Will was surprisingly clingy about his chance in the narrating spotlight. He's the youngest of the group, so I let him have his way, and he did quite a good job of it. ;) This chapter's a little on the short side, but the next several are double-length to make up for it!
DoubleDaggered: Your reviews always make me laugh! Robin surprised me with his stubbornness - I was thinking along the same lines as you while I wrote that chapter, going, "Really, Robin? Seriously, you can't just… Fine, whatever… BE that way." :P
LadyKate1: Aahhh, blast. Those darn timeline issues. Thanks for pointing that out! Maybe Robin had been testing that line out on the gang privately before we got to hear it in season two. It seems like one he was fond of, along with his "My gang, to me!" phrase he tossed around for an episode or two. :P
Destiny JoRayne Adams: Thanks so much for your PM/review! I've been working on this fic for nearly nine months now, so a whole lot of love and effort has gone into these chapters; I'm so glad you're enjoying it! :)
Prats 'R' Us: I agree, definitely. Robin doesn't seem to realize how huge a part of Much's world he is. That's partly why I started writing this story: I felt Robin needed a figurative (or literal) slap upside the head to make him stop taking his friendship with Much so lightly. We'll see how well that goes... :P
At long last, they were ready to do something useful. Not that the planning and strategy weren't essential, but it was a relief to be actually setting out, suddenly only a few hours away from getting Much back. Everyone stood ready in the cave except for Djaq and Little John, who were gathering a few tools and supplies to help aid the illusion that Robin and his full gang were present at the exchange.
On the other side of the fire from Will, Allan tried unsuccessfully to flatten his hair, drew his hood down low, and lifted Robin's Saracen bow, testing its weight. After donning Robin's cloak and practicing for a few hours, Allan could imitate Robin's posture and movements with impressive accuracy, for which a surprised Robin had complimented him. With only the firelight flickering across his deep hood and cloak, catching on the metalwork of the curved scabbard at his hip, even Will could almost mistake him for the infamous Robin Hood, and Gisborne certainly would, particularly from a distance.
"Oi – you lot nearly ready? Gonna be late meetin' with Gisborne." Djaq and Little John looked up from their packing in surprise, and Robin froze. Allan planted his hand on his hip, lightly swinging the bow in the other. "Haven't got all day, have we?"
Robin grimaced, face puckering like he'd bitten into a sour apple, and said, "All right, that is a problem." If the situation had been any less serious, Will would have laughed at the affront in Allan's injured squawk of, "What?"
"Was that supposed to be me?" Robin asked, eyebrows climbing.
"Yeah – that's kind of the point here, I thought."
"Wonderful…" Their leader groaned and cast around the shadowed cave as if for inspiration. "I should have thought of this. Blast." When Allan tossed back his hood and glared, John snorted at his expression and said, "You look like Robin, move like him – you do not sound like him."
Allan scoffed, Robin sighed, and Djaq looked up at Will, dark eyes narrowed in confusion, and murmured, "I do not understand. The pitch of their voices is very similar." Her sense of hearing being nearly the sharpest of the gang, Will had no answer for a moment. Then he mentally kicked himself: of course she would have trouble hearing the difference between accents. She'd only just learned the language at all. Speaking softly, not eager to make himself the target of his friends' frustration, Will leaned closer and replied, "No, I think the problem's the way they say things, you know? The way Robin'll say 'right', and when Allan says it, it's different: 'roight'." When her mouth quirked ever so slightly, her eyebrows lifting in question, Will added, "I know it's not a huge difference, but Gisborne'll notice. He'll know it's not Robin the minute Allan opens his mouth."
"Then he'll just have to keep his mouth shut," Robin sighed, his apologetic look lost on Allan. "John'll have to do the talking, or…."
"How am I supposed to stall 'im if you're not gonna let me talk?" Allan demanded. Robin didn't answer, motioning for them to put out the fire and move out. Beside Will, Djaq swung her pack over her shoulders and John lifted his own larger bundle of supplies, including a small chest supposedly filled with silver. In reality, if Gisborne got his hands on the box, he'd find a nice collection of river stones, but the plan didn't include him ever finding that out while the gang was still within bowshot.
Despite Allan's steady griping, Robin didn't speak again until they reached the point on the trail where they were to split up. He and Will stood facing the others, Allan between Djaq and John, an uneasy double of Robin.
"Stall Gisborne and his men, give us as much time as you can – whatever that takes," the real Robin ordered, fixing Allan with a tense gaze. Allan rubbed his thumb across the pommel of the Saracen blade at his belt and nodded. This flexing of the gang's unspoken rule sent a chill through the carpenter, but he kept quiet. If it came down to a choice between Gisborne's life or Much's, there was no contest. Robin continued, "Allan, meet us near the gates with a horse when you can. I'll watch for you. We'll all meet at camp tonight." Allan nodded again, somber as he replied simply, "Good luck, you two." He glanced at Will, blue eyes adding Be careful, mate. Will nodded, hoping to reassure his friend – and also to sooth the concern in a darker, gently tilted pair of eyes beside Allan – then turned and hurried to catch up with Robin's determined stride.
Will followed Robin through Nottingham's gates beside a wagon of produce, jogging to replace a cabbage that had "fallen", and drew no attention whatsoever from the guards. Once inside, Robin struck out through the market immediately, Will trailing inconspicuously a few paces back. People jostled past, in a hurry to get their business finished before dark, and Will let them shunt him aside without complaint, keeping a casual eye on the figure up ahead. Robin had timed their arrival to coincide with Gisborne riding out, which, in theory, left them an hour or two to get in, find Much, and get out, ideally without the Sheriff's men realizing their prize prisoner was gone until it was far too late. Robin had a sword, just a plain one, hidden at his side under his cloak, and Will's axe and hatchet weighed comfortably at his back and belt, but they both knew that actually fighting their way out without the rest of the gang, let alone with Much unarmed and injured, would be nearly impossible.
Will sidestepped to avoid running into a scruffy-haired tailor, bolts of cloth fluttering over his shoulders like confused flags, and murmured a hasty apology. Ahead, Robin stood in the empty alley between two shops, and Will forced himself to keep his pace casual and unhurried as he strode to meet him.
"All right, Will. Which way in?" Robin waited for an answer with barely-restrained impatience, eyes almost glowing under his hood. Will considered for a long moment, despite the urgency of the question, because while they could take nearly any route they chose into the castle – Will was fairly bristling with lockpicks and makeshift keys, not knowing which they'd need on this trip – what mattered most right now was speed and silence. If they were spotted before they'd even reached the dungeons, they'd have no second chance to rescue Much. Deciding, Will met Robin's eyes confidently and whispered, "Kitchens. Doubt there'll be guards right now." Robin nodded and let Will take the lead as they strolled out onto the main street again. Gisborne had taken half the garrison with him, based on what they'd seen they approached the town, and apart from the uselessness of standing guard over a pile of rubbish, there was a definite air of laxity among the remaining members of the castle guard right now. Knowing neither the Sheriff nor Gisborne was about to appear and give them a tongue-lashing for standing about idle, many of the men they'd seen were taking advantage of the situation to do just that.
As Will had hoped, the trash chute from the kitchens was unguarded, and after waiting impatiently for a few aimless guards in the distance to turn their backs, they simply made a dash for the high-walled enclosure. Robin's boots disappeared up the stone shaft in a matter of seconds, and then it was Will's turn to scramble up the chute, elbows and knees scraping against the slimy stone. Robin helped him out into the warm kitchen, which was thankfully deserted for the moment, where they paused to get their bearings and brush the residue of old food from their clothes.
"We've only got a minute before somebody comes in to start supper for Gisborne and his lot," Will whispered. "You got us a route from here?"
Robin nodded once, a grim glint in his eyes, and took the lead again, striding across the flagstones with familiarity and assurance. As they slipped through the kitchen door and down the passage, Will made a token effort to slide his hatchet farther to the side on his belt, and saw Robin tug his cloak over the hilt of his sword. Their efforts would only give them maybe two additional seconds if they met anyone in the halls, but they could use all the advantage they could get.
After a few turns, rising one floor to the main level, Will had oriented himself, the rest of the route firmly set out in his mind. The only locks they should face would be the main dungeon door, if it was locked at all, and then the cell door. Maybe leg irons or shackles, though he couldn't imagine Much becoming enough of a threat to warrant such measures. Those obstacles were easily planned for, predictable. Guards were another matter, one far more difficult to anticipate….
He heard the scuff of a shoe against the ground ahead, around the corner, and instinctively darted into a side corridor with Robin. Pressed into the shadows, listening hard, they waited until the steps reached their turning, to reveal… only a serving girl with a basket of linens. She tucked her dark hair behind her ear, juggling the full basket on her knee, and passed their corridor without a glance, her steps echoing gently into the distance. Will snorted softly, glancing over at Robin, who gave a short smirk: they were both a little skittish.
And then they could see two bored men standing guard outside the dungeon, one propped lazily against the wall on one arm, gesturing with the other to emphasize his words. His companion, black-and-yellow livery hanging awkwardly off his bulky frame, was nodding sympathetically. Neither paid any attention to the hall, to the sound of soft-soled boots approaching by increments. A grim glance from Robin signaled Will to slip his hatchet loose, and they burst into the guards' vision in tandem, Robin's sword singing free of the sheath.
The guards, reacting an instant too late, went for their weapons, but Will slammed the solid haft of his hatchet into one man's helmet, and the other crumpled under a few precise blows from Robin's hilt and fist. No sooner had Robin's man clattered to the floor than someone's voice rippled dimly up from behind the thick door, and Will's heart settled into a steady, fighting rhythm. Hard to tell, but it sounded like somebody talking or shouting – not quite conversational, but not in pain. Another opponent down there, then, unless Much was in better spirits than they dared hope. Robin's face hardened, the same thoughts traveling across his face in an instant. A scuffling drifted to their ears, a soft sound that suddenly broke into a frenzy of rough oaths and cursing; hard on its heels came a lightning-sharp crack.
The thin cry that followed froze Robin in place for a threadbare instant as his features twisted and darkened with fury. He hauled the door open, the panel groaning wide on its hinges to wash both men in the cold stench of the place, and to offer the sight of the jailer clutching his leg in the middle of the shadowy crossroads, sweeping his other arm down at a familiar figure sprawled on the stone floor.
The scourge coiled tightly around Much's raised, shackled arm just before Robin's full weight sent the jailer crashing into the cell bars behind him. Knowing the clamor would draw unwanted attention, Will doubled back and heaved the unconscious guards' bodies into the dungeons, hauling them down the steps and barring the doors firmly from the inside. Catching his breath, Will turned around to see Robin delivering a sharp kick to the now-unmoving jailer's body. A quick listen at the crack between the doors reassured him that nobody was coming, and the carpenter leaped down the steps to Much's side.
There was no better place to break the chapters, honest. You gentle readers can't begrudge me this one cliffhanger, not when I've behaved myself so well up until now! :P