He smashed the city’s gates, he scraped the towers to the ground with his fingernail, he flicked the arrogant soldiers from the walls into the clouds above. For over a week, King Richard’s army had done nothing but stare at the city while its citizens mocked them for their inaction. Robin hated the insults almost as much as he hated that they were right. The delay had driven Richard to fits of rage, sudden and unpredictable mood swings that Robin found entirely justified.

“Just wait until the morning,” Robin threatened the city with a wag of his finger. “And we will annoy the shit out of you. You might even lose a bit of sleep.”

William laughed, and they both glanced over at the silhouettes of the siege machinery. Two lonely trebuchets were finally complete, while dozens of others were little more than empty framework. It would probably take most of tomorrow just to wheel them within striking distance, but clearly nobody was concerned with Robin’s critique. The few trees that could be found in this land had proven too flexible to be of any use, and their first trebuchet’s arm had shredded itself to sinew rather than hold any weight. Most of the new timber came by sacrificing the hulls of their ships. “You don’t think those two will do it?” William asked whimsically.

“We’ll take the city,” Robin answered, in sincerity. “But not the way Richard wants us to. And not soon.”

“Which is probably good,” his companion kicked at an offensive stone, “given the other problem.”

Robin hated that, too. “Given the other problem. We ought to check on that next.”

William’s silence lingered into agreement.

“You’re in the crown tomorrow,” Robin added, thinking that might cheer William’s mood. “You’ll get to launch the first volley.”

William rolled his eyes as obviously as possible. “Our men could run the trebuchet wheels nonstop for a month and the city would laugh it off. No, I think wearing the crown promises no glory any time soon.”