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The thin horn of the moon gave enough light to spy his way. Dav slowed as he neared the main street to Castle Way. At the mayor’s house, banners draped from the balconies fluttered in the night breeze. Touting Herend’s wealth and importance, the building rose four stories, the uppermost in the shingled curb roof.
Torches burned along the street. Raneth and Wilf wouldn’t douse the torches; that would alert the guards. Senses pricked, Dav crept from one deep shadow to the next, avoiding any direct light. He turned into the alley that ran behind the buildings, and then only the moon lit the way.
The curb roof guided him. The lads had planned to scale the planked fence that enclosed the mayor’s back garden, valuable space in the growing town. Before he reached the wall behind the house, Dav nearly stumbled upon two guards. He slipped into deep shadow to watch.
The guards were moving shadows against the weathered boards of the fence. Restless, they shifted around, walked back and forth, talking in hushed voices. Their attention was on the fence, not the alley—which meant Wilf and Raneth had already scaled the fence and were embarked on their robbery.
Footsteps and the faint creak of leather warned of someone’s approach. Dav crowded into the blacker shadow. He caught a glimpse of height, of moon-silvered hair. That had to be flax-haired Acwell, coming to check on his men. When he heard lowered voices, he peered out.
It was Acwell, checking on his guards. The sergeant clapped a hand to one man’s shoulder. The guards nodded at his quiet orders. Then Acwell walked on, no doubt heading for another station of guards.
Waiting in the doorway, forced to stand still, Dav chilled. Summer’s heat escaped during the night hours, and a wind had picked up high overhead. He could hear it rushing past, capturing the day’s warmth and drawing it away, a sign of rain before morning. The guards had stopped moving around after Acwell left, although they rubbed their arms to chafe up warmth.
Then a sack sailed over the fence and thumped to the dirt of the alley. Seconds later, a figure heaved onto the planked wall. He shifted around then bent low. An audible grunt, then another figure heaved onto the wall. The first one straightened, maneuvered a bit, then dropped to the ground. The second one teetered atop the planks before scrambling over and sliding down the weathered boards.
The first one clapped his fellow on the back. Neither had seen the guards. “We did it, Raneth!”
“Hist! Quiet!” Raneth grabbed the sack and turned.
The guards moved in.
Dav had a mad impulse to lunge forward and help them escape. Then three guards ran in from the other direction. More guards came behind those.
Wilf gaped like a fool. Raneth grabbed the sack in his off-hand. With his right, he jerked out a knife. Moonlight glinted on the long blade. He swiped at the first guard to reach him then chucked the sack at the second guard, who stumbled into his fellow. A space opened between them and the fence. Raneth dove for it.
Wilf tackled him.
Dav strained his eyes to see the flailing shadows. Yet he hadn’t mistaken it. Wilf had brought Raneth down.
The clerk twisted as he fell. Seeing his friend, he shoved at him. “Hie you, Wilf! Run!”
Wilf pinned Raneth’s hand with the knife.
“What? Let me—.” Then Raneth understood. He struck a blow to Wilf’s ear. The lad yowled and grabbed his ringing head.
Raneth scrambled away. He lunged to his feet.
The fight had taken mere seconds, long enough for the guards to untangle themselves. Raneth was quicker than the men.
Wilf was quicker than his friend.
He grabbed Raneth’s tunic and stopped him.
Raneth had learned his wrestling lessons. He whirled into Wilf’s grip. He stabbed out with the knife. The steel flashed wide of its mark.
A mistake, for Wilf’s knife also flashed. He didn’t miss his jab. The blade plunged into Raneth’s chest. Wilf stepped back, waiting.
The clerk froze. His knife dropped to the dirt. He reached for the knife sticking out of him, but his fingers merely brushed it. Then his hand fell. His legs gave out. He crumpled.
He didn’t move.
Dav groaned.
He could do nothing, not now. Not earlier. Attacking Wilf would get him arrested and his neck stretched—if he survived the sheriff’s torture.
He gritted his teeth and watched. And waited.
A guard bent over Raneth while the others were clapping Wilf’s back. The lad staggered under their well-meant blows.
Then Sgt. Acwell was there. Arms folded over his barrel chest, he wordlessly surveyed the scene.
The congratulations faded, and the guards inched apart. After scooping up Raneth’s dropped knife, Wilf stood before the big sergeant. The moonlight shone on his thin face, making him look very young, very innocent.
Yet he had murdered Raneth.
Acwell motioned to the body, a black shadow on the moonlit ground.
“Raneth,” Wilf answered, his voice high and clear. “He clerked for the mayor. He planned the robbery. Revenge, he said, for the mayor getting rid of him.”
Acwell asked another question.
“Sure, he was in Robin Hood’s band. Been there since you herded him out of town.”
Several more words came, during which Wilf hung his head and the guards shifted restlessly. Only a few words came clear, robbery, trap, other outlaws, and arrest.
When Acwell stopped, Wilf lifted his head. “I was in the camp. I can testify that Raneth worked for Robin Hood!”
“No,” the sergeant barked. “You’ll go back to the camp.”
“Back? But—how? With Raneth dead? What will they say? They knew he was with me.”
Dav didn’t hear the first of Acwell’s orders, but “—ran afoul of the guards” came clear enough.
And Wilf was to continue his deception in the camp. The lad didn’t like that order, but he took it, one shoulder hunched, head tilted as he listened.
A couple of guards came forward, grasping Raneth’s shoulders and feet to carry his body out of the alley. Then the sergeant said something that fired Wilf’s temper.
“He tried to stab me! I defended myself!”
“From what I saw, boy,” the words rumbled along the alley, “that blade was nowhere near you.”
“He was getting away. I stopped him!”
“Aye, stopped him cold. And now our one good witness against the outlaws is dead.”
“You don’t need him. I can take you to the camp. You can arrest them all.”
Acwell’s head tilted. “Thought you said that Robin Hood’s not there.”
“He will be. There’s other outlaws there. Lots of `em.”
“The sheriff only wants Robin Hood. You head on back and be our eyes and ears in the camp.” Acwell bent and picked up the sack. He snapped orders at the guards, and they walked away, with only one remaining.
“What do I do?” Wilf whined. “It’s too dark to go back tonight.”
“Stay in the barracks. Leave at dawn. Have yourself a good story to tell when you reach camp. Maybe we should rough you up a little. Make it look good.”
“That ain’t needed,” he hurried to say.
“We’ll see these coins are returned to the mayor. You hie on to the barracks.”
Wilf walked away with the guards, Acwell trailing behind.
Dav waited until they were out of sight. Then he stepped into the moonlight. He cracked his knuckles as he walked to the dark patch in the dirt.
Kneeling, he placed his hand on the blood. It felt wet and sticky. Dirt and blood clung to his fingers when he straightened.
The moonlight faded.
He looked up.
A cloud passed over the thin crescent. Its sisters rode behind it, herded by the wind. The silvery moon re-appeared, shining brightly on the clouds before vanishing again.
He’d made his vow. Now to fulfill it.
