Everything is a Choice

Chapter 17

Previously...

I flex my right hand.  It has been so long, and it seems wrong, a selfish act.  Yet I can’t deny it’s still there; the thrill of competition, the heady anticipation of the nocked arrow flying straight and true, and, underneath it all, a fierce desire to win. 

Would you mind?

“Of course not. You’re still you.”

“Tell them,” Allan grins, doing a good imitation of nocking and loosing an arrow.

“Tell us what?” John asks.

“Yes, come on, Master.” Much points at the scroll.  “What does it say?”

He glances at Allan, the latter still fixed in a firing stance, and then back at the scroll.  Much may not be able to read, but between Allan’s mime and the illustration on the parchment, comprehension dawns. “No, Master, surely not?”

I run a hand over the curves of my Saracen bow and grin.

Chapter 17

“Are you sure about this?” Much asks. “What about the boat?”

“If I was told true,” I say, unwilling to slow my stride.  “Then I think we might find our missing captain and crew, not to mention some coin to line our empty purses.”

An inquiry of the innkeep had revealed that the crew of the Seawind had indeed been drinking in the tavern last night and some had taken rooms there. The innkeep also said that the captain had decided to miss the morning tide in order to attend the archery contest and that they would catch the evening one, all being well. The thought of hanging around the harbour for most of the day was not a pleasant one, so I suggested we should check out the archery contest, if for no other reason than we might make enough coin to buy horses once we reach Plymouth.

“Yes, but what if you’re wrong,” Much says, “and the boat leaves without us?”

“Quit your whinging,” Allan says. “Even if Robin is wrong, there’ll be other boats.”

“And a few more days won’t make much difference, not after all the weeks we’ve been travelling,” John adds.

I know both Allan and John are saying this not because they want to delay getting on another boat, but because they are trying to humour me. After all, I’ve been one hell of a moody bastard for God knows how long. If shooting arrows is going to cheer me up, then I reckon they’d be happy to stand around and watch me until the stars burn out. 

“Don’t worry,” I tell Much. “There’ll be time enough to catch the boat.”

“You always say that.”

“Say what?”

“There’ll be time.”

“And?”

“And we always end up getting out just by the skin of our teeth.”

“Would you have it any other way?” I give him an impish grin.

“Well, it would be nice to be early for once.  You know, like, hey we’ve saved the village and we’re still in time for dinner, that kind of thing.”

“And where would be the fun in that?”

“You’re impossible sometimes, do you know that.” Much swats at my arm, misses as I dodge to one side.

“Yes, and that’s why you love me.”

We round a corner and I put up a hand. It seems we have found the archery contest.