a light go out, I looked in the window and started swearing.

  Mistress Cooper were there with Amy. The others weren’t; they must have gone on to Worksop already. They had a bundle on the ground, and I reckoned they must have been packing up a few more things. I climbed the thatch, hanging on the ridge of the roof to watch over the door. I still had three knives on me; if they came to bother Amy or any other Cooper, they’d have me to deal with.

  My heart beat like the drum of a Scot, hard and even. I had that animal’s blood on my face, and I tried to wipe it off. The hand that I punched him with were bleeding and hurt—I never punch people. I just cut them. Bastard broke my knife.

  It were pitch-black and more than an hour before I moved, and then only when I saw John walking through town, his eyes casting over the Cooper home.

  I gave three short whistles and he stopped, looking up into the trees. He lowered his gaze a little and squinted at the roof. Even he couldn’t see me. I dropped from the roof and went around the side of the house.

  “Christ Almighty,” he said, grabbing my face and twisting it. “What happened?”

  Swiping at the blood again, I pushed his arm off me. “It’s not my blood. The sheriff’s men went after Amy Cooper.”

  “Why wasn’t she in Worksop? I thought the whole family went over earlier.”

  “I ain’t a mind reader, John,” I snarled.

  “Is she hurt?”

  I nodded. “He smacked her up a bit. She were terrified. She and her mam are here. We can’t move them till dark, and even then we best use the forest.”

  Swears jumped from his mouth. “All they had to do was listen to us and no one would have been the wiser to them in Worksop. And who the hell hurts a little girl?” He shook his head fierce and crossed his arms over his big chest. “Are you hurt?”

  “He broke my knife,” I told him, showing him the hilt with the jagged remnant.

  “I’ll fix it for you.” As he picked it up, he brushed my knuckles. I hissed.

  He grabbed my hand and tried to see it in the dim light. “What did you do, punch him out?”

  I pulled my hand away from him. “Yes.”

  “You busted up your hand pretty good. You might have broken it.”

  “It ain’t broken.”

  He took my hand again, pocketing the remains of my knife to push his thumbs over my hand, working each finger in turn and testing the bones. It hurt, but I grit my teeth. “Not broken.”

  “Told you.”

  “Get over to Tuck’s and have Robin clean you up. I’ll keep watch.”

  I shook my head. “I’ll stay.”

  “Scar, you know I lost my little sister, right?”

  I swallowed. I did know that. A little sister and little brother and his parents in a fire. He never told me that, though, so I weren’t sure if I should fess to knowing it. “Yeah.”

  “So, they aren’t going to lay a finger on that little girl while I’m standing in front of this house, you understand?”

  “If they come back with more?”

  His eyes glinted even in the dark. “I’m hoping they will.”

  “I’ll be back soon with Rob.”

  He nodded.

  I jogged over to the inn. My head hurt and, with the anger gone, I were starting to feel a little dizzy. I went in the back door to the side room, checking that Rob and Much were there before edging into the doorway. “Rob,” I said soft.

  He looked up, and his face changed. “Go downstairs. Much, you stay here.”

  Much looked up at me and swallowed. “Jesus, you all right, Scar?”

  “Fine, Much.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back. John and Rob, they were the same sort. They thought it were up to them to save the rest of us, and most people looked at them and agreed. People pushed me and Much aside. They thought I couldn’t never do nothing, and they thought Much needed to be coddled on account of his bad arm. “Amy and Mistress are stuck in the Cooper house. Need you to figure a way to get them to Worksop.”

  Much nodded. “We’re sending them on to Dover tonight anyway. My aunt can get them work there. Rob, can I go over there now?” he asked.

  I scowled. “It ain’t like you need his permission, Much.”

  Much’s mouth tucked under, and I felt bad.

  “Downstairs, Scar. We need to take care of whatever is cut under all that blood,” Rob said sharp.

  I nodded, going down the back stair to the underground storeroom. It were cold down there, and I knew why Rob sent me. Tuck had a big water supply he kept in the cold ground, and I fished the rocks out of it and dried them off. I held one to the side of my head. It felt like ice against the pain.

  Rob came down with a candle and I looked at my other hand, the one with the busted knuckles. They were torn open and already swollen. I scowled. My aim would be off.

  Rob didn’t say anything. He kept trying to swallow like something were stuck in his pipes while he pressed another rock to my hand. I hissed at the contact. He took a cloth and began to clean off the blood in little dabbing motions.

  “It’s not mine,” I told him quick, taking the cloth and wiping the blood off, rubbing at the dried bits even as it scraped at my cuts.

  “Some of it is,” he said, his voice low. “Can I take off your hat?”

  I bit my lip, chewing on it a moment. Swallowing a breath, I looked down and reached up and pushed it off, pulling my long hair to the side.

  My fingers felt something thick and clumpy in my hair, and I frowned and scrubbed at the matted blood with the cloth.

  He sighed. “Would you give me that? You’re making it worse. I know how to tend a cut, Scar.”

  I glared at him but handed the cloth over. He began dabbing again, but this time at the cut on my cheek, which were fair awful. Even the dabs made my teeth grind.

  “Going to tell me what happened?”

  “The sheriff’s men went after Amy Cooper. She and her mam came back to their house. One hit Amy.”

  Rob looked up, his eyebrow raised. “Is the sheriff’s man still alive?”

  “They both are. I cut one behind the knee and the other’s hand. He broke my knife,” I said, bitter.

  “So, you punched him?”

  I nodded.

  “You’re no good for punching, Scar. You could have broken your hand.”

  “That’s what John said.”

 
; “I take it he’s at the house, or you wouldn’t have left them.”

  I nodded.

  He pressed my cheek with the cloth again, and then his hand touched my cheek, hot after the cold water. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

  The air whooshed from my chest but I rolled my eyes ’stead of letting on. “No one gets all bent up over John being bruised.”

  He stepped back, looking into my eyes. I felt like my eyes were unprotected without my hat.

  “Scar, you walked in here covered in blood. You don’t see how that would upset us?”

  “No.”

  He caught my chin in his fingers. “Like it or not, Scar, we’re your friends. We care about you. I care about you.”

  I pulled away from his hand, pushing my knuckles forward.

  He tore up strips of old, worn linen and wrapped my knuckles with them, tying them off in my palm.

  “We should get back to Little John. If the soldiers come back, he’ll need help.”

  Rob nodded. His head were low and he weren’t looking at me. He wiped the stones and put them back in the cold water. “I’m sorry I got you into this, Scar.”

  All my rage bubbled up, mixing with the little bit of fear I didn’t want to cop to. I pushed him back, shoving my hat on my head though it stung fierce. “Stop it. You ain’t sorry you got John and Much mixed up in this. You ain’t sorry I’m outta London. It ain’t no tragedy that I bleed, so just let it lie.”

  He looked at me with his funny, lopsided grin, like he knew how tough I were and it weren’t half what I wanted it to be. “I’m saying I’m sorry you got hurt, Scar.”

  “And I’m telling you I make my own decisions. Including who to fight for and when to get hurt. So let’s go.”

  His mouth twitched into a smile. He nodded. We went to the top of the stairs and he gave me a hard look, but without any yap, we went out into the night. It were cold, but we moved pretty fast to the Coopers’. Part of me thought we’d find the house on fire, but John were where I left him, looking out from the side of the house. He were kind of like a big, shadowy gargoyle on a cathedral, keeping the place from demons. It made a shiver run up my spine, but I shook it off. I pretty much think I ended up on the wrong side of God, even if I spent most of my time trying to make up for it.

  Much were around the side, and he came over as John came from the shadows and Rob went to the back door. I heard Rob knock and softly speak to the Coopers, and I leaned against the wall.

  “Find anything out today, then?” Much asked.

  I nodded. “Gisbourne is here but his belongings ain’t. They were going to ship them up the Trent and then bring them down to avoid Sherwood, but they decided to disguise the goods instead. They’re coming up tomorrow, as early as dawn.”

  John smiled. “Rob will like that.”

  My fingers brushed the empty space where my knife usually sat. I wondered if John would actually fix it. He used to be a blacksmith, so I knew he could. Couldn’t much trust people to do favors for you, no matter if they were strangers or bandmates. I guess I could steal it back if he didn’t fix it.

  “Do you know what the disguise is?” Much asked.

  “No. I’ll spot it, though.”

  John elbowed me. “’Bout the only thing you can trust a thief to do is spot treasure.”

  I scowled. “It won’t be any great treasure. Some money, but his belongings foremost.”

  “Well, why do we want it?” John said.

  “Because it will make him very angry,” Much said. “Which probably isn’t such a good idea.”

  John smiled and gave a dark, throaty chuckle that put gooseflesh on my arms. “Angry is always a good idea.”

  Much scoffed. “Why do we always start the trouble?” he mumbled to himself.

  “We don’t,” I said, probably a lick harsher than were right. “We finish the trouble they start.” Much looked down, and I sighed. I didn’t like making Much feel small but I weren’t the sort to apologize. “Did you get good loot today?”

  John scowled. “No. Pains me to admit, but we need you on the roads with us.”

  Rob came out from around the building, sliding in the darkness and nodding to us. “The family is safe and calm.” He nodded to me. “And grateful, Scar.”

  I nodded back. It were dark, so they couldn’t prove I were blushing.

  “Much, why don’t you and I take them back over to Worksop? Scar, John—go back to the Oak. We need to be on the roads early tomorrow, and I want your eyes sharp.”

  “Scar has information that Gisbourne’s effects are coming up through the forest. At dawn, disguised,” John said.

  Rob smiled. “Very interesting. We’ll all meet at the archway an hour before dawn. Agreed?”

  We nodded, and I took my chance to run off. And I ran. And ran. It took an hour to get to Thoresby Lake, the farthest bounds of Lord Thoresby’s property far in the deep of Sherwood Forest, so I were running as hard as I could. I felt filthier than in London. It weren’t the blood. He hit me and broke my knife. For one measly second I were scared, and I needed to get that off me before the dawn, before we patrolled the roads, when I couldn’t be one inch of scared.

  My fists were shaking as I ran, sweat pushing out the filth, desperate for the water. I jumped the big rock and dove in, breaking the surface and crashing into fierce cold.

  I hung there, under the water. My eyes were closed and my skin went fair numb. My lumps and slices went to ice. There were no room for nothing in my mind but cold.

  When I pulled out of the water, heaving shivery breaths on the shore, I were fearless.

  Chapter

  Four

  The air were fair crisp, with the kind of crunch to it like a sweet apple. The leaves hadn’t fallen yet, which were good. When the leaves fall the trees get thin, and I have to try harder to hide. When the leaves fall, though, the whole forest is covered in a blanket. Leaves cover the pitfalls and ditches and level off the bumps, but it’s all lying in wait for them that don’t know what’s there. I like to know my forest better than those that might chase me into it.

  I were crouched low on the archway. It weren’t a proper arch: two trees knitted together over the road years ago, forming a big curve with their branches. I couldn’t see John, Rob, or Much, but I knew where they were, and they were waiting for my signal. It were dawn and the road led to the markets, so several wagons had come through. Most of them we knew; some of them were strangers, but they didn’t look like they had much in the way of coin. Besides, this morning weren’t about money.

  The wind were coming through the trees fair hard when I spotted them down the road. It looked like a coffin cart, with two souls in boxes, and two monks were at the reins. It were a good disguise, but the monks were half a belly short of the typical breed, and the chain mail beneath their robes clinked soft with every pitch of the wagon. What mucked it up true, though, were the horses. No religious house would have solid war destriers like that.

  I threw a small dagger with a long red ribbon attached to it into the tree by Rob’s hiding spot. I never heard so much as a rustle, but I knew they’d be ready.

  When the cart rolled close, I dropped to the ground, my thinning wool coat spreading out beneath me. The leaves whooshed away and I smiled, lifting my head slow.

  “Whoa,” they called to the horses. “Out of the way, ruffian!”

  “You ain’t no monks,” I said. “And those ain’t no bodies.”

  They jumped to their feet at this, pulling swords from their robes. “Let us pass, or our master will make you regret it.”

  “Don’t put much faith in masters, myself,” I told them. “So, are you gents going to pay the forest tax?”

  “You want a tithe of a body?”

  I looked them over. “If you’re offering, then I’ll take your hand. Maybe a foot. You have lovely feet, sir.”

  “He meant the corpses, whelp.”

  “Oh, are we still trying to wink by that you have bodies in those coffins?”

/>   The one on the left jumped down, and I heard the chain mail rattle like rainfall. I stepped back, crossing my arms over my chest to grab two knives under my coat.

  “Time to run off now, vermin.”

  Honestly. Why does everyone think I’m a rat? “So you’ll not be paying the tax, then?”

  “I’ll take a tenth of your neck if you try,” he growled.

  I shrugged. “S’pose that’s fair. I’ll be on my way. You might want to make sure those bodies are still safe, though. Don’t want a dead’un rolling around.”

  I grinned, and they both turned to look at the cart that were very much empty. By the time they turned round again, I were hidden in the tree and they were cursing a blue streak.

  They hacked around in the underbrush for a little while, but they couldn’t find our men. The longer they looked the more they argued with each other, and after a bit they got back in the cart, red faced, and drove on to Nottingham.

  As they drove, I hoped they were the sheriff’s own men. Then, at least, Gisbourne wouldn’t have no authority to kill them where they stood.

  I helped John with his coffin while Rob and Much struggled with the other; my arms were right sore by the time we got it back to the cave, and that were even with John hauling most of the weight. I hated that I weren’t more strong. Much were sweating and pale, leaning back against the weight with his one good arm. Maybe it weren’t the worst fate to be the weakest of the group.

  We brought it deep into the cave. We kept this place separate from our camp; we found it last winter and stored any loot we came ’cross here until we could get it to the townspeople. We also had a few crucial supplies that would get us through the winter and such. A calico cat had taken up in here to have her babies, and one of the little kittens seemed to like me. He clawed up on my shoulders like always.

  “Hey, Kit,” I said, scratching his ear. He were warm at least.

  “Let’s crack them,” John said.

  I nodded, kneeling down to the locks and pulling my pick from my vest. I had the lock opened in a second or two. I stood and John stretched out his arms.

  “Why couldn’t I just break them?”