Will in Scarlet by Matthew Cody Page A

they should do about it was still unsettled. Few were happy about ceding territory to a rival band, but even fewer were eager to start a war with Crooked’s Men. Of those that wanted to pay Crooked back in kind, John’s voice was the loudest (in part simply because the giant’s voice boomed as a general rule). Even more than the slight against the Merry Men, John was offended at the act itself. If Sherwood became known for wanton murder, merchants would find another way around it. As it was, folks took their chances on the South Road because all they were risking was their property, and maybe a bruised pate. Often, hired guards didn’t even put up a fight, because they knew that if they simply surrendered, they would live to see their wives and mistresses again. Men were easier to deal with when they were fighting for coin instead of their lives.
    For her part, Much preferred to let the matter be. The reason Crooked had started poaching on their territory in the first place was that he had more men. Meaner men. She’d come to Sherwood to thieve, not to march to war. She’d come to Sherwood because she was running away. She’d stayed becausethere was nowhere else to go, and in time she’d discovered things here worth staying for.
    Bloody Will Scarlet. The boy was trouble.
    The men in the camp wanted it both ways—they wanted Will’s promised fortune, and they wanted to send a message to Crooked. Gilbert devised a plan that would accomplish the two goals at the same time, or so he boasted. But Much had learned long ago that when men resorted to boasting, it was time to start worrying.
    As Much packed up her gear, the hunting party assembled outside. In the privacy of her own tent, she changed her shirt and redressed the long bandage she wore wrapped tightly around her chest. As the months passed, it was getting increasingly uncomfortable to wear the wrapping, but she needed more than just a baggy shirt and short hair to pass for a boy these days. It hadn’t always been that way, but her body was changing and the truth was getting harder to conceal. The men knew better than to come into her tent unannounced (more than one had earned himself a shoe to the face that way), but she still changed quickly and with her back to the door.
    Once properly dressed and disguised, she added two long knives to her belt, plus a smaller blade tucked into her boot. She slung a pack over her shoulder loaded with several days’ rations (hard bread and acorns boiled enough times so as to be edible, if not particularly tasty). Lastly, she brushed her bangs down over her eyes. She kept the rest of her pretty face well hidden with filth, but she’d inherited her mother’s almond-shaped bright green eyes, so fetching on any other girl her age and so dangerous for her. It was annoying to always have her hair dangling in her vision, but it couldn’t be helped—there was no way to dirty up her eyes.
    When she stepped outside, she found John waiting with Will. Rob stood off a ways, getting sick in a bush.
    Spotting Much, Will gestured angrily at Rob.
    “I can’t believe that drunk is coming with us!” he whispered.
    “He’s quite the fighter when he sobers up,” said Much.
    “But
can
he sober up? For longer than a few hours, I mean?”
    John obviously caught the gist of their whispered conversation, because he answered with a laugh, loud enough for Rob to hear. “Rob’s a useless pain in the arse when he’s like this, but there’ll be no wine out there on the road.”
    “Go bite yourself,
Little John
,” moaned Rob from his doubled-over position.
    Much started to laugh, but John caught her eye.
    “Don’t,” he warned, pointing a thick finger at Much’s face. “Don’t encourage him.”
    John walked over to Rob and, ignoring the man’s curses, helped him onto his horse.
    Much leaned over to Will.
    “You see, John’s family name is Little,” she explained. “So Rob calls him—”
    “Little John. I get it,” said Will,