CHAPTER SEVEN
The zombie gang infiltrates Nottingham Castle.
Disclaimer: We're really, seriously wondering how we're getting lucky enough to have Zombie Robs as our personal bodyguard. But perhaps we shouldn't say anything... *eye legal-types nervously*
When they reach the edge of Sherwood, Zombie Robs gives Zombie Much the thumbs-up (then takes it back and pops it back into place) and Zombie Much chitters at the squirrels. This would be strange enough under normal circumstances, but is just freaking BIZARRE from a zombie.
And yet-- it works! The zombie squirrel army sets off in neat formation toward the town gate, somehow not attracting any attention amongst the sheriff's guards. When they get nearer, they wheel to the south and go around the outer wall, scaling it at its nearest point to the castle.
The zombie gang, crouched amongst the trees, waits with bated breath to see what will happen. Or, they would, if they breathed. Similarly, crouching is an unsurprisingly bad choice for a zombie, much less several zombies, and they're so occupied with popping hips, knees, ankles and feet back into place that they don't notice the return of the tiny zombie soldiers, until the commanding zombie squirrel officer gets up on his hind legs and salutes Zombie Much.
Startled, Zombie Much returns the gesture, then listens intently as the five-star zombie squirrel general squeaks away at him.
"You're joking!" he exclaims in English, then apologetically translates into squirrel.
Bemused, Zombie Robs asks, "What's going on?"
Turning to him with an expression of astonishment that's going to be difficult to remove from his zombie face, Zombie Much replies, "They've zombified the Sheriff's birds. We have spies on the inside!"
Zombie Robs grins. "I thought they might do that, but I wasn't sure. Now, we wait..."
Zombie Allan rolls his eyes, catching them at the last second and popping them back in. "Not being funny, Robin, but you say that all the time. Do you ever actually know what is going on?"
Zombie Robs looks offended. "Of course, Allan. I mean, I knew you were betraying me, did I not?"
Zombie Allan winces. No hard feelings, though; that's not how Zombies roll. "Touche."
Zombie Robs addresses Zombie Much, so he can translate to the five-star zombie squirrel general. "Ask him...um, her?--the squirrel, if our good friends, the birds, might find a way to open the gates for us."
Zombie Allan again puts in his two cents, uh, thrupence. "They're birds, Robin. They haven't got hands, have they?"
Sighing, Robin pinches the bridge of his nose. The whole thing comes off in his hand, so he shoves it back in place, allowing Zombie Maz a moment to straighten it, looking concerned.
"Don't worry, darling, you're perfect."
(Some suspect retching noises come from Zombie Guy's direction, to which Zombie Meg takes offense.)
"Very well, Allan. What do you suggest?"
"Well, all right, birds have beaks, yeah? Tiny little daggers right there on their faces. Couldn't they zombify some of the guards for us?"
Zombie Robs moves to slap Zombie Allan on the back, then thinks better of it. "Allan, you're a genius!"
"Not bein' funny, but I could've told you that."
Zombie Much squeaks at the five-star zombie squirrel general, who requests that he be called "Aloysius," since that's his name, and Zombie Squirrel General Aloysius (perhaps better referred to as ZS Gen. Al) agrees that this is a superb plan, and sends a messenger off to convey the orders to the zombie bird squadron.
Before the gang knows it, word is buzzing throughout Nottingham about the Sheriff's birds attacking the guards. Of course, the Sheriff isn't doing much to stop it, since given the choice between his birds and the (highly dispensable) guards, guess which he chooses?
--hint: it ain't the guards--
So, not only are several of his guards now zombies, most of the rest haven't stuck around to be the next ones craving grey matter. This has the doubled effect of reducing the guards' numbers and morale; even zombie guards don't feel too great about their buddies abandoning them.
When the last remaining guard is a zombie, the gang decides to make their move. They go in through the tunnel that leads to the Great Hall, but they've only gone so far when Zombie Archer suddenly yells, "WAIT!"
They are, of course, only moving at a shamble, but it's still faster than his memory at the moment, and ZGKR has already triggered a pressure plate.
In an extremely lucky coincidence, ZS Gen. Al was not caught as the trap doors came sliding down. Not so luckily, he didn't really know much about the rope he had to pull. However, you don't become a five-star zombie squirrel general by being good-looking, and he is one clever zombie squirrel.
Getting a running start, he leaps for the rope and grabs it in his teeth, pulling himself up, and then uses his tiny squirrel arms to somehow pull the rope down. (I know, I know; but this is a Robin Hood story, is it not?)
This had all taken quite some time, but luckily zombies don't need to breathe, so were all calmly waiting under the mountain of lime, waiting for ZS Gen. Al to do his thing. Much had assured them he was the best, after all. It has slowed them down, however-- which is bad when you're only moving at a shuffle to begin with,-- and by the time they get to the great hall, Vaizey has blocked off the tunnel door.
Zombie Robs is just becoming frustrated when Zombie La Grande cracks his knuckles, reattaches them, and then takes a running-shuffling start and bashes into the door.
After the gang has reassembled him, they all give the door one last push, and it and whatever was behind it give way.
As it turned out, a pile of guards who hadn't quite successfully taken to zombiehood had been what was behind the door, stacked at the Sheriff's orders by the ones who were full of zombie goodness. Badness. Zombieness? Yes, zombie zombieness. But don't feel sorry for them! They may not be complete zombies, but they're able to play tic-tac-toe, so they're keeping themselves occupied whilst laying around. They're quite happy with their lot, since before, they were in constant fear of getting killed by the outlaws, or getting beaten by the Sheriff, or getting hollered at by their wives for not getting paid again. This is far preferable, and they wave cheerfully as our zombie gang shuffles past.
Thinking they're safe for now, Vaizey and Zizzy are enjoying a dinner of brains (chicken brains for Vaizey, human brains for Zizzy) and bottle of burgundy. Regardless, only she jumps when three arrows bury into the table around the serving dishes. The Sheriff, meanwhile, calmly sips his wine.
"Took you long enough, Hood. Here, I was starting to think that you lost your touch when you became" --he gestures vaguely with his dinner knife-- "well, that."
Zombie Robs is reattaching his arm as he answers. Firing an arrow is perfectly simple for him, still, but sometimes the pressure is enough to detach his arm. "Lost my touch?" he laughs. "Vaizey, that will never happen." He winks, then gives Zizzy a wave. "Doing well, are we?"
Zombie Much, who has moved closer to the table at the tantalising smells, stares at Zizzy's plate in wonder. "Is that brains?" He takes another step forward, but Zombie Robs stops him.
"Later, Much. For now, the sheriff and I are going to have a little chat. Aren't we, Vaizey?" He's drawn his bow again, and the sheriff rolls his eyes - he seems to be rubbing in the fact that he can do it without them falling out.
"Oh, very well, Hood." The other outlaw zombies move, guarding both Zizzy and Vaizey closely as Robin sits in the chair adjacent to Vaizey's and pours himself a glass of wine. Taking a sip, he reaches out and snatches some of the brains off the sheriff's plate, popping them into his mouth.
"Chicken brains? Vaizey, I thought you had better taste than that." He looks at Vaizey thoughtfully, sipping more wine. It isn't exactly enjoyed, but the act is fun. "Let's discuss what we might do next." He grins at the Sheriff cheekily. "Now, the way I see it, we have two options."
"Only two?" Vaizey asks in a bored tone.
Ignoring him, Zombie Robs continues, "One: we continue as we have been, which, while entertaining, is sure to get old after a few hundred years. So that brings me to number two: join with us to bring down the leatherworkers once and for all."
Vaizey pretends to consider this for a few seconds, then says, "You're ignoring option three."
"Wait a minute," Zombie Allan interrupts. "I'm not bein' funny, but didn't we leave her in a net back at camp?" He gestures to Zizzy.
There's a frozen, Oh-yeah-WTF?? moment amongst the zombie gang. "Yeah, we did," Zombie Much says suspiciously.
"Oh, PLEASE," Zizzy sighs. "It wasn't exactly difficult to escape; that blonde's a one-woman catfight unto herself."
A mumble passes around the room as everyone agrees. Then, Zombie Robs gets back to the matter at hand. "What was this 'option three,' then?"
Vaizey looks at Robin as if he is stupid. "It's quite clear, Hood. Option three is all about you not turning me into a Zombie. For you see...
In response, Zombie Guy (who had been skulking around behind the sheriff's chair) gets the revenge he deserves, says "bored now" in a mocking tone, and stabs Vaizey in a rather nasty and fatal sort of way.
"Guy!" Zombie Robs's tone is annoyed and impatient.
"What?"
"He was about to tell me option three!"
Zombie Guy looks at Zombie Robs in exasperation. "If you'd just be patient and willing to wait five -"
"Am I at all pleased with this turn of events? A clue: NO."
Zombie Guy and Zombie Robs look at Zombie Vaizey (Zomzey for short) and give him their most amused, sinister, and decidedly creepy grins.
"Welcome back, Sheriff. Good to have you on board."
