Will in Scarlet (15 page)

Guy was still alive. Osbert was dying, if not dead already. And for the second time, Will was fleeing from his own castle. Only this time he’d escaped through a garbage hatch.

Wolfslayer. Failure. Coward.

As he and Much trudged through the muddy field back to their hidden horses, Will tried to remember Osbert as he once was—laughing, quick to anger, full of life. He didn’t want his last memory of Osbert to be of him broken and dying. The look of hope in his eyes when he’d recognized Will was a cruel joke. The old knight expected him to go on to do great things, and perhaps it was for the best that Osbert would die before he could realize his disappointment.

Will had missed his opportunity to kill Sir Guy because of bad luck. It didn’t matter that there was no way he could’ve known that the Horse Knight was away; he’d still failed.

“So that old man was a knight of your … father’s? Lord Shackley?”

Much’s voice startled Will out of his morose thoughts.

“Hmm? Oh.”

Of course. Everything Osbert had said in that cell exposed the truth about Will’s family and his own identity. And Much had heard every word.

“He was … not himself,” said Will. “You saw him. He thought you were a girl. Delusional.”

Much wouldn’t look at him. Funny that the boy should be so easily bothered by this. He was so small and delicately featured that this couldn’t have been the first time he’d been mistaken for a girl.

“But the way you answered him,” said Much. “Are you delusional, too?”

Will started to protest but stopped. He’d been in trouble enough times in his life to know when he was caught.

“Are you going to tell the others?” he asked.

“Remember what I told you before? About not being so important that you’d be trouble? Well, you are most certainly trouble.”

“I know.”

“Where are your parents now? They say the lord of Shackley was killed.…”

“That was my uncle Geoff,” said Will. “My parents are alive, at least I think they are, but they are both … overseas.”

His mother, he dared to hope, was safely with her family in France. She would be heartsick with worry, but at least she was safe. His father was a different story. Since they’d fled the castle, there’d been no word of King Richard’s captivity. The best Will could assume was that his father was still imprisoned with the missing king. It was a bitter thing when the best a boy could wish was for his parent to be in chains, but better in chains than suffer Geoff’s fate.

It was almost more pain than he could bear, and so he
kept it buried deep down in an ugly, dark place within himself, bound up tightly with wire and shackled to his need for vengeance. He had to find Sir Guy. He had to find another way.

“William Shackley is dead,” said Will. “I’m Will Scarlet now. I don’t know if you can understand this, but … I had to become someone else. I had to.”

Much stared at him for a long time. At last the boy said, “I understand. I do. But then why are you obsessed with William Shackley’s unfinished business? You could’ve gotten us killed trying to get revenge on Sir Guy. John and Rob might actually be dead, for all we know.…”

“They’re alive,” said Will. “Rob said they were leaving.”

“Maybe, but they
could’ve
been killed looking for your treasure. A treasure that doesn’t exist! You lied to us, Will!”

Will took a sudden step toward Much, his anger lit like dry tinder in his breast, and his hands balled up into fists before he could stop himself.

“I lied to my
captors
!” he said. “Or did you forget that I’m your prisoner?”

“I saved your life,” said Much.

“Only to make me more valuable to ransom.”

“How dare—”

“You weren’t nursing me back to health; you were just tending to the money.”

Will didn’t even see the blow coming, but one minute he was standing over Much with a finger in the boy’s face and the next he’d been punched in the jaw. A solid right hook. So Will returned the favor. He landed a blow across the lad’s cheek. He might’ve even given him a black eye.

Much staggered backward as Will shook the sting out of his knuckles. That was settled, then. Lesson taught. The boy
might be smaller and younger than he, but Will wasn’t going to stand here and let him pummel—

All at once Much was on him like a wildcat. Hissing and hitting and biting—
biting
, for God’s sake!—as he tackled Will to the ground. Even though Will was larger and stronger, he couldn’t get a grip on the boy long enough to peel him off.

“Gah! Stop it! Leave off!” Will cried.

“Well, well, well,” said a voice in return, but not Much’s. A man’s voice.

Will stopped struggling, and Much leaped off him, the boy’s hands going for his knife.

Will looked up and saw Stout standing there, grinning.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your play-fighting,” he said.

The outlaw had changed out of his uniform disguise and back into his own gear. Mace in one hand, a sack slung over his shoulder.

“Got to give our young bastard here credit,” said Stout. “Tonight was a bounty to remember!”

Will stood up and tentatively examined his swelling lip with his fingers. His ear was bleeding, too, from a number of teeth marks.

“What are you talking about, Stout?” he asked.

“There was no treasure, you dolt,” added Much.

“Oh ho!” said Stout. “Really, now? Then what’s this?”

He tugged at the sack and out fell a sturdy-looking lockbox. It was the one Crooked had been holding at the start of the fight.

“See for yourself,” he said.

Much pocketed his knife and cautiously examined the box. Someone had already broken the lock, so all the boy had to do was throw back the lid. It was filled with silver coin.

Much stared at it, wide-eyed, for a few seconds before
looking accusingly at Stout. Will doubted these bandits had ever seen so much money in one place before.

“Where’s Rob and John?” asked Much.

“Now, now,” said Stout. “They’re fine. By the time we came up out of the tunnel, this area was swarming with guards. Rob and John took a few horses to lead them on a wild-goose chase. I was supposed to wait a bit to see if you all showed up, then meet up with them again.”

“They trusted you with the silver?” asked Will.

“More like they knew he’d be too chicken to cross Gilbert,” said Much.

Stout glared at them. “And what do you know about what I will and won’t do? You think Gilbert trusts you more than me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Much.

But Will had had enough. He was tired of all of it and just wanted to get as far away from this place as possible.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Just pack up your silver so we can go.”

“But that’s just the problem,” said Stout. “
We
aren’t going anywhere.”

The fat outlaw moved just a fraction of an instant too slow. If he hadn’t gloated, if he hadn’t taken the time to taunt him, Will would never have seen him bring up his mace. He wouldn’t have seen it swinging for his head, and he wouldn’t have ducked away at the very last second.

“Stout!” shouted Much.

Stout growled as Will danced away, drawing his sword as he did so.

“Gilbert’s orders,” said Stout, slowly closing in on Will. “He said you would be too yellow to do what needed to be done, Much, so he left it to me. His
trusted
Stout!”

“But there’s the treasure!” cried Much. “Gilbert’s getting what he wanted!”

“And now the rest of the problem will disappear,” said Will, understanding. “He never meant to let me live.”

Will prepared to meet the man’s attack head-on, but just then Stout shouted in pain and dropped his mace to the ground. He stood there staring at his arm, as if not fully understanding what he was looking at. A small knife was sticking out of the meat of his forearm. Stout blinked at the sight. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Much!” he cried. “You little turd!”

“Wait,” said Will.

He brought his sword up to the man’s chin. Stout glanced down at the blade nervously. His tongue flicked in and out between his lips like a snake’s.

“Yield, Stout,” said Will. “Or we’ll have your head.”

“You talk big now,” said Stout. “I’d have had yours if that runt hadn’t tossed a bleeding knife at me!”

He held up his ruined arm for them to see.

“You put a knife in my arm!” he said.

“I’ll aim somewhere else next time,” said Much. “Unless you do as Will says.”

Stout looked fearfully at Much. “I’ll yield! I’ll yield! I’m no good without my fighting hand anyhow!

“But mark my words,” he continued. “This isn’t over, bloody Will Scarlet. I’ll have your hide. And yours, too, Much! You’ve both got it coming!”

Stout complained and threatened most of the way back. He carried on so much that Will had to bind up the man’s wrists,
and by the end he was forced to gag him as well. The sun was coming up, and Sir Guy’s men were everywhere. In the distance, Will could hear the baying of search hounds as they sniffed for the outlaws’ trail. If they avoided the dogs, Stout’s wailing would still be heard for leagues.

So Stout got the gag. Even so, he had to be pushed, prodded, and repeatedly threatened to get him to march. Will and Much took turns riding their only horse, and they made Stout walk the whole way. It was an hour’s ride to the rendezvous spot—which meant half a day’s walk at Stout’s pace. Still, they managed to reach it without seeing any pursuers. It was afternoon when they found the shaded outcropping where they’d first donned their disguises. Rob and John were supposed to meet them there if they could.

Stout fell to his knees the moment they stopped, and for a while Will worried the man’s heart would burst in his chest he was breathing so hard. But they removed his gag (which meant they had to put up with his curses) and changed the bloody bandage around his arm. They gave him some water (which he gulped down in between the curses) and dumped him next to a tree. Will left his hands bound but didn’t bother tying him to the tree itself. After the long march, the fat bandit was in no physical condition to run away.

They buried their stolen soldiers’ uniforms and found their own clothes safely where they’d stashed them. Will eyed the scarlet jacket warily and considered tossing it away, but when he saw Stout watching him, he decided to wear it again to spite the man. He and Gilbert had meant to shame him with the garish coat, but Will thought it fitting. Much nodded approvingly (but when Stout wasn’t looking, he helped Will tear off the lace and tassels, which made a vast improvement). They
dared not risk a fire, for fear that the smoke would be spotted from the road, so they broke their fast on stale bread and washed it down with water from a nearby brook.

After they’d eaten, Much climbed the tallest tree he could find to keep a lookout while Will sat and brooded. He could leave now if he wanted. There was no chance this band would follow him into Shackley Castle a second time, and what business did he have hanging around a bunch of outlaws anyway? Especially when Sir Guy was still alive. But the question now was, where would he go? Though he worried about his mother, he wasn’t about to give up his revenge and make for France.

He couldn’t forget the look in Osbert’s eyes. The old man hadn’t wanted Will to throw his life away, but he wouldn’t want him to tuck his tail between his legs and run to his mother, either. He would want Will to stay in England and fight. No matter the odds. Will had to find another way to get to Sir Guy.

And after that—if he survived that—the sheriff was still out there. Guy was a murderer, but Mark Brewer had betrayed them in his own way, too. He’d brought Sir Guy’s mercenaries into the castle. He’d been so afraid of angering Prince John that he’d betrayed his friends, and now Geoff was dead.

After Sir Guy. Once Guy was dead, then Will would confront the sheriff.

Will was still wrestling with his thoughts when John and Rob finally arrived. Much spotted them well in advance, so they had time to prepare. Or, more precisely, to plan their explanation as to why they had Stout tied up under a tree. Will was nervous about how they would react, but Much promised him that John and Rob had no love for Stout in the first place, and even less for Gilbert the White Hand. They could be trusted.

He hoped.

Much and Will greeted them as they rode into their little camp. Both men were haggard and dirty from a night of hard riding. They obviously hadn’t slept.

They spotted Stout’s bindings right away and shared a look.

“Well,” said John. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

Upon seeing them, Stout hollered and cursed up such a racket that Will was forced to gag the man again. Neither John nor Rob made any move to stop him.

Much explained to them all that had transpired, about Stout’s attack, all except the part about Will’s real identity. An omission that Will was both surprised at and thankful for.

“So, Master Will,” said Rob. “Sudden betrayals notwithstanding, I’m curious—after we were separated, did you ever find your hidden treasure?”

Will didn’t like the way Rob asked the question. As if he’d long ago guessed the answer.

“There’s your treasure,” said Will. He pointed to the lockbox of coin sitting at his feet. “More than you’d get robbing merchants’ carts, I’d wager.”

“Ah, yes, we’re rich men now!” said Rob. “Minus Gilbert’s share, of course.”

“Gilbert?” said John. “Rob, haven’t you been listening? We have a problem here!”

“Eh?” said Rob. “So Stout got greedy and tried to cut out one man’s part of the loot. Hardly surprising for an outlaw.”

“I’m not just talking about Stout,” said John. “It’s Gilbert. You knew it’d come to this someday.”

“Come to what?” asked Rob. “He hasn’t hurt me. Nor you.”

“He’s ordering the murder of boys now! You can stand for that?”

“Bah,” said Rob. “No one’s dead.”

But John wouldn’t let up. “Stout would’ve killed the boy—you know it’s true. And Much, too, if needed.”

“Oh, just stop it, John!”

“Why? You need to hear more?”

“What I
need
is a bloody drink!”