Disclaimer: I don't own Maid Marian and her Merry men, so please don't sue. I also don't own enough imagination to come up with a creative disclaimer

A/N: Sorry about the long delay, I've been caught up in exams.

Chapter 3:

"Really," muttered Robin's mother unhappily as she and her husband found themselves entering the Worksop market place for the third time that morning, "those directions were completely useless."

"Indeed," agreed her husband, "the man who gave them was either winding us up or a complete idiot."

"I fear it may be the latter; it would explain why he believed our son was Robin Hood. Now, I wonder if there's anyone in this town who can give us sensible directions to Robin's home…"

"Now!" called the Sherriff loudly once more, "Are there any more copies of Larry Otter that you would like signed? Any at all? Perhaps one of my newest stories Larry Otter and the Goblet of Wine? No? No one?"

Stepping Down off the podium the Sheriff declared, "Now I must be getting back to the castle… er… publishers. I shall return tomorrow with these books freshly signed for you."

Resisting the urge to shove the brimming sack of books into the hands of Gary, he marched out of the village, passing a smartly dressed couple, as the two guards strolled as inconspicuously as they could behind him.

"I don't believe it," he announced angrily once they were clear of the village, "37 Larry Otter books in the village and not a single copy of Larry Otter and the Goblet of Win, amongst them:I've got 14 Larry Otter and the Torture Chamber of Secrets, 11 Larry Otter and the Lincolnshire Scone, 10 Order of the Badger and even one copy of the charity released Cabbages Through the Ages. What a waste of time that was! If we go back to the castle like this the King is going to barbeque us!"

"I doubt if the weather will hold Sheriff."

"Gary," replied the Sheriff, "if you don't shut up I will make sure that even if we do somehow find a copy of Larry Otter and Goblet of Wine to satisfy our oversized monarch, you pair will still end up sizzling nicely on one of those ridiculously overpriced gas barbeques until you're black and crispy on the outside but still raw enough and inedible in the centre for the king to spit you out in disgust all over his hilariously funny novelty apron."

"The one that reads kiss the chef… or else you'll end up in the torture chamber?"

"Yes, Graeme, that one."

"I never thought that apron was very funny. Did you, Gary?"

"Not particularly. I prefer my mother's apron. It's yellow and has got flowers on it."

"Bet you prefer her cooking as well," replied the older guard.

"Yes, I do actually. She makes lovely mouse pies."

As they continued up towards the castle the Sheriff got more and more irritable as he attempted to ignore the inane conversation coming from behind him.

"Was that man wearing a dress?" asked Mrs of Kensington quietly to her husband.

He merely blinked and nodded.

"I do believe this village must be one of the oddest places in the country," continued Robin's mother. "I really think the chances our chances of finding a sensible person to ask about Robin's whereabouts are very slim."

"Yes dear."

As Rose entered the village alone, thankfully, Guy having given up trailing round after her when a parcel had arrived from his mother. She glanced around, pondering who to make the target of her latest scheme. Taking in the usual crowd she examined each of them, searching for the best candidate: Snooker – too disgusting, Gladys – too female, Cowpat – also female, Nettle – female, far too young, and far too Marian-ish. This was hopeless.

"Excuse me?" asked a voice behind her. "Excuse me, miss."

Spinning around a little frustrated, she found herself face to face with a reasonably attractive if slightly balding and middle aged man.

"Can I help you?" she asked, trying to keep her tone pleasant.

"My wife and I were wondering," he said gesturing to a slim, slightly younger woman, "if you could help point us in the direction of Robin of Kensington?"

"Robin?" asked Rose, as a visible spark of realisation appearing in her eyes. "Perfect!"

"Perfect?" asked the woman suspiciously

"Er, yes," she replied quickly, "that's where I was headed myself. I'll show you the way. So how do you know Robin?"

"We're his parents," replied the man, a little tired of having to explain that to people.

"Really?" asked Rose, seemingly interested. "Well, I'm Rose. I'm a good friend of your son. It's just this way."

Rose continued chatting amicably with the couple as she led them back into the forest, all the time her mind listing all the ways Robin was the perfect the victim of her plan whilst simultaneously attempting to figure out a way to use his parents to her advantage.

"So Sheriff," asked Gary as they strolled through the forest, "what are we going to do about this book?"

"I don't know Gary," snapped the Sheriff, "but I don't suppose there's any point asking you pair for ideas."

"Well actually," replied the elder guard, "I do have a suggestion."

"As I suspected, the concept of one of you having an idea pass through your thick skulls is about as likely as Girls Aloud making a pop video fully clothed…. Wait a minute, what did you say?"

"He said, 'I have a suggestion','" contributed Gary

"Well," said the Sheriff irritably, "what is it?"

"Why don't we just write our own book? He's not read any of the others, and he probably won't read it anyway once he's got it…"

"Graeme!" exclaimed the Sheriff, "it's a million to one chance, but that might just work…!"