The Greenwood Shadow (2 page)

When they were out of sight, she melted into the trees, silent as a shadow. Another perfect raid. Seven years had taught her exactly what to do and what not to. She was good. Really good. Even if she did say so herself.

Half an hour later she scaled the castle palisade, and slunk to the thatched outbuilding where she hid her bow, dagger, and clothes. Grudgingly she put on one of the dresses she had stashed there. It was the simplest one she owned, and therefore the one she hated least.

Something caught her eye as she crossed the courtyard. Something shiny, well polished, and remarkably out of place among rusted tools and broken wagon parts. A carriage that nice certainly didn't belong at such a tumble-down castle. It had to be the steward's.

Each year the king's head financial magistrate traveled to a different part of the country to personally oversee the taxation. Evey and her uncle were the only lord and lady in their region. As such, the steward was now their house guest.

Evey eyed the contraption as she entered the stable. "Disgusting isn't it?"

Hobbes nickered and nuzzled her hand.

"I know you love me." She hugged the old warhorse around his neck. "Good old Hobbes. Sometimes I think you're the only one that does."

Hobbes looked her straight in the eye, rubbed his face against hers, and then nosed her hand again.

"Oh, I get it. You'll always love me as long as I sneak you oats. I might have known."

His eye twinkled as she reached for a handful.

"Evelyne!"

"Hello, Emeric." She didn't turn her attention away from Hobbes.

Her uncle sighed. "I would ask where you've been, but I know it wouldn't do any good. And why do you insist on wearing that dress? It's on it's deathbed. We have company, after all. And he wants to see you."

Evey turned sharply.

"The steward wants to see me? Why on earth?"

"I'm sure I don't know."

She raised an eyebrow. "Emeric... you're hiding something."

He quickly hid his fidgeting hands behind his back and glanced up at her. When he saw her grime-streaked face a slight grin appeared. "You're certainly your father's daughter."

She smiled and allowed Emeric to clean the mud away. Though she didn't really remember her father, she loved knowing that she was something like him.

"I think that's about the best that we can hope for," he said with resignation.

Evey examined her face in the surface of an odd piece of armor. "If you won't tell me why he wants me, can you at least tell me where? Or is that classified too?"

"Well, I suppose the table will do. It's about time for supper anyway."

As they walked inside, a tantalizing aroma hit them. It wasn't much of a great hall, but the food more than made up for it.

"As long as you keep Guenevere in the kitchen, you'll never be rid of me," Evey said playfully.

Emeric smiled again. "Oh, that's the only reason I keep her around."

The steward entered the hall and looked around uncertainly at the humble furniture. Evey eyed him with suspicion. To her great surprise, she approved of the image. He was not at all flabby and gaudy. In fact, the well-trimmed beard, and slightly graying sideburns made him look rather dignified. His fit and muscular frame was softened only slightly by age. He'd obviously been a soldier, once.

"Ah, Emeric. I see you finally managed to locate your niece."

Emeric gave him a polite bow. "We were just about to have supper, Sir Robert. Do join us."

Sir Robert nodded disdainfully and sat in front of the salt at the head of the table. That did it. Evey had almost decided to not completely hate him. Then he just took Emeric's seat without any consideration. Arrogant swine.

"It's Evanly isn't it?" he asked.

"Evelyne. But I like to be called -"

"That's a lovely name. Now, you're wondering why I wanted meet you."

"I guess so." She frowned and fixed him with an unforgiving glare.

He paused and eyed her critically. Several sarcastic remarks sprung to mind, but she bit them back. Think of Emeric. They had to make a good impression.

"Pretty, but you are a bit small. You must be around fourteen?"

"Sixteen," she corrected, through gritted teeth.

Sir Robert abruptly inhaled his drink and pounded his chest with his fist a few times before he could breathe again.

"Sixteen? Well, you're getting to that age, aren't you?"

Evey just glared.

"Well, it just so happens that I have a strapping young son. He's been knighted and is quite a handsome lad. I thought you might like to know that he is coming to call on you."

Evey nodded as politely as she could. She didn't trust herself to speak, or the words would be along the lines of `I dare him to try'. She made a mental note to be on the lookout for Sir Just-Knighted, and to conveniently disappear when he showed up.

The steward chatted through the entire meal. Mostly about gold. Evey and Emeric didn't offer much in reply. What could they really say? They'd never had as much as two gold pieces together in one place, before.

As soon as she ate her fill, Evey slipped away. She had a sneaking suspicion that it would take a while for Sir Robert to even notice her absence.

While she was confined at home, the window in her room was her own quiet place. It had a prime view of the courtyard below, and when she sat in the corner just right, she could watch the sun set.

Sir Robert walked out the door and stood there alone. He wasn't doing anything in particular. He just kept glancing impatiently at the road, and pacing across the yard. She couldn't begin to guess why.

After a long wait, a wagon appeared. Evey recognized it as the one she had robbed earlier, and everything suddenly made sense. They were late, and Sir Robert didn't seem the type to excuse lateness.

He wasn't. The lecture he gave to the three men, and the looks on their faces, more than made up for the unpleasant dinner she had suffered. A mischievous smile played on her face. Little did Robert know that the fun had only just started.

Just as expected, when the men counted the silver, they came up four bags short. The driver protested that he had been watching the back with his dagger out, and no one could have gotten past him. Sir Robert didn't believe it, and he was right to. But the driver stuck firmly to his story. He repeated it eight times, until the steward finally accepted it, if only to shut him up.

"It could've been a ghost," one of the soldiers said, surreptitiously crossing himself. "There's been talk like that in these parts. And the horse was spooked and all."

Evey's grin widened. She had been called "The Ghost of Sherwood" before.

At the sound of the word `ghost', Sir Robert's face paled visibly. Funny. She wouldn't have pegged the him as the superstitious type.

"A ghost that shoots arrows?" he asked.

His face gave him away. He was clearly trying to convince himself more than his men.

"Arrows that disappear," the other soldier said in a low, cautious tone.

The whole courtyard went silent for a long moment. When Sir Robert realized it, he quickly waved the men away, as though four bags of silver was a petty sum. Though she knew it was really to dispel the talk of ghosts, Evey wondered just how rich he was.

Come to think of it, other than being a tax collector, she didn't even know who he was. Was he just a knight who had landed a good job, or was he more? A baron, maybe, if he was that rich. But then again, most barons didn't go by 'sir'. He'd be Lord Robert, at the very least.

"Hello? Evelyne?" Her uncle stood at the bedroom door.

She slid the thin curtains open, pulled her knees up to her chin, and looked back out to the courtyard.

"You know, you can call me Evey. Everyone else does, except for Sir Afraid-of-Ghost-Robbers."

"Ah, you heard that, did you?"

"It happened ten feet from my window."

Emeric walked awkwardly into the center of the room. "Yes. Well, I wouldn't be surprised to find the silver on a certain driver's belt, if you get my meaning. But you know why I want to talk to you."

"I can make a guess," she said dryly.

"Sir Robert might be somewhat distasteful, but his son may not be too bad, and we aren't in a position to refuse an offer like his."

Evey gave him a look. "I wouldn't give great odds on that."

Emeric finally sat on a bench near the window. "Whatever the case, I'll do the best I can for you. But please, try to be courteous."

"No guarantees," she mumbled into her knees.

"Can you at least promise not to disappear while he's here?"

At that, Evey narrowed her eyes and glared. "If I have to."

"Thank you." He got up and headed for the door. "Believe me, I don't like this situation much more than you do. But the steward's son won't be here for a while. I'd say at least two weeks."

The last words would have been a simple statement to anyone else. She had never needed permission to run off before, but the fact that Emeric had even mentioned it was about as good as saying "I don't like Sir Robert either." Good thing her uncle had no idea what she got up to while roaming the woods.

Without bothering to use the door herself, she left the castle. The wall under her window was riddled with broken stone and weathered gaps that made it easy to climb safely to the ground. As she jogged across the courtyard she happily made the change from Evelyne the lady, to Evey the woodland shadow.

CHAPTER THREE

Evey crept around to the back of a small cottage on the village west end. Five kids lived there, and not one of them knew the meaning of "sit still". She smiled. A bit like herself as a kid. Actually, a bit like herself even now.

Because of the rampaging children, Evey had to watch for a while before she had a chance to get closer. Not that it was a problem. She had all night, and plenty of silver. It was worth it too, what with all those mouths to feed. They'd need as much of the money as anyone.

She reached into the bag and felt around for a few of the silvers. Her fingers touched nothing but thin leather. That couldn't be right! Was there a hole in the bag? Had she lost the rest?

After a long and panicked search, she came to the conclusion that the answer was no. There were no holes anywhere, and only two silvers remained from the entire four sacks. She knew the tax season had been hard, and she had been careful, but really?

The huge bear of a father, Fendrick, charged around the side of the cottage after his two-year-old. Evey didn't know the boy's name, but she instantly knew him by sight. He was such a cute little guy, with a puff of fuzzy blonde hair and a grin that made him look like he was always up to no good.

Fendrick scooped him up with a bellowing laugh that reached all the way to the tree line where Evey hid. He said something that she couldn't hear, and the boy giggled. He tried to escape his father's clutches, but Fendrick was too experienced for that. He just tossed the laughing boy over his shoulder and jogged back to the front of the cottage.

Evey's stomach twisted into a sick knot. They needed the money so badly. Two silvers wouldn't be near enough. Five little boys could eat a baron out of house and home. But there was the one-armed man by the river in the next village. And the young couple with the newborn.

Alaine and her daughter hadn't gotten any, either, and Evey never missed them. Never. She had watched Gwin grow into such a good little girl. They needed her. She needed them.

Evey looked at the silver in her palm. It looked so insignificant, in the dim light.

The innkeeper! She'd forgotten the innkeeper. He needed it more than anyone. His wife was so sick, and needed a healer desperately. Healers could be brutal, and they didn't take crops as payment. But those boys, and Gwin...

Evey punched the ground. It was soft and mossy, and squashed under her fist with a very satisfying splat, but it didn't make her feel better. She was sixteen. She shouldn't have to make these kinds of choices. To choose who might live or die, because of the help she did or didn't give.

She stood to leave. Gwin was a good girl. She would understand that the innkeeper's wife needed this money. She would be okay. Hopefully. Would Fendrick's family survive, too?

Evey hid the money round the back of the inn, where she knew the keeper would find it. Then she headed for the front entrance. As she pushed open the door, a roar of laughter flooded her ears. She got sucked into the tap room on a tide of jostling elbows and enthusiastic toasting.

A normal night at the inn would have four or five customers, usually there for a drink. An especially good night could reach ten. Once a year the minstrels came through, and fifteen or twenty people would crowd in to hear them. But the sight that greeted Evey was incredible.

The small room was packed. There were even people from other villages. Twice she reached twenty-five before the milling crowd made it impossible to keep count.

They all seemed to be focused on the corner. Small as she was, she navigated through the confusion until she could see. There were two men at a table. One was blonde. The other was dark-haired and tan. Both wore swords and were still in half-armor. They seemed remarkably familiar, even without their full gear.