Shadows of Sherwood (16 page)

Robyn grabbed the package with the circuit board and took a moment to properly tuck in the wires. She gave Laurel the other two uniforms to carry. They might come in handy later.

“Let's get out of here,” Laurel said, tugging Robyn's arm. She dashed along the path. They raced across the ring of live oaks, into the untamed woods.

Wait!

Robyn stopped running.

Her father's message in blood had to mean something. It had to be a message to her, something he hoped she would see. A clue.

Yards ahead, Laurel stopped, too. “What is it?” she called, in what amounted to a loud whisper.

“We have to go back,” Robyn said.

“No way,” Laurel answered.

“He wasn't writing
live
, as in
I want to live
,” Robyn said. She understood the message now. The note was much more important. “He was writing
live
, as in
live oak
.”

Her father had told her time and again:
Go to the live oak. I will find you.

Robyn and Laurel crept back through the woods to the edge of the Loxley property. “Are these all live oaks?” Laurel asked, when they reached the ring of ancient trees.

“Yes, but there's one in particular,” Robyn said. “Our favorite.”

She led Laurel to the largest, oldest tree. They climbed on the live oak's sprawling roots. Robyn hugged the trunk. When Laurel did the same on the opposite side, their hands did not touch.

Robyn pressed her ear to the bark.
Can you guess how old the live oak is? A tree like this holds many secrets.

What secrets did the tree hold?
Robyn now wondered. “Why did he want me to come here?” she said aloud. This was where he was to meet her if anything bad happened.
Maybe the message was just a reminder. But he must have known the men in the house were ruthless. He must have known that he . . . Robyn swallowed hard . . . might not survive to meet her. But he wrote “
LIVE O
” anyway.

“There must be something to find,” Laurel said. “It was a clue to something.”

Robyn agreed. She grasped the lowest branch, about a foot thick, and the height of her shoulders.

“Maybe he carved a message into the trunk?” Laurel suggested. “Like the arrows?”

“I don't think he would do that,” Robyn said. “He wouldn't hurt this tree.” She swung up and began to climb. If Dad had left a message in the tree, it would be someplace only she was likely to look.

She climbed to her favorite seat, four levels up, in the small upward curve of a branch. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The leaves hid her, like always. This tree didn't even lose its leaves in the autumn, like a normal oak. All the live oaks stayed green through the winter. It was part of their beauty.

What are you doing all the way up there?
Robyn climbed down and around, to the place where Dad sat when they climbed together.
Ah, no, this is the spo
t, he'd say.
I'm lucky that you leave it for me.

It was a lower, wider, flatter branch, more comfortable to sit on if you were very big. If you were smaller, there was a tuft of leaves sticking out of the bark that tended to hit you in the face. Robyn got a mouthful of chlorophyll now, like
usual. She blew and spat, then pushed the thin branch aside with her fist. Beneath the tiny rogue branch was a knot the size of Robyn's head, caked with years of dirt, leaves, and mud. The knot had always been filled in this way, as long as Robyn could remember.

This is the spot.
She could see Dad in her mind's eye, patting the knot as he said it.

“Get me a stick or something,” she called to Laurel. Laurel picked up a handful of sticks and bark from the ground and climbed it up to Robyn. Robyn selected a thick, short stick and began gouging at the layers of caked-in, sun-dried mud. When that stick snapped, she used a piece of bark to scoop.

The excavation revealed a small cavity within the knothole. In the cavity rested a plastic sandwich bag, muddied brown, but obvious because all the dirt in the world couldn't mask that colorful zipper.

“Whoa,” said Laurel. “Buried treasure?”

A gift from Dad. Robyn popped open the bag with a quick tug. Three things fell out into her hands: a Sherwood College key ring with two keys, a folded note, and a heavy black stone on a chain.

Laurel plucked the keys right out of her hand and studied them, but the stone grabbed Robyn's attention first. It was shaped like a crescent moon and black as night, with not a blemish or streak apparent anywhere. The polished surface reflected the silhouette of her face. Robyn didn't know much about jewelry, but she knew most stones have streaks or blemishes or flaws of some kind if you look closely, and this
stone didn't appear to. It fit comfortably in her palm, just a little bit longer and thicker than the curve of her thumb. On the inside curve, a wide, shallow groove ran down the center of the stone. If you held it up like a smile, from the top it looked like a thin-walled bowl. The attached chain was simple silver, weighty enough to handle the heft of the stone and attached with what looked like a little silver crown.

Robyn slipped the chain around her neck. It was long enough to fit over her head without a clasp. The black moon dangled low on her chest.

She opened the small folded note. Robyn's chest tightened at the sight of Dad's handwriting.

Dearest Robyn,

Keep these things very close and very safe. I intend to give them to you when you are of age. But if you find them early . . . if something has happened to me, or your mother . . . I'm so sorry, my love. You are strong and brave and you will get through anything. Do what you have to. These things may help. I'm sorry I can't say more.

Follow your head. Follow your heart. Follow the Moon.

Love,

Dad

Robyn hugged the small note, but nothing changed. Her father did not burst from the page to hug her in return.

“They're very regular,” Laurel said, examining the keys. “One electronic door key and another that looks like the key to an old padlock or something smaller.”

Robyn recognized the electronic key. “This opens the garden shed in the backyard.” It had a green plastic cover on its head. Her mom had color coded all the keys in the house so that the Loxleys would always know what they unlocked, but if one was lost or stolen, no one else would be sure. The whole family had stopped carrying keys when Dad installed the biosecurity touch pads all over the property. So he must have planted these items for Robyn a while ago. Why hadn't he just given them to her? Or told her what was going on? A small surge of anger rose up in her throat. She swallowed it.

“What about the little one?” Laurel asked.

“I don't know.” Robyn stared through the leaves as if she could see the open yard they'd have to cross to get to the shed. “We have to check it out,” she said.

“Back toward the house?” Laurel seemed skeptical. “Are you sure?”

The key was a gift from her father. He hadn't just been paranoid about someday, someone being out to get him. He had planned ahead. Robyn tucked the black pendant inside her T-shirt.

“Come on.” She climbed down the tree. Laurel followed, dropping from branch to branch like a monkey.

The girls crept along the tree line until they were directly behind the shed. The closer they got to it, the more the shed would hide them from the sight line of the house. But it was a big lawn. If even one MP was looking out the windows . . .

Robyn took a deep breath and stepped into the open.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Useful Gifts from Dad

Robyn raced out of the woods at top speed. She ran straight toward the shed and pressed herself against the back wall, the way people always did in the movies. The flattened position with hands splayed had always looked silly and overdramatic to Robyn on-screen. Here and now, she understood it. She desperately wanted to make herself as small as possible. Laurel smashed herself right up beside Robyn as they inched around the building.

The shed was about the size of a one-car garage. It had no windows, just an extra-wide set of creaky wooden doors big enough to drive a riding mower through. Unfortunately that entrance faced the house. Robyn used the key. Maybe her fingerprints would still work on the shed, but she didn't want to waste time finding out. She opened the groaning door just far enough to slide inside with Laurel.

“If they saw us, we're trapped,” the smaller girl sighed.

Robyn felt trapped already. It was very black inside the shed, with no windows.
Why were there no windows?
Robyn wondered for the first time ever. There was the tiniest bit of light sneaking in through the cracks around the door, but it was barely enough to see two feet of concrete floor in front of her.

It had been a while since she came out to the shed. Months, in fact. Since Dad stopped having time for her, she had rarely come to the place where they used to tinker. She wasn't allowed to use the power tools alone, so she mostly played in her room, with her own small tool kit and her circuits. Lately the shed was mostly used by the landscapers who took care of the grounds. And it was usually daytime, so they left the doors thrown open and sunlight lit the room.
Was there even a light?

Yes
, Robyn remembered. One bulb, with a pull chain overhead. She felt her way forward, touching the large wheels and smooth seat of the riding mower parked in the center of things. She eased her way around it, batting her hand in the air through the middle of the room. Finally she hit the string.

The single bulb was bright. Now they could see everything. Dad's workbench and tools and the wall of trowels, spades, rakes, clippers, shovels, and brooms Mom used in the garden.

Robyn fingered the smaller key. She glanced around the room. Her eye fell on the rear wall, which had a smaller, single door in it. A door that was always locked. That must be it!

Robyn had noticed the rear padlock ages ago.
What's back there?
she'd asked Dad.

He never gave a proper answer, and he'd never let her peek inside.
Just some of my old things,
he'd said, then kissed her on the top of her head and added,
I'm hoping we'll never need them.

Now, Robyn used the smaller key to pop open the padlock. The back room was small, only a few feet deep, but as wide as the shed. The air smelled musty and cobwebs crisscrossed the rafters.

The secret space was dominated by a green-and-black moped, balanced by a metal kickstand that looked like a pair of insect feet. The bike's body was a rich forest green, with splashes of bright green-and-black flames and lettering. The long leather seat was black, as were the wide-set handlebars.

“Whoa,” Laurel said.

Robyn was thinking the same thing.

The solar panel on the console had a small yellow note taped to it, with an
F
scrawled on it. The bike was charged and ready. Dad had thought of everything.