I walked round the lower bailey, listening. The laundress and baker were down in the lower one, and they were women with other women working for them, so they tended to cluck up a storm while they worked.

I had sewn my vest special; it had a pocket against the small of my back that I could fill up with whatever I needed, and despite making me look a fair bit thicker, you couldn’t tell what were in it. I began sliding rolls into it and nicked a fine pair of black woolen hose. Then I just leaned into a shadowy corner and listened. I considered eating one of the rolls, but too many faces from the village popped into my head. Tuck would give me food later on.

One of the girls laughed, and I heard a snap as she whipped out the wet cloth. “These that fancy man’s things?” she asked.

“Aye,” said the laundress.

“They’re not much more than threads!” she said.

“He’s been wearing them, but they’re not his,” another girl said. “Jameson told me that his things are being sent up from London.” She made a noise. “Don’t like him. Eyes look like God took the light from ’em.”

The laundress laughed. “Jameson? Like him well enough to be running off with him every chance I give you.”

“Oh, no, I like Jameson very well. That Sir Guy. He’s terrible.”

“Least he keeps his hands to hisself,” another said.

“God’s truth.”

“I heard he was in the Crusades.”

“I heard he’s killed a hundred thieves. God’s own work, that man is after.”

I heard a splash. “That’s not on, Margery. He’s been called to string up Robin Hood. Not God’s work at all.”

“Careful with that tongue, little one. You may be new here, but there are things we can’t talk about.”

“Well, the Hood may help us with the washing, leastways,” said the one who carried on with Jameson. “I heard they’re awful afraid that Hood’s men will nick Gisbourne’s things. They were sending it up the river, but Jameson’s been sent to bring it through Sherwood, disguised somehow.”

The laundress laughed. “Robin Hood won’t be fooled by a disguise! Best tell Jameson he’s off on a fool’s errand.”

“I tried, but he’s gone already. Hopefully they’ll be back with it tomorrow.”

The women started whistling, though I couldn’t much tell why. “Remember, lass, there’s the milk and there’s the cow, and the cow part should come first.”

The women hooted at this, and the girl were giggling too.

I left Nottingham fair quick; it were a walled city, and they closed their gates at dark. For the hour after the end of the market, in the late afternoon, the city emptied of people, and I could hide easy in the tide.

I went to Edwinstowe and got there just before dark. Men were out corralling their livestock, and women were taking in the laundry. I went through the town and passed out the rolls where I could, and I gave the hose to Mistress Clarke. She had three growing sons and her husband’s harvest hadn’t done well.

I tried to leave the things in such a way that I wouldn’t have to face their thanks. I didn’t like being thanked for my sticky fingers. It ain’t me going to Heaven, so no need to fuss about it.

I were due at Tuck’s, which were by the road, a little farther away from the villagers and the manor, and I were on my way there when I heard someone bawling. And then a crack, like someone got hit.

I crouched down to the ground, listening. I heard it again, and I whipped around the corner to see two of the sheriff’s men holding Amy Cooper by the dress front. She’s bare nine, a little slip of a girl. She were carrying on and had a big cut under her hair, like the brute hit her with his armored hand.

I slipped a knife from inside my vest and aimed at the brute’s open hand, the one not shaking Amy, with the unprotected palm toward me. I whipped it at him and yelled, “Amy!”

He dropped her with a roar of pain, and she shrieked and ran to me. I crouched down and caught her. “Run to your mam’s; don’t open the door for them,” I whispered to her.

She continued to cry but she obeyed me, running like the Devil himself were on her heels.

The man pulled out the knife as his counterpart unsheathed his sword. Swords are terrible. They are naught but big, heavy knives that most don’t know how to use right. I drew two more knives as they came at me.

“You’ll regret that, lad,” the one said. His hand were dripping red, though, so I were fair sure I wouldn’t regret that.

“Make me,” I challenged.

They ran at me and I turned and bolted, hearing them chuckle as they chased me against the tanner’s fence. ’Course, this were my plan.

I didn’t hesitate, leaping up and using the fence to flip over their heads. I dropped behind the uninjured one and sliced my knife along the back of his knee, and he screamed. I didn’t like to kill people, but that kind of slice meant he couldn’t do much chasing from here on.

The injured one hammered his sword down, aiming to hack my head, but I slid back and he caught just my knife, snapping the blade.

“Son of a whore,” I snarled. His blade stuck in the soft ground, and I slammed a punch to his crotch. He let go of the sword with a growl, but he cuffed me with his bloody hand.

I twisted away with stars in my eyes, but the instant thought of John Little saying I couldn’t take a punch gave me iron in my blood. I turned back to the guard and threw a fist as fierce as I could muster to his face, the little of it not covered by chain mail. He fell and hit the ground, and I took off running into the forest.