Prologue: Becalmed

If wind was to come, it was most likely to come at nightfall, a breeze rising as evening fell. And so it had quickly become a ritual to gather on the deck at the end of the day, hoping to see the sails twitch and bulge. Not everyone came: some men were content to enjoy the unexpected holiday, the opportunity to lounge below deck with their dice and ale and lewd stories. In a few more days, perhaps, they would become bored enough, or concerned enough about the dwindling stocks of food and grog, to join the captain in his vigil.

He grew more agitated with every passing day that brought his cargo no closer to purses that would pay for it. There were those among his crew, too, who disliked the delay; those who had loved ones waiting for them in some port or other, those for whom the sea was not life but merely a way of sustaining it. And finally, the little group of travellers who had talked their way onboard at Marseilles, trading a pouch of coins for a corner in which to unroll their blankets. They were always there at sunset as well.

This evening, they were still there when the moon began to rise, its reflection unbroken on the calm, almost glassy surface of the ocean; their leader still pacing and fidgeting as if he could transfer some of his restless energy to the ship itself.

"I wish you would not do that," Much called as his master balanced his way along the rail that ran along the starboard side. "You will fall, and then where will we be?"

"You will still be here in this exact same spot, when I climb back up again," Robin pointed out without breaking his catlike progress. "We're not moving, Much."

He jumped lightly back down to the boards which passed for "earth" these days, then turned and peered out to sea. "Five days. And every day the Sheriff and Gisbourne get closer to the King."

And Marian gets further away from us, he didn't say, but they all heard him anyway.

"Maybe the Sheriff's becalmed too," Will suggested helpfully. Like Robin, like them all, he was discomfited by the crushing inertia that had suddenly claimed them after weeks of constant forward motion across land and sea; and also by the fact that, although he was surrounded by wood, he was unable to release the tension by driving his axe into it. The captain seemed to like his mainsail upright.

Allan shook his head. "We can see for miles around on this bloody duckpond, and we haven't seen any other ships stuck in it."

He barely even noticed the silence that greeted his remark; he no longer really expected anyone to answer him unless he asked a direct question. A man less fond of the sound of his own voice might have given up weeks ago.

"I'm so bored," Much complained, taking a break from his almost-hourly mental calculation of how many days the stores of food they had brought onboard with them could be made to last. "And I'm not even allowed to sing." After an earlier musical interlude, a delegation of sailors had made it clear that if his voice was heard again, he would soon be serenading the rats in the bilge. Much's defiant response had been cut off short by Robin, who deemed it prudent not to cause trouble.

"We could play a game-" In her innocent bid to divert the manservant's mind, Djaq unwittingly triggered one of the the irritable explosions that came all too frequently when he was nervous.

"Oh! Oh no you don't!" he burst out with a fierce shake of his head. "I've played my last game of your choosing, and if I never hear the words kalila or dimna again it'll still be too soon!"

"Much, relax!" Disbelief vied with amusement in her voice. "I was just going to suggest a game of dice."

"Oh."

"I'm up for it," Allan put in hopefully. A moment later, he wished he'd held his tongue, as Djaq slowly fixed him with a speculative gaze that made him feel as trapped and exposed as a fish that had jumped too high and landed thrashing and suffocating on the deck.

"But, now you mention it, Much," she said quietly, an idea forming in her mind, "Now might not be such a bad time to finish the other game." No darkened barn on the edge of oblivion, this; but the surreal, dreamlike feeling of the world they had been living in for the last few days - sailing on a ship that did not move, the eerie feeling of being run aground on the water itself, the gentle rocking of the impotent sea - yes, perhaps it would be enough...

"I thought we did finish," John spoke up gruffly from his place on the steps leading up to the forecastle. "Wasn't that the point? To finish, so we could die at peace?"

"It isn't as if anything's changed," Much pointed out, slightly alarmed that his words had apparently awoken the spectre of that fraught and awkward night. "I mean, you two obviously haven't changed your minds," he nodded towards the large pale hand intertwined with Djaq's own, "and if you have I think we'd all rather you went somewhere else to talk about it."

"Would've been nice if you'd done that the first time," he muttered as he strode over to join Robin.

"Something has changed," Djaq replied, calmly but with an edge to her voice that made Will turn to look at her, as if seeking reassurance. He found it in the ghost of a smile that she gave him before continuing. "We have another player with us now. We all had our turns, but Allan did not."

"Eh?" Allan looked up, surprised at being referred to directly – although if anyone was going to do it, these days, it was Djaq – and baffled at the turn the conversation had taken.

"Allan, this is a game of truth. When you play kalila and dimna, you say the most important things in your heart and your mind. It is a chance to say the things that need to be said."

There was a lot that needed to be said, she thought. An explanation, a real one, that didn't begin and end with, "I was stupid, it was a mistake." An apology that wasn't just a garbled, "I'm sorry lads, what else can I say?" A promise for the future that was more than, "I'm back now, okay?" A request for forgiveness that went further than, "Can we just forget it?"

All those phrases had been repeated countless times in the weeks since Allan rejoined them, and always in the same defensive tone. As far as he was concerned, he had saved their lives and the score was now settled, at least as far as it was in his power to do so. He seemed content to skulk at the edges of conversations, to accept veiled barbs in exchange for the cessation of outright hostility. It was less contentment, she believed, than helplessness; an inability to see any other option than to wait for time to heal the wounds his defection had caused.

That was progress, of a kind, she reasoned; a patience and humility that the old Allan-a-Dale had never possessed. But Djaq was a physician, and she believed that a cut could not heal properly unless it was cleaned. What Allan was doing was like trying to stitch up a wound with the arrow-head still inside it.

"Allan," she prompted gently, "is there anything you would like to say to everyone?"

As the weeks passed, she had become more and more frustrated with the uneasy surface reconciliation that everyone else seemed to accept as permanent. She was on her way home, and for some reason she did not want to set foot on that distant shore without setting things in order in the new home she had made for herself. Unfortunately, when "home" was a group of weapon-wielding men and "things" were feelings and grudges and betrayals, tidying up was no simple matter.

"Djaq, what're you on about?" He feigned amusement, as he always did when he was uncomfortable. "I've said it all already, okay? What more do you -"

"Allan." The shake of her head sliced through his denials with a silent plea, her dark eyes like magnets that would drag the words from him if he let her. He was good with words, always had been, as long as they were words he'd carefully chosen and arranged. But he knew what she wanted were not plausible stories, but the truths that his life had branded into him, and those he was reluctant to share.

"I wouldn't waste your time coaxing him," Much interrupted. "I'm really not interested in anything the traitor has to say, and I doubt anyone else is either."

Never had the words "Shut up, Much!" been so tempting as they were right now. The rare honesty that had begun to show in Allan's face was already seeping away, as John grunted his agreement.

Robin was silent, his eyes still focused on the horizon.

"I am, actually."

The sincerity in Will's low, level tone flooded Djaq with relief. It was the breach between these two that troubled her the most, in part because she felt herself to blame for it. In making her the centre of his world, Will had convinced himself that he did not need Allan to become again the friend he once was. He had thrown all his energy into loving Djaq, apparently blissfully happy to let her fill every empty space in his heart. But she did not want to take Allan's place; not now when he had finally come back to claim it. Will had brushed aside her attempts to discuss his almost-brother, unconsciously echoing Allan's words as he insisted that everything was fine, back to normal. Then he would change the subject with a shy kiss or a whispered endearment that made her heart ache for friendship lost even as it beat faster with love found at last.

This, then, was progress. She smiled at him: thankyou, for having the courage to admit that you want things to be better.

Allan, for his part, was surprised to find that three words from Will Scarlett made it so much harder for him to keep his silence. Suddenly he was back at the abandoned mine in Sherwood, straining with all his might to drag Robin and Djaq to the surface, out of reach of the Sheriff and his men. But that day he and Will had been pulling together; now his friend was using his strength against him, tightening the rope around the heavy padlocked chest that held his deepest confessions, inching it ever closer to the tip of his tongue.

The despair that had driven him to accept Gisborne's deal, that fear of the empty, barren future, that need to finally have something of his very own – Robin had thrown it back in his face when he offered it up at the Trip that day, but maybe now it would be different. Especially if they heard how worthless Allan had found Gisborne's rewards, in the end; the bitter loneliness that had curled itself around him even in the luxury of his new life. If he told them not just that he was sorry, but how sorry. Just how much he wished that he could put things back the way they were, before. The things he had no time to say as the Prince's army swept towards Nottingham; well, tonight there was time, and Djaq asking for the truth, and Will... Will seemed to want to hear it.

But he looked up at exactly the wrong moment, just in time to catch the smile that nobody else was meant to see, and as the intruder paused, transfixed by the intimacy he had stumbled into, the rusting box of secrets plummeted again, back to the darkest depths of the mineshaft.

Allan sat in the shadows, as always, and he watched his two best friends – though that was truly a relative term, these days – basking in the warm sunlight that still remained out of his reach. He was an idiot. For a second he'd almost believed that Will cared for his reasons, his apologies. But he was just doing what she wanted, wasn't he, and he had his reward in that tender look of gratitude and pride. And Djaq: it was so like her, to pause for a moment to toss him a scrap from their table. Well, no thanks.

"Not being funny, Djaq, but this sounds like a bloody rum game to me," he said casually. "I think I'll stick to dice."

As he stood up and ambled away to join the sailors in their raucous entertainment, Djaq suppressed a sigh. She was an idiot. For a second, she'd almost imagined that men could be be persuaded to talk about their feelings without the catalyst of impending death to loosen their tongues. It had clearly been a mistake to make the attempt on such calm seas: a fierce storm might have been better.

Beside her, Will told himself firmly that the new burst of anger he suddenly felt towards Allan was all for disappointing Djaq. He tightened his hold on her hand. Those hands had cured many an illness or injury, yet try as she might she could not undo all the bad of the last few months. But Will was more than content to take the good that had come his way, and be grateful.

"Idiot," Much grumbled. "If he thinks we're coming to help him when those sailors catch him cheating, he can think again."

The moon continued its slow ascent, illuminating yet another night of tranquil seas and still air and no progress.