“Glad I found you,” the stranger said between mouthfuls, and he kicked a stool over to Guy. The others passed around the bowls of slop, which the stranger had apparently paid for. Bolt was already tipping his bowl back to finish whatever was in it.

“I’m Guy of Gisbourne, Captain of the Nottingham Guard—”

“I know,” the bald man’s voice was so low it scraped the ground.

“I’ve filled him in,” Reginold said, twisting the corners of his moustache. “Care to repeat for my friends what you already told me?”

“I think I saw who you’re looking for.” He was thick as a horse, and his baldness was not from age. Even sitting down eating breakfast, the man looked like he could kill any one of them just by flexing the right muscle. “I heard a mess of horses late last night, off the road near Hallam. Something more than suspicious about it. Went into town and asked around, and folks said you were hunting these boys down. I’ve been chasing after you for hours.”

“That’s unusually kind of you,” Eric said, fishing for chunks of food with a knife. “Why exactly do you care?”

Reginold grinned widely at the stranger. “My apologies. Some of us have forgotten what a knight even looks like.” Guy’s senses sharpened, and his men all jerked into somewhat more respectful positions. “Boys, this is Sir Robert FitzOdo of Tickhill Castle. Treat him with the respect he’s deserving.”

“We’ve met,” Guy recalled, with some difficulty. The name was familiar. FitzOdo had played a role in the defense of Nottingham during Ferrers’s assault in the Kings’ War. But Tickhill Castle sat at the border of Nottinghamshire and Yorkshire, controlled by Baron Roger de Busli—who had selfishly kept his knights rather than send them to war. “You serve Red Roger now.”

“When I must,” FitzOdo winked, instantly earning Guy’s trust. “As I was saying, these horses last night struck my curiosity. I followed them a bit, enough to see they had a prisoner with them. They broke for the night in a set of caves, I think mostly to get out of the rain. I can’t promise you they’re still there, but I can tell you this much. You’re going the wrong way.”

Hallam. Devon had been wrong. Hallam was practically where they started, much closer to Thieves Den than Hathersage. Their long rain-soaked night had been wasted, while their quarry had been sleeping rather than traveling. Guy glanced at Devon and saw the horror of this knowledge crawl up into his asshole for some heavy frolicking. Poor man.

“Eat up, mount up, and let’s go,” Guy said.

“Forget eating up,” Eric answered, pushing away his bowl with a finger. “Jon needs us. I don’t want to make him wait.”