Shadows of Sherwood (12 page)

The young woman's attention snapped upward.

“You see?” Mallet smiled again. “It's in your eyes. The weight of the knowledge that you might survive.” She grabbed hold of Nyna's bruised forearm and squeezed.

The prisoner cringed.

“Ah. The pain is worse now, isn't it? Now that the end is not in sight.”

“I gave myself and gladly,” Nyna insisted. She raised her bound hands to her heart. “You cannot kill this fire.”

Mallet called the MPs forward. The prisoner's faith in her people would have been admirable, if it wasn't so misguided. Mallet knew she had spoken the truth. Every captured rebel, imprisoned alive, was a drain on the rebellion. Mallet intended to pluck their hopes bare, one by one.

Once you let go of hope, you could let go of anything.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Stair in the Woods

“We have to get going,” Robyn said. But when she tried to lift Bridger's pack again, she groaned with effort. The bag definitely was not designed for someone of her size. “It's a long walk back to Castle District. I don't think I can carry this all the way.”

The girls moved farther into the alley. “Let's see what's in it,” Laurel said. Robyn unzipped the pack. Smelly, preworn clothing spilled out. Robyn wrinkled her nose at the stench, but Laurel took it in stride. She tweezed things out of the pack with dainty fingers.

“Clothes. Clothes. Soap. Fork. Wow. Nice cooking pan.” She turned the small saucepan over in her hands. Something rattled beneath the lid. A small brown box, like a jewelry box that might contain a ring or a necklace. It was round, with a hinge and a clasp, but neither Robyn nor Laurel was able to wrench it open. Beneath it in the pan was a strange ragged piece of folded silver cloth. A bandanna maybe, or just some
loose fabric to protect the box thing. It was thick and gloriously silky to the touch; Robyn wanted to hold and rub it longer, except that would be too weird. She dropped it back into place.

Among the clothes were other items, a small hatchet, plastic bags in various sizes, a ball of brown twine, duct tape, a short length of real rope, a plastic tarp, matches in a plastic canister, a battery flashlight, four granola bars, a worn paperback novel, and a leather journal full of what must be Bridger's notes and writings.

“Toothbrush!” Laurel exclaimed, waving it in the air victoriously. But the bristles were all frayed and whitened. “Too bad it's used.” She dropped it back in. “It's just his regular stuff,” she said. “Nothing good enough to sell.” She reached for the jewelry box again and tried one more time to pry it open. “Weird.”

Robyn grabbed the box and tucked it back away in the pan, with the silver cloth. “Stop. We're not going to sell his things out from under him anyway.” She jammed his things back into his pack as best she could. Except for the granola bars. She figured they constituted a reasonable fee for protecting his belongings. They would go stale eventually anyway. Robyn handed two to Laurel and zipped up the pack.

“Hey.” Laurel scarfed one granola and pocketed the second. “We can use some of that other stuff, too.”

“It's not ours,” Robyn said. Laurel stared blankly at her. Robyn considered how to explain her thinking to Laurel. Yes, they had stolen clothes earlier. Yes, she had taken the
granolas just now. But Bridger clearly had nothing; Robyn didn't want to make it worse. “Is there someplace we can hide this backpack?” she asked.

“Yeah, but we need the
stuff
,” Laurel said. “Get out the rope. And the biggest plastic bag.”

Robyn did, as Laurel proceeded to unveil an ingenious hiding spot. Along the curb in the alley was a sewer grate, which Laurel pried up using a piece of metal pipe someone had discarded near a Dumpster. She fit the garbage bag over the backpack like a sleeve and poked a hole in the top just big enough to squeeze the handle loop through. She tied the rope to the backpack loop, and the other end to one of the bars on the sewer grate. Robyn gasped as Laurel pushed the backpack into the sewer hole. It tumbled out of sight, but its weight yanked the sewer grate back into place, leaving the pack dangling inside the sewer drain. All that was visible was the rope knot on the sewer grate, and who would notice something like that, in a deserted alley near a Dumpster?

“Brilliant,” Robyn told Laurel, who smiled.

“Oh, I have things hidden all over Sherwood,” she said cheerfully. “It's not that hard to live here once you learn a few tricks.”

But Robyn wanted to go home. So Laurel led the way through the neighborhood, favoring alleys and more deserted streets. They tiptoed calmly through the streets as if they weren't on the run.

When they reached the woods, the girls traded places, with Robyn taking the lead. They skirted along the edge
of the forest until they were far from the main trails and hopefully out of sight of any guards, entering the woods in an unmarked place. Robyn knew the general direction of home, but the sun was setting, and the shadows in the forest changed with each step.

“Faster now,” Laurel whispered, as Robyn eased her way beneath the pine canopy, looking for human shapes among the tree trunks. “They'll be patrolling.”

The two girls raced among the trees. Robyn's eyes and ears remained alert for any sound or sign of other motion in the forest. She glanced back occasionally, and each time Laurel was right on her heels, looking barely winded. The girl could run.

“Wait,” Laurel said suddenly. Robyn turned to find her rummaging in the brush. “Oh, never mind. I thought I saw some bitterstalk,” Laurel said, sounding disappointed.

“
Eww
,” Robyn said. “You like that stuff?” The grasslike weed tasted worse than licorice, but some people loved it. Her dad did.

“It's not it anyway,” Laurel said. “We can go.”

Robyn looked to the sky. There was no way they'd make it before dark. As she lowered her gaze toward the path again, Robyn spotted an arrow-shaped carving in the bark of a tree. Her footsteps faltered. The arrow pointed up and to the right. She followed the line of the point and on another tree there was another arrow!

“Look,” she pointed out the pattern to Laurel, and the girls began to follow the path of the arrows. It led into deeper shadows, a section of woods draped thickly in vines.

“I can't see anymore,” Laurel complained. “Let's go back.”

Robyn was inclined to agree. Even if there were more arrows, how could they see them?

Retreating from the dense copse of trees, the girls almost missed seeing the staircase. It was artfully disguised behind a draping of woven leaves and vines. When Robyn first caught sight of it, she thought she was seeing a mirage. She turned and grasped Laurel's arm to stop her. The circle of vines concealing the staircase rippled slightly in the faint evening breeze.

Robyn parted the draped greenery with her arms. Laurel, too, stared at the strange sight. The narrow, deep wooden planks appeared to be hand cut. They were not uniform, like the planks in each of the perfectly carved staircases in Loxley Manor. These stairs twisted and rose into the canopy of leaves. They spiraled in such a way that at first glance they would appear to be the trunk of a very wide tree, like many of the very wide trees in the Notting Wood.

Robyn knew nothing of what a strange staircase might be doing in a wood or where the stairs might lead. They had been running full speed for at least twenty minutes—what kind of place would be found so deep in the woods?

The arrows that led her here looked the same as the arrows on Dad's canvas map. The same type of arrow that Sheriff Mallet had broken. Could this place have anything to do with Dad's message to Robyn? If so, she'd have a starting point for figuring out the rest of the map!

Robyn slipped behind the vine curtain and peered up from the lower steps. She couldn't see where the stairs led. Too many leaves and branches jutted into the column. Should they climb? It might be nice to sit here awhile, just to rest, to hide beneath the careful draping of vines. She was so tired, nearly breathless, and the whole weight of the day had only strengthened her heartache. Yes, to sit for a minute, somewhat hidden, would feel good.

Robyn touched the pocket where Dad's canvas map rested. She remembered seeing something on it that looked like a DNA strand among the trees. What if it wasn't DNA; what if it was this spiral staircase?

“What do you think is up there?” Laurel breathed.

Nothing good, Robyn feared, the way the day had been going. But her curious, restless nature got the better of her. If Dad had wanted her to find this place, there must be some meaning behind it. “Let's find out.”

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Radio in the Corner

The arduous climb carried Robyn and Laurel high into the treetops. Robyn clutched a thin, carved railing and pulled herself upward. Looking down, she could see the ground for only a short while before the view gave way to a carpet of leaves.

The strange stairs led to a tiny, delightful one-room cabin, high up and hidden. A few days ago Robyn would have been ecstatic to find such a place—she'd have immediately turned it into her own private tree house.

The door was but a notch in one wall, with a flap of plastic that Robyn pushed aside as she crawled in. She held the flap aside and motioned to Laurel to look inside. The small girl's eyes rounded.

There was no furniture, but a wall of shelves on the far side held a few cans, jars, and boxes of food. Laurel beelined for the rations. The remaining two walls held small, round portal-like windows, though all you could see through them
were leaves and leaves and more leaves. A larger window on the ceiling opened up to the dimming sky, letting in just enough light to see around the space. There was an old-fashioned battery-powered lantern, a black plastic radio with antenna outstretched, and a pile of soft folded blankets atop an ancient wooden crate. The crate contained a muddle of miscellaneous clothing items. Screen corners were mounted in a small square on one wall. In the center of the floor lay a braided-rag rug.