Prose by Rebekah Gilli
The streets were empty except for a lone woman holding the hand of a small child. The young boy skipped along beside the tired mother, forcing her to give him a yank on the arm every so often to make him keep up. A hooded figure emerged from the shadows in front of them and the woman gasped, pulling her son closer. The boy whimpered and pressed his face into the woman’s leg.
“Come on,” she murmured, hurriedly leading him around the figure. The figure turned and watched the two hurry up the steps of a house, enter and slam the door behind them. The cloaked figure let out an audible sigh and pulled its hood down further.
It was dusk and everyone had gone home for the day. The figure was the only one out now. It quickly trudged down the dirty, uneven road, not stopping even when the street ended and faded into a long path, obscured by hanging branches. It pushed the branches aside with one arm.
The sky darkened the further the figure trekked into the forest, not only because night was arriving, but also because the towering trees thickened and obscured even the moon’s bright light.
The figure didn’t seem to know where it was going. It followed the path as best as it could in the dim light, glancing up every few feet to scan the trees. Perhaps it was afraid of the creatures in the forest. Or perhaps it was looking for something.
A bird squealed and the sound of wolves howling could be heard in the distance. The figure’s feet quickened.
There was a faint light ahead. It was a shack of some kind, built out of rotting wood and mud. The closer the figure got, the louder the voices inside got. There was cheering and laughing. A man appeared, emerging from the building and starting towards the figure on the path. The light behind him shadowed his face as he approached. Neither stopped to greet each other. The figure walked on. Its back straightened and another exhale could be heard as it pushed the wooden door open and stepped into the building.
A dozen or so men were sitting around tables and drinking. Candles, the source of the light, were on every available surface. One man with a foaming mug to his lips slammed his hand down a table several times in laughter and almost knocked a candle over.
“I can’t believe you didn’t get caught! You sure got a death wish, stealing in plain view like that!” he said in response to the bearded man across from him, laughing as he took a long swig from the mug. The contents spilled down the sides of his lips as he hawed, sounding very much like a donkey.
The cloaked figure slipped along the wall, avoiding stepping on a man asleep on the floor. It sat down at a counter on the far wall, finally seeming to relax.
The figure reached its hands up to the hood and lowered it tentatively, revealing the fair face of a woman. She had brown hair pulled back in a braid and blue eyes shining with mischief. There were marks around her eyes making her look sad and weary. She glanced around the room, but nobody had noticed her.
“What would you like?” the bartender asked from behind the counter.
“Whatever you recommend,” she answered in a low voice. The bartender stared at her for a moment than got to work taking up a glass from under the counter and a bottle from a shelf. He filled the cup full to the brim with the brown liquid and held it out for her to take.
“Rum,” he explained.
She took it and copied the men at the tables, taking a big swig and swallowing. She let out a cough and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
“It’s good,” she said.
The bartender leaned his elbows on the counter and crossed his arms.
“So what brings you to the tavern?” he asked, “Nobody comes here but thieves and runaways.”
“Exactly,”
“Well, which are you?”
“Who’s to say I’m not both?”
The bartender squinted his eyes at her and frowned. “It’s a dangerous place out here, girl,”
The woman scoffed, “I can handle myself. Did you think I came here to ask for directions? I know where I am and what kind of people you are. I may not look it, but I’m one of you. It’s how I was raised.”
The bartender didn’t say anything for a while. The woman finished her drink and held out her cup. The man held out his hand.
“It’s not free,”
The woman sighed and fished two silver pieces from the pocket of her cloak. She set the payment in his palm and he refilled her glass.
“Do you have a name?” he asked.
“No,” she said quickly.
“It’s alright,” the bartender sighed, “I don’t usually get an answer. These sorts of people like to remain anonymous. Except one man I once served here, that is- Robin Hood. That fellow sure loved recognition. Wanted everyone to know he was a thief- and a right good one he was, too. I never liked him.” The woman’s face grew stony and emotionless. There was no reaction from her. “Ever heard of him?”
“No,” she said again.
“Is that all you can say?”
She smiled and looked him in the eyes. “No,”
He chuckled and started to move away from the counter when a man burst in from outside.
“Any room for another at your table?” he asked loudly, a wicked smile on his face.
The woman swiveled and gasped when she saw the man in the doorway. She pulled her hood back over her head and hunched over her drink again.
“We don’t serve the law, here!” the bartender shouted, drawing the man’s attention to the back of the room.
The man, dressed in clothes too fine for a tavern in the woods, smirked. “I can arrest you for that, you know. Lucky for you, I’m not here for any of you dirty scumbags,” he said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a scroll. He shook it open and held it out for the room to see.
“I’m looking for this girl. She’s wanted for treason. Has anyone seen her?”
The tavern erupted in angry shouts.
“I’m not telling you anything!”
“Go back to where you belong, kissing the feet of that stupid ruler you call a king!”
“There’s one of you and many of us, so I’d be careful if I was you!”
The men swarmed the intruder, forcing him back against the closed door.
“I am the sheriff of Nottingham! Get off me!” he cried, trying to force the men away from him, “I may not have come here for you, but I’ll be back and all of you will rot away in a cage for the rest of your days!”
“On what charge?” someone asked, shoving him back.
“Attempted murder!”
The men all laughed and surged forward again.
“If you tell me where this girl is you’ll be rewarded handsomely!” the sheriff exclaimed. The men paused and stepped back in unison, seeming to consider the offer. “That’s right,” the sheriff adjusted his coat and crossed his arms, once again looking wicked and imposing. “Betraying one of your own is a small price to pay for five hundred gold pieces,”
The bartender nudged the woman and she looked up. Her eyes were filled with suppressed fear. “Follow me,” he urged, gesturing to the floor behind the counter, “You need to get out of here before someone remembers seeing you walk in.”
The woman glanced back to check that the sheriff wasn’t looking their way anymore and slid over the counter seamlessly. She bent over behind it, waiting while the bartender heaved a giant square of wood flooring up. He set the wood beside the hole in the floor and gestured for the woman to climb down.
She lowered her body down into the dark abyss and her feet hit the hard rungs of a ladder below her. She felt around some more before climbing down. The bartender went next, carrying a candle with him. The light of the tiny flame revealed compact mud walls and beams across the ceiling. There was a shelf to one side that held several unopened bottles.
The bartender handed the candle to the woman and gently pulled the wood flooring back over the hole.
“I know there’s not much room in here. I dug this space out to keep the bottles cool, not to hide anyone, but at least he won’t find you,” he said after he’d climbed down. The two sat down on opposite sides, facing each other.
“Thank you for letting me hide here,” she muttered, “I suppose you know who I am?”
The bartender nodded. “Robin Hood’s daughter. I had a clue. You said you were raised to be a thief earlier and your reaction when the sheriff walked confirmed my suspicions.”
“Fawn,” she said, holding her hand out. The bartender shook it.
“What an interesting name,”
Fawn sighed. “It’s not my real name,” she admitted, “My dad named me Robin Jr. but I hated it and everyone in camp called me Fawn so that’s the name I’ve stuck with.”
The bartender shook his head in shock. “Your dad named you Robin. Must have been a terrible growing up with him.”
“It was. My mom didn’t want me so she left me with him, and of course he didn’t know how to treat a child so he treated me like a dog he wanted to train. I’m better for it, I think. I don’t rely on anyone but myself now. I can steal just as well as he can.”
“You don’t have to steal. You could marry someone and live a normal life,” The bartender pointed out.
Fawn scoffed. “The sheriff hates me just because I’m alive. He wouldn’t let me live a normal life. I’m constantly running from him.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
They fell into silence. After a few minutes the bartender stood and reached out an arm to help Fawn up.
“Everyone’s gone, I can’t hear any voices,” he said. She nodded and followed after him with the candle as he moved the planks aside and climbed up. When they emerged from the ground the tavern was empty save for the man still asleep on the floor. The sheriff had gone and the men had either been arrested or had fled in fear that he would return.
Fawn straightened out her cloak and brushed the dirt from the fabric. “I guess I better go,” she said.
“Stay and rest for the night,” the bartender suggested.
She shook her head. “I need to get away from here. I’m not about to get arrested.”
“The sheriff is gone.”
“He might return.”
“You can always hide again if he does.”
Fawn’s lips quirked up in a half smile. “I should go.”
She opened the door to the tavern and started to leave but hesitated and looked back to the bartender. “I’ll come back.” she assured him, “One day.”
Then she left, cloak wiping around her in the wind, the light from inside casting a shadow against her weary face. Within seconds she had disappeared into the shadows of night once again.