“You expect them to simply up and give it all to us?” John Little had asked.

“Actually, yes.” Will had winked. “That’s precisely what I expect them to do. Look at them—they’re just doing their jobs. So let’s help them out.”

“They’re probably the bottom of the barrel anyhow.” Arthur grinned. “They’ve got dozens of regiments out there, stealing from as many places as they can at once. That’s where the best men will be, where they think people might fight back. These here are just a bunch of gord rejects.”

“I wonder if that Jon Bassett is here,” Alan whispered.

“I hope he is,” Arthur spat back. “I told you we shouldn’t have let him go. Promises to tell them all how wonderful we are, and now they’re raiding every village on the map. I’d love to ask him, face to face, whether he had a hand in this.”

“You can scratch your balls later, boys,” John said, causing everyone to hush him. Even when he whispered, his low voice carried further than he thought. “Dawn’s getting close, and whatever we do, it should be done before daybreak.”

“It’s not even going to feel like stealing,” Will snickered to Elena. “It’ll just feel like … work.”

That was just as exciting, as far as she was concerned. “That’s the best sort of stealing, when they never even know you were there. Even better, they’ll never even know they lost anything. It’s brilliant.”

She’d said those last words directly to him. You’re brilliant. He needed strength, he needed confidence, and she knew exactly how to give that to him. Will needed to know she was right about all of this.

She’d been right about Robin of Locksley, after all. Of course he had abandoned them the moment real action was needed. The only thing Elena had been wrong about was the idea that using Gilbert to scare Jon Bassett would make the Guard afraid of them. But this would be a far more effective way to say the same thing. With Locksley gone they could finally start growing beyond their merry little band, and into a proper gang worth reckoning.

The Sheriff seemed to think he was unopposed, but this morning he would learn otherwise.

“What do you want me to do?” little Much asked.

“I want you to go home,” John Little whispered at him, “but I don’t get everything I want.”

They had been halfway to Bernesdale when the boy popped out of a barrel, scaring them all halfway to shit and back. John Little had plucked Much and hurled him out of the cart, but Much insisted that he’d be coming along whether they liked it or not.

“It’s too late to turn back,” Arthur had warned, “and we won’t get an opportunity like this again none, neither.”