CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Evening saw Gisbourne and the Sheriff returning to Castle Nottingham under the rosy hues of an especially red and vivid sunset. The guards at the main gate parted to let them pass, saluting as panther and wolf strode by, the understanding clear that these were the only two figures who could come and go as they pleased without needing to sign the visitors' log. Sir Guy paused to take a peek at that very register while the soldiers who'd escorted them through the town that day lined up to scrawl their names.

"We really have to do something about the number of comings and goings we have here," Gisbourne remarked to the Sheriff. "There are far too many people going in and out of this castle for my liking."

"But, Sir Guy, there's always so much needin' to be done, and it can't all be done by our reg'lar castle staff," the Sheriff said. "We have to bring villagers an' peasants in t' do it, or t' sell their wares ... "

"It makes the task of security so much more ... " Gisbourne's voice trailed off as his eyes came to one particular name entered in the ledger. He calmly motioned the bookkeeper closer. "Have you been stationed here all day, making sure everyone who enters and leaves signs this book?"

The guard nodded with great enthusiasm. "Oh, yes, yes indeed, sir! Made absolute certain every single one signed, comin' in an' goin' out!"

"I see. Do you perchance recall - " Gisbourne's claw pressed hard beneath the name that had caught his eye, " - when the esteemed King Arthur arrived, and what species he happened to be? I was always curious about that ... "

The guard's eye widened and he leaned forward to study the ledger. "King Arthur was 'ere? Y' don't - OW!"

Gisbourne smacked the hapless guard hard across the top of his head. "What good is making sure everyone signs the book if some of them use gag names? From now on, you are to LOOK at every name after it is signed, to make sure it at least resembles one that might be legitimate. Any long-dead kings and queens are to be arrested and thrown into the dungeons at once. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-y-y-yessir!" the smarting sentry stammered.

Gisbourne continued into the courtyard, the Sheriff at his side. "You see? One of Robin Hood's cronies could have walked right here, and not even signed their real name. Who knows what mischief they could cause once inside?"

"Well, I dunno what we can do to avoid it," the Sheriff said. "We might be able t' keep out Robin Hood himself an' Little John too, but we can't know who else might be workin' on their behalf. Most of these foolish peasants still look at him as a hero, y'know."

"Ah, yes. The peasants." Gisbourne placed a companionable paw on the Sheriff's back as they entered the castle. "Our little tour of the township this afternoon gave me some ideas as to what to do about them. When you mentioned yesterday that you were no longer able to collect taxes from them because you'd already taken all the gold they had, that got me to thinking. How would you have handled such a state of affairs in the past?"

"Why, that's simple! I'd arrest 'em all fer non-payment of taxes, an' throw 'em in jail! Woulda done that already, but the Earl ain't too fond of such penalties, so he's been resistin' me ... "

"You no longer need to worry about what might offend our good Earl. However, before you embark on such a campaign, I might suggest a different approach. I noticed that none of the peasants we encountered seemed particularly underfed. They certainly do not seem to be experiencing undue hardship, considering they have no money to their name."

"Naw," the Sheriff said, "they've taken t' barterin' between themselves fer whatever food an' clothes an' tools an' supplies they need. They lived too easy these past two years under King Richard, that no-good, meddlesome, Saxon-loving - "

In an instant, Gisbourne's paw went from the Sheriff's shoulders to his collar, which was tugged up none too gently into a balled fist. "A word of advice, Sheriff. Do not speak ill of King Richard in my presence. His was the greatest and noblest spirit I have ever known, and it is Robin Hood's betrayal of the kindness Richard showed him that makes this mission of mine far more than a mere royal assignment on King John's behalf."

"Um, er ... right." The Sheriff liberated his fabric from Gisbourne's grasp and struggled to straighten his tousled uniform. "So, about those peasants ... "

But Sir Guy's attention was already on other things. "We can discuss that in depth after dinner. For now, I want to have a few words in private with our eager young royal couriers ... starting with that raccoon who was kind enough to escort me on my guided tour through the castle yesterday."

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Friar Tuck that night encountered a great deal of trouble finding someplace to sleep. All the innkeepers in Nottinghamshire, wanting to keep on the good side of both the Sheriff and this sinister new black panther they'd seen in his company, shied away from taking Tuck in, even had they been willing to lodge the defrocked friar free of charge. Tuck knew that many of the peasants who'd benefitted from his aid in the past would gladly offer him shelter for the night, even if it meant having to accommodate his four unbidden guards as well, but the kindly badger balked at imposing such a hardship upon his former parishioners. He knew that any family who took him in would have their hospitality reported back to the Sheriff and Gisbourne, and that family would invite unwelcome scrutiny upon itself.

He was almost tempted to simply find a grassy or mossy spot under a tree and settle himself there until morning, but the evening had a chill to it and a threat of rain hung upon the air, and Tuck did not want to risk a night outdoors that might lead to sodden fur and a fever to follow. In the end, he sought out the shelter of one on whom he knew he could depend, a bachelor with no family to imperil from Sir Guy's wrath and suspicion.

Otto the blacksmith answered the knock that came on his door well after sundown, curious as to who might be calling at this late hour. Expecting to find a customer in need of his emergency services, the hound was surprised to see a forlorn Friar Tuck standing upon his doorstep, and even more surprised by the four armed guards ringing his old friend.

"Friar! What's going on here? Are ya being arrested?"

"Settle down, Otto, it's nothing that serious," Tuck assured him. "I'm just looking for a roof over my head for this one night, and was hoping you could provide it. The only thing is ... " Tuck went on to explain the situation with the guards.

The hound's eyes went wide with mortification. "Why, that's practically like house arrest! Worse than house arrest, since ye're never alone no matter where y' go ... "

"Ain't a problem, long as he don't step outside th' law," one of the guards said.

Tuck spread his paws. "I understand if this is asking too much, Otto. I won't hold it against you if you don't want these ruffians quartered under your roof. I know your home is a small one, without much room to spare ... "

Otto considered. He had nothing to gain from feigning ignorance or withholding his hospitality from Tuck, not now that the badger had led these troops here; they would know that the former friar would not have sought shelter here unless he was on very good terms with the blacksmith. Otto shrugged and said, "I ain't got beds or even floorspace fer five guests in my home, but my shop's another matter, if you don't mind sleeping on straw ... "

Tuck beamed; this was exactly what he'd had in mind. "That would be just splendid, my good Otto! Just show us the way!"

"Hey," another of the guards grumbled, "why should we hafta sleep on straw?"

Tuck turned on his unwelcome escort. "If you'd prefer, I'll leave my friend here to himself and go find a muddy ditch in the woods to sleep in. Since your orders were to stay with me wherever I go, that means you'd be sleeping in the mud with me. Does that sound good to you?"

"Well, when ya puts it like that ... "

Otto stifled a chuckle at this exchange; perhaps Tuck wasn't as helpless in this situation as it appeared. "Come along, then, an' I'll show you to my shop. We may hafta move a few things an' get that straw spread out a bit, but I'm sure we can find room fer alla you!"

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Skippy usually spent his nights in Castle Nottingham, sharing a small barracks room used by the court's royal couriers, some of whom came from the farther reaches of the district. Even though the young rabbit's home was within easy walking distance of the castle, and Skippy could have returned to his family every night with little effort, their hut was a small one for so many brothers and sisters to share, and he knew they appreciated the extra space gained by his residence here with his fellow messengers. Besides, to serve the court in such a manner as he did was a badge of pride, one he'd not even regretted during King John's temporary reign here, and dwelling within the castle full time made him feel fully a part of the royal chain of command.

These days, of course, there was also the matter of Sir Guy of Gisbourne to consider, and the need to sign in and out of the castle. All in all, it seemed to Skippy that he'd actually be able to keep a lower profile if he didn't try to leave at all, staying on here and keeping his head down unless the Earl or some other noble called upon him.

Avery, by contrast, usually did return to his home outside the castle every night, preferring to sleep in his own bed as he had all his life. Skippy thought it odd that his raccoon friend had not bade him good night on this evening as was their habit, but with things so tense in the court these days due to Gisbourne's presence, everything was just a little off kilter, and so the rabbit turned into bed without undue concern over the matter.

His mystification grew when Avery was also absent for breakfast the following morning. Unless they were engaged for some special rounds that kept them away from the castle for more than a day, Avery was always present for the morning meal, enjoying this perk and sparing his peasant parents from having to provide him with breakfast from their meagre stores. His curiosity now getting the better of him, Skippy sought out the Earl.

The white cat seemed as puzzled as Skippy, although he was not quite so much in the dark as his courier. "Avery, you say? Well, last evening around dinnertime Sir Guy was asking for him, that much I know. I assumed it was to engage his services in some manner or other, but I did not think it would be any such assignment that might keep him out all night and into today. I suppose it is possible that Sir Guy had some dispatch he needed delivered to one of the outlying hamlets or even to another municipality, although if that were the case he surely should have mentioned it to me, for I cannot be without my couriers for my own use. I shall have to have a word with Gisbourne about this." The Earl cast his gaze around the dining hall, but detected no glimpse of the hulking black feline. "Whenever he deigns to appear ... "

This exchange left Skippy unsettled. He'd assumed that being truthful with Sir Guy about their relationship with Robin of Locksley would have spared him and Avery from further scrutiny, but perhaps he had underestimated the black panther's tenacity in such matters. Still, surely there were others in the court who would demand Sir Guy's attention before a pair of lowly runners?

Rather than simply take up station in his usual out-of-the-way alcove overlooking the great hall, waiting to be called upon while maintaining as low a profile as was possible in the open court, Skippy decided to look around for his missing friend. Surely it was possible that Avery had been dispatched on some errand, as the Earl had suggested ... but by Sir Guy, of all people? It just didn't seem right ...

He was almost tempted to go straight to the castle jail, where he and his family had themselves been imprisoned during Prince John's tax crackdown, for if anything was amiss here, he knew that was where he would get to the bottom of it all. But he didn't; if things had gotten that bad, he didn't want to know about it, at least not right away. So instead, he simply ambled through the castle passages in no particular order or pattern and with no definite goal in mind, other than seeing whether Avery might turn up during his haphazard search.

At length, the raccoon did indeed turn up. It was in a corridor near the kitchens, where Skippy was headed to see if Florence might have a spare sweet biscuit or pastie set aside for him, as she sometimes did. Unfortunately, the sight of his old friend did little to lift Skippy's spirits or lighten his heart, between the anguished look on Avery's face and the fact that Sir Guy and several of his guards stood behind him, blocking the passage almost as if they'd been lying in wait for the rabbit.

Avery's gaze dropped as soon as Skippy came before him, and he stood there with head bowed, rubbing at one wrist.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," Gisbourne said, his eyes fastened upon Skippy like a hunter sizing up his prey. "The very royal courier I was seeking to question next. Your companion Avery here proved most cooperative this night we just spent together, and if what I have heard about you is true, I trust you will prove to be an even greater font of information than he was." Sir Guy flicked a paw, and two of the guards strode forward to seize Skippy none too gently between them. "I've heard that you are already familiar with the inside of Nottingham's jails, so being there again should not be any great shock to you. Come along ... "

Skippy's disbelieving stare went from Gisbourne to the raccoon who now stood all but forgotten in the attention being directed at Sir Guy's new victim. "Avery! What did you tell them?!"

Avery stepped backward until he was flush against the wall, trying to merge into the stones, but still he neither met Skippy's gaze nor uttered a word.

"Avery! What have you done?!"

And then Skippy was gone, half-dragged away by Gisbourne's guards. For many long moments the pensive raccoon stood alone in the empty hallway, struggling to hold back the sobs that threatened to break out in wracking profusion. Then, finding within him the will to move once more, he broke into a run toward the Earl's chambers.