Robin Hood and the Barnsdale Brotherhood (IC)

[The Lifted Lorax]

"Eh? Oh, ah...sure." Fenny quickly cut a few wedges of cheese and handed them to Little John. Stuffing the rest of her own cheese into her mouth, she nearly choked when Robin grinned impishly as he passed. What was that supposed to mean?? "An' I dun need no pay. S'jus' a few slices o' cheese."

She noticed the men staring at her as she brushed a firy lock of curly hair out of her face. She put on a tougher countenance as she noticed them noticing her; not altogether unfriendly, but certainly not anything near coquettish either. She hadn't minded being friendly with the monk, but spared no smile for these strangers. She winced at the waste of beer and sneered at their toast.

"Keng indeed," she mumbled. "Bloody tyrant on the throan, kellen ennisent people an' taken our livelehhuds, an' they toast hes health."

Fenny pursed her lips and simply kept a wary eye on them. She'd have said something louder, but she didn't like her odds, even if Hamish came to her aid (as he was surely somewhere nearby) for the holy man surely wouldn't get into fisticuffs over something like toasting Prince John. Indeed, he may even support him. She settled instead for an unimpressed look until they went away. She noticed, though, that one of them looked back around at her then said something to his companions. Hearing their reaction, she could make a pretty educated guess at what it was about.

Unused to accepting compliments, Fenny was just as unused to dealing with anyone making lewd comments about her when they weren't to her face. To her face was no problem; a few good swings and they'd know their place. But like that, with surreptitiousness and implications on her honor behind her back...it was mortifying. She flushed again, this time out of shame. Her face fell and she swung back the rest of her wine, avoiding Little John's gaze. She didn't want anyone to think of her as a common harlot, as those men apparently did, and so wouldn't meet his eye.

"Righ' then..." she said quietly at length.

The crowd grew thicker as the day wore on, and Fenny was more than happy to help out. It was busy work, sweaty work, but she loved it. On the farm, her brothers had taken care of the sheep and the cows while her job was to tend to the chickens, pigs, and the vegetables. Growing up she'd loved nothing so much as the harvest, with the planting season growing a close second. She wasn't particularly stocky, but Fenny had always loved hard, honest work and it felt good to be in that again. Sure it wasn't physical labor like she was used to, but honest work with honest hands felt good after years of pickpocketing and skulking in the shadows.

Hamish had had to sell the farm to the government and got a good bit off of the livestock, but after six years they were surviving on the barest of scraps left over from that auction. More and more lately they'd had to take from others to support themselves; it sat well with neither of them, but who would hire a couple of roaming Scots? Particularly in areas so close to the prince's men. It was good to be kept busy and not have to look over your shoulder while you worked.

The smile which had been taken by the lewd men who toasted the prince eventually reappeared as she tied her hair back with her new ribbon. A few curls escaped, falling near her temples, and her unruly, tangled mane looked like a fox's tail pulled through a needle but she didn't care. It was work, it was honest, and she was happy doing it, even if it weren't for pay. She also enjoyed Little John's company as she worked, joking every now and then whenever they had a second to spare.


Hamish, however, wasn't enjoying himself quite as much as his sister was. He'd seen the strangers eying her and immediately his hackles were raised. With a scowl he watched them much more closely than he'd watched the man of the cloth. He watched as they toasted the prince, calling him the rightful king of England; as they spilled perfectly good beer; as they eyeballed his sister; and as they turned to walk away. Unlike Fenny, he actually heard what was said and knew by her sudden change in expression and stance that she had a good idea of what the men were talking about. Spitting, Hamish pushed himself off of his wall.

"Oi!" he called out to the men, following them with his hand on his sword just in case. "I heard tha'. Tha's me sesster yer talkin' 'bout."

He caught up with them, hand still on the hilt of his sword but not yet drawn. It wasn't that he didn't want a fight; he had every intention of fighting these men. He just preferred bare knuckles to a duel; not because he was better or worse either way, but because it was more cathartic for him. He felt like he'd better defended his sister's honor by actually hitting them. All the same, it was silly not to be prepared either way.

[Anastasia]

Marian shot a dark, somewhat angry look to the fat monk as he reminded Robin of his assigned duties. Sighing softly, she couldn't help but stare at him. Something pulling at her in the slightest, though it made no attempt to reveal itself at that moment. Marian had almost completely forgotten about the other challenges that existed throughout the fair. Indeed, it was because only one ever appealed to her.

"Robin of Locksely. The pleasure is indeed, all yours. I am Marian. Charmed to make your acquaintance.. and I do hope to encounter you once more, so be careful, and best of luck."

The Lady bowed her head, dipping into something of a curtsy out of politeness, the blush in her cheeks slowly fading, only to be replaced by pangs of worry as he was undoubtedly to go off to the quarterstaff competition. Was she to follow and watch? Or would that have been too painful?

As Robin slowly began his departure, Marian's gaze fell upon Fenny, a pretty one indeed. The smile on her face never fading, she moved slowly in her general direction. Not quite sure what she hoped to find or what she hoped to gain. Rather it was the hope perhaps of distracting herself from the idea that the man she'd just taken fancy with wouldn't get himself hurt too badly.

Making her way across the thoroughfare the people of Nottingham smiled and waved at her, most greeting her by name and title, the usual offerings of respect. Though it had been about a year, give or take since her father had passed, leaving Nottingham to their less then desirable new Sheriff.

[EvelynWillows]

Little John saw Fenny's heart-broken change in character and he took advantage of a lull in business to wipe down the counter and speak to her. "You know lass, other people's opinions do not mean as much as what you know to be true." He glanced up at her as he busied himself on a particularly stubborn stain. "Anyway," he said, brushing a strand of Fenny's curly hair back behind her ear. "God made you perfect the way you are. Men like those will throw their lives away serving whoever calls himself king whether he's a good man or not, and making themselves feel like big men by their boastings." He said the last part quietly, so only she could hear him.

A pair of wealthy courtiers and their escorts came by and called for a bottle of mead and wedges of cheese. Little John quoted them a high price for an entire bottle, but they didn't even have the decency to haggle with him. A few more patrons lined up and soon he and Fenny were back into their rhythm of cheese and beer.

John smiled to himself. She had wondered if his father was a big man. He took a moment to sip a bit of water and look over the populace as he turned to look at his fiery impromptu helper. "My Da was a big man, yes, but he was big in ways other than how tall he was. Though to be honest, he was a fair hand taller than myself. He had big dreams; a manor in the country, boys who would carry on his name, and he imagined that everyone far and wide would come for miles to buy his brews. Aye, he was a big man in many ways. Alas my mother and brother died on the birth bed, and Da began to spend more time drinking his brews than making them. I went to the monastery when I was twelve."

He leaned against the booth and looked at the bonny lass again. "And how old are you Fenella? If I may ask, that is." He figured her for sixteen, seventeen at best, with her fair skin and the light sprinkles of adorable freckles across her cheeks. A quick movement way off in the crowd caught his eye.

On the left Robin had taken his leave of Lady Marion, and she looked unhappy at his departure. On the right, a rugged looking young man had taken off after the group of men who had made merry at Fenny's expense.

"Oh my," John remarked, "that lad there picking a fight with those men wouldn't by any chance be your brother would he Fenny?" His eyes narrowed as he focused in on the scene; it would be three against one, not fair odds by a long shot.

[Lox]

Robin was starting to get irritated as he approached the ring where Jason of York, the large-built quarterstaff fighter, was boasting and deminishing the men of Nottingham. But he was soon distracted from Jason by the sound of Hamish's voice. He turned and found the redhaired scotsman approach three Nottingham men with fire in his eyes. Robin took a deep breath, but after sizing the men up, he said:

"It seems there will be more than one fight for you to enjoy today, Friar. Your staff, if you please?" Friar Tuck shot him a side-glance.

"What you want with my staff, laddie?" He handed it to Robin, who winked at him.

"We wouldn't want to ruin such a fine day with bloodshed, now would we?" He called out: "Hamish, my ill-tempered friend!" As Hamish looked to him, Robin tossed the quarterstaff through the air to him, shooting him a quick, warning glare. "Have you forgotten already not to bring a blade to a quarterstaff fight? Give them a good dusting from me as well! I have other commitments, I'm afraid."

There was no need, and it was dangerous indeed, to draw the sword and engage in a sword fight in the middle of the streets of Nottingham, in front of guards, soldiers, and innocent bystanders. A fight with staffs, however, no man would look twice upon with a frown. On the contrary, it would be looked at as entertainment, even. And indeed, if his opponents drew their swords, Hamish would still have the upper hand in the fight with the staff, and yet it would be his opponents that would be dragged off to jail.

Robin turned back towards the ring.
"Now, it is my turn to pick a brawl, I believe." As he approached the ring, he spun his own quarterstaff in a circle in his hand, catching it again and pointing it at Jason. As he did, he called out: "Jason of York! I challenge you to a fight, you sad excuse for a Yorksman!" The giant man turned in surprise and fury to watch the slender youngling who approached and climbed into the ring. When seeing the youngling, considerably shorter than himself, his face turned from fury to a condescending snicker.

"Are you sure you are up for it, boyo?" He smirked. "I wouldn't want to harm your pretty face."

Robin gave him a broad grin.
"Don't you worry, my enormous friend. It is your face that will be reeling, not mine." He took a couple of steps circling around the giant, all the while swinging his staff. Then suddenly, he lashed out in a downward strike against the giant's head. Jason quickly raised his own staff, blocking the attack. But Robin followed it through with a solid kick to the man's barrel-sized chest, making the giant stumble backwards, clutching his chest while grasping for air. Robin backed off, spinning his staff again while cheerfully saying:

"Stand up tall, my friend. Our fight has only just begun. Show me how the gentlemen of York fight!"

Jason let out a growl as he rushed Robin, hitting his staff with his own so hard that Robin's arms started trembling, and forced the green-clad youngling to retreat.

[The Lifted Lorax]

"Bu' they noticed," Fenny argued softly, "coz there was somethen there ta notice. So I mean...how can they see what's not there? It must be, hey?" She scuffed the ground with her foot. "An...an...an if they see it, who else sees it? Wha' eff tha's what e'erbodeh thenks?" She stopped abruptly when Little John tucked a lock behind her ear and she felt her face grow very hot again. She wished desperately she didn't blush so easily; it only made matters worse. "Perfect," she chuckled. "I doubt tha', bu' thenk what you want. Yer closer ta the Father than I." She finally met his gaze when he commented on the men swearing themselves to any monarch and seemed to imply that he shared her views. Perhaps this man could be trusted after all.

Fenny kept along with the even hum and flow of work. The same two curls kept falling by her temple then into her eyes, and she kept having to brush them back behind her ears. Eventually she finally began drinking water as well; she'd forgotten how thirsty honest work made her. It was cool and refreshing and she was very grateful that Little John had some with him.

"I'm sorry...abou' yer Da. Me own Da kinda went the same way after the plague took me Ma and sesster. Before tha', he was always the one to get the clan leaders to talk of peace. After, though...ye'd always see hem as the ferst one en battle. Like he had nothen left ta lev fer. Tha's how he an' me eldest brother, Alastair, got themselves kelled." She chewed on her lip momentarily. "Bu' at least yer father got one a hes dreams. People do come from miles around fer hes brews. Well, yer brews...but ya weren't wethout ensperation, I wager. An' he got a son...bu' I guess ya kenna carry on the name, bein ordained an' all..."

The change of subject didn't go unnoticed, but Fenny said nothing. She knew how touchy the death of a parent was, and it wasn't something to be talked about lightly.

"I'm twenteh three," she said, raising her eyes to his. "Well, gev er take a year or so. We dun realleh have calendars en my neck o' the woods...no' like I'd be able ta read them eff we ded." She chuckled good naturedly, but realized that she'd probably just embarrassed herself. Being a priest he very likely was educated and knew how to read and write, something she'd never learned on the farm. "The priest en my vellege, he'd take down a name whenever someone was bairn. He kept a calendar weth every bairthday of everyone en the vellege, and told us when our berthday was the week before so we could celebrate. I was seventeen when I left." She paused as if trying to remember something. "As far as Hamish and me know, about sex wenters have passed sence we left, whech makes me..." Fenny counted on her fingers, mouthing numbers. "Yup. Twenteh-three!" She smiled proudly. "Bu'...Hamish always says I look younger than tha'. How old are you, Lettle John?"

Fenny noticed John's gaze distracted and turned as he spoke. Pursing her lips, she scowled at the scene as Robin threw Hamish a quarterstaff. As if that would make things better! Now she'd have to go undo his mess!

"Ach! Fer the love o'..." Shaking her head, she pulled the ribbon out of her hair and stuffed it in her pocket, wild mane freed once more. "I'll be back en a mo'. Gotta go fex hes shite." Jumping over the counter and landing deftly on the other side, not breaking her stride, Fenny broke into a jog to meet her brother not even noticing Lady Fair trying to make her way toward her. "Hamish! What in Hell ya thenk yer doin!"


Hamish had caught the quarterstaff deftly in one hand as he turned to Robin's voice. It wasn't altogether appreciated, however, and he scowled at the stick. True, it was probably better than a sword in this circumstance but he'd still have rathered fists. He was a bit old-fashioned that way. No sooner had Robin finished with him, though, than he heard his sister's voice calling him. Hamish rolled his eyes as he turned to her. He just wanted his fight!

"You know wha' they said!" he retorted, pointing back at the three men who were watching with some amusement. He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Now qui' embarressen me an' get back o'er there, hey? There's a good lass." He tapped her shoulder, but she knocked his hand away.

"No! Hamish Welliem Balloch thess es a fair. Folk are here ta hev fun, so jus' leave the drunken louts be, righ'?"

"Better listen to little sister, lad," one of the men shouted at Hamish with a chuckle. "She sounds smart as she is pretty!"

"Then I guess she's not worth having anyway, is she lads?!" The three roared with laughter and Fenny's hands clenched into fists. She worked very hard not to start at them herself.

"A pretty girl with a mouth on her isn't worth very much, we'd have to break her first," the third rejoined, "but that'd be easy enough. You train women just like you train dogs, right boys?" He sauntered up to the siblings Balloch and Fenny recognized him as the braggart who'd started the whole thing. "And bitches break easy. Wouldn't take no time at all for you to be my bitch." His eyes met hers as a smirk slowly spread across his lips.

"You wanna walk away righ' now," Hamish said in a deadly calm, very low voice.

"No...I don't think I do, Mickey. You're sister's to fine to look at..." He glanced over at Hamish. "Of course, it's kinda diminished by your ugly mug. But really..." his eyes met Fenny's again, "you would be a challenge. I think it's a challenge I'll take." He raised a hand slowly to about Fenny's eye level.

"Touch me an' I'll break ever' damn fenger clean off," she growled. The man's hand paused for a moment, then he slowly brushed a lock of her hair away from her face.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

The next thing the man saw was stars. Then Fenny, shaking her hand briefly before clenching it into a fist once more. He felt his nose gingerly and something sticky and wet was across his tender bridge. Blood. His own. Staggering to his feet, he was more prepared when the tiny Scot pulled back her fist the second time. It had begun.

[Lox]

Robin bent his knees, effectively ducking a swing from Jason. When he got up again, however, grinning, Jason effectively reversed the momentum of the staff, and hit him on the side of the shoulder. Robin stumbled backwards, and his laugh stopped in his throat. Jason's laugh begun. Robin growled as he thrust his staff forward, hitting Jason in the solar plexus and knocking the wind out of him. He followed the attack up with a sweep towards his opponent's legs, which the other man quickly avoided.

The fight continued for a few minutes, with neither opponent getting anywhere with the other. Onlookers stopped and stared at their skill, while the two men exchanged sarcastic insults with wry smiles. Then suddenly, Robin overbalanced, and Jason wasn't late to exploit this. Before he knew it, Robin was hit on the side of the head with the quartertstaff, and stumbled backwards, landing in the sand below him with some blood trickling from his forehead. A burly laughter left Jason's mouth as he walked up to his opponent, sticking out his staff.

"How's your head buzzing there, laddie? You have a mean punch with the staff. I applaude you, and I take back what I previously said about Nottinghammers." Robin blinked hard and shook his head to clear his mind, then looked up at the man and gave a wry smile.

"And I take back what I said about Jason of York." They both laughed, and Jason pulled Robin to his feet. Robin tossed a couple of silver coins to Friar Tuck, who grinned from ear to ear. Suddenly, however, Jason nudged his new-found friend in the side, and pointed at a scene not far away, an altercation involving far too familiar friends of Robin's.

"It seems your friends are in somewhat of a bind, Robin of Locksley." He said. Robin nodded slowly.

"Indeed. It seems we have another lesson to be taught today."

He jumped over the fence surrounding the ring, and with the massive Jason of York, and the fat Friar Tuck at his sides, he approached the group just in time to see Fenny drop one of them with a powerful punch to the face, a punch that shattered her opponent's nose and drew blood.

"Wooooooo, that's a mean punch your lass is packing there, friend." Jason laughed. Robin chuckled.

"Not when you are on the receiving end, my friend." He stopped and leaned on his quarterstaff as he looked at the drunken louts. "Gentlemen, please. I do understand that you fine men in the service of our most revered regent King John has reached a level of inebriance that puts your eptitude in considerable question. However, I ask that you not worsen this altercation by drawing blank on my beloved siblings, but seriously reconsider your current situation, lest I will have to interject."

One of the men looked at him in confusion.
"Whaaa....?"

"If you would count the numbers, gentlemen, you are now two and a half man against four men and one hell of a woman. Add to that the fact you men are barely capable of standing." He walked up behind them, placing his arms over their shoulders and grinning widely. "It wouldn't be too much of a fight, but if you force our hands, there will be a fight, as we are very protective of family where I come from. So, how about we all just walk our separate ways, and... Aaah, to hell with it." To the laughter of many of the onlookers, Robin suddenly grabbed the two men's heads and slammed them together forcefully. They sunk to the ground with their eyes rolled back.

"Oh, that's dirty." Jason said.

"Yes, well, today is far too fine a day to ruin it with a brawl or empty conversation." Robin said. "Now, come, everybody. The next round is on me, to celebrate my new-found friendships. Friar Tuck, Jason of York, this is Hamish and Fenny." He approached the large-built monk calling himself Little John, and tossed a couple of silver coins to him. "A couple of mugs of your best wine, if you will, Father. And an extra large one for my large friend here, because Friar Tuck is twice the man any one of us others are."

"With twice the size." Jason of York interjected with a smirk.

"Waaaaah?" Friar Tuck shot him an angry glare that left him and Robin laughing out loud, Robin seemingly unaware of the still fresh blood on his forehead from his fight with Jason.

[Naraness]

The youngster’s footsteps were springy and light, as if she was walking on clouds. Her fingertips gently clung to the lead rope of her noble steed, which was walking behind her, and slightly to her left. The grey gelding seemed just as happy and perky as his mistress was, and is head seemed to bob in time with her bouncy golden hair.

The girl, Olive, had finally arrived at the May Fair. It was an event that she had only ever dreamed of attending. But, since she had just reached the age of seventeen, she was finally let to go on her own, and adventure by herself.She was searching for a place in the world, a place to call her own. It was her 'calling time' as her parents would call it. When she went out, and tried to find out how she wanted to spend the rest of her life. And of course, her parents were both hoping that she would find a suitor, so that finally the youngest child in the house would move out. She chuckled.

Most might chastise her for coming without a chaperon. But she considered her loyal animal, Barley, to be her protector. She knew that the creature could tell when she was worried, and he knew when someone was a threat. The horse nickered, as if reading her thoughts.

Liv was a short girl, and if not for the horse she lead behind her, she would have hardly been seen with the much taller folk all around her. Luckily, her steed was a good sixteen hands tall, and so, visibility wasn’t much of a problem, even though the girl was walking on the ground.

As Olive looked around, her eyes searched the numerous little shops, and stands. It seemed as though every business for several counties around had come to sty and sell their wares. It was almost impossible to keep track of where she was, and so, she simply wandered, letting her eyes explore, looking at many of the knick-knack shops, and jewelers. She had been given a small amount of spending money for while she was here, and she was searching for a stand that might be worth searching for a purchase. It might be nice to find a pretty necklace, or something similar. After all, living with all of her brothers at home.. Well, Jewelry didn't last very long when you rough-housed all day long.

Before Olive had even known it, she saw a fight break out between two drunk men, and a fiery haired girl, who appeared to be about her own age. She gasped at the power the delicate-looking girl packed behind her punch. The hurting man's face began to bleed profusely, and Liv looked away. It wasn't that she hated the sight of blood. She just... Really, didn't like it.

She reached up with one hand, and pulled her wide-brimmed hat down a little more snugly over her ears. She surely hoped that she wouldn't wind up in a fight like that. After all, she was going to scar enough mens' pride today. Among the many competitions being held that day, she had her eye on the knife throwing...

[Anastasia]

And so it goes, without much ado there was a fight that had broken out and it appeared so clear that Fenny was worth her weight in gold. The girl would pack a mean hit and was quite capable of more than she appeared. Marian moved quickly through the crowds and had watched most of this unfold. It was too early on for her to reveal her own set of skills and style of fighting. A player must never show their hand too early.

The quarterstaff match had ended and it appeared as though Jason was becoming fast friends, or rather acquainted with the motley crew that had assembled. Descending quickly down the paths Marian made her presence known by slowly clapping in approval of the entire ordeal, she appeared to have a soft smile on her face, unbroken by anything that surrounded her.

Faster than she could even think she had ended up at Robin's side, removing her cloak to reveal the rather festive dress she wore in honor of the occasion. Taking the tip of the sleeve she moved closer to Robin, slowly raising it and wiping away the blood that had been moving it's way down his forehead.

"Why does it seem like the women hold up far better than the men? Boys with toys, I suppose. You must be more careful in future, dear Robin of Locksely."

Shaking her head a small laugh escaped her almost pallid lips. When the blood had been sufficiently cleared, she draped the garment over her arm and looked at those assembled. Proper introductions hadn't been made all around, at least not with her present. Though it seemed to matter very little. In all reality Robin was on her thoughts, as well as the day, the competition and rather cantankerous demeanor of the new Sheriff, who was surely to make his appearance in a rather over pretentious manner any moment.

"Though I suppose it's rather nothing special. Ah, forgive me... I am Marian."

She announced with a rather commanding, though polite tone to those assembled, during her attention back to the scene and what a mess it had made. This was what May fair was supposed to be, and it was after all, a pleasant distraction from reality.

[The Lifted Lorax]

"Yeh, nice ta meet ya," Hamish grumbled, shoving the quarterstaff back into Robin's hands before stalking off.

"Hamish!" Fenny took a few steps in his direction, then stopped, realizing the futility. Hamish would just disappear into the crowd and find a new place from which he could keep an eye on her. "Now ya done it, get." She pursed her lips at Robin and began walking with him to Little John's stand. "How many times da I haveta tell ya, when a Scotsman wan's ta fight, ya le' hem fight! Et's somethen abou' manleness an' honor and some such shite. Bu' stell, ya le' hem fight!" She jumped back over the counter next to Little John. "Ya go' yer own cups?" she asked gruffly as Robin put money down on the table.

She was a bit peeved with Robin herself; she too had been ready for a fight and hated it when men "took care of it" for her, Hamish being the exception. If a man wanted to fight along side her she had no problem with it, but she hated being sat in a corner to wait for the men to finish their business. Her brothers had taught her to fight and the farm work had given her strength, there was no reason she could see for her to let a man take care of something she could handle herself. Plus she just liked a good fight.

[EvelynWillows]

Fenny looked much younger than twenty-three, with her flawless skin and the open expression in her big eyes. He felt like an old twenty-three compared to her. "I'm the same age as you, Fenny. I'd say that was a good year." He smiled, but then was quickly distracted by the pending fight happening across the courtyard. Little John had barely enough time to register that Fenny was catapulting herself over the counter and high-tailing towards the fight, her wild hair flouncing behind her, when a pair of the sheriff's men stepped in front of the friar.

"Papers Father. You can't sell at the fair without the proper paperwork." The guard's bushy brown mustache curved into two perfect spirals at the edge of his lip and shook with each word. He crossed his arms and gave Little John a level stare, one that said I mean business and I'd love it if you resisted.

John gazed over the men's shoulders in time to see Fenny slam her fist into the brigand's nose. Ouch! Little John flinched. "Uhm, yes Sirs. Papers. I've got them right here." He busied himself riffling through a shallow box, looking for his seller's permits. There were taxes for everything. Taxes when you earned money, taxes when you sold goods, taxes when you bought goods, taxes when you got married or had children, taxes on every building you built, every cart you drove, and even on the wells you dug. They were lucky that the sheriff didn't tax them for every trip to the chamber pot! Finally John found the stack of papers he had to buy the prior week to secure his spot in the fair market.

"Ah, here they are!" He presented his papers to the guards.

The large-mustached man grabbed the sheaf and leafed through them. He came to the last page and pointed to a small line near the end. "This hasn't been stamped. You were supposed to pay these pre-taxes before you started selling this morning, Father."

John took back the papers and looked at them. "What? This just says 'Item 53 Accounting'. How does that translate to paying pre-taxes?!"

"Now don't go arguing with us, Father. We don't make the rules, we just enforce them." He smiled smugly. It wasn't lost on Little John that his companion rested his hand on his sword hilt.

"So now what does this mean?" By now Lady Marian had joined Robin, Hammish, and Fenny and the others, and a sizable crowd had gathered. Little John lost sight of Fenny when a round, balding Friar stepped between the red-head and his stall.

"Well, you still owe your pre-taxes now, with penalties, don't you?" He reached across the booth and picked up a slice of cheese, stuffing half of it in his brown-toothed maw. "You'll have to pay your taxes now with a twenty percent boon on top of it." He grinned. "We'll be glad to take that off your hands."

John's hackles rose at the nerve of the sheriff's men. He narrowed his eyes. "And I'm to assume that you have the proper stamps and can hand over a legal receipt for these taxes then?"

The mustached guard snorted. "You can settle your account with the fair manager at the end of the day," he said, shoving the papers back at Little John. "We'll just take this as a deposit." He reached out and plucked a small cask of barley wine off Little John's cart. "Be sure to get that stamped tonight. If you haven't by tomorrow we'll have to take more penalties from you." He walked off, snickering. His companion thumbed his nose at the robed man and guffawed as he walked into the crowd.

Little John smoothed out his papers and put them back in his thin box. The day had just taken a turn for the worse, and he seemed to have lost the little bit of sunshine that had been helping him out at the stall as well. It was difficult to see what was going on with Fenny and the others, but according to the size of the crowd it was promising to be very interesting indeed.

He looked up as Robin, Fenny and the others divided the crowd and made their way to his stall. The two guards had thrown him off for the day, and he had a difficult time squashing the frown that had threatened to mar his usual smile.