Will in Scarlet (25 page)

“My Lord,” gasped John. “It is Much! Why are you in a dress?”

“Much? Really?” another voice called, and she looked up to see Wat holding out his shackled wrists. “Throw us a pick there, boy! Er, girl …”

She bit back the choicest insults that sprang to mind and chose the best tool for her own job. Then she tossed the bag to the toothless outlaw. She felt the click of the tumblers moving, but the lock slipped and she had to take another breath to calm herself—her hands were shaking with excitement and fear and more than a little bit of anger. It was hard to focus on something as tiny as a lock when the world was literally burning down around you.

On the second try, it gave way, and she lifted the top of the stock, which was surprisingly heavy. But not for John Little. He threw off the wooden cuffs and let out a load moan as he straightened himself. His face was bloody, lips swollen and cracked.

“Much,” he said. “You haven’t got a sip of water, have you?”

She did. As John sucked gratefully on a waterskin, she freed Rob. He looked no better than John. Worse perhaps.

As Rob worked life back into his raw, chafed wrists, John handed him the drink.

“Wine?” asked Rob.

John shook his head.

“What kind of rescue is this?” asked Rob, but he drank anyway.

In the time it took Much to free John and Rob, Wat had picked the lock of every surviving Merry Man. Six in all. The man really had a talent for skulduggery.

But they weren’t free yet. There was still an entire courtyard
of men with swords between them and freedom. And the fire was spreading. If they didn’t get out soon, they’d burn right along with the castle.

But the men didn’t seem too concerned with that. They were all staring at her.

“So … are you …,” said Wat, his face in obvious pain from the mental acrobatics his brain was being forced to do just to comprehend what he was seeing. “Why are you wearing a dress?”

“I knew it all along!” said John.

“No, you didn’t,” said Rob. “But we’ll discuss the dress later. Though it is a fetching color, Much—”

“Shut up,” she said.

“But right now we need to clear a path out of here,” Rob said, ignoring her.

At that moment, they spied a man on a white stallion. He was making for the gate, and Much recognized the shining gold badge across his chest.

“The sheriff!” she shouted, pointing.

“He’ll do,” said Rob, and he began climbing the gallows.

As the sheriff rode by, Rob swung from the gallows on a loose stretch of rope, his hands gripping the noose. He landed atop the horse, knocking the sheriff from his saddle.

The sheriff rolled to his knees and reached for his dagger.

“Who dares?” he asked as he struggled to stand.

“Robin Hood dares!” cried Rob. “Remember the name!”

Then he reared the charger up on its hind legs, and as the sheriff made a grab for him, one of the hooves caught him in the head. The sheriff fell back, knocked unconscious.

“Robin Hood!” Rob said, laughing. “Look at that, John. I’m beginning to like the sound of it!”

But Rob didn’t see the large shape emerging from the smoke behind him, a man Much recognized at once—Tom Crooked himself.

Even with Rob on horseback, Crooked still had the reach he needed. He’d run Rob through before the man could blink. Much shouted a warning, but she was too far away to do anything about it.

John moved with a speed that belied his great bulk. As Crooked’s sword swung, John’s hand reached out and grabbed hold of Crooked’s wrist. The murderous bandit snarled, the veins in his neck bulging as he fought to free his arm, but John had him now. With his other hand, John grabbed Crooked’s shirtfront and lifted.

Tom Crooked screamed as he was hoisted high over John’s head and then thrown, headfirst, into the wall.

“Eh?” said Rob, turning to see Crooked lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. “What’re you all shouting about?”

“Tom … Crooked,” breathed John.

“So?” said Rob. “Look at him. He’s out cold. You really do worry like an old woman, Little John.”

John gritted his teeth and muttered something awful about Rob’s parentage; then the lot of them began making their way toward the gate.

Rob led the escape on his stolen charger, dodging fighting men and fleeing horses, while Much searched desperately for any sign of Will. Her stomach turned whenever they came across a new body on the ground, but John wouldn’t let her stop long enough to check the dead. The inner buildings were already engulfed in flame, and the fire would soon spread to the main keep. Shackley Castle was going to burn to the ground. John wrapped one strong arm around Much and dragged her away from what would soon become an inferno.

By the time they reached the gate, most of the soldiers had given up the fight and were fleeing, too.

Outside, the servants who’d pulled themselves clear sat on the grass, coughing and gasping for breath or tending to their fellow wounded.

Much and John searched the faces of the survivors for Will, but he was nowhere to be found. If he wasn’t here, then that meant he was still in there. Somewhere.

John grabbed Much just as she turned to run back to the gate.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“Will’s still in there,” she said. “I’ve got to find him!”

She saw the worry on his face as he looked past her to the castle. The entire night sky was aglow with flickering amber light. It looked like the end of the world.

Rob rode up on his big white horse, grinning from ear to ear.

“Now
that
is what I call a rescue!” he said.

“Will’s gone missing,” said John.

“Scarlet?” asked Rob, the smile slipping from his face.

“He’s still in there somewhere, and John won’t let me go!” Much hit the big man with her fists, but he didn’t loosen his grip on her.

“I’ll go,” said Rob. “John, take the rest and make for the old crone oak in Sherwood. We don’t want to stay here long enough for the sheriff’s men to start asking questions.”

“Rob, that thing’s going to come down any moment!” said John, but Rob had already turned his horse around and started galloping toward the castle. He didn’t make it twenty yards before there was a terrific cracking, the snapping of timber and the creaking of stone, and the front gate came crashing down in a hail of ash and smoke.

Even as far away as she was, Much could feel the wave of heat roll out from the collapse as a hot wind blew across her face.

Rob stopped his horse and stared. With the gate, a part of the stone wall had collapsed, creating a barricade of fire and stone. There was no way in now. And no way out.

John slung Much over his shoulder as she began screaming Will’s name.

Will’s father often compared being in a battle to being lost in a heavy fog. It was why it was so important to have well-trained soldiers, because once on the battlefield, an undisciplined army would break down. Wars were unpredictable and battles were confusing, and in the end only discipline kept a force together.

Will had thought he understood what his father meant—until now. Lord Rodric hadn’t been speaking in metaphor; he was being literal. In war, horses’ hooves kicked up dirt, smoke billowed, and the air hung heavy with sweat and blood. The fog was a real, palpable thing that blinded you, and Guy’s hired swords quickly lost their zeal for the fight and began fleeing.

He’d meant to create a distraction, but in doing so, he’d set fire to his father’s house. Shackley burned around him as men fought and died.

For the briefest of moments, Will spotted Much in the fighting. John was pulling her toward the gate, but then Will’s view was blocked by a wave of fighting men. They’d sensed what he already knew—if they stayed here much longer, they would all end up buried beneath the ruins of a burning castle.
The real battle had moved to the gate, where men pushed and shoved and battled their way to safety.

Will had just started to follow when a pained groan caught his attention. It came from a man lying several feet away, whom Will would have taken for dead if not for the pitiful moaning. His white cloak was stained with soot and mud, and the gold badge of his office lay broken at his side. Mark Brewer, the Sheriff of Nottingham, had a nasty bump on his forehead and seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness.

It would be fitting, thought Will, for the sheriff to burn along with the house he betrayed.

The shouts were barely audible all around him, and the roar of the flames became a distant rumble as he stood over his onetime friend. The sheriff’s eyes fluttered but did not open. Will bent down and scooped up the gold badge. The chain had snapped, and it was filthy with mud. In the end, this badge had been all Mark wanted.

Will tucked the badge away in his belt and hooked his arms underneath the sheriff’s. The man was deadweight, and it took every bit of Will’s remaining strength to drag him toward the gate. He’d crossed half the courtyard before he stumbled and fell. He was just pulling himself up again when he heard the sound of snapping timber and turned in time to see the gate come tumbling down in front of him. A shower of sparks and coals crashed over Will like a wave, singeing his hair and stinging his cheeks.

When the dust settled, Will found himself trapped inside the courtyard behind a wall of flame. The heat was nearly unbearable, and the smoke would soon choke out what little fresh air hadn’t already been consumed by the fire. With a heave, Will took the sheriff once more in his arms and began dragging him back toward the main castle keep. Pieces of burning wood
were falling off the battlements all around him, and more than once Will found his path blocked by flaming debris.

Eventually, he made it into the keep, where he slammed the door shut against the inferno outside.

It was mercifully cooler inside, and for a moment Will lay against the hard floor feeling the cold of the stone against his hot cheeks. He gasped for air like a fish on the shore, but he couldn’t rest for long, because smoke was already billowing in through the windows, and down one hall he could see the flicker of orange light as the fire spread to the castle’s interior. The main keep might have a solid stone foundation, but the wooden upper floors would burn just as easily as the outside walls did, and soon they’d come crashing down on his head. He needed to act before it was too late.

The sheriff was still only semiconscious, and for a second Will had actually feared for his life. But his chest was still moving, and he began to stir. Will didn’t want to have come all this way only to have the man die now.

It was easier to drag the sheriff’s weight along the castle floors than the courtyard mud, and Will found a way of supporting him on his shoulder that made the going a bit easier. Around to the rear of the castle he went, searching for the hidden storage room passage and, from there, the tunnel to safety.

The closet was undisturbed. And the tunnel disappeared into the damp blackness below. His plan was to drag the sheriff down into the tunnel and leave him there. If waking up alone in the dark caused him a few minutes of panic, then all the better. It was the least he deserved. But first he had to get him there without dropping the man on his head.

He left the sheriff moaning on the floor of the storage room as he searched for a length of rope. If he couldn’t manage the ladder, Will would need something to lower him down with. It
took him longer than he would have liked to find a bundle of rope long enough for the job. He was on his way back when the castle tower suddenly shook. A large section of burning wall had collapsed near enough for him to panic. Very soon now he’d be overtaken by heat and smoke.

As Will ran back down the hallway, a figure suddenly appeared in his path. His horsehide armor was scorched and blackened in places, and he had a long, wet cut across his jaw, but he still grinned when he saw Will.

“Wolfslayer,” he said. “When I spotted you down there in the courtyard, dragging this miserable wretch away from the flames, I didn’t believe it.”

He gestured to the sheriff lying on the floor.

“I’d long suspected that you were out there somewhere, plotting against me, but I didn’t expect to see you again like this—saving the man who betrayed you. How very Christian of you!”

“Not entirely,” said Will. “I would have happily let
you
burn.”

Guy let out a laugh. “Indeed! And I’ll gladly do the same for you, but I think I’ll run you through first!”

Will drew his sword as Guy moved toward him. This was the moment he’d waited for, but he was dead tired from dragging the sheriff’s body through the halls and sick from inhaling all the smoke, and on his best day he was half the swordsman that the Horse Knight was said to be.

Sir Guy opened with a feint, which Will, exhausted as he was, fell for. He brought his sword up to block the blow that never came, leaving his side exposed. Guy’s blade slashed along his back and shoulder, not cutting deeply, but still drawing blood.

Will, however, managed to get his sword around to block
Guy’s next attack, a slash aimed at his head. Behind him, he could feel the heat of the flames as they consumed the hall. Smoke drifted up from between the floorboards. How long, Will wondered, before the whole thing gave way?

Once, Will would have been content to have the whole castle come down on both their heads. When his grief had been at its worst, he’d viewed his own life as a small price to pay for revenge. But that was before he’d come to know Rob and John. And Much, most of all.

Today Will Scarlet stood for the bright red fullness of life. Today he wanted to live.

He parried another of Guy’s thrusts and managed to knock the big knight back a few steps with a slash of his own. But Guy was stronger and faster. Unless he made a mistake, it was just a matter of time.

The Horse Knight retreated as he regained his footing, and when he brought his sword up for another advance, a second figure stepped into the fray.