The First Fytte: Robyn Hode

Much cleared his throat and darted a nervous glance at Tuck, who was watching expectantly from where he sat in front of the stage they'd erected.

"Robyn Hode and his menye
With the Sheryff takyn be."

Tuck nodded encouragingly, and Much broke into a grin.

Robin stepped confidently forward. "Be-holde wele ffrere Tuke,
Howe he dothe his bowe pluke."

"Why do I have to be the Sheriff?" Allan broke in, interrupting the scene again. Robin groaned and threw his hands up, his concentration broken.

"Allan, as I keep explaining, you're the only one who owns black leather clothing," Tuck sighed.

The Seconde Fytte: Lyttle John and Guy of Gysborne

"There is NO way I am wearing THIS," Little John protested, clutching a handful of fabric.

"Oi!" yelled Kate. "I worked hard to make that!"

"Much worked hard to make the stew, but it was still squirrel," Guy grumbled. Facing Tuck, he threw his arms out. "Really?"

Tuck was having difficulty making eye contact with him or Robin, both of whom were in tights and short tunics. "Erm, perhaps trousers would be preferable?" he suggested to Kate.

"Do I tell you what to do with the script, Mr. Director?"

"No..."

"Right. I'm the costume mistress. John, put on your tights."

The Thirde Fytte: The Mynstrel's Supper

Tuck clapped for attention. "Now! For a dinner theatre, we'll need more entertainment, giving our guests time to eat."

"I could sing," suggested Much.

"NO!" everyone shouted. Diplomatically, Tuck added, "We need you to prepare the food. But music's a good idea. Who can sing?--besides Much."

Kate nudged Little John, who reluctantly raised a hand. "I only know lullabies."

"That's fine. Anyone else?"

Allan hesitated before saying, "Guy's got a great voice."

"Allan," Guy growled warningly. "I don't sing," he protested.

Tuck shrugged. "Very well. Then you don't eat."

Guy sighed and capitulated. Then he smiled.

Allan would pay.

The Fourth Fytte: Guy of Gysborne and Allin a Dale

"Allan, come here a moment?" Guy called from backstage.

Allan found Guy standing beside a bedsheet-partitioned dressing area.

"Look," said Guy. "I offered to play the Sheriff, but Tuck's afraid I'll make the peasants nervous in my own leather. So, I'm supposed to try yours on."

"But, I didn't bring any other clothes..."

"Right. Just wait in here while I try them on."

"Okay." Allan ducked into the partition. "Hey, Guy, I really appreciate this."

"My pleasure," Guy replied, grabbing the clothes passed to him. Then he whistled as he wandered off, leather in hand.

"Guy?" called Allan nervously.

"Hello?"

The Fyfth Fytte: Surpryse and Dysmayye

"Tuck? I... I have a confession," Much said.

Tuck set aside his script. "Go on."

In a rush, Much mumbled, "I may have taken your darts to use as kebob sticks for the dinner."

"You what?"

Suddenly, from backstage, Kate screamed. "Allan a Dale! You disgusting, twisted, loathsome-- get back here!"

Allan ran around the curtain at the back of the stage, wearing nothing save a bedsheet wrapped loosely around his waist. He paused when he saw Tuck and Much.

"Hey, either of you seen Guy?"

They mutely shook their heads.

Kate barreled out then, and Allan took off into the woods.

"Pervert!" she shrieked, before storming after him.

There was a moment of silence in their wake.

"What were we talking about, again?" Tuck asked.

Much blinked innocently, seizing the opportunity to escape. "Oh... nothing." He smiled, and then fled before Tuck remembered.

A moment later, Tuck did. "Much! You know those have sleeping powder on them, right?" He set off after the errant chef.

Onstage, Robin and Little John exchanged a look. "Does this mean rehearsal's over?" John wondered.

The Sixth Fytte: The Carpenter's Worrie

"That's the shoddiest workmanship I've ever seen." Will ran his hand over the boards. "It looks like someone's taken apart a barn and built this out of the scrap."

"And what is it doing in the middle of the forest, so close to camp?" Djaq queried.

"It's probably some scheme of the Sheriff's," Will muttered. "Which means Gisborne's likely involved."

"Why would Gisborne build a stage?"

"To act, and now sing, upon," a voice drawled.

They spun around, wide-eyed.

"Will! Djaq!" Robin grinned, hugging them.

"Why are you with Gisborne?" Djaq exclaimed.

"And why are you wearing tights?" asked Will.

The Seventh Fytte: Fryar Tuck and His Crewe of Players

"Now, that is a stage!" Much exclaimed.

Will smiled. "Well, this one won't collapse under you, anyway."

"The other was sturdy enough," protested Little John.

"And how clever is this curtain system?" Kate enthused, testing it out.

Off-stage, Allan sighed. "No, no; slur the vowels more."

Robin tried again, with better results. "Now, let's hear yours."

" 'The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.' Hey?"

"Yeah, that's great! Um, your bedsheet's sagging."

Allan tightened the knot, shooting a frustrated look at Guy.

Tuck called for attention. "Time to rehearse our musical numbers."

Guy stepped forward, clearing his throat.

The Eighth Fytte: The Monke's Prayer

"Our performance is on Saturday," Tuck announced. "Kate, how's Allan's new costume coming?"

"It'll be ready, but I'm no leatherworker. You had to throw the old one in Locksley Pond?" she said to Guy.

"It was an accident." His lips twitched.

"And my normal clothes?" Allan asked, shivering at a breeze.

Guy shrugged. "No idea."

Kate blinked innocently.

Tuck cut in. "Fine. Much; are you sure the darts are clean?"

"I'm sure! Well, mostly sure. I mean, it's possible that a little powder--"

"Go clean them."

"Right."

Tuck studied his friends. "It's in God's hands," he murmured to himself.

The Nynth Fytte: Songe of the Shrew

This wasn't happening.

"You do not have laryngitis," Tuck insisted.

Guy rasped, "No?"

"Who's going to sing the ballad?" Tuck glanced around desperately.

"You could do it," Will murmured to Djaq, who frantically shushed him.

Much decided to bide his time.

"Allan?"

"You must be joking."

"Robin?"

"Only at arrowpoint. And maybe not even then."

Kate whispered to Tuck, "I'll find out if he's lying." Then she shrieked, "I told you he couldn't be trusted! But nobody listened, and now he's ruining our play! What's next?"

Guy exclaimed, "'Sblood, woman! Will you never... stop... Oh."

Tuck smiled. "From the top?"

The Tenth Fytte: The Knyght's Lesson

Djaq sprinkled yellow powder onto some grey granules, creating a flash of light and a puff of smoke.

"That's perfect," Tuck nodded.

Guy rubbed at the scorch mark. "How'd you do that?"

"You wouldn't understand," she replied coldly.

Apparently, she still hadn't gotten over that whole "destroying a chance for peace in the Holy Land" thing.

"Try me."

Djaq studied him for a moment. "Fine."

Alchemy was never his strongest subject. But, he gave it a shot.

"I'm better at braiding hair than trimming it," Kate informed him, studying his scorched ends.

She tested the shears.

He suppressed a whimper.

The Eleventh Fytte: The Play's the Thinge

Onstage, behind the closed curtain, the gang gathered into a circle. They could hear the conversations of the villagers gathering beyond.

Tuck performed a short blessing, then said, "This is it! Is everyone ready?"

"The kebobs are cooked," Much confirmed.

"I have a costume," Allan said uncomfortably.

"Guy's got a haircut," Kate giggled.

He twitched his head. It really wasn't bad, but still...

"I'm in my tights," Little John muttered.

"The flash powder's in place," said Djaq.

"I've got my fight with John worked out," Robin stated.

They all exchanged excited glances.

"Then, here we go!"

They got into place.