"How hard can it be to find the Sheriff in his own castle?" Guy asked himself as he sprinted from the Great Hall. Pausing in the hallway, he debated where to look next: double back to the Sheriff's quarters again? The dungeons? His own quarters? He shook his head in agitation. Perhaps the captain of the castle guard would know, Guy thought as he began striding towards the guards' quarters deep in the bowels of Nottingham Castle.
Captain Thomas Atwood had only been working at the castle for a week, but the young, foolish boy was blatantly chomping at the bit for power and opportunities. Not to mention he idolized Guy, praising him for every decision, every order he issued. Guy shook his head as he pictured the short youth, his pudgy face barely able to grow facial hair eagerly smiling up at Guy, obeying his every order to the letter. He did not understand why the Sheriff appointed him to captain of the guard, out of all the recent recruits. Perhaps because he was the easiest to control and manipulate, the most obviously devout and loyal. In any case, Guy didn't care, so long as Captain Atwood did as he was told.
Guy weaved his way through the castle corridors, finally stopping outside the door to the guards' quarters. Raising his fist to knock on the thick wooden panels, Guy paused. The Sheriff's voice distinctly echoed on the other side.
"No, Atwood. You cannot tell Gisborne about this. This is… your… secret mission," the Sheriff's voice heavily articulated in anger.
Guy stopped breathing, freezing just outside the door. A scowl began to cross his taut face.
"But, my lord Sheriff," Captain Atwood's distinct tenor voice interjected, "I don't think I'm ready for any mission of this sort of… finesse."
The Sheriff laughed, "There's nothing quite like trial by fire, now is there Atwood. This is your big chance, so don't go running to Gisborne about it. You see, he has this nasty habit of talking with his wife, telling her all about his life and consequently mine."
"Sir Guy has a wife?" Atwood's voice even higher pitched with excitement.
Guy heard the Sheriff scoff, "Ha! Yes, a mistake I don't want to see you make too, Atwood. But that is besides the point. This mission is keenly important to a comfortable winter for Nottingham, well actually… for me. And you cannot fail me."
Guy heard something heavy clatter to the ground. "Look at me when I'm talking, Gisborne… I mean… Atwood!" the Sheriff shouted.
Covering his mouth with his gloved fist, Guy silenced the laugh inside him.
The Sheriff's footsteps moved away from the door, "You cannot be late tonight, leaving the castle promptly by midnight. Sister Agatha's is a good two hours away by cart, and you will need total cover of darkness to hide you on your way back, so no dallying. Do you understand me, Atwood?"
"Yes, my lord," Atwood spoke as a chair scraped against the stone floor.
Remembering himself, Guy quickly and silently walked off a few paces as he heard the footfalls grow louder towards the door. He tried to make as much noise as would be normal, his boots clacking on the floor. Then, he had an idea, "Atwood! Have you seen the Sheriff? Captain Atwood!" Guy called down the hallway, pleased at himself for his own ruse.
He walked up to the quarters again, this time bringing his knuckles down against the wood, knocking on the door. Captain Atwood's pudgy face smiled up at Guy, as was his custom, opening the door just a few inches.
"Sir Guy! How are you doing?" Atwood's voice shook, no doubt from anxiety, thought Guy.
Guy folded his arms staring down at the youth, tightening his face into his most intimidating glare, "I am looking for the Sheriff. Have you seen him, Captain?"
The Sheriff's balding head appeared over Atwood's shoulder, his face long and innocent as he looked back towards Guy. "Missed me, Gisborne?" he asked sweetly.
A glower was the only answered the Sheriff received. "I've searched the whole castle for you, what are you doing here, my lord?"
"Just thought I'd come down and… get to know our young captain a bit better, hmm. The Sheriff pushed Atwood out of the way of the door and walked past him into the corridor. He spun around, clapped his hands behind his back, and met Guy's cold stare, "How's your wife, Gisborne?" he asked before walking off down the hall.
"Well, enough," Guy answered as he fell in step beside the Sheriff. "Now, what plans do you have for the winter's food storage? Surely there must be some way to…"
"This famine is no concern of mine," the Sheriff interrupted with a wave of his hand. "When the people get hungry enough, they will find their own ways to fill their empty bellies. All this means for us, Gisborne, is that tax collecting this month will be ruthless and unmerciful. But that is not a challenge for you, is it?" The Sheriff paused outside the door to his own quarters, turning to face Guy.
"My lord, if the people cannot eat, how do you expect them to pay their taxes?" Guy asked, shaking his head partially in disbelief, partially in anger.
"I leave that up to the lords of the manors, like you. And what's the matter with you, growing soft, Gisborne? Too much time at home with your wife must be positively draining on your manhood," the Sheriff's gaze narrowed as he stared Guy up and down.
Guy rolled his eyes, "If you do not require my services today, Sheriff, then I would desire nothing more to return to Locksley."
The Sheriff smirked in return, shooing Guy away with his hands, "Be gone, then. Go play house with your wife, or whatever it is that you two do together. I do not need you to nag me every which way today. You and your charming wife are quite the pair, constantly nagging and looking over my shoulder. And sometimes… I think you forget which one of us is really the sheriff." He turned around, walking into his chambers and shutting the door with an echoing slam.
Guy stormed off, huffing and fuming at the Sheriff. He insulted his power, he insulted his loyalty, and mostly, he insulted his wife. Why shouldn't he tell his wife about the Sheriff's plans? She'd know precisely what the Sheriff was plotting to do, that was her special ability. And trusting that boy with a mission, ordering Atwood to keep him deliberately in the dark. He felt his lip curling into a sneer just thinking about the Sheriff and his undermining, backhanded ways.
"Sir Guy!" a young, breathless voice called out after Guy from down the hall. Guy paused and turned around, watching as Captain Atwood's figure ran closer and closer towards him. Taking a deep breath, Guy felt his face relaxing into a smile; maybe Atwood would be coming to confess the whole plot to him, right now.
Captain Atwood stopped a few feet in front of Guy, bending almost in half trying to catch his breath. "Sir Guy," he repeated breathlessly. "The Sheriff…" he continued to pant as he straightened up.
"Well?" Guy asked, glaring down at the youth with a cold smirk on his face, "What did the Sheriff say?" He couldn't make it any easier on this boy, Guy thought.
Atwood removed his helmet from his head, tussling the loose light brown curls all damp with sweat. "Sir Guy," he continued once more, "The Sheriff wanted me to remind you that the torturers are a whole month behind in their pay. And that you need to remind the stable boys that his white mare cannot be fed hay now for the rest of the month." Atwood smiled up at Guy, nodding his head as if to signify the end of his message.
Guy paused and shot him a questioning glare, "Is that all?"
Atwood's hazel eyes focused down at the metal helmet in his hands, "Yes, Sir Guy, that is all."
"Are you sure?" he asked, leaning down closer to Atwood's round face.
"Well…" Atwood began timidly, still fixated on his helmet. "There is one more thing, Sir Guy." He looked up, meeting Guy's stare, and Guy was shocked at the gleam of confidence he found, "I just wanted to thank you for all your leadership and guidance. It's been hard to make my way here as the new captain." He smiled again, his pudgy cheeks pulling back to reveal a set of perfect white teeth, "You've been a real inspiration to me, sir."
Steely grey eyes narrowed in response, and Guy clenched his fists, fighting back the rising urge to punch out his shinning white teeth. Spinning on his heel, Guy stormed off once more for the stables. He couldn't give a damn whether the torturers were paid or if that stupid white horse ate hay or not. Guy had to get home, get away from the insult, and get away from the Sheriff.