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He shrugged, shoulders sagging. “She’s gone. Vanished three days before they stuffed me in that cage.”
Just what is going on at Mansfield? A sinking feeling weighed my stomach. “And you don’t know why they put you in that cage?”
“Honestly don’t, ma’am.” He shook his head. Paused, lips opening and closing.
I watched him carefully, waiting but not prying, while my tools worked deftly in my nimble hands. I set the dress I finished off to the side and grabbed another one.
“I was mad at you at first, you know,” he said at last.
My head lurched. “At me? What did I do?”
“For breaking me out.” He nodded curtly. “I thought the bugs were gonna take me to her.”
The icy claw returned to my chest, worming through my ribs. The look on his face was pitiful, filled with sorrow. It was hard to look at.
“. . . Then I realized you had rescued me,” he added, trying on a smile that looked sickly, “and I’d be much better suited to finding her if I weren’t locked in a cell.”
He’s a good lad, I thought, shaking my head as I debated what to say. Sometimes, I realized, it was best to say nothing. Has more honor in his bones than many of the Merry Men have ever felt. He’s been taught to think he’s useless? Well, I think this boy could teach these grown men a thing or two.
I wanted him to be able to hold onto that idea of gallantry—an idea that was easy to lose out here in the wild. It reminded me of Little John, and my heart ached all over again when I thought of my huge, lumbering protector.
After this conversation with Much, I was certain John would have certainly done the same thing I had and rescued him. It was in his nature—to protect. Just like it was becoming part of my nature, from being around these bandits long enough.
In that moment, staring at Much the Miller’s Son as he sewed, I made a silent vow to help him find Maria. If she was put in a cage like he had been, she might have been taken to Nottingham. I had more than one reason to return to the town I once called home, and the list was continuing to grow.
Soon, I’ll go back.
When I reached blindly for the next dress on the stack, I realized I had finished and my hand struck wood.
I vaguely realized we’d spent hours in here. The sun was setting outside, casting the sky with beautiful orange brushstrokes that glowed over a background of black trees and hills in the distance. If nothing else, that gorgeous horizon is something Much will grow to love with his freedom. That’s something he’d never be able to see trapped in a cage.
We stared out at the orange ball of fire as it sank beneath the horizon, and then my brow furrowed. I rubbed my aching knuckles, recognizing something. Reaching over to the wood panel where the dresses had been, I knocked again.
It let out a hollow thud.
Much and I shared confused expressions. I felt around the floorboard but couldn’t get my fingers in between the tight spaces separating them.
“Let me try,” he said, and crouched in front of me. His smaller fingers moved like a rogue’s, squeezing in where I couldn’t. He lifted the wooden floorboard . . .
To reveal a secret compartment.
I crouched, joining him. “Good job, Much.”
I lifted one of the objects in the tiny, hidden compartment: a small leather bag, bulging with something inside. I gently opened the bag and peered in.
“What is it?” he asked excitedly.
My brow threaded. “Looks like a . . . powder of some kind?”
I didn’t want to touch it. Could have been salt, could have been something dangerous. There were other small bags mixed in with this one, and each one held a different powdery ingredient—some white and grainy, some thick like gravel, and some darker and gray.
“I have no idea what it is.” I put the last bag into its holding and stared down at the half-dozen sacks. My mind swam in circles. “I have a feeling it’s important, though, else it wouldn’t be hidden in here.” Standing to my full height, I put my hands on my hips. “Have a sneaking suspicion this might be what Baron Mansfield was truly transporting, eh?”
“I get the same feeling, Madam Robin.” Much stood, skinny arms folding over his chest. “Do we tell the others?”
“Aye. Let’s ask around and try to figure out what it is. Doubt they’ll know.”
It was a clue to a puzzle I didn’t know existed. I was certain of it. A clue for what, though? An antidote? A witch’s brew? A healer’s salve? Whatever it was, Baron Easton of Mansfield hadn’t wanted it discovered.
