A Hoboken Hipster In Sherwood Forest by Mari AKA Marianne Mancusi Read Free Book Online

answer, but falls into step behind me. I guess that's something. Men are so damn stubborn sometimes. Okay, most of the time.
    We reach the cottage and I lift a hand to knock on the door. Calling it a cottage is being kind, by the way. It's made of rotted logs, caked with crumbling mud and a thatched roof—which seems a total fire hazard, if you ask me. Does someone really live here?
    "Go away!" cries a raspy female voice from inside. "I already paid me tithe."
    I glance over at Robin, who shrugs back.
    "Ma'am, we aren't tax collectors," I say. "We're travelers and we're lost. We were hoping you could help us figure out where we are."
    The door opens a crack and I can see an eyeball. A woman glances outside. "Yer not with the sheriff?" the voice asks, still suspicious.
    "Hell no!" I say. "His men tried to kill me earlier today. I can't stand the guy."
    The door swings open, revealing an extremely pregnant woman dressed in gray rags. Two barefoot rugrats cling to her legs.
    "I beg yer pardon," she says, and she motions us inside. "But as ye know, these are desperate times.”
    "Aye," says Robin. "They are indeed."
    Easy for him to say, I think, as we walk into the hut. He's going to be chowing down on roast deer tonight. Selfish jerk.
    The hut's interior is depressing, to say the least. It's tiny, for one thing. Way too tiny for a woman and two kids, with anther on the way. The floor's made of dirt and there's a straw pallet in one corner with a few ratty blankets on top. Is that where they all sleep? A large earthen pot sits atop a smoky, smoldering fire. Church mice would feel well-off if they saw this woman.
    I feel so bad for her. Talk about extreme poverty! I mean, I thought I had it hard when they shut off our cable after Danny was laid off and we couldn't pay the bill. I can't imagine living in this squalor. And worse, having children live in this squalor.
    As Robin asks the peasant woman for details on where we are in the forest, I feel a tugging on my leg. I crouch down to eye level of the dirty but sweet-faced little girl in front of me.
    " D'you have any food?" she asks, sticking a grimy index finger in her mouth. I wish I had found time to retrieve my camera bag from the other side of the river before running for our lives. I know I had some sanitary wipes in there. That and granola bars. "I'm hungry."
    Poor kid. My heart aches for her. If the others in Nottingham are half as bad off as this family... How could the Prince allow this to happen? How can he sit in his castle, enjoying his jewels and servants and fine dinners while these children die of starvation?
    I can see why Robin Hood felt it so important to redistribute the wealth in this godforsaken place. Well, the Robin Hood of legends, anyhow. The real life Robin seems much more interested in getting back to his camp so he can fry up a nice fat deer and pig out. I decide that if we're anywhere near his camp now, I'll sneak out and determine a way to return to this hut with my portion of meat.
    "Hang in there, sweetie," I say, kissing the little girl on her forehead. "I'll try to bring you some food."
    That's it!
    Inspiration strikes as I rise from my stooped position. That's how I'll spend my time in Sherwood Forest while I'm waiting for the King to return. If Robin's not up to the task, fine. I can organize a little robbing from the rich and giving to the poor myself. Maybe I can even recruit some of the less selfish merry men to help me.
    I can see it now: Chrissie Hayward, Princess of Thieves.
    I kind of like the sound of that.

     
     
    Chapter Four
     
    The blindfold goes back on as soon as we leave the vicinity of the hut. I try to protest, saying if he doesn't even know where we are, how the heck does he expect me to? But I might as well be trying to talk to a Patriots fan on Superbowl Sunday while Brady has the ball for all the attention I get.
    "If I were to lead you to my lair without a cloth 'round your eyes, my men will think I've gone soft,"