by Wendy Mass
“Why are you shooting at us?” I demand.
The men form a circle around me. Most of them are taller by a foot. Perhaps I haven’t thought this out too well. Still, I hold my ground. “You can’t just go around shooting arrows at people for no reason,” I argue. “You could have really hurt us.”
The men growl. One replies, “If we wanted to hurt you, you’d already be bleeding.”
“Yeah,” another agrees. “The sheriff will want to do that himself.”
This sheriff guy is sounding less and less like someone I want to hang around with. “He’d hurt me for walking through his woods?”
“Nah,” the yellow-haired man says, speaking for the first time. “For that he’d just take all your money, your land, and your family. But for stealing one of his deer, that’s a different story.”
“Deer? I didn’t steal any deer.”
Marian clears her throat and points to my feet. I glance down, not wanting to take my eyes from the men for too long. Deedee is curled up by my left foot. She really likes that foot.
I give the men a weak smile. “Ah, that deer. We didn’t know she belonged to anyone. And anyway, she found us, not the other way around.”
The men just stare at Deedee, who has now begun to nuzzle my leg. I try to nudge her away, but she doesn’t seem to get the message.
“There you are!” a deep voice calls out from the woods. My heart quickens at the thought that perhaps this is the sheriff himself, come to exact his revenge on the deer thieves. But when the man behind the voice appears, he’s short and round, in long brown robes tied with a sash of yellow rope. He reminds me of the large-bellied statue from my parents. His haircut looks like someone put a bowl on his head and cut around it, then shaved off everything except the outside circle of the bowl. A strange look, but somehow on him it seems to work.
The men lower their weapons. “Friar Tuck,” the tallest of the men says. “We thought you’d wandered off to town.”
“Did you, now?” the friar replies, mopping his brow with a rag. “It felt more like you left me behind on purpose.”
I take the distraction of the friar’s arrival as our chance to leave. I signal to Marian with my eyes and then inch away from Deedee. I’m nearly out of the circle before one of the sword-bearers lowers his sword right in front of me.
“Not so fast. Is this your wife?” He tilts his head at Marian.
“My wife?” I repeat, stunned by the question. On Delta Z only the old people are married. “Of course not.”
Marian makes a sound between a grunt and a laugh.
The man steps closer. “Your sister, then?”
My lips suddenly feel very dry. I’m not sure of the right answer.
Marian steps forward. “I’m Marian. His … his maid,” she says, solving the problem for me. “See my outfit?” She slips off her cloak to reveal the maid uniform she’s been wearing since we left Delta Z.
“You don’t look like any maid I’ve ever seen,” the man says with a snort.
“Well, that is what I am,” she replies.
The friar stops cleaning his glasses with the sleeve of his robe, finally recognizing that there are strangers in his midst. He looks from Marian to me and then to the men surrounding us. To my surprise — and no doubt Marian’s — he hurries over and takes her arm. “Ah, ’tis the lovely Maid Marian, come to start her scholarly life at the monastery. We’ve been wondering when you’d arrive.”
Marian stares at him, then gives a little curtsy kind of move that I’ve never seen her make before. “My name’s not Maid Marian,” she tells him gently. “I’m a maid named Marian. I, um, clean things?”
But the friar only pats her on the arm. “Nonsense, my dear. You have come to study the ancient ways, to transcribe the books, to paint and contemplate our beautiful world.”
“Did you … did you say books?” Marian asks, eyes wide. “And paint?”
“Of course,” the friar says. “You shall study all the arts.” He turns to me. “Thank you, young man, for escorting our newest student through these woods. They can be quite dangerous for a young lady on her own.” He looks pointedly at the group of men, half of whom have started fighting with one another again. “We’ll be going now.”
“Not so fast,” the tallest guy says. He must be the leader. “These two stole one of the sheriff’s deer. They must pay the consequences.”
This is getting old. “I told you, we didn’t steal her. You can take her right now.”
One of the guys with the arrows nudges the other. “Could be good target practice for the contest.”
The other considers this and grins. “Yeah, doesn’t seem like it moves too quick.”
It takes a few seconds for what he said to sink in. When it does, I immediately step in front of Deedee. “You can’t use her for target practice! You said no one can harm the sheriff’s deer!”
They laugh. The leader says, “We said you can’t harm the sheriff’s deer. We can do anything we want.”
Now Marian is the one to step forward. “You are NOT going to hurt this deer.”
“And who’s going to stop me?” the leader asks, jeering. I hate that he’s looking at her like that.
“How about we make a little bet?” I ask. I point to a narrow willow tree about two hundred feet away. “We draw a bull’s-eye on that tree. If your two best shooters’ arrows land closer to the center than mine, then you can have this deer and you’ll get no trouble from us. If my arrow bests yours, then you will let us and the deer leave in peace. There are two of you, so I will get two tries.”
The leader doesn’t reply at first. We both know he has the upper hand here, whether he accepts the bet or not. My hope is that he’ll be unable to pass up the challenge.
“You don’t even have a bow,” he finally points out.
“I’m certain you can let me borrow one, and two arrows to fit in it,” I reply. “Your worst two arrows, no doubt.”
“We want more when we win,” the leader says. He gestures with one dirty thumb toward Marian. “My cousin here’s in need of a wife.”
The yellow-haired man — no doubt the cousin in question — blushes and kicks at the dirt. “C’mon, let’s just leave ’em alone,” he mutters. But no one pays attention.
“They’d make a lovely couple!” one of the men roars. They all laugh. This makes the cousin blush even deeper. “I’m sure the good friar could survive with one less student.”
Friar Tuck opens his mouth to argue, but seems to sense he’s pushed his luck far enough with this group.
I look at Marian. She narrows her eyes and gives me one curt nod. “Show ’em what you’ve got, Robin.”
The archers’ skills are stronger than I’d hoped. Both hit the tree, one coming only two inches from the center of the target that Friar Tuck — as the only neutral party — has hastily drawn on with chalk.
“Ha! Beat that!” they shout. One of the men hands me his bow and quiver. As suspected, the only arrows left are bent, with torn feathers and splintered tips. This doesn’t worry me as much as they probably figured it would. In the VR archery game, after you level up a few times, your arrows begin to look like these. I’ve learned to adjust my aim.
I choose the one in the best condition and load it in the bow. It feels almost exactly the same as the virtual bow and arrow, except it doesn’t click into place on its own. And the string is thinner and lighter. On second thought, it doesn’t feel much the same at all. I pull back, close one eye, and aim. If I were to spare even a second to think about the consequences of losing, I’d never let the arrow fly. So I don’t think about it.
Thwak!
The arrow swerves just as it approaches the target, knocking the first man’s arrow to the ground. He stomps his foot. While everyone is oohing and aahing over that one, I shoot off the last arrow, which finds its mark directly in the center of the bull’s-eye. I hand the bow back to the stunned archer. “We will be taking our leave of you now.”
Befor
e anyone can protest, I grab Marian’s hand and we edge away from the group. I purposely head in the opposite direction from where we came. I don’t want to risk leading them to the airship in case they follow us. Friar Tuck trails along, his expression a cross between relieved, surprised, and exhausted. I can’t tell if he really believes Marian is his lost student, or if he’s just trying to keep her safe. Either way, we’re going to have to ditch him eventually. It’s impossible to know who to trust here.
The men shout after us, but they don’t appear to be pursuing. No one looks back, not even Deedee, who has, of course, tagged along. My plan is to wait for the men to move on, then double back and return to the relative safety of our ship. We can figure out the next step from there.
We don’t get far along the path before we reach a fork. A wooden sign (real wood!) sticks out of the ground, announcing what lies in each direction. Both Marian and I reach our hands out to touch the wood. It’s both rougher and smoother than I’d have thought.
Sherwood Village to the left, Sherwood Forest to the right.
“We go this way,” Friar Tuck says, pointing left. “The school is in the hills above the village.”
I glance at Marian, then tell the friar, “Thank you for helping us, but we can take it from here.”
He shrugs. “Every man’s path is his own. I wish you safe passage on yours.”
“Thank you, sir,” I reply.
The friar nods at Marian and turns toward the village.
“Please wait one more moment,” Marian tells him, then pulls me aside. “What if we go with him to the school?” she whispers in an excited tone. “If we’re going to be stuck here, we should learn all we can, right? They have books there — real books! And art, and paint, and —”
“But what about trying to get the ship repaired?” What I really want to ask is, School? You want me to go to school when no one’s forcing me to?
“Robin, think about it. Half the ship’s hull is torn off, and from what we can tell, this planet is still in its medieval period. They have steel and iron and silver, but nothing that could withstand the pressures of space travel. And they certainly don’t have the capability to make Aloxxite. That airship’s never leaving the ground.”
I try to accept her words, but my brain won’t seem to let me. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d ever get to see nature in all its glory, and I’m beyond grateful for the chance. But how can I just settle into life here without doing all I can to get us home? I’d never see Will and Uncle Kent again, or Shane. I might even miss Vinnie. Well, probably not Vinnie. But I’d never find out what happened to my parents, that’s for sure. And I promised to return the Solar Hammer. That promise might not have meant much to me even a week ago, but it does now.
“I’m sorry, Marian,” I tell her honestly. “I don’t think we can give up without at least trying.”
She searches my face, then says, “I understand.” We hold each other’s gaze here in the dense woods, where the birds cry out as they pass overhead.
Finally, Friar Tuck clears his throat and says, “I must be on my way. Meditation hour begins when the sun is directly overhead. I try never to miss it. The ability to look inside oneself for inner guidance and wisdom is vital to our growth as spiritual beings.”
“Um, definitely,” I reply, even though I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Ready, Marian?” I step toward the opposite path. Deedee trots up to my side and waits.
But Marian doesn’t join us. “Every man must choose his own path,” she says softly but firmly. “So must every woman.”
I don’t think I like where this is headed. “What are you saying?”
She steps close and reaches out her hand toward me. She hesitates for a second, then rests it on my arm. “Robin, these few days since I left home have given me a freedom I never dreamed could exist. No mandatory shopping trips, no full schedule, no grid tracking my every move. I want to do what he said.” She gestures to the friar, who is pretending to pull a splinter out of his finger. Or maybe he really is pulling a splinter out of his finger.
“I want to look inside myself,” she continues. “I want to think, I want to learn and paint and read. I want to feed my brain. And if you do figure out a way to get the ship running, this could be my only chance to do any of those things.”
I don’t want her to go. But she seems so excited. We both know there’s a better chance of us sprouting wings than getting that ship off the ground, but still, she’s willing to let me try. Which means that I should be willing to let her go. I turn to the friar. “Can you guarantee her safety?”
“Can you?” he asks, not unkindly.
I want to say of course I can, but I’m pretty sure now that isn’t true.
“I do not claim to guess where you two hail from,” he says, “but here in Sherwood our school is the safest place, unless you have a home to return to?”
Neither of us responds. We both do — and don’t — have homes.
“You’ll come visit me,” Marian says, not making it a question.
I push past the lump in my throat to reply, “Yes, of course.”
She pulls me a little farther away from the friar. “Promise you’ll be careful. No more rushing up to groups of strange men with daggers in your hand.”
“Well, I can’t promise that,” I reply. “But now that I know we’re not alone here, I won’t let people sneak up on me. I’ll walk with you as far as the village and look around for supplies there.”
“Good. And also, you should put your hood down. You look like you’re hiding something.”
“But what’s Robin Hood without his hood?” I joke, pushing it off my head. I’ve never felt wind in my hair before. Or any wind anywhere. It feels great.
A minute later I hear a slicing sound as an object whizzes through the trees a short distance behind us. I’ve heard that sound a million times in the archery game. Deedee and I stop short. I scan the woods but don’t spot the man or the arrow he shot. Another whoosh, but still I spot no arrow. The men must be uncertain which way we went and are trying to draw us out. Marian and the friar have launched into a conversation about books and are strolling a few yards ahead.
I hurry to catch up. Marian has an excited smile on her face as the friar describes the kind of ink the scribes use on the parchment paper. She sure does love books. I wish I could be there when she sees her first one.
“Why don’t you guys go on to the village?” I suggest, trying to sound casual so she doesn’t worry that anything’s wrong. I’m pretty certain once they make it out of the woods they’ll be safe.
“I think I should” — I pause, then lower my voice so only she can hear —“check on the ship.”
Her smile fades. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, you guys better hurry along so you’re not late for … what was it? Feeding your brain?”
“Robin, I —”
There’s no time. I hand her the small suitcase and squeeze her shoulder. I thank the friar and take off at a run back toward the fork in the road. I wish I had my hoverboard. No one could catch me then.
When I reach the signpost, I run as fast as I can down the opposite path, the one marked SHERWOOD FOREST. Then I pull my hat out of my pocket, straighten out the feather, place it on my head, and set about making enough noise for three people.
As soon as we enter Sherwood Village, the urge to run after Robin and give up this crazy idea loosens its grip on me. It’s impossible not to get swept up by all the activity around us. Kids squeal as they run by, pushing barrels with a stick in some kind of race. Stalls and carts line the streets, filled with items I mostly don’t recognize. I try to absorb all of it — people dressed in clothes of every color in very simple fabrics of wool or linen, merchants hawking their wares, the smells of fresh food baking in the sun! I get strange looks from the townsfolk as I dart around Friar Tuck, sniffing the air as we walk deeper into the marketplace.
Not all of the smells are great, by the way. I�
��m pretty certain they haven’t invented indoor bathrooms yet.
The merchants wave at us, trying to get us to buy things. Friar Tuck shakes his head cheerfully, occasionally tossing out a coin. He keeps stealing glances at me, an amused smile on his face, like he’s watching a little kid exploring the world for the first time. In a way, he is! I may not be little, but this world is certainly new, and full of wonder. He hasn’t asked me any personal questions, like why Robin and I were in the forest, or where we came from. He’d never guess the truth of it.
I’m drawn toward a stall filled with fish swimming in a bucket. Real live fish! And some not-so-alive ones on wooden slabs. I stick my face down low to look at them up close, then wrinkle my nose at the smell and move on quickly. The next stall has a sign that reads SPICE IT UP, filled with powdered food with cool-sounding names like cloves and ginger and oats, wheat, barley, and sugar.
“Plum pie!” a heavyset lady calls out as she fans herself with her hand.
“Ribs of beef!” shouts a bald man with a golden hoop in his ear. Eggs and apples and candlesticks and corn. I can’t believe the earth provides all these things. The people at home would never believe a place like this exists. I’m having a hard time believing it myself.
I wish Robin were here to share it. I hope he understands why I needed to go with Friar Tuck. It’s only the second time in my life I’ve gotten to make my own choice — the first being just yesterday, when I decided to go after King Richard. I guess that first choice didn’t turn out so well. Best not think about that, though.
“Are you thirsty?” the friar asks me.
“A little,” I admit, although truthfully I’m absolutely parched. At home the medi-bots ensure we always stay hydrated. I’m going to have to look after my own bodily needs now. How strange! “But I fear I’ve already made you late enough for the meditation hour.”
“Nonsense,” he says, turning into the nearest tavern. “There’s always time for a drink.”
The air inside the Three Moons Tavern is cooler than outside, and with only the front window to let in some sunlight, it is quite dark. A quick glance around at the candles and oil lamps confirms the lack of electricity on this planet.
