A Hoboken Hipster In Sherwood Forest (10 page)

This had better work. Especially since I'm the one who came up with the plan. Robin's men now think I'm some sort of tactical genius. Of course I can't take complete credit—especially since technically I ripped the entire thing off from a rescue scene in Tristan and
Isolde, this medieval movie I watched a while back. But hey, I'd bet my favorite American Apparel hoodie that no one in the approaching coach Netflixed the film, so to them it'll be a complete surprise.

Then again, Hollywood could have gotten it completely wrong and we'll be screwed. Guess we'll have to wait and see.

"Wait for it," a hidden Robin hisses to the men across the dirt road. For as much as he didn't want to do this in the first place, all morning he's been like a kid in a candy store. I think deep down thievery agrees with him.

I'm not so sure about myself, however. To tell the truth, I'm just not adjusting to medieval life in Sherwood Forest as easily as I thought I would. Not that I'm some girlie girl—I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty or anything. But still! There are no beds here. No toothbrushes.
And very few vegetarian options beyond wheat bread. I'm sore from sleeping on the ground and my stomach keeps growling its displeasure at the food I send its way. Let's just say I have a medieval version of Montezuma's Revenge and there are no bathrooms to hide and be sick in.

It's kind of disappointing, actually. I figured I'd be the perfect girl to go back in time. I'm not like Kat—all princess-and-the-pea-like I don't mind living at one with nature. Not that there was a lot of nature in my hometown of Hoboken, but still. Danny and I went to the Catskills a ton of times and I never had a problem sleeping in a cabin.

But this is much harder than I figured. I'm tired, dirty, depressed and even bored. I feel like I'm attending some horrid summer camp and there's no way to call Mom and beg her to come pick me up. Not that my mom would have ever interrupted one of her drug-induced trances to hop in her Volkswagen bus and retrieve me.

I mean, what am I doing here? Three days and I'm no closer to accomplishing my mission. How long before King Richard returns? What if it's not for a year or something? Am I really going to have to hang out in Sherwood Forest for a year? And what if Robin's right and the sheriff
catches us all? Will they hang me? And if they do, will I pop back into the 21st century? Or does death here mean death back home as well? Ugh.

While I'm at it, has time passed in the present? Am I missing work without calling in sick? What if they fire me?
Photog jobs are so hard to come by—that's why I'm working at that silly fashion magazine and not, say, Rolling Stone, to begin with. Same with Kat. Monday morning neither one of us will show up to work. Will people think something horrible happened to both of us? Will they call out the National Guard? Will we be featured on milk cartons? Or do you have to be gone at least a year to get on those?

Will
La Style
do a full-page spread on Kat's and my mysterious disappearances—a tribute to their two employees gone missing on the job? Oh, wait, probably the beautiful, stylish Kat will make the front cover. I'll be reduced to a brief mention in the article. So help me, if they call me her sidekick….

"They're here!"

The dusty cloud and thunderous sound of hooves against dirt brings me back to reality. (Though whoever thought I'd call 12th-century England my reality?) No time to mourn my past life now; I got these men into this situation and now I've got to get them out alive. Alive and with gold, hopefully.

"Now!" Robin cries.

The archers in the surrounding trees loose their arrows, which fly past the front of the carriage; causing the horses to come to a screeching halt, rearing up on their hind legs, frothing at the mouth. The two mounted guards riding alongside draw their swords and scan the woods, while the plump, bearded driver wrestles for control of his team.

"What was that?" he cries.

Time for phase two. Will Scarlet urges his white mare out of the woods and into the road. He flashes the guards a big smile and a wave of his red-plumed hat, then turns and gallops off as fast as his horse can carry him.

Sure enough, the guards give pursuit, just as I'd hoped, leaving the carriage completely defenseless. The rest of us jump out of the trees and into the road, surrounding the conveyance, knives out and bows drawn.

"Please, please! I have children at home!" the driver cries, his face pale and his eyes wide with fright. I feet a bit sorry for him—he's just a working stiff, after all. But hey, this is why you don't work for the bad guys.

"Be silent but not afraid. Our aim is not to hurt you," Robin says, walking around the carriage with a bit of a swagger. "Just to relieve you of all your worldly possessions."

An older fellow with a well-trimmed white beard and a fine red silk tunic pops his head out of the carriage window. "What is the meaning of this?" he demands angrily.

"Consider it a toll," Robin says sweetly. "You have heard of tolls, have you not? Well, to cross through Sherwood Forest, you must now pay one."

"And what is this toll? And by whose order?"

"The toll is every piece of silver you have on you. Jewelry will do as well." Robin grins, grabbing the man's arm through the window and sliding a gaudy jeweled ring off his fat finger. "And who am I?" He lets out a confident laugh and flashes an arrogant grin. "Why, I am Robin Hood, Prince of Sherwood Forest, of course!"

Ooh. I shiver a bit, and not from the cold, either. He sounds so grand when he says that, it gives me goose bumps. Now this is the stuff of legends. And I made it happen! Not to mention I convinced him to start calling himself by the infamous "Hood" name. How cool is that?

The rich guy doesn't need too much more persuasion. He gladly hands over the goods. Well, gladly might be overstating a bit—he does grumble a bit about thieves and forests and the Sheriff of Nottingham's bloody incompetence as he produces a gold chain, a few more rings, and a large silk bag stuffed full of silver pennies. But all in all he's a pretty good sport about the whole thing. Guess when you're surrounded by men with bows you don't have much choice.

A few minutes later, Will Scarlet trots back into view, a big smirk on his clean-shaven face. He led the guards into a clearing, he says, where some of the merry men were waiting in grass-covered pits, just as I'd told them to. As the guards approached, the men leapt from their hiding spots, bows drawn.

"Your guards are tied to birch trees not far down the road," Will
informs the coach driver, who still looks a bit shaken. "You had best rescue them, for they seem quite displeased by their current situation.”

"You are letting us go?" the driver asks, his voice betraying his disbelief. Jeez. Did he think we were going to kill him or something? These are definitely harsh times.

"But of course," Robin says, bowing low. "As I said before, 'tis merely a toll to pass through this fine forest. We ask no more than is due to us."

"Thank you, thank you," the driver says, bowing back.

Robin leans over and whispers something to the man, then surreptitiously slips a couple of silver coins into his palm. The driver starts in with even more blubbering thank-yous, until Robin presses a finger against his lips.

"Go and fetch your guards," he instructs.

The man flicks the reins and the horses take off down the road, the sound of hooves and the cloud of dust fading into the distance.

Robin's men erupt in cheers.

"We did it!" cries Little John, raising his meaty arm in triumph.

"That was perfect!" cries Much the Miller, dancing around the road.

"I must sing a song about it," Allan a Dale declares.

Everyone covers
their ears.

"Songs and celebration shall come later, lads. Today our quest is far from complete," Robin interrupts, looking flushed and happy. "Now we must take this treasure and bestow it upon starving villagers." He holds up the sack of coins. "Any suggestions as to who should be the first to benefit from our crimes?"

Several villages are named, but in the end it is decided that it will be a small town just outside Sherwood Forest that will get the goods this time around. Several of the men have families there. Not to mention the village is the opposite direction from the way the carriage is headed. Good plan.

We make our way to the village on foot—there aren't enough horses to go around and everyone wants to see the villagers' faces when they're presented their newfound riches. It's a long walk—like the length of Central Park—and I'm soon wishing I'd been more vocal about which village we picked as the recipient of our generosity. Like, sure they loved their families, but I love my feet.

Just as I'm ready to beg for a few minutes of downtime, we step into a clearing, which strikes me as very familiar. Then it hits me. The river where I bested Robin in the log fight is near here.

Ooh, I can go retrieve my camera bag!

"I, um, have to go to the bathroom—er, relieve myself," I say. gesturing into the woods.

Robin nods. "Very well, Christian."

"You guys can go off ahead, I'll catch up."

Keeping an eye on which way they head, I run over to the shore, walk nimbly across the log, and locate my bag. Thank goodness no one else came along and stole it. I check its contents.
Camera, check. Credit cards, check. Vial to fill up with blood from the Holy Grail, check. I stuff the camera bag down the tunic shirt they gave me to wear and hope they don't notice the bulge. The last thing I need is to be forced to explain the inner workings of a Nikon digital camera to a bunch of medieval Britons. I do, however, want to try to secretly take some pictures in case I ever get out of here.

Beep! Beep!

Yikes! My chest starts beeping the second I start back over the log. I run back the other direction, reaching down my shirt, into my bag and pull out my cell phone.

I have a message?

How did I get a message? There's no way a cell phone would work back in medieval times. No cell towers. And I know I didn't have a message before I left; I checked, looking to see if Kat had called me. Not to mention, the phone's been sitting in the woods for three days. Surely that's drained the battery.

I'm about to check voice mail, but before I can, my phone erupts into song and I almost drop it. I hope the merry men took my advice and kept moving, 'cause the Arcade Fire tune is going to be a tad hard to explain.

I stare at the phone as it chirps away. How the hell is it ringing? Impossible, yet….

"Hello?" I ask, clicking the Send button and putting the receiver to my ear. After all, impossible or not, this could be an important call, right?

"Chrissie? Is that you?" The voice on the other end is static-distorted but most definitely recognizable.

"Kat?" I cry, for once overjoyed to hear my coworker's nasal Brooklyn accent.

"Chrissie, thank god! I've been calling you forever. Where have you been? What did Nimue say? Is she going to get me back from the future?"

"Well, that's kind of a funny—"

“ 'Cause we totally need to get back, ASAP. Guenevere's in an awful scandal here and I just think we've worn out our welcome.”

"Actually
Nimue sent me—"

"Not to mention I've been gone so long. I'm worried about my dog. Gucci's been locked up in the house for almost a year now. What if the
SPCA shows up and takes her away? I couldn't bear life without Gucci."

I grip the phone tightly. "Kat," I say, forcing my voice to be calm. "If you will just shut up for one second, I'll tell you everything."

The other end of the phone thankfully goes quiet.

"I did go talk to
Nimue. She said she needed a special ingredient to bring you back in time. Blood from the Holy Grail, to be precise."

"The what? Isn't that a Monty Python movie or something? No, wait! Indiana Jones. Now I remember."

I can't believe anyone can be this stupid. "No, dumbass. I mean, yes, those movies featured it, but, well, the Holy Grail was the chalice that Jesus drank from during the Last Supper."

"Oh, wait. This is ringing a bell now. Isn't the chalice really the body of Mary Magdalene after she hooked up with Jesus and was having his kid?"

"Well, sure, if you believe that Da Vinci Code book, but—"

"Yeah, that's the one. But I thought it was a movie..."

"Kat!"

"Sorry. Go on."

"Anyway, supposedly the Holy Grail was brought back after the Crusades by King Richard—"

"King Richard hooked up with Mary Magdalene, too? What a slut! And wouldn't she have been pretty old by then?"

"It's a cup, Kat," I say through gritted teeth. "Dan Brown was wrong."

"Who's Dan Brown? I thought that was a Tom Hanks movie."

"Oh my god, Kat. If you don't be quiet I'll leave you there in the future forever."

"Uh, please don't do that. I mean, sure there are some cool things about the future. They have these coffeemakers that instantly make you the perfect cappuccino. No waiting in line at Starbucks anymore. But the fashions—ugh! Can you believe pointy-toed shoes are back in style? And that they love paisley pants?"

“I'm hanging up now."

"Wait! Please don't. I'm sorry. I don't mean to babble. It's just so nice to talk to someone from my century."

She has a point. As annoying and vapid as she is, like it or not, we're in this together.

"Fine. But please listen to me. In order to get back from the future,
Nimue needs the Holy Grail. So she sent me back in time to recover it."

"You're back in time, too?" Kat squeals so loudly I think my eardrums will burst. "Oh my god! How crazy is that? Now you believe me, right? She sent me back in time to the days of King Arthur. I met this totally hot knight, Lancelot, who's now my boyfriend. Him and Queen
Guenevere are here in the future with me now."

"Uh, right. Yeah. Cool. But remember the no-babbling rule? I don't have a lot of time. I have to go catch up with the men."

"Sorry. Go on."

"So I'm back in 12th-century England, but the problem is, there is no Grail. King Richard hasn't come back from the Crusades yet, and no one knows when he's expected back. For all I know, I could have to wait around for years."

"Ooh, that sucks," Kat says. "I had to hang at Camelot for like nine months, so I totally know what you're going through. What are you doing while you're waiting? Have you learned to ride a horse yet?"

"You won't believe it, but I'm actually hanging out with Robin Hood."

"Robin Hood?" Kat sounds impressed. I guess even she has heard of the legendary outlaw. "Does he look as sexy as Carey Elwes did in that Men in Tights movie?"

"He's pretty good-looking, yeah," I say, trying to sound nonchalant, while my face heats in a blush. Thank goodness we aren’t
FaceTiming.

"Too bad you're married. You could totally hook up with the guy while you were waiting for the Grail. Have some rocking medieval sex action."

"Actually..." I pause. Do I really want to tell her I'm not happily married anymore? I haven't even told my own mother yet. Not that she will stay sober long enough to care. "Actually, he thinks I'm a boy." Better to go the less painful follow-up questions route.

"A boy? How can he think you're a boy? I mean, sure you've never been exactly stacked, but still!"

Sigh. "Thanks, Kat," I mutter. "Anyway, he thinks I'm a eunuch. Like a choirboy. Sort of gender neutral, if you know what I mean."

"
Ew. And he thinks you're that? How come? Why not tell him the truth?"

"Because he doesn't allow women in his camp. No exceptions. And I have no place else to go while waiting for King Richard. The villagers are all starving and I don't dare go meet up with the evil Prince John in the palace."

“Ah. Good plan then. Though sucky in the potential sex department.”

“I’m not here to get laid, Kat. I'm here to rescue you, remember?"

"I know. But there's no reason not to have some fun in the process. I had a blast back in Camelot. Even though I did get kidnapped a bunch. That kind of sucked balls. But then Lancey rescued me. My hero. A genuine knight in shining armor—with actual armor! I totally want you to meet him. I hope it all works out. Maybe you and me and Lance and Danny could all go out for drinks one night when we're back. Someplace quiet. Maybe in the West Village? I don't think Lance is ready for Times Square just yet. Though you should see the guy on a computer. He's totally addicted to World of Warcraft 10."

She keeps babbling on, but I almost don't mind. It's refreshing to talk to someone who knows who I really am, where I really belong, and what gender I was born into. Even if she is an airhead, she's the only friend I've got in this place. The only one who would believe I'm really here.

"Anyway, Chris, I've got to go. They're going to kill me when they get their phone bill. I'll call you later if I get a chance to see where you stand."

"Okay," I say, actually feeling a little sad to let her go. "I understand."

"Oh, and Chrissie?"

"Yeah?"

"Try to have some fun while you're there. You only go back in time once. I think, anyway. Make the most of it."

"Okay. Thanks, Kat."

"Cool. Adios. I'm ghost." And with that, the line goes dead.

I let out a sigh and stuff the phone back in my bag. Have fun indeed.
Easy for her to say. She went back in time and got to hang out in a castle—with knights and ladies and probably court jesters. I, on the other hand, am stuck in the middle of the filthy woods with a group of ragged outlaws and their mopey leader, who has a thing against girls. She got to wear fine medieval dresses and make love to a legendary knight in shining armor. I have to pretend I'm some dude or I'll be kicked out of camp. So sure, Kat; it's easy for you to say "have fun." Reality is much bleaker on this side of the cell phone.

It's not surprising, really. People like Kat always end up going through life with no problems at all. They don't have husbands who cheat on them with coffeehouse waitresses. They flit around from one social event to the next, their biggest worry being whether their shoes will match their camisole tops. They don't worry whether they will be able to make the rent next month on their studio apartment that was always too small for two people, but too expensive for one. They don't bounce checks or have creditors calling them.

Maybe it's better that I'm back in time with the other downtrodden. I'd feel sick living it up in the castle knowing others were starving down in the villages. These are my people. The ones without hope.

I rush down the path to catch up with the men. I come to a small village surrounded by a
stone wall, and from the excited cries coming from inside I realize I must have the right place.

I walk down the narrow dirt streets until I come to a small town square. It must be market day; little wooden stands flank the sides of the road with pitiful offerings of moldy bread and cracked eggs. Slabs of meat give off a slightly rotten scent. There are woven baskets and crude knives.

But no one's shopping. The whole crowd of dirty peasants has gathered around Robin and his men.

"Long enough have you been persecuted and taxed to the point of starvation by the evil man who dares rule in his brother's place," Robin is saying. "But keep your faith, good people. Soon our blessed King Richard, rightful lord of England, shall return, cast the usurper from his throne, and restore the riches of our great land to the people who toil on it."

Cheers erupt from the crowd. Not surprisingly, Prince John doesn't seem to have a large fan base.

"But until that day comes, your children must eat. They must grow to be strong men and women who can fight for their country. Therefore, we have brought you some silver to buy seed for your farms, bread and milk for the mouths of your babes." He lifts up the bag of silver and waves it in the air. All the peasants' eyes light up like someone flipped a switch.

"Silver?" one old hunchbacked man breathes.

"For us?" asks a small blond boy in the front, his big blue eyes wide with amazement.

"Where did ye get it?" asks a suspicious middle-aged brunette.

"We took it from a man who had much to spare," Robin says with a grin. "And are giving it to you who have so little. I think 'tis a fair trade, do you not?"

Judging from the general whoops of cheer, I'd say they’re pretty much down with the concept. Robin appoints one villager as a treasurer, and gives him the silver to dole out to each peasant.

"Now we must take our leave," he says, removing his hat and bowing with a flourish.

"Stay for dinner!" begs a pretty maiden in the front, batting her eyelashes at our hero. Robin is so a rock star here. "I'm told I make a very lovely stew."

"Aye," agrees a man in the back, leaning on a crooked cane. "We want to thank you for all you've done."

Robin shakes his head, " ‘Tis not necessary," he says. "We must take our leave. I am afraid soon there may be those who will come looking for us. And I like keeping my head on my neck, thank you very much."

The crowd giggles at this.

"Farewell, brave and noble sirs," says the man who Robin appointed treasurer. "We will not forget this day, nor the men who made it so glorious."

Robin can't help but smile. I can tell—he's digging the hero stuff in spite of himself.

Chapter Seven

That night there's a big celebration at Camp Sherwood. More venison (the king is going to run out of deer the way the outlaws go through it!), more beer and more songs.

I’m very happy that the whole thing worked out, but I can't shake the sadness I felt earlier. I feel so alone here, and the longer I stay the more it weighs on me. Everyone's been nice and accepting and all, but I just don't fit in.

I slip away from the festivities and head down to the pond. I sit on the shore, staring out into the water. Why am I here? Sure, I guess I have a mission: to retrieve the Holy Grail. But then what? How will I get back to the 21st century? And if I do, what then? Go back to my pathetic life? My stupid dead-end, low-paying job? My cheating husband?