Weekend at Vasey's, Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Marian cursed as she tripped while carrying the tray of cheese and the highly-polished spoon up the slippery stairs of the castle. Every time she passed a castle guard, she held her breath for fear that he would somehow be able to read on her face what had happened. She felt vulnerable, but she knew of one thing that could fix that . . . She smiled to herself as she slipped into her own chambers. Just a little detour . . .
Back in the Sheriff’s quarters, Allan was starting to sweat, partly because of nerves, and partly because of the stuffy velvet tapestry that was cutting off the air circulation. He hoped Guy would find the seal soon so they could end this little interview between Phillip and the remains of Vasey and he could finally get some breakfast.
Guy, thankful and astounded that Phillip hadn’t already had them all seized and hanged, tried to search the Sheriff’s quarters without making it look too obvious that he had no idea where to look. He peeked into a tall, hideously-decorated wardrobe, then looked back over his shoulder. “Uhh, My lord Sheriff, the seal doesn’t seem to be where you, um, normally keep it . . . I’ll just . . . look in here . . .”
Allan’s imitation of the Sheriff, accompanied by a loud stomach rumble, sounded through the curtains: “I must’ve left it somewhere! Where would I hide it if I were - I mean, I am - I mean, where did I put it?” Allan peered through the curtains at Phillip, and he gulped to see his facial expression that indicated either suspicion or incontinence. Possibly both. “Hurry up, Giz!”
“I’m trying!” Gisborne pulled out a pair of wrist irons, then a chain, then a whip, and finally a stick with feathers attached, probably some kind of cleaning device - he hoped. Nothing.
Phillip piped up, “Something wrong? I hate it when I lose things. I lose things a lot. Me mum says that I’d lose me own head if it wasn’t stuck up me bum. I wonder what that means? My head wouldn’t fit up there, I’ve tried!”
Phillip’s helpful musings surprisingly did nothing to ease Guy’s fears as he put aside the feather stick, then distastefully pulled out a very short black and white peasant woman’s dress cut in the French style. Guy quickly put the items back in the wardrobe, then wiped his hands on his trousers. “It’s not in your wardrobe, my lord. Perhaps you dropped it somewhere else in the castle. I’ll - go and look for it.”
Phillip, now clear-headed enough to think of his possible promotion, said, “Yes, brilliant! I’d like a *hic* word with the Sh-sheriff alone, if you don’t mind.”
Guy stiffened, and not in a sexy fun way, and so did Allan on the other side of the curtain. “Ahem - Sir Phillip, I don’t think that’s the best - ”
“Oh, please, I’d love a tour of Nottingburg! We can talk about taxes and peasants while we ride our horsies.” Phillip looked pleadingly at the Sheriff, whose glassy-eyes stared back in his general direction.
The “Sheriff” was about to reply when the door burst open, and all the men’s eyes opened wide at the sight that met them (except for the Sheriff’s, obviously, because, you know . . .). Guy gulped. Marian. In a curly blonde wig, a low-cut white dress with a tightly-laced blue corset with yellow ribbons. Holding a shepherd’s crook. He felt his throat going dry.
Marian, with the stately air and grace of a queen, ignored their incredulous gazes (and the Sheriff’s dead-eyed stare) and walked over to where Phillip was now standing, his attention fixed fully on her.
“My lady, you - you - you look -”
“Cheese?” she interrupted his stammering, shoving the tray under his nose.
“Oh, n-no - I couldn’t eat *burp* another bite . . . I - ” Phillip’s eyes wandered down from her eyes and settled around the lacy bits that barely covered her cleavage.
Bloody brilliant. I went to all this trouble, and now he doesn’t even want any cheese? If the Nightwatchman were here . . . Marian sighed. “Very well, my lord. In that case, I’ll just - ” She moved as if to leave the room again, but Phillip grasped her arm.
“I’m going on a tour of Notsingdon with the Sheriff. We’re going to ride our horsies! I’d really love it if you came along . . . wearing that outfit.”
Guy interrupted, grasping Marian’s other arm, nearly turning the scene into a game of tug-of-war between him and Sir Phillip, only with a rather theatrical-looking shepherdess in place of the customary rope.
Luckily, Phillip chose that moment to forget what was happening, and he dropped Marian’s arm and sauntered over to the window. “Look, a birdie! I quite like birds. They’re so cheerful. And they must be very smart, because they know how to fly. I can’t fly, more’s the pity.”
Ignoring him, Guy growled in Marian’s ear (sending quite a thrill down her spine, if truth be told), “May I have a word with you, Lady Bo Peep?”
“Guy, it’s not supposed to be ‘Lady’ Bo Peep. I’m a peasant, obviously.”
“You can’t be a peasant.”
“Why not?” she asked indignantly.
“You’re supposed to be a shepherdess, but you haven’t got a tan, not even a little. And I’m supposed to believe you’re not a high-born lady?”
“Oh - you don’t understand me at all!” Marian left the room in a huff, Guy followed her out, wagging his tail behind him. Or, at least, it would have been funny if he had.
Guy closed the door to the Sheriff’s room, leaving poor Allan stuck behind the stifling drapes and Phillip admiring the nice birdies.
“What do you think you’re doing? I asked you to bring Phillip some cheese, not dress up like - like - ” his eyes wandered over her provocative outfit, “that.”
Marian replied in a hurt tone, “Don’t you like it? I’ve never had a chance to wear it. I happen to think I look amazing.”
Guy tried to focus on the situation at hand and not on a particular fantasy of his that was being enhanced by this rather spectacular costume of Marian’s. Now if Allan would only be willing to dress like a sheep, that would really be something. He cleared his throat. “That is not the point. This is hardly helpful. Now you’ve got Phillip wanting to take you out for horsie rides with the Sheriff!”
“Is that what this is about? You’re jealous of Phillip?”
“No! I mean, should I be?”
“Guy!” She snapped her fingers at him, indicating that he should try to focus. “I can’t go for a ride with him, remember the Sheriff? And the way that he is, shall we say, no longer animate?”
“Yes, that is going to be a problem. And I still haven’t found the seal. And I think Allan may be unconscious.”
Marian’s eyes shone under her cumbersome wig, indicating that she had a new plan. “I think we can make it work, Guy. You can look for the seal while Phillip, the - Sheriff - and I take a tour of Nottingshire. Nottingham. Damn it, now he’s got me saying it wrong!”
Guy, shocked by this unmaidenly outburst of foul language, but also rather turned on by it, grabbed her by the arm, pulling her close to him.
Marian waited for him to speak. After a few seconds of silence, she prompted him. “What?”
He jerked her arm again, pulling her even closer, then gutterally whispered in her ear, “Marian . . . I . . .”
“What?” She was beginning to lose patience, and her outfit was beginning to chafe.
“You know that there is a different side to me . . . a side that enjoys nice, pleasant things, like -”
“Like killing peasants?” Marian asked testily, then fluttered her eyelashes under his burning gaze.
“Well, I do do that sometimes, but that’s not what I meant. I like . . . I like kittens.” Marian’s eyebrows rose. “And daffodils.” Marian’s eyebrows rose even higher. “And . . . and . . . scrapbooking.”
Marian knew that this was something Guy had never shared with anyone before in his life, which made her feel even guiltier for keeping her identity as the Nightwatchman a secret from him. Suddenly, the thought of the two of them rescuing kittens side-by-side came into her mind, unbidden. Think of Robin. Think of Robin.
Guy sensed her hesitation, so he yanked her arm one more time. “Never mind.”
“Guy, now isn’t the time - we have to think of the plan. I’m going to need some rope and a harness . . .”
“I’m intrigued.”
The two of them walked down the stairs, Marian rubbing her sore arm, and Guy thinking about a few somewhat unconventional uses they could make of the shepherd’s crook. And Allan, too, if she was into it.
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Five minutes later, Marian reappeared, still in her tarty shepherdess costume, and, much to Allan’s relief, she led Phillip outside with her. “Please, Sir Phillip, won’t you take a turn with me about the, um, dining room, while the Sheriff prepares the horses? It’s so refreshing.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, tapping him on the nose with her crook, and he followed her sheepishly.
As soon as they were out the door, Allan fell through the drapes and collapsed on the floor. “Bloody hell. Giz had better give me a raise after all this.”
A minute later, Allan’s employer himself stealthily opened the door and hurried over to Allan. “Wake up, you lazy sot! You’re needed elsewhere.”
Allan warily opened one eyelid and tried to focus on Guy’s face. “You could say ‘please.’”
“What?” Guy asked, as if he’d proposed some kind of bizarre fantasy role play, and not a simple word of kindness.
“‘Please.’ It’s a word. People say it when they wanna be nice.”
“I know what it means!” Guy snapped.
There was a moment of silence, then, “Well?” Allan looked at him expectantly.
“Well, what?”
“Are you gonna say it, or not?”
“Probably not.”
“Okay, then.” Guy grabbed Allan’s arm and helped him to his feet. Allan looked a bit woozy standing there, so Guy picked up the Sheriff’s wine goblet and handed it to him, and Allan drank it down in one gulp. Then he realized where the wine came from.
“Yeechh! That was the dead Sheriff’s, wa’n’t it?” Allan made a gagging sound.
“As if that ever stopped you before. Now let’s get to work!” Guy slapped the ex-outlaw on the back and pushed him toward the bed. “Help me get him downstairs.”
Allan looked doubtful. “I’m gonna need some compensation for this. And I think the Sheriff just moved.”
“No, he didn’t. Don’t be such a superstitious fool. Can’t you see he’s stone dead?”
“That’s not helpin’. I’m gonna want something, a manor, maybe, and a new outfit. One like yours, maybe.” He nodded at Guy’s neck-to-toe black leather garb.
“Oh, don’t worry, you will be compensated. Amply,” Guy replied darkly, hoisting the Sheriff’s surprisingly heavy corpse on one side. Allan reached around the malodorous remains and lifted on the other side, and the two men shuffled out the door with their cargo.
“Can’t I at least get somethin’ to eat?” Allan intoned, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the corridor.
Coming up next in “Weekend at Vasey’s”:
Vasey continues to decompose. Oh, and Robin Hood and his not-so-merry men and woman make an appearance. Marian wears more kinky outfits, and Guy continues to wonder if she’ll ever be his. And maybe Allan, too.
Chapter Five