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Robin
Itrailed the figure who stalked down the road, headed north from the town square. He walked with a singular purpose and focus, not looking left, right, or behind. Only straight ahead.
It might have been the only time in my life I wasn’t worried Sir Guy of Gisborne would know I was following him. As an expert tracker, and a man with seemingly preternatural senses, it was impossible to get the jump on this man. Except now.
For the first time, I felt like the hunter going after her prey, rather than the hunted.
Guy didn’t run from the conflict at the town square. With easy calmness, even as the executioner beside him took five arrows and died at his feet, Guy simply slinked off into the shadows after the riot began, and left the stage.
He headed toward the stout motte-and-bailey Sheriff’s manor known as Castle Nottingham. Two guards had joined him, flanking the hunter and jogging ahead of him, pushing citizens out of the way to give Guy a lane to walk through unimpeded.
My first thought while following Guy, getting further from the clamor and bloodshed of the town square, was to turn around and go back to help my friends. I could have joined Griff to search for Much the Miller’s Son, or taken Rosco’s advice and gotten the hell out of the worst of the fighting. I could have joined Tuck, Alan, and Will in the battle.
Yet every fiber of my being told me my answers did not lie atop the raised platform of the gallows. They resided with this man here, and following him was the only way I was going to find what I needed.
Had it been part of our plan to tail Sir Guy? Absolutely not. How could it have been when we didn’t know he’d be at the execution, front and center. Sheriff George’s absence had also not been expected, and neither had Little John’s.
Those two factors gave me all the impetus I needed to shadow Guy. If the Sheriff isn’t there, and John isn’t at his own execution . . . then where the hell are they? Sir Guy is probably the only fucker who knows.
I stayed back a good ways, making sure to bob and weave around the commoners I passed to always keep Guy in my sights. Never too close. If he realized I was following him and caught me, I’d be all alone.
I knew I couldn’t take this man in single combat.
Sticking to the shadows, under the awnings of shop fronts, near the larger bodies of peasants, we inched further north. Every time he turned a corner and I temporarily lost sight of him, my heart jumped to my throat.
With every corner I followed, I made sure to poke my head around before blindly trying to catch up. Now that I saw where he was headed—the castle sat like a beacon on top of the nearest slope, rising above the other buildings—I could stay back a bit further. Not too far, though. Just in case he was going somewhere else.
Turned out, he was.
After ten minutes of stalking, Guy veered away from the direction of Castle Nottingham and headed for a nearby, fortified building.
At first I thought it was the town garrison. Then I realized it was the jailhouse, nestled up against the base of the hill that led up to the castle.
Two men stood out front, hands on their spears as they looked out at the street.
Sir Guy stormed past the guards, one of the soldiers opening and closing the front door for him as he went inside. The two soldiers who had preempted Guy’s arrival stayed with the two already guarding the small, wooden door.
The jail here was inconspicuous, rather than having a large iron gate or anything keeping it walled off. Commoners could walk near the front of the prison, which I would try to use to my advantage.
Except there are four guards standing out front now . . .
I hid behind barrels near a tavern, across the street from the jail. The tavern behind me was well-known in a joking way: Men often stumbled out of these doors late at night, got into brawls, and were then escorted through the doors of the jail across the street minutes later.
The jailhouse ahead was not the only prison in Nottingham. It was simply the closest one to the castle, and it was the one Guy had beelined for, so I knew I was in the right place.
John is in there. I just know it.
My hand trembled as I drew my bow off my back, staying crouched behind the barrels. I inhaled a shaky breath and took an arrow from my quiver.
The streets were mostly clear this close to the castle, with only scant few traders and peasants walking around, to and from different businesses. If I attacked these guards, they’d instantly know where the attack was coming from.
Strangely, the guard presence here was not very full.
Oh, right. Because they’re all south at the town square, overseeing the execution and taking care of the riot.
The fact there were only four soldiers at the door meant this was as good a chance as I’d get to barge in there. Yes, I was sorely outnumbered, but any other day there’d be twice this many watchmen at the door.
I had to act. Freedom or death.
