AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Remember Peter Fisher?”
A shiver ran through me. How could I forget the man who tried to rape me?
“Rosco and his friends led me right to him. For a price, of course.”
“Ah.” That answers that.
We fell silent. The creaking of the wheels filled the space and I took in a heavy breath. Must be getting close now.
I glanced out the window and saw the moon high in the sky. Sunset had come and gone. We were well and truly in the thick of it now, and the way my blood sang made me nervous all over again. No amount of knee-pats or quick words filled with innuendo would change that.
As our carriage rolled to a stop, the one holding Alan, Tuck, and Much continued on. I glanced out the window as it passed, and saw their aperture was shuttered, hiding them.
We were on the edge of the town square, where the almshouse and countless other shops were located across the way. It was also where the largest presence of soldiers was congregated, near the center fountain, taverns, and storefronts. They marched in twos, evidently upping their showing since the rebellious attacks during the archery tournament months ago.
I wondered if a curfew was in effect. If it was, how much was it adhered to? Because something like that could deeply complicate my plans.
Once our carriages were separated enough that it seemed like we were strangers, our driver wheeled ours in the opposite direction and paused our roll. I watched from under the back tarp as Much appeared from the rear of the other carriage. Alan and Tuck helped him lug the apparatus out from the back and set it on the ground, next to Much. It was a machine we had built today, in the waning hours of afternoon once I’d talked to the miller’s son.
A palette of wood from Crisp’s stack held the large tin basin I’d used as a bathing receptacle, with four spare wheels we’d had lying around camp. It was essentially a wagon. Except instead of heavenly hot water in that basin, we had stuffed it full of every spare item we had stolen from Baron Mansfield and meant to give to Ravenshead or Rufford Abbey. Neither of those places wanted our good charity, so we would unload the goods in Nottingham itself.
Now the hours and days of work started to bear fruit. The wagon was fit to bursting with fabric, cutlery, and other goods. Anxiety settled in my bones and I began chewing my lip again, despite what Will had told me just minutes ago.
Much whistled to himself, as he loved to do while in a tense situation. I wondered how he kept himself together so well, despite being so young.
He grabbed the handle of the loaded wagon and dragged it away from his carriage, which was already starting to move onward, leaving the miller’s son alone.
Guards flanked Much both near and far. They glanced over at him. With Much’s gait and threadbare clothes, he simply looked like another beggar or poor merchant hauling his winnings across the road.
Except when he set the wagon down in the center of the town square, and whistled louder—that drew the attention of the nearby guards.
“Free goods! Surplus provisions for all!” His cupped hands boosted his voice across the square, echoing off the walls.
My heart seized in my chest as I held my breath and waited . . .
And slowly, hesitantly, faces began peeking out from closed doors and shuttered windows.
“Come one, come all! No strings attached, no surprises here!” Much reached into the wagon and pulled out tufts of clothes, waving them around in both hands. “Got a mighty haul, I have! One night only! Got to be rid of it all!”
The faces in windows turned into bodies in doorways.
Guards sauntered up to him, their focus zeroed in on him. “What’s the meaning of this, boy?” asked one.
“It ain’t illegal, sir, to give things away,” Much replied.
“At this hour? It’s . . . unusual.”
I could see Much’s gleaming smile even from here. “Aye. Not illegal, though, ain’t it?”
“Well, I . . .” The guard scanned the approaching people and said to another guard, “We’re going to need more troops here.”
“What have you there, lad?” asked an elderly man who wandered up. Two younger family members were behind him. On the other side of the fountain in the center of the square, younger folk in their bedtime shifts and undergarments approached hesitantly, scratching their heads. Woken from slumber for the promise of a bargain.
Curiosity always wins over.
I banged on the partition between the cargo bay and the bench, giving the driver the sign that it was time to move.
Much’s job was underway, which triggered our own. All I could do was hope he didn’t run into trouble . . .
