by Rachel Ford
Alfred nodded slowly, and the outlaw scrutinized him for a moment. “Your Nancy: I think she’s that kind of woman, eh?”
He smiled. “Yes.” She’d stood by him through more than most would have endured, hadn’t she? They’d passed through time, outran government agents, outfoxed devious killers; and she’d always stayed at his side. “She is, my Nance.”
Robert nodded. “Good. A man needs a woman like that. She’s the marrying kind.” He grinned now. “Not that there’s not still plenty of use for the other kinds, if you get my drift. But it’s good to have that kind tending the hearth fires.”
Alfred frowned, but before the conversation could progress any further, William Gamwell and then John Naylor stumbled over to join them. “I drank too much,” the big man declared, rather unnecessarily. He looked like he’d bareknuckle boxed a bear, and lost. His cheeks were puffy, his eyes bloodshot and sunken, and his step clumsy.
“You’re just old,” William said with a smirk. “Young men don’t have a problem holding their liquor.”
“Better long in the tooth than short in the brain,” the older man shot back.
“Unfortunate for you, then, that you wound up short in the brain and the trousers,” came the rejoinder.
“Well, good to see you men in fine form,” Robert laughed. “But hang onto that fighting spirit. We’re going to need it.”
Here, the two outlaws turned their attention to their leader, knowing grins spreading across their face. “Aye, that’s today, isn’t it?”
“I nearly forgot.”
Alfred frowned. “What’s today?”
The three outlaws exchanged glances. “You’re new to Yngil-wode, bard,” Robert said in a moment. “But I have a good feeling about you. I trust you.”
The taxman nodded. He considered this to be a sign of good judgment on the outlaw’s part, and he respected him for it.
“We’re planning a surprise for our friend, Lord Rickman.”
Alfred blinked. “A…surprise?” Something told him this wasn’t the surprise-birthday-party kind of surprise.
Robert grinned. “When we found you yesterday? We were on the way back from scouting out Warwick-on-Eden, and the gaudy new monument that vain son-of-a-bitch has put up there.”
“Warwick-on-Eden?” Alfred repeated. It was a curious name.
“It’s a town, on the river Edin.”
“Ah.”
“It used to be a great town in its own right, humble and honest. His lordship has much grander plans for it, though. It’s not enough to be home to honest men and free laborers.” Whod shook his head. “He’s decided to remake the town in his own image.”
“And tax the residents into early graves to do it,” John growled.
A new voice, Allan Clare’s, offered, “He loves his taxes, does Lord Rickman.” The young man plopped down beside the others.
“He does at that,” Robert agreed.
Here, Alfred found himself in the unhappy position of defending the tyrant, if only just. “Well, like law, taxes serve the greater good when justly applied.”
Robert laughed, but then broke off as the taxman stared, bewildered. “Wait…you weren’t joking?”
“Of course not.”
Four sets of bewildered eyes turned to him. Allan spoke first, scrunching his youthful features into a fierce scowl. “Taxation is theft, bard. Everyone knows that.”
It was Alfred’s turn to laugh. “Theft? What kind of nonsense is that?”
“What’s nonsense?” a familiar voice asked. His own voice. Except, of course, it wasn’t his, but Freddo’s. He glanced up to see Justin and his other-worldly twin joining them.
“Allan here just said something…well, I don’t even want to repeat it.”
Freddo turned wary eyes at the youngest member of their group. “I don’t want to hear it, then.”
“It was just the truth,” William scoffed. “He said taxation was theft.”
The three taxmen exchanged glances. Freddo laughed out loud, a deep, rolling belly laugh. Justin snorted a chortle, that seemed to come out of his nose somehow. And Alfred laughed again.
Robert frowned at the trio. “I don’t understand why this amuses you.”
“It’s just…well, I don’t mean offense,” Alfred hastened to say. They were, after all, deeply in the outlaw’s debt. “But I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so ludicrous.” It was a little too galling to allow much room for diplomacy.
“Taxation is the glue that binds society,” Freddo said. “It’s the engine that drives that shared promise, that moves the joint venture of a civilization forward.”
“It’s the promise every member of a civilized world makes the others,” Justin added. “That we’re in this together. That we will pay our dues and take care of our fellow man and be part of something that is larger than the individual.”
“It’s what staves off chaos,” Alfred put in. “Taxes are what elevates our world from the baser animals. Taxes are stability. Taxes are roads and defense, schools and hospitals, police and firefighters. They’re the common good versus personal greed.”
The outlaws stared at them blankly for several long seconds. “Wow,” Robert said at length. “That…wow.”
“You sound like a bunch of tax collectors,” John scoffed.
Alfred frowned. “Well,” he started, “actually…”
He cut off as John continued, “And I’ve half a mind to string you up by your thumbs and use you for target practice, just for talking like that in these woods.”
The taxman gulped, pressing his thumbs behind his palms. He laughed nervously. “I’m sure the, uh, woods wouldn’t want to see that.”
“These are the freemen’s woods,” the big man reminded him. “They’re the home of men who swear no fealties. Who pay no taxes.”
Robert raised a hand. “It’s fine, John. These folks aren’t from around here. Anyway, a difference of opinion never hurt anyone.”
“Exactly,” Alfred hastened to agree.
“It is a strange stance, though, bard. I mean, taxation is taking what a man has earned. It’s picking his pocket for someone else’s benefit.”
“It can be,” Alfred said. “When you’ve got a tyrant like Rickman, sure. But where we’re from? Taxes are like the law: they serve us.”
A round of scoffs ensued. “Theft cannot serve the people.”
“It’s not theft. It’s what we owe, it’s our contribution to our roads and schools, to our police and fire departments.”
“I have no idea what those are,” Robert admitted. “But I owe no one anything.”
“But you have roads, right? And you use the roads, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Isn’t it theft to use something you didn’t build, without paying for what you use?”
Robert frowned at him. “I didn’t ask anyone to build the roads.”
“No, but you still use them.” Alfred tried to keep the exasperation out of his tone.
“Because they’re there.”
“And if you use them, don’t you owe the people who did build them? The citizens’ whose taxes paid for them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Well, because I didn’t ask them to build them. And I’m sure the market would have figured something out eventually. Freely, without stealing tax revenue from unwilling citizens.”
“Then stay off them,” Freddo snorted. “If you’re not willing to pay your fair share to keep your civilization running, why should you reap the benefits of it?”
The outlaws stared at them again, and John declared, “I don’t like your tone, little man.”
Robert waved this away. “Well, we clearly don’t agree on economic theory, my friends. But come: we have more pressing matters.”
“Rickman’s surprise,” Alfred remembered. Taxes, it seemed, was a dangerous topic here. Not least of all, considering John’s murderous designs on taxmen. It seemed prudent to change the topic.
“Exactly.
Today, we liberate a hospital full of medical supplies for the common people.”
“When you say ‘liberate,’” Freddo wondered, “do you mean…steal?”
“I mean, liberate from the clutches of a tyrant. I mean take from the oppressor, and give to the oppressed.”
“So, that’s a ‘yes’ on stealing?”
Robert shrugged. “Sure. But for a righteous cause. So, you boys in?”
Chapter Eleven
Alfred felt it right to agree to this venture, seeing as how they were beholden to the outlaws for their shelter and provender. Still, he wasn’t thrilled with the idea. This was real life, not one of the videogames Nance liked to play. The bows and arrows Lord Rickman’s men would be using, the swords and maces and spears, would be the real deal. They’d slice and pierce and skewer real flesh.
And there’d be no health packs, no healing potions, no restarts. Hummus. There won’t even be a proper hospital. The image of himself bleeding out in one of these squalid tents, while a medieval hack attempted to piece him back together, filled his mind. And he shivered.
Freddo’s voice, now, interrupted his thoughts and he glanced up. “Well,” he was asking Justin, “I suppose I look like a nameless extra on a low budget film right about now?”
Alfred scrutinized his doppelganger, and had to admit, the description fit rather well. His rough tunic and cloak were patched and mismatched, and didn’t quite fit right. It looked the sort of thing that might happen when a costume department reached the end of their stash. Justin, though, laughed, and pulled Freddo into a kiss. “You look incredibly sexy, actually.”
The taxman wrinkled his nose at the pair of them, the one for lying in so blatant and shameless a fashion, and the other being sucker enough to eat every word up with a stupid simper.
“Well, Favero?” Justin asked. “You going to get changed?”
Alfred glanced at the pile of clothes on his lap and grimaced. “I suppose I’d better,” he agreed. “But I’m not wearing the stupid hat.”
Justin frowned. “You got a bycoket? How did you get that? I ended up with this ugly-ass hood.”
Freddo flinched. “Darling, language.”
But Alfred was distracted both from responding and from similarly chastising his companion for needless vulgarity when Nancy emerged from their tent. She wore dark leggings and a light-colored undershirt, with a green vest and a brown capelet thrown over her shoulders. A loose knot secured her dark, curly locks. Despite himself, he said, “Damn, Nance.” She was breathtaking, like his own Maid Marian, stepping off the silver screen to kick a tyrant’s backside.
Nancy flushed a little. “Come on, you goof. You need to get changed too.”
He nodded. They’d taken turns as the tent was rather close quarters for anything more than sleeping. He got to his feet, bringing her hand to his lips, and said, “Your wish is my command, my lady.”
Freddo mimed gagging and Justin muttered, “Dear God.”
But Nancy’s cheeks got a little pinker, and she grinned at him. “Go on.”
He did, struggling first with the leggings and boots, then the tunic. He considered leaving off the hat, as he’d pledged, but decided to don it. If a fool he was to look, then he might as well embrace it. Finally, he swung the cloak over his shoulders and stepped outside.
“I can’t believe they gave you a bycoket,” Justin fumed.
Freddo glanced him over once, then nodded. “You won’t humiliate the Faveros, anyway.”
Nancy, though, smiled appreciatively. “Well, my handsome Sir Knight, are you ready to venture forth, and save the day?”
Alfred was preening too much to pay any attention to the other men’s retching sounds. He did pay attention, though, when Freddo asked, “Are you sure we’re saving the day here, Nancy?”
“What?”
“Well, are you sure we’re on the right side at all? Or that there is a right side in this fight?”
Alfred frowned. “Of course we are. You heard Robert: that Lord-what’s-his-face is a tyrant.”
“Sure, that’s what the guy who doesn’t want to pay his taxes says,” Freddo countered. “But does that make it true?”
This gave the taxman pause. “He did seem pretty keen to abdicate his responsibilities to the social contract,” he admitted.
“And not just him,” Justin offered. “All of these nutjobs.”
Nancy was frowning in confusion. “Wait, what happened?”
Briefly, Alfred filled in the part of the conversation she’d missed. “Well,” she said after he concluded, and her tone was measured, “is it possible you guys misinterpreted what they were saying? Maybe…I don’t know…overreacted a little when they called taxes theft?”
The three men scoffed in unison. “Of course not, Nance.”
She raised her palms placatingly. “Alright, alright. I’m just checking. You know how you get about your job, and about taxes.”
“We are one of the most underappreciated and crucial roles in public service and law enforcement,” he sniffed. “If that’s what you mean.”
“Something like that,” she demurred.
“Other than sanitation workers,” Freddo said, “I can’t think of a role that is more critical to the functioning of a civilized society yet less appreciated by the masses than ours.”
Alfred paused. He hadn’t considered sanitation workers in that equation before. Which, he supposed, was to the other man’s point about the lack of appreciation. He made a mental note to ponder this at greater length when time allowed. In the meantime, he returned to the point at hand. “What I’m saying, darling, is that these guys were hardcore. I mean, you should have seen John.”
“He was getting ready to use us for target practice,” Justin agreed.
She frowned. “Well that’s not good.”
“No. They’re anarchists.”
Nancy considered his words for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I did notice how the women of the camp are treated, too. They’re always working: taking care of the kids, preparing the food, keeping the camp clean, waiting on the men. You should have seen Gwen – Robert’s wife – this morning, when we were going through clothes. The poor woman looks like she hasn’t slept in a year. She kept talking about her sick boy, Richard.”
Alfred pondered this. He hadn’t paid particular attention, but now that she mentioned it, he recalled all the times he’d seen the women of the forest. They’d been serving, and working, and busy. While the men were relaxing and dining and drinking. “You’re right,” he said in a moment. “I hadn’t thought about it, but you’re right.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Freddo pointed out. “Other than that they’re chauvinists.”
“I know,” Nancy said. “But for people so concerned with their own freedom, they don’t seem to give much thought to their women’s.”
“Well, our founding fathers wrote about the Rights of Man yet owned slaves,” Justin pointed out. “Our species is perfectly adept at hypocrisy. I doubt it matters what reality we’re in.”
Alfred glanced over at the other man, for a moment sidetracked by his insight. It wasn’t profound, exactly, but still…he was making a lot of sense, which was not something he would have expected from Justin.
“Still,” Nancy said, “I don’t think everything’s…I don’t know…right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. I just get a sense…something is off.”
Freddo sighed. “Me too. And I hate senses. They’re completely irrational.”
“Me three,” Justin declared. “I think our hosts are more – or less – than they seem.”
Alfred frowned as all eyes turned to him. “I…I don’t know,” he admitted. Until this conversation, he hadn’t thought about it. A few of Robert’s remarks had raised his eyebrows, sure. And the conversation about taxes, in any other situation, would have had him making for the hills. But people under the yoke of a tyrant might embrace extreme positions, mightn’t they?
But their unease – or, more specifically, Nancy’s, for, of all of them, it was her opinion and hers alone he valued – made him uneasy. “There are things that don’t add up. That’s for sure.”
Chapter Twelve
“Well,” Alfred said after a moment, “I suppose we should find Robert. Whatever’s going on, we’re already committed.”
“Thanks to you,” Justin observed.
“I guess we’ll put these silly suits to good use, anyway,” Freddo declared.
“We do look like time travelers now, I guess,” Nancy smiled.
Freddo snorted. “Yeah, if we were traveling back in time to a movie set.”
“An Errol Flynn movie set,” Alfred agreed.
Nancy blinked at him. “Errol Flynn? Geez. How is it that you have no idea about modern pop culture, but you know so much about stuff from before the second World War?”
The two Faveros frowned at her, each seeming to take the question as if it was meant for them. “Modern movies are crap, Nance. That was classic cinema – the golden age of film.”
“Look at the garbage they put out today,” Freddo agreed. “Romantic comedies and endless remakes. And…” He shuddered. “Superhero movies. Rubbish, the lot of it.”
Superhero movies were one of Nancy’s more questionable choices, but he knew well enough her love for them. So Alfred hastened to say, “Not garbage…just not quite at the same standard as yesteryears’ masterpieces.”
The other Favero scoffed, repeating, “Rubbish: overblown, gaudy, and cynical. There’s no whimsy, no art, no soul anymore. It’s all about making a buck.”
“It’s always been about making a buck,” Nancy pointed out. Alfred groaned internally. His counterpart had picked a familiar argument, and he knew exactly how it played out. “And they’re all about soul and whimsy. And, yes, art. It’s a different style.” Freddo was rolling his eyes and snorting, and she crossed her arms now. “I suppose you don’t like color television, either, Freddo? I mean, the advent of color strips away the magic, right? Or cellphones? Did they take away the mystique of the old phone?”
He seemed nonplussed by the questions for half a second. “Actually…they kind of did. Before cell phones, a phone was just a phone. And there is something otherworldly about black and white cinema.”
