England, Anno 1193

Nottinghamshire

It had been hours since the sky slowly changed from fiery orange and pink hues to darker purple and blue before the stars twinkled in the firmament. Thick white clouds drifted lazily across the horizon like sheep. Driven by a balmy late summer wind, the breeze carried the scent of hay and wildflowers as it wafted through treetops and foliage.

In the grassland and meadows, while the chirping of the crickets swelled with the dusk and the evening sounds created their own symphony, the exhausted farmers and farmhands had returned to their homes from their work in the fields by sunset. In the meantime, the shutters of the houses had been closed, fires lit, and blankets pulled up to the chin to keep out the chill of the night. A pale crescent moon stood high in the sky, casting its faint glow on the land as it slowly but surely sank into a deep slumber.

A broad trade route, winding like a snake through forest and countryside, led past farmsteads and fields, through the village beyond, and up to the fortress of the proud county. The silvery-white moonlight painted a play of pale shadows and lights on the forest floor of Sherwood Forest and slid over the dark stone of the castle of the noble Earl De Burgh, Lord of the sleeping lands. Its striking roof, covered with red shingles, concealed the chambers inside where tax money was counted.

A soft clacking sound pervaded the otherwise silent night. As quickly as the noise had risen, it had already died away again. The figure, however, pressed against the cold walls and hidden from the eyes of the guards under the protection of the long shadows, lingered a moment longer in the protective darkness. Heart pounding, Marian pressed closer to the rock of the old fortress. Moss and lichen tickled under her fingers as she clasped a piece of the masonry uneasily with her hand and listened for a few seconds to the sounds in the courtyard.

Somewhere the horses snorted or clattered in the small stable, dice rattled on a wooden barrel where a few guards indulged in gambling to escape the crippling boredom of a night shift. The young thief sighed with relief, checked once more the grip of her hook, which she had wedged in the mortar of two bricks, and then set her steps carefully on the fragile, reddish shingles.

Only one step separated her from the deadly slope below, where the smooth castle wall stretched into the depths and finally ended on the hard pavement of the courtyard. Her fingers gripped the rope tightly as she lowered herself down it. A whirring sound accompanied the slender body until her boots touched silently on the narrow window board.

A breeze rose, tugging at the cloak that shrouded her form and the hood on her head. Warm breath beat against the scarf before her face, condensing and dampening the fabric. Breathing became harder, and the feeling of the wet fabric so close to her face was uncomfortable and off-putting - but that was a small price the young woman was willing to pay. It was much better to forgo the luxury of free breaths than to risk perhaps being recognized.

Marian deftly balanced on the stone ledge and then carefully pressed against the window with spread fingers. Old wood groaned softly but then fell silent again, grinning inwardly; she noted with satisfaction that everything was going according to plan so far.

Carefully, she pushed her legs in and slipped into the dim shadows of the room. The fire of the fireplace had already burned down to smouldering coals, and only the tiny, flickering light of a candle on the tax collector's sprawling table fought lonely against the darkness of the night.

Hunched over the table's polished surface, slumped between piles of counted coins, a pair of scales, and a wine jug joined by a simple clay goblet, hung Roger - tax collector and counting master. His greasy brown hair stood out in all directions, and a small, wet pool had formed under his open mouth. Matching the rise and fall of his back, a throaty snore sounded repeatedly.

On silent soles, Marian crept closer to dare a look into the goblet and carafe. The decanter was almost empty, and despite the lack of light, she could make out the reddish tinge on the man's cheeks and nose in the glow of the light from the candle.

"I even warned you to drink the wine slowly. But you're incorrigible..." she whispered softly, hiding her mouth under the dark cloth. The corners of her mouth slid slightly higher in amusement. The open window and the wine he had taken to himself to sleep especially deeply now—all this could have been considered pure luck. But Marian left nothing to chance when it came to her little raids.

She herself had brought him a large jug of full-bodied wine that afternoon. Her father was astonished, but he indeed suspected that her gift for the tax collector was just a good-natured gift.

"You work so hard daily, surrounded only by coins and candlelight. Here, this is a gift for you. One of the best wines from the cellars of De Burgh Castle," she said as she placed the decanter and goblet on the desk. While her father and Roger were talking about the current tax situation for the king, she had opened the window and was obviously enjoying some sunshine. When it was time to leave, she closed the window but did not lock the bolt. When they said goodbye, her father wasn't even out the door when the greedy counter had already reached for the decanter and poured himself a glass. It was almost too easy. Marian knew that the vulture always became sluggish and tired when he drank too much...

'One man's happiness is another man's sorrow.'

Silently, she paced around the large table, careful not to step on any of the creaking floorboards. Golden candlelight reflected in the green-blue irises as she leaned closer. Several large pouches bearing the seal of royalty lay tied shut and bulging on the table, almost tempting her to reach for them. But neither the stacks of coins nor the bags of tax money were her target that night.

Nervousness tightened her chest as she crouched to reach under the sleeping man's green loden sleeve. The cool brass of the purchase nestled against her fingertips, and gingerly, she lifted one of the table's drawers a little, applying measured pressure as she pulled.

'Slowly... very slowly...'

With each inch, the drawer slid outwards, her heart thudding faster. She counted the passing seconds in a drumming pulse. She knew that what she was looking for had to be there.

'Just a little further.'

She would have preferred to whoop triumphantly when the drawer was finally wide enough open. Instead, she exhaled softly and silently. The fabric of her cloak rustled softly as she straightened up again, the candlelight now falling into the open drawer. A rolled-up document, the tax collector's seal, but more importantly...

'Hah, I knew it! Last month you were hiding them under the cupboard. Pathetic attempt.'

She reached for the wooden cassette concealed inside and pulled it from its hiding place. Simple carvings adorned the small box of worn wood. Only a simple clasp separated it from its target, and when she flipped open the lid, countless gold sovereigns and silver sterling gleamed inside.

A soft snort escaped her lips at the sight, for she knew none of these coins had been recorded in the census.

'Greedy vulture! Eats from the bones of those who have nothing left anyway.'

For some time, she suspected this man was untrustworthy. During England's hard times, every character was put to the test, and many would not pass.

With Roger, however, she had had a bad feeling from the start. It was the way he smiled. And when rumour had it that the meter was secretly slipping coins from the taxes into his pocket, she hadn't thought twice about believing those accusations.

'Scumbag,' Marian thought venomously and closed the box. She flipped her cloak back a little to let the cassette slide into her bag as quietly as possible and reached for the drawer to close it again carefully.

Glass clanked, a mischievous hiss cut the silence, and a bullet bored into a wooden beam with a dull sound.