If Allen had learnt anything from Thomas, it was that taverns were quite possibly one's best bet when it came to town idle gossip. Secrets were spilled and many open ears were awaiting to listen. So Allen knew his exact desired location when he set his mind upon journeying to Doncastor.

Once more, he had resolved to finding out all he could regarding Godwinson. But his sad reality was a severe lack of information. The fire had reignited within him after the whole incident with Gisbourne as he now had an added incentive, keeping Marian safe.

He also resolved to keep his friends away from his search as much as possible. That lesson had been learnt the hard way. He was reminded of this whenever he saw the empty bunk in his cabin, despite trying his best to pretend that it did not exist. So he knew that he must travel to Doncastor alone, as he sought out Roger's previous town of residence.

The Darnell family tree had been foolishly left in the archive. Leon had prattled on about the importance of keeping things in their rightful places and topped it all off by stating how they could easily return for it. Allen laughed bitterly at the thought.

The journey he faced was racked with uncertainty, but he still coveted it as a chance to escape from camp.

Robin was constantly in a mood. To make matters worse, this seemed to radiate out and pull others into its depths. No one was safe. Those infected displayed symptoms of agitated mood swings as the slightest inkling of something unfavorable resulted in pain.

Allen found himself playing a game of chance with every single word he spoke. If there was the smallest inkling of something ill placed, someone would rage.

A few well-placed words to Robin had allowed Allen to take spoils over to Doncastor. But he did run into some troubles. "Who are you going to take with you?" Robin asked.

Allen chewed upon the insides of his cheeks. "I think I will be fine by myself. Doncastor is hardly dangerous."

Robin pulled forth his sword from the hilt, causing Allen to step back nervously. "You know that you need to take someone. I'll come with you."

"No, no, that's alright," Allen said, a little fast. Robin may have been his best friend but he found him horrid to be around at present.

Robin looked at him, clearly wounded.

"… Just because you are so busy here," Allen said, with not much conviction. It was a bad lie.

Robin raised a hand to Will, calling him over to train together. "Allen, you are not going unless someone goes with you. No one should be alone." Those words hit a little too close to home. Knowing this, Robin was quick to continue. "Why is this so important to you?"

Allen made a great show of shrugging it all away. "It's not really. Nothing special. I just keep track of the villages we assist and I know that Doncastor has been neglected."

He wanted to fight further but Will was approaching. And Allen wanted to keep his plans silent from as many people as possible. Especially Roger.

Allen felt a small tugging on his sleeve and was surprised to see Much by his side. "Did I hear correctly? You're going to Doncastor? Please say I can come! Anything to escape this place!"

Sighing, Allen saw that Much was his best bet. He was gullible to a fault and would be easy to lose. So he waited until he knew Roger was assisting in a forest raid to announce that he and Much would be travelling to Austerfield.

"Hang on …" Much said with a furrowed brow. "I thought …"

Allen barked out a loud fake laugh. "Much? Thinking? Hilarious." He felt regret for having to be cruel but he could not have Much publically questioning the plan.

In his haste, he almost knocking Benny to the ground. The puppy in his arms yapped away. This small souvenir from the festival had not been well-received around camp. Allen rolled his eyes, awaiting the routine outburst.

John clapped his hands to his ears, a classic sign of anger absorbed out. "Will you get that mangy thing under control?"

Benny's eyes narrowed. "He's not mangy and he is not a thing. His name is Runt."

"He will be a stuffed thing if you don't shut him up," Will snarled.

Allen tugged on Much's arm harder so they could flee before a riot began.

"So Austerfield?" Much asked as Allen untethered their borrowed horses.

"Course not. We're going to Doncastor."

"But you said –"

Once more regretting his action, Allen pulled upon the tubby little man's collar, making himself appear foreboding. Much's eyes widened in surprise and fear. This was one of the few occasions where the idea of making others fear him worked for Allen and he found that he did not care for it. "Sorry," he muttered, releasing him. "We're friends right?"

Much nodded.

"So I need you to trust me. I have a job to do. And you can't ask me what it is or why I am doing it. Trust me, it's for your own good."

Much straightened his tunic and nodded again. Allen had never respected him more as he mounted his horse. "Shall we go then?"

Allen was surprised at how he actually enjoyed the journey. The friendly conversation was a nice change from the snappy insults that Allen had become accustomed to. He was almost regretful when they reach Doncastor. "So shall I wait in the tavern or something?" Much asked.

Allen was hesitant. The tavern was where he needed to go but the night was beginning and the cold was already setting in. There was nowhere else for Much to wait.

"I could help you know," Much said, noting Allen's thoughts.

He wanted desperately to be able to tell Much. "I wish you could. But this is something that I need to do alone.

Much still waited. "Are you going to be safe? You're not in any danger are you?"

Allen was touched. "Just go to the tavern and don't even acknowledge me." He watched his friend depart, counted to twenty and pushed at the door.

The tavern was not a particularly fine establishment. The whole thing appeared crippled with age. This was exactly what Allen had hoped for. He looked around the array of tables, studying the people. Much had sat off to the left and instantly forgot his instructions waving wildly. Allen glared at him and he remembered, looking apologetic as he lowered his arm. Other patrons swarmed about in small groups. None fit the qualities Allen required. He hoped for singular elderly folk with fine memories. Everyone appeared young and it would be difficult to approach in such groups.

He walked over to the bar, hoping his luck would change. A young woman completely ignored him, continuing to furiously rub at tankards with a dirty old rag. Allen cleared his throat and still she ignored him. She was extremely small in stature. Allen guessed that she would not even reach his shoulders. She had a short mob of scraggly black hair that clearly needed a wash. But somehow, Allen still thought her oddly pretty.

He cleared his throat again and she made an angry strangled sound, tossing the rag aside. "What?" she asked in a rage. "What do you want?"

"Ale?" Allen's own voice came forward in a feeble murmur.

She rolled her eyes and crashed about, bringing a tankard up to the tap. But not before he shook a spider free from it. Despite the obvious signs, Allen thought to open his foolish mouth. "Aren't you going to clean that?"

She fixed him with a cold glance. "I just did."

He leant away. "Sorry!" she said in a huff, "I was not aware that I was serving royalty! Are these wooden tankards not good enough for your divine mouth? Shall I go and fetch the fancy silver?"

"Ellen!" An older man came to stand beside her. Their facial features bore slight resemblance so Allen assumed him to be her Father. "Remember what we discussed?"

Allen was glad for her death glare to be fixed toward someone else. Rather than respond, she stormed away, knocking over a stack of tankards in her wake.

"My apologies," the man said, pulling one the tankards from the ground to fill. Allen noted how he also did not clean it but had learnt what could happen if he raised the issue. "My daughter was rather hesitant in helping with the running on the tavern tonight."

Allen considered his words. This was exactly the type of man he sought. "Are you looking for workers?"

"Wish I could. But it makes no sense to spend money I don't have on employees when I have a small army of children that I can call upon for free labour. If only they were a little bit more grateful and helpful!" The last part was said rather loudly for the benefit of Ellen in the back room. His words were greeted by a crash of something being pushed over. "Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking of moving here actually," Allen lied. "I like the area."

"Well I'm afraid you will struggle to find work. Not much going. Although my son David could use an apprentice perhaps. He is struggling with his workload."

"I will definitely think upon that. But this is more of a rough idea at the moment. Nothing is for certain. But a good friend of mine used to live here and always told me such good things. You might know him actually. Do you remember the Darnell family?"

The man's face was an instant change from the goodhearted nature of before. "Yes. I knew them."

"You don't sound overly enthused."

"Bad business that. You say he is a good friend of yours?"

Allen nodded and noted another change in the man. One of fear. "I think you ought to leave."

"Wait, what?" Allen sputtered before noticing the two men standing near him. Both bore an uncanny resemblance to their Father and looked impeccably strong to boot. Allen knew he had precious moments before they forced him out. "Look, I lied. And I am going to level with you. You see that look of fear on your face? Well consider this, I am living with this man. Trusting my life to him daily. And I need to know is that is a mistake."

The man did not move, neither did his sons. "Gerard, David, I think I'll be fine here." Both men looked reluctant but slowly walked away, keeping in close distance.

"What is your name?" Allen asked.

"Hugh."

"Well Hugh, I am begging you. Please help me."

Hugh sighed, finally shoving aside his rag. "Well. What can one say about a man who murdered his family?"

Allen's tankard dropped to the floor with a crash. Ale poured down the wooden floor in streams. "Sorry! I'm sorry! I'm …" Allen did his best to help but he was far too confounded.

Hugh walked around from the bar, stopping Allen. "Are you alright lad?"

"How can you be sure?"

"Well … No one can be sure. But what else are we supposed to think. They were always an odd bunch. Very secretive. Kept to themselves. Strangers coming and going constantly. Didn't know half the folk who darkened their doorway but I can tell you this much, they were bad news. A few of 'em stayed here for a time." He stopped to shudder. "Right bad lot. Funny thing, I always thought Roger to be the sane one. It was his wife that I didn't trust. God help me, I regret that now."

"What happened?"

"Fire. A big one too. Started at the Darnell house and spread. Took out 'alf the village before it was done. Three bodies were pulled from the house, Belinda and the children. And then Roger disappears. Just takes off! Who does that, I ask you! He did look mighty distressed, mind. But why would he leave if he had nothing to hide? They reckon it was definitely arson. His wife was a very cautious woman, not the sort to leave a fire going or anything like that. And definitely not at that time of night!"

"And when was this exactly?"

Hugh's brow creased as he thought. "A year, roughly. Yes, that's it. A little earlier this time last year."

Allen remembered the night. Allen remembered fearing Roger. Something inside of him had appeared to have snapped and he approached madness. "He could have simply fled to avoid the memories." Allen could not say aloud how he knew Roger's whereabouts. Roger had been in Sherwood before and after the flames so the knowledge of his disappearance did not phase him.

"But to never come back ever? Seems a bit fishy to me."

"What did he have to return to? His family gone. His house burnt down. You said he kept to himself so he wouldn't have had any friends."

"Well that's not entirely true. He did have that one friend. I forget his name. Big bloke."

Allen froze. "Was it John Little?"

"Yes, that's the one." There was no denying the shudder that went through Hugh at the mention of his name.

"I know John. He is a good man."

"Yes. Of course," Hugh said, attempting to hurry away.

"Unless you know otherwise."

Hugh looked uncertain. "Well once again, I do not know enough to be of use to you. But Little was here through the years too. Just as secretive."

Allen closed his eyes, refusing to believe it. Surely John could not be a part of this too?

"Bad business," Hugh mumbled, squeezing out his rag.

But there was still something that did not align for Allen. "Are you sure that both children died in the fire?"

"Couse. Go see the graves for yourself if you don't believe me."

Allen did not know what he could seek to achieve at the grave. But he also knew that he had every intention of going. He needed confirmation that this was all true. A strong part of him still clung to the hope that Hugh was wrong. Part of the tale was already confirmed as false. For he had met Polly. So whose body lay in the grace he now faced. Three tombstones, laid out in the Church courtyard. Three simple stones marked the graces, ranging in size to show the age. Each was marked with a single cross.

And just as Allen suspected, there was more. When he peered closer, he saw that same symbol, etched into the stone. It was so small and faint that it would easily have gone unnoticed. Polly's grave was marked with the same symbol of the eye.

He sat down beside the young boys grave. Anguish overcame him and he almost felt as if he could smell smoke from the fire that took his life.

When he heard his name being bellowed, he finally understood.

The flames were real. The tavern was burning.