Robin Hood 2

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘This dingy shed is where exotic animals are kept before hunts at Sherwood Castle,’ Adrianna began, doing her best impression of a newsreader as zebras brayed and backed away from the light. ‘Not only are animals here crammed into cages too small for their needs, ruminants like the zebras behind me are housed close to predators, leaving them in a state of constant agitation and terror.’

  Chris took over the talk to camera. ‘In a few hours, the Sheriff of Nottingham’s staff plan to hose the filth off these beautiful creatures, then release them into the castle hunting grounds to be killed for the enjoyment of wealthy, sadistic hunters.’

  ‘Sadly, it isn’t safe to set these animals free so far from their native environments,’ Adrianna said. ‘But we’ve brought some of their favourite treats and laced them with a harmless tranquilliser. This will send them to sleep for several hours and make them useless for today’s hunt.

  ‘But this is a temporary solution. It’s up to you, the viewer of this video, to ensure that these animals are given decent new homes. Please help the AFM campaign by emailing Sheriff Marjorie’s party, to say that you won’t vote for a candidate who supports trophy hunting in the upcoming elections. And boycott all King Corporation products and services until the Sherwood Castle hunting grounds are permanently closed.’

  Chris handed Robin a bag of tranquilliser-laced sugar lumps. Adrianna filmed as Robin placed a few in his palm and warily allowed ostriches to peck them out of his hand.

  While the camera operator shot carefully framed video of Robin feeding apple chunks to zebras and diced lamb to leopards, Lyra, Adrianna and Chris worked rapidly, making sure plenty of tranquillised treats got thrown into every cage.

  Once the food was distributed, Azeem radioed through to Lucy. ‘Team A reporting in. Phase one is complete with no major issues.’

  ‘Great to hear,’ Lucy called back. ‘Team B is in position. Lyla to liaise up top, the rest of you head down to meet Team B at the exit point.’

  ‘Copy that, boss,’ Azeem said. ‘Over and out.’

  Exiting the animal shed at the opposite end to where they’d entered took the team beyond the hunting grounds, into a zone behind Sherwood Castle full of storage sheds, a laundry with steam rising from a chimney and parking for utility vehicles such as tractors and forklifts. It was screened by a tree-lined embankment, so no resort guest would ever see it.

  ‘Be safe up there!’ Azeem told Lyla, as the sisters bumped fists.

  As Lyla headed right and began scrambling up the embankment, Robin, Azeem and the two vets went left.

  ‘Feeling OK?’ Azeem asked Robin as they walked briskly.

  ‘So far, so good,’ Robin said cheerfully, before looking down at his feet. ‘Except my boots smell like animal butt.’

  Azeem laughed as she glanced at her watch. ‘Look on the bright side – in a few minutes we get to shoot paintballs at idiots.’

  47. THIS ZEBRA SO YUMMY

  ‘Are you interested in business?’ John King asked.

  Little John realised he was being spoken to, but had his chops stuffed with meat.

  ‘I guess,’ John said, as he swallowed too fast. ‘As much as anyone.’

  John King seemed unimpressed with the lukewarm answer. ‘Looking around this room can teach you a lot about how to make connections with powerful people,’ he explained. ‘These folks can buy whatever they want. Tailored clothes, handmade watches, houses, even aeroplanes. But they can’t buy Sheriff Marjorie’s legendary trophy hunt. Everyone wants to be your mother’s best friend, just to get an invite.’

  ‘Genius,’ Richard King agreed, as he gobbled chunks of tuna belly. ‘That word is bandied about everywhere, but I identified your mother’s potential when she was a twenty-two-year-old running a dozen branches of Captain Cash.’

  ‘But what about the hunting?’ Little John asked, as his mother smiled at the compliments. ‘Surely not everyone’s idea of fun?’

  For a second he thought his mum might be annoyed by this comment, but she nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘It’s not for everyone,’ Marjorie agreed. ‘But the ones who come like the fact that they’re going deep into the forest, to get spoiled with food and booze and do something that’s thrilling and a little bit bad.’

  ‘Hunting is as natural as farting,’ John King said airily, as he necked vintage champagne. ‘It’s human nature to enjoy a conquest over an animal.’

  Richard King cupped one hand over his mouth and whispered in Little John’s ear. ‘And sure, the hunters get to eat and shoot for free, but we make our money back when they hit the casino afterwards!’

  As John smiled awkwardly, the waiter set another meat platter on the table, then pointed out the four different types.

  ‘On our exotic carpaccio platter, you have a selection of zebra, rhinoceros, bison and kangaroo.’

  John’s draw dropped. ‘Wait . . . What’s carpaccio?’

  The waiter smiled politely. ‘Carpaccio is raw meat, sliced wafer thin.’

  John hacked a mouthful into his napkin and blurted. ‘Did I just eat half a raw zebra?’

  The King brothers found this hilarious, but Marjorie was horrified.

  ‘Don’t spit in your napkin!’ she barked. ‘Show some manners!’

  John felt humiliated and his anger at his mother welled up.

  He wanted to tell her that he didn’t want to wear a stupid hunting suit and go out with a bunch of rich idiots killing defenceless animals. He wanted his mum to stop making excuses that stopped him from visiting his dad in prison, and he wanted her to accept that his name was John Hood, not Kovacevic.

  The string quartet abruptly stopped playing Mozart, and Little John was so wrapped in angry thoughts that for an instant he imagined he’d become so red in the face that the whole room was staring at him. But his mother saw something else and shot up from her seat, and there were screams as pieces of glass crashed onto tables from the dome above.

  John tracked the falling shards, then looked up further and saw two silhouetted figures, dressed in combat gear and clambering over the outside of the glass dome.

  Marjorie yelled into a walkie-talkie. ‘Moshe, why do we have broken glass and two women crawling around on the dome above my pre-hunt banquet?’

  Moshe came back fast and breathless. ‘Sheriff, I just heard. I’m sending someone across to see what’s going on.’

  ‘I don’t need to be told what’s going on!’ Marjorie roared. ‘I’m looking right at it, and I need you to deal with it.’

  Up above, a Stop Trophy Hunting pennant unfurled through the broken dome and a young woman shouted, ‘Murderers. You should all be ashamed of yourselves!’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ Moshe told Marjorie. ‘But I’m right out at the north end of the hunting ground. Someone crashed a van into the fence. When we approached, a booby trap went off and drenched us in red paint.’

  ‘Where’s everyone else?’ Marjorie asked.

  ‘We are the Animal Freedom Militia!’ one of the ninjas on the roof shouted through the dome. ‘Consider this your final warning.’

  ‘There was some mix-up with the shifts,’ Moshe said. ‘We’re ridiculously short-staffed.’

  John tried to hide a smirk – his mother looked as if she was about to crush her walkie-talkie like a tin can. But his smile didn’t last, because the activists had begun lobbing bright red smoke bombs through the hole in the dome.

  48. SHOOTING RICH IN A BARREL

  Robin could see Freya and Lyla pulling pins out of smoke bombs and lobbing them through the glass dome as he lay face down on a neat lawn, fifty metres away. They’d met with Indio, Lucy and the other three members of Team B, and had paintball guns at the ready.

  As the build-up of red smoke made a chimney out of the hole in the dome, Lucy used a phone to upload a photo of the wretched conditions inside the animal shed on the AFM social media, accompanied by a short message.

  See justice for these animals in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 
. . . 1 . . .

  #Livestream

  #AFM

  #Animal rights

  As smoke built inside the dome, the wealthy guests began a panicked exit through doors leading onto a white stone patio.

  ‘That’s what’s-his-name,’ Azeem said, pointing to a hunky man holding a napkin over his mouth and coughing. ‘Married to the actress with all the teeth.’

  ‘Wait until there are more people out there,’ Indio said firmly. ‘And remember, avoid shooting staff, and no shots above chest height.’

  ‘Richard King and Sheriff Marjorie!’ Robin whispered to Azeem. Then felt less sure of himself as another figure ran out. ‘And . . . my brother.’

  Indio stood up and gave the signal. ‘Let’s shoot ’em all!’

  Robin sprang up and bolted, but Azeem yanked him back. ‘You stick close to me!’

  Smoke was billowing out of the open patio doors as Freya and Lyla slid off the dome.

  Robin and the others charged past a bewildered elderly couple taking a jog on one of the castle paths. The videographer and a battery of helmet cameras filmed every shot as nine paintball guns opened up on the patio.

  ‘Murderers!’ Lucy shouted.

  Robin and Azeem dropped into firing positions and let rip. The King brothers and Sheriff Marjorie were a popular target. But so many people were going after them, Robin decided it was his mission to stop anyone from getting off the patio unscathed.

  He was frustrated by waiting staff getting in the way, but he spotted a couple jumping down onto a gravel path. He shot the man between shoulder blades with two big red splats, then targeted tartan hunting trousers stretched over a woman’s arse.

  He hit the back of her thigh, making the running woman trip over her own leg and lurch sideways into a holly bush. As her partner shielded his face and tried to yank her out of the prickly leaves, Robin blasted more paintballs at her flailing legs.

  ‘This is fun!’ Robin whooped to Azeem. ‘I hope my camera’s getting all this!’

  The smoke pouring out of the restaurant made things hazy as Azeem splattered the last few guests coming through the doors. Robin fired at a man jumping off the patio, but stopped when he realised he was carrying a crying toddler dressed in a mini tartan hunting suit.

  ‘Dammit!’ Azeem shouted urgently.

  ‘What?’ Robin asked, as he realised his gun was out of ammo.

  ‘The girls,’ Azeem said, pointing. ‘Freya looks hurt.’

  Robin squinted into the smoke. Guests and staff had now cleared the dome exits, but Freya had turned her ankle when she jumped from the base of the dome onto a lawn beside the patio. She was bigger than Lyla, so Lyla was struggling to get her up.

  ‘I’ve got to help my sister,’ Azeem said, pointing away to one side. ‘Indio and Chris are over there, stick with them.’

  ‘You go,’ Robin agreed. ‘I don’t need babysitting.’

  Dense red smoke faded to pink as the first wafts reached Robin’s position. While Azeem sprinted fearlessly through flying paintballs towards the patio, Robin thought about running straight across to Indio. But he’d already opened his bag to load a new paintball-filled hopper.

  Lucy’s triumphant voice came over his radio. ‘We’ve done what we came for, folks. Let’s leave before the Castle Guards get organised!’

  Part of the withdrawal plan was to leave behind a curtain of smoke bombs, making it harder for anyone to chase as the activists climbed back into the hunting grounds and sprinted to their tunnel.

  Unfortunately, this meant Robin was down on one knee, attaching his paintball-filled hopper as several of his comrades set off large smoke cannisters. By the time he stood, the smoke was so thick that everything below his waist was in a haze and he wasn’t sure which way he was facing.

  ‘Where the hell have you been!’ he heard Sheriff Marjorie shout in the distance. ‘Spread out. Launch the drones. I want every one of those scumbags in my cells!’

  The smoke kept getting thicker. Robin was sure the Sheriff’s voice had come from his right, and he caught a break as a gap in the smoke gave him a clear view of the glass dome.

  ‘Thank God,’ he said to himself, as he turned and started a brisk walk away.

  Once he’d covered a hundred metres, the smoke was thin enough that Robin felt he could run without tripping on a kerb or smashing head first into a tree. As he sprinted towards the hunting grounds, he heard quad-bike engines somewhere behind.

  He had to get back inside the hunting grounds to reach the tunnel. They’d arrived at the castle via the animal shed, but the two handcuffed workers would almost certainly have been discovered, so going back the same way was too risky.

  The fence where the hunting grounds met the castle was nothing like the elaborate one bordering open forest. The three metres of wire was only designed to keep animals in and could be climbed by any reasonably fit person.

  As Robin got close, he saw Indio and a couple of the others scrambling over. He thought about shouting at them to wait, but figured he’d soon catch up. A drone skimmed overhead and the quad bikes were getting louder, but Robin didn’t realise how close they were until a quad burst out of haze less than thirty metres to his right.

  He dived forward and glanced over his shoulder as he frantically crawled towards a raised mound. It had a hexagonal wooden gazebo at the centre, positioned so that hotel guests could sit inside watching red deer in the hunting grounds.

  Robin was a few metres from cover when he saw a huge figure cutting between two trees to his left. He rolled onto his belly and aimed his paintball gun as the man closed in, but he only shot branches.

  The man was crazy fast, and before Robin knew it a hand grabbed the top of his pack. He got throttled by the strap of his paintball gun as he was dragged gasping along the ground. Then the guy plucked Robin up, carrying him like a shopping bag.

  ‘Help!’ Robin shouted. He was facing the ground and all he could see was his captor’s huge brown boots, misted with red paint. He’d only ever known one person with feet so stupidly huge . . .

  ‘Keep quiet,’ Little John ordered, catching his breath as he took two steps up into the hexagonal gazebo and dumped his little brother on the wooden deck.

  49. BROTHERLY LOVE

  Robin blinked as he rolled onto his back, hitting the gazebo’s wooden bench seat. He was out of breath and his eyes stung from the smoke, but he definitely wasn’t hallucinating.

  ‘You reek,’ John complained, as he ripped the camera from Robin’s helmet and stamped it under his boot. ‘Don’t people wash in the forest?’

  ‘It’s not me, it’s from your mummy’s disgusting animal shed,’ Robin said. ‘And sorry if I spoiled your plans. Were you gonna shoot the legs off a couple of ostriches? Maybe put a cap in that cute baby bear I saw?’

  ‘Don’t be a dick,’ John said, as he let Robin sit up. ‘And don’t try anything.’

  A couple of quad bikes buzzed close to the fence and Robin wondered if he’d have made it over before they grabbed him.

  ‘Are you gonna hand me in?’ Robin asked warily, as he counted five red splats on John’s clothes.

  John looked annoyed and held up his hands. ‘What have I ever done, except try to find a way to keep you safe?’

  Robin was impressed by Little John’s firmness. The big brother he’d grown up with could spend ten minutes deciding which shirt to wear, but the last few months had clearly toughened him up.

  ‘For your information, I was on the phone to Tybalt this morning, trying to save you,’ John continued. ‘Gisborne’s sending a posse out to Designer Outlets. They’re total hard cases. Former special forces.’

  Robin shook his head. ‘Gisborne wouldn’t dare. Last time he sent people into the forest, his offices and half of Locksley got trashed in a riot.’

  ‘They’re not Gisborne’s people,’ John said. ‘It’s a snatch squad. In and out before anyone notices.’

  Robin sighed and flicked sweaty hair off his brow. ‘Is Tybal
t going to tell Will Scarlock?’

  ‘Obviously.’ John moved to the edge of the gazebo and glanced about. ‘Not that it matters if you get busted here.’

  The quad bikes sounded further off than they’d been a minute earlier, but several buzzed like distant flies and the smoke was clearing rapidly.

  ‘I have to go,’ Robin said. ‘The longer I’m here, the less chance I have of making it across the hunting grounds before the guards find our tunnel.’

  John nodded. ‘How far north?’

  ‘Four minutes if I run flat out.’

  ‘There’s a better way,’ John said.

  But before he could explain, he spotted three women. Two walking as fast as they could, while the third was draped over their shoulders with her boots dangling.

  ‘Looks like your AFM pals,’ John said.

  Robin shot up and recognised Azeem and Lyla. Freya was the one dangling, with her face screwed up in pain.

  ‘Let me go with them,’ Robin pleaded.

  John looked wary. ‘I guess. But they’re hardly gonna sprint, and there’s a lot of guards coming up from their quarters in the basement.’

  The three women had now reached the fence. Lyla and Azeem could have clambered over in seconds, but Freya’s injury was a big problem.

  ‘Hug?’ Robin said.

  Little John dabbed a tear out of his eye as he gave Robin a quick hug.

  ‘You’ve always had a taste for danger,’ John said. ‘Don’t let it kill you.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Robin said.

  But as he put his boot on the first step down from the gazebo, he realised the quad bikes were getting loud again. Lyla had scrambled up and sat astride the top of the fence, but Freya needed a boost so Azeem was trying to get her to stand on her shoulders.

  But Freya was heavy, and as Azeem struggled to stand, Robin saw the quad skimming in front of the fence and closing fast. Even if he could persuade Little John to step into the open and help Freya over the fence, it would never happen before the quad arrived.