Robin Hood 2

by Robert Muchamore

  About forty school-age kids lived in the mall, from little ones learning their ABC, to Freya Tuck aiming for university. Fortunately, the bargain book outlet had little alcoves, so kids could split into study groups. And while there was no qualified teacher, a few parents always stuck around to prevent anarchy.

  Robin and Marion, plus Matt and his pal Raiden, sat on a rug in what had been the Arts & Music section, studying a home-school module on the Balkans War.

  As an ancient laptop showed video of prisoners behind barbed wire and Nighthawk bomber raids, Matt and Raiden stuck pencils up their noses, Marion completed an overdue maths homework, and Robin pulled his phone to check for the thousandth time.

  A stocky parent called Mr Khan, with a black beard and a kufi cap, swooped out of nowhere. ‘You know the rules,’ he roared triumphantly. ‘No phone for you!’

  ‘Just moving it,’ Robin lied. ‘It was digging in my leg.’

  ‘Give!’ Mr Khan said, reaching out. ‘You’ll have it back when we finish at twelve thirty.’

  Robin fumed. The ice-cream shop was open now, so he could get a message from the keylogger at any time.

  ‘It’s for something important,’ Robin said.

  Mr Khan’s eyes popped as he leaned closer and pointed out towards the mall. ‘You may think you’re special, Robin Hood. But in class, you follow rules like everyone else.’

  ‘You’re not special, Robin,’ Matt parroted sarcastically.

  Marion snapped at her brother. ‘Next time you stick a pencil up your snout, I might punch it the rest of the way into your tiny brain!’

  Robin really wanted to keep his phone. But Mr Khan wasn’t backing down, and next ninety minutes felt like a million years.

  ‘And?’ Marion asked, when Robin finally got his phone back.

  Robin beamed when he saw a little envelope in his notifications. He opened an email with a short text file attachment and sprinted off without answering.

  Marion chased Robin down to Designer Outlets’ first floor and into the sports store but didn’t bother following him up the escalator.

  ‘You left your laptop charging down here,’ she yelled, but

  Robin didn’t hear.

  He looked annoyed when he stumbled breathlessly into the Maid family den, where Marion waited by his computer with a smug grin.

  Karma was asleep on a futon, but Indio came to watch as Robin logged in.

  ‘What have we got?’ she asked.

  Robin scanned the keylogger text. There were only six lines, beginning with lots of F8 and arrow-key presses, which he recognised as someone clicking through a set-up menu. Then there was an email ‘nadine@sherwood.castle’ and a string of characters that had to be a password.

  ‘Here goes,’ Robin said eagerly, as he tunnelled the Sherwood Castle internet router and entered Nadine’s password. After a pause a whole bunch of extra options appeared in a panel on the right, with names like Advanced Settings and Create User.

  ‘I think it worked,’ he said happily, as he clicked on the golf module. Now, instead of the password screen, a menu flashed up with images of the castle’s three golf courses and a list showing who was currently playing and who was booked in for the afternoon.

  When Robin clicked on a player named Robert Wharton, it took him to a screen showing Wharton’s room number, his check-in and check-out dates and more detailed information, like a breakfast order, his home address and that he’d lost £650 in the casino the night before.

  ‘Nice work, kiddo,’ Indio said, as she kissed Robin’s cheek. ‘Do you think you can use this to find out when Sheriff Marjorie’s big trophy hunt is happening?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Robin said thoughtfully.

  He exited back to the StayNet menu and found a module called Events & Conference. A list scrolled up showing hundreds of events, from wedding chapel bookings to a showcase for a leather goods importer.

  Indio and Robin looked disappointed, but Marion had noticed something.

  ‘Scroll back, there’s a gap,’ she said.

  ‘Eh?’ Robin said.

  ‘In the calendar,’ Marion explained. ‘Every day has heaps of events, but there’s three days in two weekends’ time with nothing at all.’

  Robin saw it, then switched from the events module to guest reservations. When he clicked June 13th a list of hundreds of hotel rooms popped up.

  ‘Tap where it says VIP Suites,’ Marion suggested.

  They all gasped at the list of names. A royal couple, an Arab prince, two film stars, one pop star and . . .

  ‘That’s the hunt,’ Indio said, then read two names aloud, ‘Richard King III and John King. The founder of King Corporation and his brother.’

  ‘I’ve only scratched the surface,’ Robin said proudly. ‘There’s heaps of other modules I can dig into. Purchasing, staff rotas . . .’

  ‘What’s your favourite dinner, Robin?’ Indio asked. ‘You’re getting it tonight, even if we have to send someone to Locksley to buy ingredients!’

  Marion looked at Robin and cracked a mischievous smile. ‘How about roast chicken?’

  PART IV

  THIRTEEN DAYS LATER

  35. FRIENDS AND FRENEMIES

  ‘That practice was a gosh-darned disgrace!’ Barnsdale School’s head rugby coach shouted, as thirty exhausted lads sauntered off a sun-blitzed school pitch. ‘Too much la-de-dah cricket! You boys are getting soft on me!’

  Little John was sweaty and breathless as he dropped a rugby ball into a net and his red training bib on a pile.

  ‘You’re fast for a big guy,’ the coach told John, as she jogged up. ‘But you have to practise footwork. At this level, even a monster like you can’t expect to just charge in a straight line and knock people down like skittles.’

  ‘Yes, coach,’ John gasped.

  ‘If I show you some footwork drills next time, will you practise over summer?’

  ‘Yes, coach.’

  ‘And wear sunscreen. You’ve caught your neck and brow.’

  ‘Yes, coach.’

  John pulled off his boots then entered the noise and stink of the changing room. When he sat down, he felt pains down his thighs and swelling where a boot stud scraped his ribs. The other guys were all bantering, and John felt even more awkward than usual, because he’d been at Barnsdale for three weeks while most of them had played together for years.

  He pulled his team shirt and body armour off in one, and as his head emerged an olive-skinned fly-half called Rui sat alongside him on the changing bench.

  ‘You’re red, fella!’ Rui said cheerfully.

  John wiped his face with his shirt and nodded. ‘I didn’t realise how bright it was.’

  ‘So, Hood,’ Rui said, ‘us lads gonna party tonight. We hang out by the boating lake, play some sounds, invite lots of ladies. Are you in?’

  John liked that everyone called him Hood, despite his mother’s attempt to stick him with Kovacevic. He was less sure about partying.

  ‘What about curfew?’

  Rui laughed. ‘Staff turn a blind eye if it’s not too wild. And you can invite Clare.’

  ‘Tell her to bring her soccer pals,’ someone added, from deep in the shower steam.

  ‘No!’ someone else shouted. ‘Those soccer girls are crazy! Remember Easter, when they drank all our beer, then sat on Mark and shaved his eyebrows off?’

  ‘We want crazy girls!’ Rui said, looking at John. ‘That’s the best kind, right?’

  ‘All girls are nice,’ John said weakly.

  Rui nodded. ‘You’re always with Clare. Is it boyfriend and girlfriend?’

  ‘We go back a long way,’ John said. ‘I suppose we’re friends now . . .’

  ‘You ain’t gonna whine if I work my manly charm with Clare tonight?’ Rui asked.

  Several boys laughed when they heard this, and a dripping lump called Eugene closed up wearing just a towel.

  ‘Face facts, Rui,’ he began. ‘First, you’ve got no charm. Second, you’re ugly. Third, Cl
are Gisborne is the only daughter of a badass gangster. Any sane dude would steer well clear of that!’

  Laughter and shouts of burn erupted around the locker room.

  Rui’s shoulders and face tightened, but Eugene was twice his size and his comeback was a feeble, ‘What do you know, meathead?’

  The Rui–Eugene face-off ended as attention switched to a kid that tripped as he walked to the shower. As roars and laughter erupted again, Rui turned back to John.

  ‘Are you in for tonight, or what?’

  John found parties awkward, but wanted to fit in with his new teammates.

  ‘I guess,’ John said. ‘But I probably won’t stay late. My ma’s got a big event this weekend and the helicopter’s picking me up first thing.’

  Rui held out a palm. ‘So, it’s twenty each.’

  John looked baffled. ‘Twenty what?’

  ‘Pounds,’ Rui said, like John was stupid. ‘For beer. It’s all set up. A guy from the village drops it off by the lake, but everyone has to pay their share.

  John felt conned. ‘I don’t have cash on me.’

  ‘The Rich List says your ma’s worth eighty million, so I guess you’re good for it.’

  ‘I’ll pay you on Monday,’ John agreed.

  ‘Good man,’ Rui said cheerfully. ‘And remember, get Clare to invite her soccer pals.’

  36. VITAL SANDWICH PRODUCTION

  Marion, Indio and Freya stood by the kitchen counter in the Maid family den, while Robin, Matt and Otto sat on cushions a few metres away playing Mario Kart.

  Indio buttered slices from a big stack of sliced bread, Freya added grated cheese, tomato and lettuce, before Marion finished the production line by cutting each sandwich in half and wrapping it in tinfoil.

  ‘Please can I come, Mum?’ Marion begged. ‘I’ve wanted to go on an AFM operation my whole life, and I’m thirteen in two weeks!’

  ‘It’s too risky,’ Indio said. ‘In a couple of years . . .’

  Marion groaned. ‘But Robin’s going!’

  Indio twisted her face awkwardly. ‘I know that seems unfair, but Robin is a special case.’

  Across the room, Matt crashed Bowser into a wall, thumped his controller against the floor and yelled, ‘Every time on that stupid corner.’

  Otto screamed, ‘Three–nil, I am the king!’ as he won the race, while Robin came a distant third and had too much else on his mind to care.

  ‘Cut the racket, boys,’ Indio ordered, before looking back at Marion. ‘Robin is coming because our campaign will get ten times more publicity if he’s involved.’

  ‘He’d better not get separated is all,’ Marion said sourly. ‘I’ve never known anyone with a crummier sense of direction.’

  Robin looked around, ready to make a sarcastic comment, but Marion’s dark scowl made him think better of it. As the next Mario Kart race started, Azeem entered the den. She looked terrifying, with her beefy frame in full combat gear and a forest-slashing machete strapped to her belt.

  ‘The two vets have arrived and they’re heading down to south mall,’ she said. ‘How are you lot doing?’

  ‘We’ve done breakfasts, so just a few cheese sandwiches to make,’ Freya said.

  ‘Robin, have you got plenty of water?’ Indio nagged.

  ‘Three litres,’ Robin said, as he deliberately drove his cart into lava and quit playing.

  ‘And the action cameras?’

  ‘For the fifth time,’ Robin said wearily, ‘I’ve charged them up and we have spare batteries if they die.’

  It took a few minutes to make the rest of the sandwiches, then bag them up with apples and energy bars.

  ‘OK, boys,’ Indio yelled. ‘Mummy, Freya and Robin are leaving now. Pause that game and get over here.’

  Matt and Otto straddled the mounded cushions and Indio squatted down and eyeballed them. ‘Will and Emma are looking after Finn. But Karma is suffering in this heat, so I seriously need you two to behave.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ they droned, as Freya helped Robin pull on a hefty backpack.

  Indio looked at Marion. ‘You’re the boss while Karma’s resting. If these two muck about, you have my personal authorisation to sit on their heads and fart.’

  ‘What?!’ Otto blurted, as Marion grinned and pounded a fist into her palm. ‘Wait . . . Is that a joke?’

  Matt gave the kind of special tut reserved for big brothers who know better. ‘Of course Mum’s joking, you thicko.’

  Once everyone who was leaving had their packs on, they started hugging.

  ‘Be safe, Mum,’ Marion said, then to Freya. ‘Love you, cuz.’

  Robin felt awkward as Marion approached. ‘If I was in charge, you’d be with us,’ he said.

  Marion whispered, ‘I spat in your sandwich,’ but hugged him anyway.

  She felt a tear in her eye as Azeem, Freya, Robin and her mum headed out. As soon as they were out of sight, Matt and Otto bolted for the door.

  ‘Hey!’ Marion yelled.

  ‘Meeting our boys at the food court,’ Matt said, breaking into a sprint in case his sister tried to grab. ‘Don’t wait up.’

  Marion shook her head, then turned and groaned as she saw the kitchen cabinet still covered in bread, dirty cutlery, an open mayo jar and a million scraps of grated cheese and lettuce.

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she moaned to herself. ‘You all go off and have an adventure. I love staying here picking up your mess . . .’

  37. SOUTH END SHOOT-OUT

  Sherwood Designer Outlets was laid out like an H, with the glass-domed food court bridging two long arcades of shops. Everyone lived in the top part of the H, because drains at the southern end had choked with silt from the nearby river. Water swept through every time it rained, and after a big storm the south mall’s ground floor could stay underwater for days.

  Sun on the skylights turned this abandoned area into a steamy greenhouse. There were clumps of glossy black fungus that kids liked to burst with sticks, while climbing plants grew up columns and weaved between railings on the upper walkway.

  Robin hated the damp smell and pulled the neck of his shirt over his nose as he followed Azeem over the puddled floor. He was worried about the weight in his pack. He was strong for his age and could run for ages, but he still struggled to keep up with people who regularly did long treks through the forest.

  The first stop was Eldridge’s Depot. This huge department-store outlet once anchored the mall’s southern end, and after Robin ducked under the plastic entrance grille, he looked up at an atrium with escalators rising four floors and gulls nesting at the base of a column of light where a section of roof had caved.

  Fresh air cleared the mouldy smell as Freya, Robin, Azeem and Indio walked briskly up a frozen escalator. There were six others waiting for them. Lyla, Lucy, Seb, a young couple who were both qualified vets and a professional videographer who was crouching low to film Robin’s arrival.

  This floor had been womenswear, and Robin counted eight clothing dummies set up in a row.

  ‘Good, good, we’re all here!’ Lucy began cheerfully. ‘Whenever I give a talk before an Animal Freedom Militia raid, I always say I feel like Princess Leia, sending the rebels to destroy the Death Star.’

  Weak laughter came from the group.

  ‘But this time we’re taking on Sherwood Castle, which really is the Death Star of Sherwood Forest. Now, I’m not going into massive detail, because you all know where we’re going and your roles when we get there.

  ‘But most of you aren’t familiar with the paintball guns we’ll be using, so we’ll go through that now, with a little help from our ladies across the room.’

  Robin was buzzing as everyone took paintball guns from a wooden rack. But by the time he’d also been given goggles, a spare gas cylinder and two large tubs of red paintballs, he was more concerned about the extra weight.

  Once they all had their equipment, Lucy began by explaining how to fit the gas cylinder, load the ammunition balls and fix jams and
air leaks.

  ‘Most important of all, safety!’ Lucy said, as she placed an apple on a display plinth.

  She shot it with a paintball from one metre and the apple exploded.

  ‘Paintballs can do damage at close range,’ she warned. ‘The Animal Freedom Militia’s objective is to show the horrible conditions animals are kept in at Sherwood Castle, stop the trophy hunt and shame the hunters. But we’ll lose public support if someone is blinded, or shot in the mouth and chokes.

  ‘So don’t shoot anyone from under three metres, don’t aim higher than a person’s nipples and don’t shoot wildly if there isn’t an obvious target.

  ‘Finally, remember that most of us will be wearing action cameras and we’re going to try and live-stream the raid if we can get a good signal. So no bloody swearing!’

  After a few more laughs Lucy asked who wanted to try their gun first.

  ‘None of you?’ Lucy said, disappointed. ‘Well, Robin has a reputation for sharpshooting, so let’s see what he can do.’

  Robin was a quick learner, but he’d never shot a paintball gun before and felt nervy, with everyone watching and the eager cameraman stepping around to film his first shots. He aimed down the gunsight and held his breath like when he shot his bow.

  From ten metres, Robin’s first shot hit the central dummy in the front of the neck with a satisfying red splat. He was pleased with the result, so he aimed up and shot twice in quick succession, hitting between the eyes with enough force to make the dummy crash over backwards.

  He lowered the gun and turned around smiling, but was surprised to see awkward expressions and Lucy looking furious.

  ‘Delete that now!’ Lucy yelled to the cameraman, then turned towards Robin shaking her head. ‘What did I just say about shooting people in the face?’

  ‘Oh, right!’ Robin said guiltily. ‘I know, but it’s only a dummy . . .’

  ‘We haven’t got all day and I guess we at least know Robin can shoot straight,’ she said irritably. ‘Now, who wants to try next?’

  38. RUGBY BOYZ PAR-TAY