‘How long?’
‘A few hundred metres. Two minutes if we’re fast.’
‘I’ll do whatever you think best,’ Robin agreed.
Marion grabbed a finger-hook at the edge of the hatch, then let it slam and stumbled back, holding her hand over her mouth and retching.
‘Worse than I remembered …’
As the stench hit the back of the room, Marion opened the emergency rucksack that her mum had given her. She used the puddled water to soak two striped vests, tying one over her face and passing the other so Robin could do the same.
Besides it being smellier than on her previous trip, Marion found the water was deeper too. The only way to keep her boots from flooding with brown filth was to stoop, place one boot in front of another and scrape her body along the edge of the wall where the floor curved upward.
Robin had an easier time because he was shorter, but it was a fight to breathe with dry heaves trying to come the other way.
Chinks of moonlight came from drain holes as they jogged beneath Designer Outlets’ parking lots.
The rats properly freaked Robin out. The size of house cats, with slimy matted fur, black marble eyes and tails as long as his arm.
Marion was gagging and trying to avoid a last breath of sewage as she stumbled for a metal grate, where the brown sludge drained into a stream. In her quest for fresh air, she hadn’t considered rusty hinges.
A tooth-grinding squeal echoed down the tunnel, loud enough to alert anyone within a hundred-metre radius.
34. ANYTHING THIS NICE MUST BE A TRAP
Little John’s cuts looked less dramatic now the blood had washed away, but the burn had blistered the thick skin on his heel and throbbed relentlessly. It was hard to gauge time with no window and the dazzling ceiling light, but he guessed he’d been in the cell for at least an hour when the door clanked open.
The man who unlocked it was a different sort of Castle Guard. His bodybuilder physique was clad in a dark-green tweed suit with gold buttons up the waistcoat. The flawless fit suggested it had been tailor-made, and the guard’s black shoes were polished to a mirror shine. The only indications of his job were a discreet lapel badge that said Sherwood Castle Security, and a slight bulge from a stun-gun holstered under his jacket.
‘Mr Hood,’ he said, his politeness exaggerated out of deference rather than sarcasm. ‘My name is Moshe Klein, head of guest security. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting and for the rough treatment you received during your extraction.’
As Moshe held the cell door, a slender dark-skinned woman dressed in peach-coloured hospital scrubs pushed a wheelchair into the cell.
‘You’ve certainly been in the wars,’ she said, reaching down and offering a delicate hand to shake. ‘I’m Dr Ivanhoe. We’re going to take you upstairs and make you as comfortable as possible until the Sheriff returns.’
Little John found the doctor’s tone soothing, but simultaneously wondered if it was part of a game where he was teased into a sense of security, only to end up in a dark room at the end of Guy Gisborne’s whip …
The cell wasn’t big enough for three people and a wheelchair, so Dr Ivanhoe backed out as Moshe moved Little John’s 113 kilos into the wheelchair, with the ease of a parent dropping a toddler into a high chair.
Little John was rolled along a hallway and across an immaculate commercial kitchen where chefs were preparing room-service trolleys, topped with silk linens and bouquets of chrysanthemums.
They passed a bank of shabby elevators used by kitchen and cleaning staff and entered a glass lift at the end of the row, with polished brass rails and a black marble floor.
‘Lower penthouse floor,’ Moshe told the elevator.
The Hood family didn’t go on fancy holidays and Little John had only ever been out of Locksley on a couple of school trips. So he was dazzled as the car rose out of the basement and up through Sherwood Castle’s spectacular lobby, with a four-storey indoor waterfall, vast tropical fish tank and views over fancy restaurants and the flashing lights of slot machines in the adjoining casino.
After a sharp acceleration, the elevator sped towards the twelfth-floor penthouse.
‘I’ve never seen Sheriff Marjorie’s private quarters,’ Dr Ivanhoe said excitably. ‘I saw her once when she had a chest infection, but she came down to my surgery on the third floor.’
Moshe nodded solemnly. ‘The Sheriff rarely takes guests in her penthouse.’
‘You must be someone special,’ Dr Ivanhoe told Little John cheerfully.
Since the mood felt positive, Little John dared a question. ‘Why am I being brought up here?’
Moshe spoke matter-of-factly. ‘I received intelligence that you were being held hostage. Sheriff Marjorie was concerned that you’d fall into the hands of Guy Gisborne and requested that I arrange an extraction.
‘I sincerely apologise for your rough treatment. The extraction was arranged at short notice and not all units got the message that you were to be treated as a guest, not a prisoner.’
Little John sounded baffled. ‘You’re not working for Gisborne?’
Moshe looked offended as the elevator doors opened. While the lobby had been all bling, the hallway they stepped into was white minimalist, with pop art on the walls and a bluish tinge to the lighting.
‘Castle Guards work for the Sheriff of Nottingham and Guardian of Sherwood Forest,’ Moshe said pompously. ‘Mr Gisborne is a local businessman who has dealings with the Sheriff, but I do not do his bidding.’
That was good news if it was true, but it posed a question.
‘I’ve never even met Sheriff Marjorie,’ John said, as Moshe used his thumbprint to unlock zebrawood double doors. ‘How does she know who I am?’
‘The Sheriff has flown to dinner in the capital,’ Moshe explained. ‘It’s not my business to know why she wanted you brought to her private suites. I expect she will explain the situation when her helicopter returns in the morning.’
Dr Ivanhoe wheeled Little John through the double doors into a spacious guest suite with curved stone walls. These were designed to look like the inside of a nine-hundred-year-old castle turret, but had been fabricated at a factory in Holland and slotted into a steel frame.
There was a large bed, on which had been placed a bale of thick towels, a robe tied with a yellow bow and a basket of luxury toiletries. The bed faced a huge square window, with the treetops below stretching to the horizon.
Hundreds of little yellow birds flickered in nearby trees, gorging on plums, and a sunset made it all seem hyperreal. As if Little John might wake up and find himself back on the blood-smeared mat in the tiny cell.
He put his good foot on the room’s ludicrously thick carpet and Moshe steadied him as he swivelled around and rolled backwards onto a billowing silk-filled duvet.
‘All room facilities are at your disposal with Sherwood Castle’s compliments,’ Moshe explained politely, as he pointed to an iPad on the bedside table. ‘You can use the StayNet app to operate blinds, lights and TV, and to order anything you wish from room service.’
As Moshe gave a little bow and backed out, Dr Ivanhoe slid off a bright orange medical backpack, then leaned in to inspect Little John’s blistered heel.
‘That’s a nasty burn,’ she said gently, as she took out a sealed syringe pack. ‘It’s going to take me a while to patch you up and a few cuts might need stitches. So I’m going to give you a shot to relax your muscles and ease the pain.’
35. MARION’S THEORY OF EDUCATION
The sewer exited into a fast-running stream. When there were floods, it reached fifteen metres deep, engulfing the car park and flooding shops at the south end of Designer Outlets. But for now, it was ten paces wide and only came up to Robin’s belly.
Marion waded quickly upstream where there was no sewage, still coughing and spitting. Robin fulfilled Marion’s prediction that he’d throw up. Then he rested his bow and phone on some rocks, dunking his head and swimming a couple of metres underwater,
before bobbing up and flicking hair off his face.
He’d have liked time to scrub, but Marion was worried about the noise from when she’d opened the grate and set a fast pace along the riverbank in her squelching boots. It wasn’t a cold night, but Robin’s clothes were soaked, and he tucked his hands in his armpits to keep the shivers under control.
‘We’ll walk a couple of kilometres upstream,’ Marion told him. ‘Nobody settles in this part of the forest, because everything gets flooded at least twice a year. It’s also beautiful in the daytime, with rock pools and waterfalls.’
‘You really know the forest,’ Robin said admiringly. Then asked something that had been bugging him. ‘So, you don’t go to school?’
‘I did until I was nine,’ Marion said, keeping her voice low. ‘But Sheriff Marjorie and her pals in central government changed the rules. Last time she ran for re-election, she got heaps of votes by saying Sherwood was full of immigrants who take everyone’s jobs, fill up the schools and never pay taxes. Now you can only attend school if you have a proper address and have a parent who pays tax.’
‘My dad went to a big demo in Nottingham when the government brought those rules in,’ Robin said. ‘And isn’t there other stuff now, like Forest People can’t apply for driving licences?’
‘Or register to vote,’ Marion added. ‘We can’t legally get married, open a bank account, or even go to hospital unless we are literally about to drop dead. Will wants to set up a school inside Designer Outlets, but everything costs and that guy is already killing himself, running the clinic and security, and looking after basic stuff like water and electricity.’
‘Don’t you get bored with no school?’ Robin asked, as they reached a spot where the stream was blocked by the root mound of a huge toppled tree, forcing them to wade out into knee-deep water.
Marion shook her head and laughed like that was the dumbest question ever. ‘I roam the forest with Freya trapping fish, and I do heaps of online courses. There are a few my mum makes me do – like Maths and Spanish – but I pick most of them myself.’
‘Nice,’ Robin said. ‘With no teacher cracking the whip, I’d probably dick about playing video games all day.’
‘Like my brother Matt,’ Marion said, laughing. ‘But I like learning if it’s stuff that interests me.’
‘Same,’ Robin agreed, as he skidded on a rock, but saved himself by grabbing a shrub. ‘I’ve got a shelf of books about archery and famous battles. And I’m kind of a computer geek.’
‘My theory is that everything they make you learn at school is deliberately boring and pointless,’ Marion explained. ‘Central government is trying to numb our brains and turn everyone into obedient worker bees for the capitalist system.’*
Robin nodded. ‘That would explain most of the useless rubbish they teach.’
‘And teachers are total drama queens,’ Marion continued.
Robin nodded in agreement. ‘Like, if you don’t pass this test on Tudor history, YOU WILL DIE!’
Robin thought Marion’s take on the education system was brilliant and couldn’t stop laughing.
‘I know I’m witty and delightful,’ Marion said, giving Robin a whack on the arm. ‘But there are bad guys after us, so keep the volume down!’
Robin had to put the back of his hand over his mouth to stop snickering, but he’d calmed down when Marion cut away from the river bank and pushed through bushes to higher ground. They stopped on a bracken-covered spot, still close enough to hear the fast-flowing stream.
‘This should do us till daybreak,’ she said.
She sat down, then groaned as she rubbed the back of her weaker leg.
‘You OK?’ Robin asked.
Marion looked like she’d given up a dark secret. Instead of answering, she buried her head in the emergency escape bag, rummaging through packs of peanut cookies, inflatable pillows and metallic space blankets.
‘I know I’m little but I’m strong,’ Robin persisted. ‘If you’d said your leg was hurting I would have carried your bag.’
‘Drop it,’ Marion said. ‘It’s all good.’
Robin worried that he’d pricked the mood, but Marion seemed OK as they drank some water and shared a little pack of dried apricots. Robin blew up the pillows as Marion spread a surprisingly huge space blanket over the ground, then opened one each to sleep under.
Lying in darkness made the forest feel infinite, with clicking insects and wind sweeping the leaves. They were both soggy and knackered, but couldn’t switch off after so much excitement and lay awake for ages talking about random stuff.
The space blankets crackled as they snuggled closer together, and although this was the most precarious place Robin had ever slept in, he felt safe propped against Marion and thought it was cool when she half nodded off and unconsciously threw an arm around his shoulder.
36. DAISIES, CAKE, PARASITES AND PARENTS
Robin woke at first light and was awed by how beautiful the spot looked. Crisp air, tree trunks as thick as an upturned train and a soundtrack of rushing water. The foil groundsheet had scrunched up when he rolled over, leaving him with ants to flick off his cheek and squashed daisies to peel off his arm.
‘Wassup, sleeping beauty?’ Marion said cheerfully, as she emerged over rocks, wearing a vest and shorts that dripped from a dip in a rock pool.
They breakfasted on squashed chocolate cakes from the emergency pack, and some tiny wild raspberries that Marion had picked. Afterwards she took Robin up to higher ground, to see a spectacular spot where the stream plunged ten metres into a shallow pool.
‘Stream water looks crystal, but never swallow it,’ Marion warned, as they sat on rocks unlacing their shoes for a dip. ‘The cryptosporidium only gives you belly ache, but the blood flukes are proper nasty. They lay eggs in your liver, which grow into giant worms that can survive in your gut for twenty years …’
‘Ahh, the beauty of nature!’ Robin grinned.
‘Who’s scared of a few billion parasites?’ Marion teased, wading towards the crashing water. ‘Last one in is a rotten egg!’
After splashing about and trying to dunk one another until their fingertips wrinkled they let the sun dry them off while they carried their clothes and gear up a steep path to the top of the waterfall.
It was a clear morning. As Robin got dressed, he could make out the outline of Locksley Cathedral and the rusting loops of the Velociraptor roller coaster at the town’s long-defunct theme park.
‘My phone’s been dead in the forest, but I might get a signal up here,’ Robin said. ‘My brother John might have sent me a message.’
‘Worth trying,’ Marion agreed. ‘But make it fast because you can lock on to a mobile signal to track someone. Not that we can stick around, because our drinking water is almost out.’
‘Where do we get more if we can’t trust the stream?’ Robin asked, as he switched on his phone and was pleasantly surprised by 38% battery.
‘I don’t want to go back to the mall until I’m certain it’s safe,’ Marion said, as she pulled her own phone out of her jeans. ‘So we’ll have to find some bandits.’
Robin looked confused. ‘Aren’t we trying to avoid those?’
Marion laughed. ‘The Sherwood Forest chapter of Brigands Motorcycle Club has a reputation as the biggest, meanest gang in the forest. But I get a special pass.’
‘How come?’ Robin asked.
‘Their leader is my dad.’
‘Seriously?’
Marion nodded. ‘My family tree is an epic tangle. Otto is Karma’s kid, so not even blood-related. I’ve got an older half-brother who lives with my dad, and two more little brothers by the woman my dad lives with now. But it’s easier just to call them all my brothers.’
Robin nodded. ‘Little John’s my half-brother. But same as you, we just say brother. It also explains why he’s a giant and I’m a titch.’
Marion nodded. ‘I know your dad’s in jail, but you’ve not mentioned your mum.’
‘Cance
r,’ Robin said, looking sad. ‘Died two days before my seventh birthday.’
‘Rough,’ Marion said. ‘I’m really sorry …’
Even after five years, Robin still hurt when his mum got mentioned. He almost welled up, but saw that his phone had locked on to a weak data signal. There was no word from Little John, but he smiled when he saw an automated message from his school.
‘Now I’ve really got problems,’ Robin told Marion. ‘Apparently I’m Non-compliant with Locksley High School absence policy and will have to report to Mr Barclay upon my return.’
‘Imagine when you fill in the form.’ Marion grinned. ‘Reason for absence from school: Shot Guy Gisborne in the nuts.’
The connection took time downloading junk emails and the weekly news bulletin from Robin’s favourite hacking site. There was nothing from Little John, and the only actual human who’d made contact was his schoolmate Alan.
Heyup!
Stuff I’m hearing about you crazy crazy!
Who knew your geeky hobby would make you into Locksley’s Most Wanted?
Seriously, I hope you’re safe.
Tiffany, Bethany and Stephanie asking me questions about you. Mr Barclay too.
I think you might actually be cool now!!!
Stay safe & let me know if you’re alive …
Robin smiled at the message and quickly messaged back:
Alive, so far … Will stay in touch.
And tell Mr Barclay to KISS MY ARSE.
37. WAFFLING OVER WAFFLES
Dr Ivanhoe had some good stuff in her syringes. Stress and pain felt distant as Little John spent the evening watching a Nottingham Penguins ice-hockey playoff from his huge silky bed. And since room service was free he had a giant lobster sharing platter as a starter, followed by roast lamb and two slices of Swedish Princess cake.
‘How are you feeling?’ Dr Ivanhoe asked, when she came back after 10 p.m. with a special bandage for his burnt foot and crutches so he could hop about on the good one.
Robin Hood Page 10
