Shadows of Sherwood (23 page)

“They're out,” Robyn whispered.

“No alarm?”

Robyn shrugged.

“
Ooohh
,” cooed the warden. Her voice sounded like an echo, which was understandable, considering the top half of her had utterly disappeared into the giant box.

“Time to go,” Key whispered, tension in his voice. “The distraction is about to be over.” Their shoulders bumped as they rushed to stand side by side at attention.
So much for the computer search
, Robyn thought longingly. At least she had another clue now. Centurion Gate. What did that mean?

“Warden, what do you want us to do with these?” Key inquired, in an official-sounding voice. “Is there somewhere you'd like them delivered?”

“That won't be necessary,” she said, surfacing from the box with a blue satin pump in one hand and a wad of toe-filler paper in the other. “Just put them in the trunk of my car.” She touched her PalmTab, and the trunk of a beige car parked along the street popped open.

“Sure thing,” Key said. The warden retrieved the matching blue pump, then Key and Burle rolled the dolly down the sidewalk toward the car. Robyn eased past the warden and followed.

“Hey,” the warden said to her.

Robyn looked back, trying not to raise her head far enough to let the warden see her face, which was tricky, since she was being directly addressed.

“On second thought,” the warden said. “Put these in, too.” She handed Robyn the blue pumps. The jailhouse door banged shut between them. Robyn breathed a sigh of relief, just a moment too soon.

Hurrying after Burle and Key, Robyn felt her pants continuing to slip. One step later, they dropped over her hips and fell down her thighs.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Wardrobe Malfunction

As Robyn's pants slipped down, she quickly spread her legs to stop them from falling. She wore black leggings underneath; it's not like anyone would
see
anything. But no self-respecting MP—or thief, for that matter—loses her pants.

“Hey,” said Burle. He wasn't the quickest on the uptake, but Robyn's rope belt was a pretty obvious giveaway. “That's not regulation,” he added.

Robyn pitched the blue pumps into the trunk alongside the other shoe boxes Key and Burle had unloaded. She grabbed the camo pants by the waist and hoisted them.

“I, uh, left my belt in my other pants,” she said. “Pretty stupid, eh?”

Burle just frowned. “Yeah,” he said, but his big dumb face contorted like he was trying to puzzle something out.

Key took the dolly from under the now-empty box. “Well, thanks, man,” he said. “See you around.”

Robyn backed away and fought the urge to run. She didn't look back, though she was tempted. The sound of a
car trunk slamming behind them allowed her to breathe a sigh of relief. Burle was going about business as usual.

Once around the corner, they began to jog. “You need to learn to tie a better knot,” Key muttered.

“Maybe you need to learn to sew better,” Robyn retorted.

Key acted offended. “I hemmed the heck out of those pants,” he said. “You didn't hold up your end of the bargain.”

Robyn nodded toward her fist full of fabric. “Well, I'm holding it up now,” she said. They laughed, racing back toward the storeroom.

Robyn's pulse still raced and her head felt light. It had been nerve-racking and scary but FUN pulling one over on Burle and the warden.

The escapade had been exciting, but the tidbit of information about Mom was almost worse than nothing—now Robyn knew the information existed, she just couldn't access it. Mom might be alive. Dad, too. But maybe the prisoner database contained records of everyone captured, even the dead.

No.

I expect that they're alive
, Robyn reminded herself.
I expect to find out what happened to them. I expect to see them again.

Robyn and Key met Laurel at the braid shop's storeroom. Laurel handed over Robyn's backpack. “Thanks.” Robyn unzipped the pouches and checked off the items inside: the device Barclay had given her. Dad's envelope. The broken silver hologram sphere. All present and accounted for. Even
the plastic bag that had once held the bacon was there. She breathed a sigh of relief.

She looked up to find Key staring at her. “What is that?” he said.

“What?” She wasn't sure she wanted to tell Key about the hologram yet. Laurel didn't even know.

“That bag. You wasted a bunch of time inside getting it. It'd be nice to know if it was worth it.”

“It's my bag,” Robyn said. “They took it when they put me in jail. I wanted it back.”

“The plan was to break the people out. You could have mentioned there was something else you wanted inside.”

“It took two seconds to grab it.”

“Time matters. You left me hanging out to dry with Burle and the warden. And what were you looking at on the computer for so long?”

Robyn shrugged. “It wasn't that long.”

“Felt like it from where I was standing. Every second you goof around is a second they could recognize me.”

“Recognize you for what?” Robyn retorted. “I thought you weren't on a wanted poster.”

Key turned away angrily. “Forget it,” he said.

They changed out of the MP uniforms and tucked them into Key's bag. “I'll get these back to the tree house,” he said, then stalked off.

The glow of the successful jailbreak dimmed a bit for Robyn in the wake of his anger. She didn't regret grabbing her bag, though. She'd do it again.

Robyn and Laurel set out toward their statue stash to grab some food for dinner. As they walked, Robyn relayed her version of the jail break-in for Laurel, and Laurel told her side of the story, waiting nervously across the street. “. . . and then your pants fell down!” She giggled. “I thought you were a goner for sure.”

Robyn rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. How about we not keep that as part of the story next time we tell it.”

“But that's the best part!”

Laurel led Robyn into an alley and pointed up to the fire escape. The ladder was suspended about eight feet off the ground. Laurel took a running start and made a surprisingly effective vertical leap for someone of her height. She grasped the bottom rung and pulled herself up.

“Come on,” she called.

Robyn mimicked the difficult jump. Good thing she was already a gymnast in training, or she wouldn't be able to keep up with this girl.

“I thought we were getting food,” Robyn said as they climbed.

“I want to brush my teeth first,” Laurel told her.

“On a rooftop? I thought your stuff was in that yard in Getty.”

“Oh, I have toothbrushes everywhere.”

They rolled over the lip of the roof. From up here, Robyn could see a lot of Sherwood, high rises and brownstones, the towers of Nottingham Cathedral, and the pointed tops of the pine trees in Sherwood Forest. The rest of the Notting
Wood lay beyond that, punctuated by glimpses of the raised expressway that bordered the neighborhood.

Laurel led Robyn to one corner of the roof and pulled a small cloth satchel from a hiding spot between the back of a vent shaft and the edge of the building.

“How many stashes like this do you have?” Robyn wondered aloud. Laurel shrugged, unpacking toothbrush, toothpaste, and half-empty water bottle. The rest of the pouch was full of small cloth-wrapped objects, which Laurel did not disturb.

“Here, Robyn. Do you want one?” Laurel held out a red-and-white toothbrush in clean plastic packaging that promised to reduce plaque and fight gingivitis.

“Sure,” Robyn said. She had always hated to brush her teeth at home. Every night her parents had made her do it. But after not brushing for several days, they were starting to feel significantly fuzzy.

Laurel squeezed toothpaste and the girls stood on the black tarry rooftop, brushing. They spit into the rain gutter. Laurel used a bit of the bottle water to rinse the brushes. Robyn would have liked a little water to rinse her mouth, too, but she was quickly learning that life on the streets as a fugitive meant sacrificing certain comforts.

Laurel re-hid the pouch and the girls descended the fire escape. Bad timing, though. As they dropped into the alley, an MP happened to be passing along the street.

“Here, what's this?” he said, pausing what was probably a routine patrol. He began marching toward them. “You two!”

Robyn and Laurel glanced at each other. Understanding arced between them. It was as if they'd been partners in crime for years.
Best to split up
, the look said. “Meet back in the woods,” Robyn whispered. They ran to the mouth of the alley and took off in opposite directions.

An MP came running toward Robyn from the other direction. “Hey,” he shouted. “Stop right there!”

Not again
, she thought.
I'm not going down so easy this time.

They seemed to be coming from everywhere. She turned and darted off in the opposite direction, back the way she came. She dodged through another alley and found herself running alongside the boarded-up old Nottingham Cathedral. The graffiti-covered expanse of plywood seemed to taunt her, like a colorful grin.

Perfect
, Robyn thought.
I've picked the only block in all of Sherwood with absolutely no opportunity to hide.

“You there!” called the MP. “Halt!”

Robyn refused to halt. The MP seemed to be gaining on her. What if she couldn't lose him? She peeked over her shoulder as she tore around the corner of the church—and slammed straight into another person.

A dark hand clamped over Robyn's mouth. Strong arms yanked her back into the shadows.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX