Allan was seated with Marian at a corner table in the Trip, keeping a wary eye out for Gisbourne. Rarely did Gisbourne patronize the Trip, but if he chose to come tonight...! Marian's costume wasn't good enough to fool him.

She needed protecting tonight. Her behavior was reckless and sloppy, completely unlike her.

"Whoa!" Allan warned. "Go easy on the ale. Don't drain it."

"I can do as I like. You're not my father."

Marian gasped. The words had just spilled out.

Her father! Her wonderful, kind, loving father!

No. She would not cry. If she could fight back tears in the outlaw camp, surely she could conquer them here.

Allan, trying to help her, brushed her words aside as if he hadn't heard them. "Look, I'm not bein' funny. You don't know how this ale sneaks up on you. Then, when it's too late, it bites."

"I'd like to bite her," Marian snarled, glaring at Hannah, the bar wench. "Or better still, plunge this into her heart." Marian unsheathed her dagger.

Immediately, Allan grabbed it. "You can't draw weapons in here. Manager's rules. They'll throw you out."

"Give it back!"

"What do you have against Hannah, anyway?"

Before she could answer, Hannah herself approached their table with fresh tankards for them both.

"No more for my friend," Allan told her. "He's had enough."

"What's your friend's name? He won't talk to me."

"Yeah, he doesn't seem to like you much. His name's Djaq."

"Jack! I heard Robin had a man called Jack. Don't forget, Jack, you be sure and tell Robin to come back and see me. I got an itch I need 'im to scratch."

Marian leaped to her feet and lunged toward Hannah, who screamed and ducked.

All conversation in the Trip ceased. Everyone was watching.

"He's drunk," Allan admitted, knowing it was so. Marian wouldn't have missed if she were sober. "I'll just take him home. 'Night, Hannah. Goodnight, gents." Taking hold of Marian's elbow, he pulled her out of the Trip and into a deserted back street.

"Alright, now I know what you got against her," he said. "But don't take it so hard. What Robin does with Hannah's got nothing to do with you."

"So it's true?"

"I don't know. I've never seen them together."

"Don't lie to me."

"Not bein' funny, but I'm not lying. If I was, I'd be a lot cleverer than that. Now, what are you doing here, Marian?"

Marian whimpered, picturing Hannah leading Robin up the Trip's stairs, to where the bedrooms were.

"Marian," Allan said, "just how drunk are you?"

"A lot, I think. Everything seems...fuzzy."

"Great. Can you answer my question, anyway?"

"Wha' queshun?"

"Why-are-you-here?" Allan asked really slowly, emphasizing each word.

"To spy. Whas the sheriv doing?"

"I shouldn't tell you. What the hell, you probably won't remember tomorrow anyway."

"My nose is cold."

"Look, Marian, you gotta pay attention. It's a matter of life and death...Robin's. The sheriff's replaced all his birds with robins. And you know that big vicious bird he's got...that hawk or falcon or something...well, every day, he lets a robin go and watches the hawk thing hunt and kill it. 'Inspiration,' he calls it. He's hiring an assassin to kill Robin, but you didn't hear it from me. What are you doing?"

Marian had begun spinning in circles. "Everything's pretty. Dance with me?"

"You gotta be joking! Look, Marian, you're not yourself."

"Who am I?" Her face lit up. "May I be Hannah? I wanna go upstairs with Robin. I've never been before. But then, he doesn't love me anymore." Suddenly, Marian began sobbing.

"I gotta get you outta here," Allan realized.