Shadows of Sherwood (17 page)

A small cardboard box beside the bike contained a large wood-handled pocketknife and two old battery-powered cellular TexTers.

“Whoa,” Laurel said again. “Do you think those things still work?”

“I don't know,” Robyn turned the TexTers over in her hands. Each was small enough to close one fist around. They were thick black rectangles, with gray screens in a little
banner across the top edge. They had thin metal bars on the back, for clipping the device over the edge of your belt. On the front, a tiny keyboard of raised letters and numbers.

They were funny old things; very clunky looking, compared to the small earpiece satellite phones that most people used now. Even more people used satellite-linked tablets to message each other or video call. People rarely bothered with cellular phones or TexTers at all. They had been popular back when Dad was Robyn's age.

The pocketknife looked pretty ancient as well. It wasn't even automated. You had to pull each utensil out by grabbing a groove in the edge of the metal. It had plenty of gadgets though. Screwdrivers, can opener, knives, hooks, and more. The wood handle had designs seared into it—the now-familiar arrow on one side and a design of lines and circles on the other. Robyn slid it into her pocket. Between the knife tools and the circuit-board wires, maybe now she could fix Dad's hologram . . . if she could get her hands on it again.

The bike was too great a find to leave behind. And it was a gift from her father, too. Robyn ran her hands over it, thinking. She put the TexTers in the seat cavity, along with the circuit board and the wrapped MP uniforms.

“Do you think you can drive that thing?” Laurel asked. Robyn saw in her eyes a spark of hope that they might not have to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening walking all the way back through the woods.

“Yeah,” Robyn said. “My dad taught me.” Not on this bike, but once, on vacation, he'd secretly taught her to drive.
She'd driven a golf cart, a moped, and a speedboat on that trip. “You need to know these things. Just don't tell your mother,” he'd whispered.

Laurel ran her hand over the black bike seat. “This is so awesome,” she said, and let out a breath. “We could go anywhere!”

But where would they actually go?
Robyn wondered. The front gate would surely be locked.
Could they get to the road?
It would be best to return to Sherwood via the woods. She hoped they could find their way back to the tree house. She'd watched for landmarks along the way, but on wheels they'd have to take a slightly different route than on foot.

She pulled out Dad's map. Two paths marked there wound through the woods from Castle District to Sherwood. One of them must be the trail the girls had found to get here. Laurel looked over Robyn's shoulder as she put her finger on it and traced it to the end. Robyn thought it might be smooth enough to ride the bike on—but the girls had stumbled onto that path by accident—where did it really start and where did it end?

“What does it mean?” Laurel asked, cocking her head curiously.

“I don't really know,” Robyn said. “I'm trying to figure it out.” She pointed at the various symbols. “Any of this mean anything to you?”

It felt strange, sharing Dad's map with someone else, but Laurel was a friend now, after everything they'd been through in the last day and a half.

“It looks old. Like something you'd see at the museum. Why did you write on it with marker?”

“I didn't,” Robyn said. “What are you talking about?”

Laurel pointed at a tiny spot on the map. “See? You can tell the difference.”

She was right. Robyn slanted the map to better receive the light. Some of the markings shone differently than others. Fresher ink. A clue from Dad?

“Is that a house?” Laurel asked, pointing at a drawn-on symbol that to Robyn had looked like a fat arrow.

“Maybe,” she answered. “If so, it's probably my house, don't you think?”

“Sure, why not?” Laurel mused.

Robyn grinned. If the spiral in the woods was the treehouse, and the marker-inked house was Loxley Manor, then she'd solved the map!

“Let's try this path,” Robyn said, tracing the line that appeared to start closest to the house. At least they knew where to find the start of it—it dumped out just down the tree line from the Loxley property. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Laurel said.

Together the girls pushed the moped to the front of the shed. Robyn took a deep breath. She eased the door open and poked her head out. She could see the MPs moving around inside the kitchen.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A Daredevil Ride

The girls stood inside the shed considering their options. If they got on the bike here and rode it right out through the door, the MPs would definitely see and hear them making their getaway. If Robyn couldn't get the thing started in time, they'd be sitting ducks.

“We could push it all the way to the woods,” Laurel suggested. “It would be quieter.”

“But it'll take forever.” Robyn made the decision. “If we can wait to start it until we get behind the shed at least, they might not even know we took it from here. Maybe they'll think we're just joyriding, passing through.”

“Okay,” Laurel said. They opened the door and rolled the bike out as quickly and quietly as they could. Robyn looked over her shoulder at the house. The MPs' outlines moved about. Cooking dinner, maybe. Robyn felt a surge of anger. In
her
house.

The girls pushed the bike around the shed. Robyn straddled the seat and eased it off the kickstand. Laurel climbed
on behind her. The long seat was plenty big enough for the two of them, with room to spare.

Robyn squeezed the hand brake and pushed the ignition. The bike coughed to life beneath her. Laurel's arms tightened around her waist as the jouncy engine rumble intensified. Robyn twisted the throttle again and the bike shot forward. Laurel shrieked.

“Sorry!” Robyn cried. “I learned this a while ago.” She tried again, more gently. There. Now they were rolling along nicely. They plunged into the gap in the trees where the trail they had followed to get here began.

Laurel hugged Robyn's back and ducked low as they zoomed through the undergrowth. The motor buzzed and thrummed beneath them, but Robyn thought it made relatively little noise for a moped.

Robyn kept the bike on the trail. Riding on a cleared path was difficult enough; it was much too hard to go off-road over even bigger roots and brambles. According to the map, the trail dumped out in Sherwood. When they broke through the trees, the bike zoomed onto a blacktopped lot strewn with a strange maze of cardboard boxes, canvas tents, and various draperies Robyn couldn't identify. Robyn braked to avoid a collision with a pair of rainbow-striped beach chairs. She steered the bike back to the edge of the woods.

Laurel poked her head up. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “Here we are.”

“Where's
here
?” Robyn asked. Her father's map only detailed the wood trail. It didn't show anything beyond the marker in the clearing. It looked like a tongue of flames.

“T.C.,” Laurel said matter-of-factly. Then she sighed. “But I like our tree house much better.”

Robyn stared out over the sea of recyclables and realized she was looking at a collection of makeshift shelters. Heads popped up here and there, people walking among the construction.

“I stay here sometimes,” Laurel continued. “Some people call it the
un
fairground, and everyone always laughs, but I don't know what that really means. We mostly just call it T.C.”

An older dark-skinned man staggered out from between two refrigerator boxes and tossed himself into one of the rainbow chairs. He carried a paper bag in one hand. A thicket of coarse salt-and-pepper hair obscured most of his face.

Robyn gripped the throttle and prepared to jet off, but Laurel waved cheerfully and slid off the bike. “Hi, Chazz!”

“Who's that?” The old guy squinted. “Laurel? That you, girl?”

Laurel dashed over and plopped herself down into the other rainbow chair as if she was lying out for a day at the beach. Robyn wheeled the bike around and pushed it closer. She kicked the bike stand and went to stand by Laurel. Robyn rapidly grew uncomfortable under Chazz's intense stare.

“Chazz, this is Robyn,” Laurel said. “Robyn, this is Chazz. He's the mayor of T.C.”

Chazz waved a hand and severed the piercing stare. “No, no. I wish they would stop saying that. I'm retired.” From the brown sack he brought out a tin of tuna and cracked it open.

“You hungry, honeys?” he asked. “I got six tins. Name your price.”

“No, we're okay,” Laurel chirped. “We found a whole tree—”

“Laurel,” Robyn butted in. She didn't know Chazz from a hole in the wall. She wasn't about to let Laurel give away her dad's secrets to some random guy.

“Take off that beret, Robyn,” Chazz said. “Make yourself comfortable.” There was something about his voice that made her nervous. Take off her beret? That was a strange request. She straightened the hat instead. The tail of her braid had popped out at the neck. Robyn tucked it back inside.

“That's a good-looking bike,” Chazz said. “You could get the heck outta Dodge with wheels like that. Maybe that's what you should do.” His voice was edged with something, almost threatening.

He returned his attention to his sack of tuna cans. He looped his finger through the pull tab on the first one. It snapped off without opening the can. “Aw, nuts.”

“Here.” Robyn took Dad's knife out of her pocket. Chazz eyed the symbols on the knife's handle. Robyn could feel him watching her. She worked the opener quickly and handed
him the can, then hurried the knife back into her pocket. The air now smelled faintly of fish.

With work-roughened fingers, Chazz bent the thin lid into a scoop shaped like a taco shell. “Take my advice, girl,” he said quietly. “Get on that bike and just keep riding.”

“Actually, we do have to be going,” Robyn said. She laid a hand on Laurel's shoulder and squeezed. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Chazz.”

Chazz laughed. A rich throaty howl that was ten times friendlier than his gaze. “Hoo! Just Chazz, baby girl. I ain't mister anybody,” he hooted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Heh. That's the best laugh I've had in a minute.”

“Bye,” Laurel said.

“You stay beautiful, sweetheart,” Chazz said, patting Laurel's cheek. He seemed kind and friendly when addressing her. “Robyn,” he said, in a heavier voice. “You watch your back.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX