Halloween in Sherwood 3: The Sheriff's Revenge

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1

I've never believed in ghosts. Even when my brother Tom used to try to scare the shit out of me when we were kids. I'm telling you, he came up with some clever tricks to fool me, but not once did I believe it was really a ghost. Even when he blew out all of the candles and hid beneath a deerskin, rising up from a darkened corner with his face covered, moaning and shrieking.

Yeah, alright, so I pissed myself a little bit out of fright. But I didn't for once think it was a ghost.

Besides, since then, I've discovered that there are worse things than ghosts. Far worse things. As I was to find out one Halloween.

I'd worked in Nottingham Castle for a few months by then, ever since Robin had discovered I'd been spying for Gisborne and had kicked me out of the gang. I don't like to talk about that too much, but I'm sorry it all happened. I'm sorry I did what I did, and I'm sorry I got caught out. I don't even know why I did it, in all honesty, and as you know, I'm not always the honest type. I think I was feeling shunned by the rest of the gang, and was angry about it. Selling secrets to Guy was my way of sticking two fingers up at Robin and my so-called friends, but in the end, it was me who lost out. And it was me who was left out in the cold, permanently. I learnt a hard lesson that year - that there is more to life than material gain, and that loyalty to your friends is key. But, by then, it was too late.

But, anyway - I digress.

Working for Gisborne wasn't that bad, I suppose. He was easy enough to manipulate. All he really wanted was someone to trust, and someone to flatter his fragile ego, which I could do easily enough. If anyone can lie and charm their way into someone's good books, it's me, especially when there is a decent wage involved. And Locksley Manor wasn't bad as far as homes go. I'd slept in a lot worse than my servants quarters, I can tell you, and there was always a pretty maid to keep my bed warm. It could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse.

Nottingham Castle, for instance. Now, I wouldn't want to live there. I mean, it's an amazing castle. Huge and imposing, and sumptuously decorated. But, during the autumn of 1192, there was something going on there that didn't bear thinking about. Something so horrifying that, at first, I struggled to accept it. There were creatures that roamed those castle corridors that should never exist, and which defied all explanation.

They were supernatural. But they weren't ghosts.

It all started late in September, when the Sheriff arrived back from Derbyshire, where he had been presiding over the wapentake court. Guy had been left in charge of the castle in his absence, and I, as ever, was his trusty sidekick. Although trusty was pushing it a little far, but this is me we're talking about. I was as loyal to him as I could possibly be, while still secretly hankering after the forest and Robin and the gang.

Anyway, the Sheriff arrived back in a steaming mood, which was nothing new. I always thought Much was the most unpredictably moody person I knew, but that was before I had spent any real time with Vaisey.

Mind you, Guy wasn't much better.

I was outside in the upper bailey, chatting with a couple of guards, when the Sheriff's carriage swept into the courtyard and pulled up haphazardly at the bottom of the broad set of steps that led up to the keep doorway. As we watched, the page jumped down from the back of the carriage and hurried to open the door. Before he reached it, however, it was flung open, almost knocking him to the ground, and the Sheriff literally tumbled from its exterior.

I started forward in shock, then hesitated as Vaisey let out a bloodcurdling scream.

"Gisbooooorne!"

Guy emerged from the keep at a dead run, almost as if he'd been waiting for the Sheriff's call. He immediately came to a swift halt, his expression one of astonishment as he gazed at Vaisey, who lay in a crumpled heap beside the carriage. The page was above him, attempting to help him up, but Vaisey swatted at him irritably while his other hand was held firmly over his eyes.