Robyn and the Hoodettes (3 page)

The way Joan acted, maybe her first parents hadn’t been giants
after all, but travelling minstrels. Seeing how distracted the men
were, Robyn grew emboldened. As silently as possible, she crept
towards the second carriage. Someone had roughly attached it to the
first carriage so they could haul it with them. Would they tow it
all the way to Nottingham? According to the map her father had once
scratched out on her cottage floor–“Not to scale, you understand,”
he’d said–Nottingham was a whole day’s ride away. Sheffield was
closer, although Robyn had never been there either.

Joan was still talking on the road up ahead, but it wouldn’t
be long before the men returned to the carriages. Sneaking a peak
inside, Robyn saw the sacks of wheat they’d taken from her village.
Sacks of milled flour were in here too, along with a roll of fabric
from the Miller cottage, and Marion’s tools. Things that rightly
belonged to Loxley.

Whoever had attached the second carriage hadn’t done a very
good job. With a few quiet tugs and twists, she untied the
connecting rope. Heaving all her weight against it, she managed to
push the fully laden carriage five steps before something snapped
with a horrendous crack.

“
What the devil?” One of the men shouted.

Robyn grabbed the first thing she could reach and swung it
around hard. It connected with a man’s stomach; he fell to the
ground with a grunt. Whoa, that was easy! Then Robin noticed she’d
whacked him with Marion’s blacksmith hammer. No wonder he’d gone
down with the first swing.

More thwacks and whacks filled the air.

“
Joan!” Robyn raced towards the sound of snapping wood and
shouting people. Poor Joan, it would be six against one. The poor
girl didn’t stand a–

“
Who hoo!” Joan swung her branch like a long staff, whacking
the men into each other. They staggered backwards, regained their
footing, then bolted for the safety of the front carriage, locking
themselves in.

“
Come back and fight me!” Joan said as she bashed her stick
against the door.

Looking around, Robyn saw four men sprawled on the road, each
of them groaning or holding their palms up in surrender.

“
Get on your wagon,” Joan roared at them, “Or you’ll feel the
force of my weapon on your softest parts.”

Wounded and miserable, the men rose on unsteady feet and
climbed aboard the front of the carriage.

“
Did I get them all?” Joan asked. Her face split with a grin
that shone in the dim light.

“
There’s one more up the back, I got him with this.” Robyn held
Marion’s hammer. A hammer that felt so much heavier now that the
excitement had worn off. “He doesn’t look too steady. We might need
to load him in.”

They walked to the wounded man and rolled him over. He
refunded his stomach, blerking diced parsnips onto the road. Robyn
pulled his boots off to take for herself. They were far too big for
her feet, but she could cram some wool into the toes when she
reached home.

Together she and Joan carried the messy man to the front
carriage and made the rest of the crew haul him aboard. He
regurgitated again, filling the air with acrid smells.

“
He’s your problem now,” Joan said.

Shadow finally moved off the road and nibbled at a clump of
grass. As if she knew her work was done. Robyn and Joan walked to
the horses at the front of the carriage and checked their harnesses
were tied. All good, according to Joan, who then gave the closest
one a good slap on the rump.

“
Giddyup!”

Unlike Shadow, these horses knew when it was time to push off.
Soon the horses, the defeated men and their carriage trundled off
down the King’s Road and into the night.

Leaving Joan, Robyn and Shadow with a carriage to haul back to
the village.

“
We did it!” Joan held her hand aloft for a high five. Robyn
had to jump to reach it.

“
We got our answer,” Robyn said as they strolled towards the
horseless wagon. When the fight was on, there had been no time for
the luxury of reflection. Now there was far too much time for guilt
to settle in.

Joan stalled. “What was the question?”

Regret
twisted Robyn’s stomach. “They’re definitely the Sheriff’s
men. Proper thieves would have fought harder.”

“
Thanks a lot!”

“
You know what I mean,” Robyn said as she encouraged Shadow
towards the carriage so they could strap her in for their return
trip. “They were good and proper tax collectors, and now we’re in a
whole world of trouble.”

CHAPTER THREE

The darkness made it difficult
to see anything other than vague shapes. If not
for Shadow guiding them along, Robyn would have stumbled off into
the shrubbery. When they made it back to Loxley, they found a
bonfire burning in the middle of the green and just about everyone
from the village standing around it.

“
Robyn?” Mother Eleanor stood up and peered towards them.
“Robyn!” Her mother charged towards her, crying out, “You’re here,
you’re safe!” Eleanor smothered Robyn in a fierce hug and didn’t
let go.

“
What’s going on?” Robyn managed to squeeze out.

“
You’re alive! I thought they’d taken you!” Eleanor splattered
Robyn’s face with wet kisses.

“
I’m fine, Mother, relax. I owe it all to Shadow
here.”

Eleanor took a step back and noticed the horse. Uh-oh. Time
for some sweet talk. “She followed me home. Can I keep
her?”

“
Oh, Robyn . . . I don’t know. We can’t bring a horse into the
cottage. For starters, where would we put the cow?”

The animals, including a cow, three goats and an ever-changing
number of chickens, lived on the lower level. Robyn and her mother
had their straw bed in the alcove above.

“
But she saved me. Twice. Once in the village when we escaped
and the second time on the King’s Road.”

But Robyn dear, she must be a noble horse–” Eleanor suddenly
noticed Joan. “Oh my!”

Joan stepped forward and pulled her hood back to reveal her
smiling face.

“
It’s you, Joan.” Eleanor patted her palm to her chest. “I
didn’t recognize you with that hood on. Come here then and give me
a hug.”

While Eleanor and Joan embraced, the rest of the villagers
crowded around them, admiring the fine horse and the incredible
carriage.

Little Madge the Miller’s daughter wandered up. She was only a
season younger than Robyn, but her slight frame made the age gap
look like years.

“
We’ll have to get rid of these,” Madge said, looking at the
distinctive coat of arms on the side panels. “My Grannyma says they
belong to the Earl of Derby.”

T
hey’d stolen from an Earl?

Clods of earth filled Robyn’s belly. The entire village
would hang at this rate. Instead of surrendering to panic, she
moved her thoughts forward. “Get Marion and see if he can melt it
down into something.”

“
I would if I had the tools.”

Robyn spun around to see Marion, smiling at her. He looked . .
. different in the evening light. The glow of the bonfire cast
light over his cheeks and neck, emphasizing the planes and shadows.
He’d cut his dusty brown hair short again, probably done it himself
judging from the uneven chops and curls.

“
I like your hair like that,” Joan said, giving him an
appreciative nod.

“
Kind of had to,” Marion rubbed the ground with his toe and
then looked back to the smithy hut.

“
You didn’t burn yourself?” Joan asked.

Marion ran his hand through his hair and said, “Not
much.”

Robyn mentally kicked herself for staring at him.

Clearing his throat, Marion said, “Good thing you got home
when you did, Robby, we were about to send out a search
party.”

The use of his pet name for her made Robyn smile. “I’ve got a
surprise for you.” She opened the carriage door and Marion’s stolen
tools fell to the ground with clangs and clunks.

“
Nice one!” he lunged at them, grateful to have them
back.

“
But wait, there’s more!” Robyn had never felt so blessed
and prideful as she pulled out sack after sack of wheat and milled
flour. Supplies they needed to survive the oncoming winter. She
handed the bags to the rightful owners who giggled and cried out
with glee.

It felt pretty darn wonderful to be bringing their food, tools
and fabric back where they belonged. “Three cheers for Joan, she
did the heavy lifting!” Robyn said. “She took on five men with only
a stick in her hand!”

The villagers cheered for Joan and Robyn. No need to tell them
the men were working for the Sheriff of Nottingham. That would only
complicate things and cause undue worry. Wouldn’t it?

Marion returned for the rest of his tools. “I’m firing up the
forge, we’d better get the livery off tonight, just in case anyone
comes by in the morning.”

“
Good idea!” Robyn said, then turned to the crowd.
“Everyone?”

Nobody paid her any attention. They were all too
excited.

“
Everyone!” She shouted this time. They stopped and looked up
to her. Yikes, her throat turned dry so she swallowed. “We can’t
celebrate yet. We need to get the fire burning hot in the forge and
melt down everything that could belong to the Earl of
Derby.”

“
What are you talking about?” Grannyma Miller said.

Sick dread weighed Robyn down. She couldn’t lie to them. “I
thought the tax men who came here were thieves, that they’d stolen
the Earl’s carriages. We’ve had plenty of tax collectors in the
past, but they’ve never behaved like those men did.”

Lots of nods.

“
But in truth,” which Robyn now had to explain, past the
clump in her throat, “The reason they’re using the Earl’s carriage
is because they really were tax collectors and they had the Earl of
Derby’s blessing.”

Gasps spread through the crowd.

“
We’re going to be all right.” Robyn splayed her palms out to
keep everyone calm. “We just need to be quick and work together and
we’ll all be fine. We need to remove the Earl’s colours, and get
the iron shoes off the horse. Her name’s Shadow, and she kept me
safe all this time.”

The village became a blur of activity. Through all the
cheering and excitement, Shadow didn’t seem the slightest bit
fussed. But when Marion came to lead her towards the smithy, Shadow
wasn’t having any of it.

Robyn climbed down from the carriage and made her way to the
horse. “Easy girl. It’s for your own good.”

The soothing tones didn’t calm Shadow. The horse would not
take one step towards Marion’s workshop and its forge, glowing
bright in the dark night.

Shadow stepped backwards, snorting contempt.

“
Fine then, we’ll deal with the carriage first,” Marion said,
taking a chisel out of his leather apron and wedging it behind the
coat of arms.

“
All right Shadow, you win this round,” Robyn said, leading the
horse towards the cottage she shared with her mother and animals.
“Now, in you get, and don’t upset Bella. She’s a temperamental one,
that cow, and if she gets in one her moods we won’t get any
milk.”

All of which Robyn expected Shadow to understand not a jot,
but she said it anyway because when Shadow later upset Bella, she
could say “I told you so” to the horse. Just as her mother often
said to her.

With Shadow tucked away behind the half-high door, Robyn
turned back to the village to see the glow of the smithy and sparks
flying out of the chimney.

The children were having fun vandalizing the carriage.
Hopefully it would still work as a carriage when they were through
with it.

Above them, the stars twinkled through gaps in the cloud.
The cool wind kissed Robyn’s cheeks, reminding her of the cold
season to come.

If she hadn’t done what she’d done, her village would have
faced starvation. But now that she’d done what she had–with Joan’s
help–would they be bringing the Sheriff of Nottingham’s wrath upon
them?

The clang and
thunk
of heavy tools drew Robyn towards the forge, where
Marion worked the metal like a master craftsman. He’d put on thick
leather sleeves over his arms to protect them from
sparks.

“
So they weren’t a band of outlaws after all,” Marion said as
he clanged and banged away.”

Robyn grew defensive. “But they sure acted like
it.”

“
They’re bound to come back,” he said, not helping her guilty
conscience one bit.

Robyn shrugged, trying to brave away her misery.

“
Word will get to the Sheriff soon enough, so we’d better be
ready,” Marion said. A stray spark flew onto his head and he
swatted it down. The smell of singed hair mixed with hot iron
filled the air.

Smithing used to be something Marion’s grandfather and
father had done, but they were off at the war, too, just like
Robyn’s father. Marion’s two older brothers had gone as well. Robyn
wondered if she’d had brothers, whether they would have gone too.
Hanging from hooks all the way across the ceiling were the myriad
tools that clanged and chimed when the wind roared through. Tongs,
hammers, more tongs but smaller than the other ones, things that
looked like hammers but must have been something else. Gaps where
more tools should have been but weren’t yet put away.