Shadows of Sherwood (19 page)

Robyn felt strangely pleased about this development, despite Laurel's agonized moans. She felt like a burden of guilt had been lifted off her. Stealing to survive was necessary, but it didn't make it right. Robyn still felt the need to
pay back the vendors from whom she had taken food and clothing. If she could ever find them now.

The only good news was, no more market meant no more taking things from regular vendors. Robyn wouldn't feel guilty at all about stealing from Crown.
In fact
, she thought,
it would serve him right
.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Smells Like Team Spirit

Down on the Cannonway, the food depot was nothing fancier than a warehouse. The small building had tin walls and a black tar roof that barely sloped at all. The front doors were tall glass sliding doors, currently locked, but with business hours posted. The building filled half a block and stretched back to a wide alley, where a small group of workers unloaded crates off a parked truck.

Robyn watched as they piled crates onto the truck's tailgate and then lowered it like an elevator. Using dollies and hand trucks, the workers began rolling stacks of crates.

But in the middle of each load, the remaining crates sat unattended on the tailgate.

“This doesn't look that hard,” Robyn said. “Am I missing something?”

Laurel shook her head. “Easy as pie. No, cake. Cake is easier than pie. It doesn't drip around. And from a box, you
can bake it on a steam grate. Pie just turns out soggy. Do you think they have cake in there?”

Key lightly tugged on the ends of Laurel's hair to stop her rambling. She fell quiet, but Robyn was left with the powerful feeling that she could do with a piece of apple pie. “I bet they do,” Robyn said. “Let's try and get some.”

The two girls darted out of the hiding place, leaving Key whisper-calling after them. “Wait, what are you doing?”

Robyn and Laurel knew what they were doing. They hadn't been friends long, but they had spent most of it sneaking about and stealing together. Long enough to know that quick and light was all you had to be.

Robyn scooped up a couple of cabbages and a fistful of carrot greens from a box of loose produce. Laurel, apparently unable to secure an actual pie, grabbed two bags of apples and a long loaf of bread. Rather than doubling back, they ran the rest of the length of the alley, around the block, and rejoined Key in the corner hiding spot.

“Geez,” Key said. “A little warning next time?”

“Warning is how you get caught,” Laurel said, echoing Robyn's own thought.

Robyn exchanged a look with Laurel, a question in her eyes.
One more pass?
It seemed likely that once the workers got all the food into the building, it would be a lot harder to steal anything at all. As for now, the crates were just sitting there, ripe for the taking. The MPs were acting far too confident that their presence was enough to ward off any attempts.

“No, I don't think . . .”

The girls ran out again, leaving Key sputtering in confusion. This time they were bolder. Laurel grabbed a giant sack of rice. Robyn picked up one entire crate—it wasn't very heavy, full of smaller pouches of dried fruit. Again they made it around the corner unseen.

Robyn and Laurel circled the buildings, but this time Key met them on the back of the block. “Stop it. We gotta go,” he said, leading their dash away from the scene of the crime. Instead of taking the streets, they kept to the alleys, then cut across Sherwood Park. “I can't believe you guys did that. What were you thinking?”

The girls knew better than to answer. They hurried in silence through the park, keeping an eye out for strange shadows that could be hiding MPs. Finally Laurel said, “We were thinking we needed food, obviously.” She struggled under the weight of the ten-pound sack of rice; it was the size of her torso.

Key said to Laurel, “Here, give me that.” He dumped the bread and apples he was clutching on a park bench and relieved her of the rice. He stuck the carrots and cabbage on Robyn's crate, glancing around nervously. “We shouldn't be out in the open with this stuff.”

“It's fine,” Robyn said. “No one needs to know where it came from.” She glanced around. No MPs in sight. No one in sight at all, except a woman with two children about Laurel's size, huddled together beneath a tree alongside the gazebo. The children lay with their heads in her lap, apparently asleep. “It's fine,” she said again.

“But . . . but . . . ,” Key sputtered, hefting the bag of rice. “We didn't have a plan.”

“Yeah, we did,” Robyn argued. “The plan was to get some food. We got some.” She set down the crate of dried fruit and began riffling through it.

Laurel nodded in agreement.

“No,” Key groaned. “We were just supposed to get the lay of the land. So we could come back and actually steal stuff.”

Robyn waved a pouch of apricots in his face. “Check and check.”

“No, we need a plan,” he insisted. “Maybe I create a distraction, so you can go in and pick up things we can actually use.” He pointed at the sack of rice. “I mean, what good is this? We can't even cook it—”

“Easy,” Laurel answered. “Steam grate—”

“And how are we supposed to get this all back to the tree house?”

Robyn knew how to solve that one. “Hang on.” She grabbed one sack of apples, a cabbage, some carrots, and a few dried fruit packs and headed across the lawn toward the family. The mother cupped her hands protectively around the children's shoulders as Robyn approached.

“It's okay,” Robyn said, laying the food in front of her. “We have plenty to share.”

“Th-thank you,” the woman gushed, clearly startled. Her fingers closed around a corner of the apple sack and dragged it closer. “How can I—what can I . . . ?”

Robyn shook her head. “Have a good night,” she whispered, and ran back to her friends. Laurel stood with her hands on her hips, head cocked to one side as if to inform Robyn that she was nuts for continually giving their food away.

“We can
hide
the rest,” Laurel said. “I have places.” She led the way across the park. The large cannon sculpture at the edge of the field had a loose panel in the metal base. They stashed the crate in the cobwebbed gap, alongside a scuffed-looking pouch that Robyn assumed was one of Laurel's hidden hygiene packs.

“Fine,” Key said, acknowledging the wisdom of hiding the food. “But it would be better to aim for more dry food. Canned goods. That sort of thing.”

Again Robyn waved the apricots. “Relax, okay?” she said, tearing open the pouch. “We got it.”

“We should have done it together,” Key grumbled. “You can't just . . .” he waved his hands. “We're a team now.”

“Are we?” Laurel said, around a mouthful of cabbage leaves. The soft, hopeful question sliced across the air, gentle as a breeze. The three knelt there silently for a moment, looking at one another. Long enough that Robyn's heartbeat slowly steadied as she relaxed after the adrenaline-pumping run.

Robyn didn't need a team. She knew she would be fine on her own. She always had been fine alone. It was just that, at the moment, she wasn't. Laurel looked comfortable and was clearly excited to have made friends. She felt safe when they were together. Robyn did, too. And despite Key's crossed
arms and glower, the atmosphere among them certainly had an all-for-one feel about it.

Robyn crossed her arms and stared back at him. She wasn't going to be the one to admit it.

“Yeah,” Laurel said finally. “I think we are.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A Robyn by Any Other Name

The three friends sat in the grass and ate dried apricots and fresh apples as the afternoon sun sank lower over the trees of Sherwood Park. Laurel scooped handfuls of rice into the now-empty apricot bag. “I have a place I can cook this,” she said. “But it's better if I go by myself. Meet you back at the tree house?”

“You sure?” Robyn said. “I thought we were a team.”

The small girl nodded and flashed a sly grin. “I don't think you can fit in this place.”

Robyn and Key headed back toward the tree house. Robyn kept her eyes peeled for other things that might remind her of the markings on Dad's map. She knew it would lead her somewhere eventually. It had to.

But she stayed quiet about it as Key led the way through the neighborhood, winding through the sinewy streets with comfort and ease.

“You really know your way around Sherwood,” Robyn commented.

“I grew up here,” Key said.

That was a surprise. He looked and acted more like a Castle District boy than any that she'd seen in Sherwood. “Really?” Should she show the map to him? Could he help?

They were a team now, but somehow it wasn't quite the same with Key as with Laurel. She didn't know enough about him.

Robyn gathered her courage. “Do you have a last name?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Key's gaze cut to her. “Do you?”

Fair enough. Robyn tugged on the cuff of her fingerless gloves. She glanced at Key's hand. He had taken a more permanent solution to the Tag problem. The back of his hand bore a rectangular black scar, where his Tag had evidently been removed.

“You shouldn't tell people your real first name, either” Key said.

Robyn thought back to the day they met. “Call me Key,” he'd said, which made Robyn want to kick herself. She hadn't been thinking like a fugitive. Maybe she shouldn't be introducing herself all over town as “Robyn.” Although it was a little too late now.

“Exactly what makes you think Robyn is my real name?” she teased, to cover up the feeling of making such a blunder. Jokingly, Robyn nudged Key with her shoulder. Key nudged back.

“Oh, please.” Key hooked his elbow around her neck and noogied the top of her head, through the beret. “You're such a rookie.”

“Don't mess up my hair,” Robyn's voice rang out with urgency, though it shouldn't matter at all. She felt herself sounding like her classmates from Castle, forever worried about how their hair looked. Robyn hadn't become close friends with any of those girls for a reason.