Robyn and the Hoodettes by Ebony McKenna Page A

from Hillfoot’s general direction. Two more plumes
arose from villages further west.
    Her fingers curled into fists at how stupid Roger had been.
Burning the villages had done nothing but create a false economy.
Now she had extra mouths to feed and no future source of income.
The fields would lie fallow. Where would their food come from
now?
    Holding her arm outwards, Maudlin clicked her tongue and Rook
obeyed her instruction to climb out on her limb.
    “ Find Ellen, my darling. Find her for me.”
    With a flap and a caw, Rook took wing, following the Kings
Road towards Hillfoot, Littleton and Loxley, as the crow
flies.

CHAPTER FIVE
     
     
    Long shadows fell over Loxley as Robin, Joan, Marion and
Eleanor turned the final corner into town. Ay least the sun was
nearly gone for the day, it meant Robyn wouldn’t have to see how
badly her home village had burned.
    “ First thing. Let’s go to the forge,” she said. A new idea had
grown on the walk back, and maybe if she kept busy she wouldn’t
have time to dwell on the horrible guilt growing inside her. “That
is, if the forge is still there.”
    “ I reckon it will be,” Marion said, “It’s designed for burning
things in it, not being burnt.”
    E very
cottage that used to have a thatched roof no longer had one. The
walls had held at least. Perhaps one day soon everyone could return
and rebuild?
    The horses sauntered about, sniffing out food.
    “ I’m off to see if there’s anything we can salvage,” Eleanor
said.
    Misery leached Robyn’s bones to dust. She ached to lie down
but she couldn’t rest. The village was little more than piles of
embers. And it was all her fault.
    She couldn’t stop thinking about the tax collectors, and what
she could have done differently so that none of this would have
happened. Her mother had told her to run, she could have run into
the Shire Wood and hidden. Then she could have walked back into
town with her bag of wheat and they would have been so thankful to
have something to run through the mill and make bread.
    And the village would still be whole.
    “ Everyone get shovels or spades or whatever we have so we can
bring the hot coals to the forge. It will all help, right?” She
said to Marion and Joan.
    “ Whatever you say, boss,” Joan said. “By the way, why didn’t
the forge roof burn?”
    “ It’s slate,” Marion said. But instead of walking into the
smithy, he walked over towards the well, grabbed the rope and
hauled up a bucket that made metallic clunking noises, revealing
his tool kit.
    “ That is pretty smart,” Robyn admitted.
    “ Glad you noticed, Robbie,” Marion said.
    The air fled Robyn’s lungs. It felt . . . weird and strange
. . . and for a moment she stood there saying nothing, her mind
trying to work out the source of the strangeness.
    But there wasn’t time for that luxury. She had bigger
issues to deal with, including whether there was anything left of
her village to salvage, and the really, really, really big issue of–
    “ Where is everyone?” Joan asked.
    Sickness rose in Robyn as she took in her surroundings.
Really took them in. Not merely burning embers and destroyed
houses, but an eerily empty village. A day earlier, she and Joan
had returned triumphant with their stolen belongings and food.
Hailed as heroes.
    “ They’re all gone,” Marion spoke the words Robyn couldn’t bring
herself to say.
    “ What, everyone?” Joan turned to Marion, as if he were somehow
responsible for this. “Those taxmen must have turned up as soon as
our backs were turned.”
    A heavy sigh from Marion. “Pretty much. Roger and his men
came in, nailed up the warning sign about outlaws in the Shire
Wood, then rounded everyone up.”
    “ The bastards.” Anger and guilt warred with each other in
Robyn.
    “ Where did they take them?” Joan asked.
    Clever, sensible, smart Joan. This was the kind of question
Robyn should be asking instead of stewing in her own bile.
Littleton had suffered as much as