He was almost sad to say he liked the captain, Guy of Gisbourne, if he had a preference. Gilbert was less than pleased with what the man had done to Much, but there would be time to marry that discrepancy later. Or not. It could have gone either way, couldn’t it, Gilbert might have plucked an eyeball from the captain’s skull if the thought had struck him. Instead he’d listened, which offered its own sort of entertainment at first, and then interest. Captain Gisbourne spoke of deeper things than a man of his ilk ought to. The captain respected the sanctity of action, and the cowardice of regret, and Gilbert couldn’t fault a man with such beautiful taste.

And so now there was this thing, what Gisbourne called his Black Guard, wasn’t there, full of men—and that other one—who had been culled from the ranks of their castle’s visitors. A better breed of hunters, as it were, who could build as quick as destroy. Capturing Locksley seemed to be of paramount importance, and Gilbert had yet to mention he could personally do so whenever he chose to. He wondered whether a somewhat more nothing person would have felt sour, being party to hunting down those he could have called friends, if he had a preference. Were the thought to settle itself, he could tell the Captain where the old Oak Camp was now. They could bring Marion’s men to the castle in irons by sundown. Or perhaps he’d keep quiet and let them meander about the Sherwood blindly. Loyalty was a joke, a perfectly useless reason nothing men gave to commit suicide. So maybe he’d find the opportunity to plunge his knife into the hearts of these new men, one by one, when the chance presented. He hadn’t much decided, and wasn’t like to until the moment came, was he?

But the buzzing had been growing, and that would tip the scales, as it were. He had stayed with Marion’s men a surprising long time, never worrying about what was next, and the buzz had kept itself away. But this was next now, and the now was all that was ever worth bowing to.

IN THIS PARTICULAR NOW, a stable boy was preparing a few horses, three, for the morning’s task. Gisbourne’s orders were to round up eyes outside of Nottingham. They split into trios to go from town to village, looking for people willing to keep wary of their Robin Hood, and bring news to the Guard when they did. Not the easiest task, given current relations. Villagefolk were fearful of the Sheriff’s Guard of late, on account of the raids, and Locksley’s offer of rampant charity was an attractive thing to those in need.