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We made our way north and cut east, skirting near the forest that surrounded the town like a blanket. The greenwoods inhabited huge swaths of land in England, with Sherwood being one of the largest. Certainly the largest in Nottinghamshire, reaching from Sheffield to the north to Birmingham to the south, and beyond. The River Trent, where our town of Nottingham sat, snaked through it and spider-webbed out, feeding the forest with water and life.
I had been told you could walk for a fortnight in any direction through Sherwood and never reach an exit from the trees. Many died traversing through it, getting lost. Or the she-wolves ripped you apart. Or the sirens.
The ways Sherwood Forest could kill you were apparently boundless.
Those were mostly tall tales, I figured, handed down from traveling minstrels to try and dissuade girls like me from pursuing the lustful draw to those woods.
The trek from Wilford to Nottingham didn’t take long. A few small hillocks, bends in the road, and a bridge later, we walked in through the lightly guarded southern gate of the town.
Nottingham was formidable, with a monolithic castle drawing all eyes to its center. It was there that the Sheriff of Nottingham and the other governing bodies did their work—though what work they did, I did not know.
The houses in Nottingham were mostly wattle-and-daub structures this far on the rural outskirts. The wall itself was short, squat, and hardly manned. Deeper into the center of town, where the Town Square was located, and the famous Lace Market and St. Mary’s Church, was dense and city-like, with larger structures and more people.
I dared not go to the city center, to avoid nosy noblemen who might recognize me and tattle to my father. Last thing I needed was to get chastised for being without a male chauffeur, after already getting beaten by the man who was supposed to protect me.
Emma wasn’t leading me into the city. She stuck to the fringes, which made me wonder, “Where are you taking me, Em?”
Her lips pursed. She couldn’t stay mum for long. As we passed an alley and a rundown tavern façade, she bowed her head in shame. “I admit I had an ulterior motive bringing you here, Mistress Robin. I had plans to—”
“Say no more, dear Emma. The reason is irrelevant.” I didn’t want to make her feel bad for helping me. I might need it again someday. With a wink, I leaned in and motioned to my masculine garb. “Here, I’m not Mistress Robin. I’m simply ‘Rob.’ Yes?”
She snickered, nodding while her eyes crinkled with delight. “Understood, ma—sir. Sir Rob? Like your brother?”
I shrugged extravagantly, hands on hips while I gazed off like a self-important nobleman surveying my land. “If it pleases you, miss.”
She laughed again, then took my hand and led me on. “You’re so peculiar, Rob. Most girls dream of being seen like a princess. And here you are trying to hide it!”
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Em. Especially when you aren’t treated like one.”
We passed another alley between two closed storefronts. My eyes swiveled as I caught movement and laughter coming from the darkness. A flickering candle in a lantern told me people were in there.
As we walked past the mouth of the alley, Emma’s hand squeezed harder on mine. She turned to look away, but I didn’t. I heard a rattle of dice on the street, and saw three boys crouched, adjusting their caps and elbowing each other as they eyed us.
My curiosity got the better of me. I stopped in the dark, yawning mouth of the alley, accidentally halting Emma with a sudden jerk of her arm.
“Mistr—Rob, we shouldn’t stop here,” she hissed in my ear. “These gutter-rats aren’t worth your—”
“Emma?” one of the boys called out. “That you?” He rose from his crouch, patting his hands over his ragtag tunic and grimy pants as he receded from the darkness. He had the face of a boy, young and clean, yet dirtied by a life on the streets. Despite his age, he was tall like a man. His face tilted peculiarly at the sight of Emma. “By God, boys, look at this. It’s Em!”
The other two hurried over. We were surrounded.
The boys smelled pungent. Stranger than that, they stared at Emma like she was a goddess, smiling and adoring.
“Don’t you look good, little Em, in that clean white dress of yours?” the tall one said.
“Well met, Rosco,” Emma replied with a timid nod. “Jimmy. Tick.”
“How’s the easy life treating you? Good enough to avoid this shithouse, eh?” He gestured vaguely around him.
These boys know Emma from her past life, before she came to Wilford, I realized. She was an orphan, and I imagined these boys were, too.
“Who’s this tiny lord?” asked the tall boy named Rosco, nudging his chin at me.
I cleared my throat, to lower my voice.
Emma cut in before I could say anything. “It’s nice seeing you all, boys. Alas, I’m afraid we have somewhere to be on urgent business. Can’t hold up the master, aye?”
I furrowed my brow, even as she made eyes at me. To her, this was highly awkward, reconnecting with people from her past.
