Chapter 5

Ryker

"How the fuck did this happen?" I growled from between clenched teeth.

Sampson edged further away from me. "The Hooded Robber, milord. The ghost of the Revenant Woods. I… I…."

He'd warned me. Before we left my father's castle, Sampson had suggested opening a portal or going around the Revenant Woods to avoid the thief who had made a habit of relieving the loads of those traveling through the forest.

I was determined not to do either. I didn't go out of my way to avoid a challenge, and there was no way anyone would dare to rob me.

But someone had dared to rob me, and they'd done so successfully. How didn't I notice someone on the carriage? And how did they manage to get away with the chest without drawing my attention?

"They say it's a ghost who haunts the woods and steals," Sampson murmured as he wrung his hands while eyeing the top of the conveyance.

A ghost who stole chests full of money because that was, of course, what ghosts did. I tried not to roll my eyes over the ridiculous notion. Not even the poltergeists could pull this off, and they were a lot more corporeal than the ghosts.

"It's not a ghost," Dorothy huffed as she held out her hand to me.

I suppressed a sneer as I took her gloved hand and helped her descend in her too-big skirt. The cumbersome material swirled around her feet.

The bright yellow dress was a ridiculous outfit, weighing at least ten pounds. I wasn't sure if being covered in excessive material had become the new fashion trend while I was away or if Dorothy had worn the dress to draw attention to herself… something she succeeded in doing as those passing by turned to look at her.

Dorothy shielded her eyes against the sun as she peered at the top of the carriage. "Not a ghost but a common, no-good criminal. Nothing more."

"No one has ever caught a glimpse of the Hooded Robber," Sampson murmured. "They're more wraith than man."

Dorothy snorted. "They've seen him; there are descriptions and posters of the criminal everywhere. Stop feeding into the nonsense surrounding this loser; you're only making it worse. This thief is nothing more than an immortal like you and me, albeit they're a fast, silent one, but they're nothing more than flesh and blood."

"The Revenant Woods are haunted." Sampson's shoulders went back a little. Then, recalling his place in this world, he shrank into himself once more. "Everyone knows it."

"Yes, the Revenant Woods are haunted; no one denies that, but the Hooded Robber isn't a ghost."

Sampson looked about to argue further but knew better than to bicker with an aristocratic woman. I wouldn't have bothered arguing with her simply because I'd learned that there were far more important things in the world than wasting my time.

Turning away from the carriage, I surveyed the bailey and the handful of amsirah passing by with their shoulders hunched as they scurried to and fro. Before the war and Leo's death, there had been more laughter as the amsirah went about their day.

Now, there was no laughter. Instead, they all looked deflated and like they were waiting for a guillotine to crash down on them. Yes, some still hawked their wares, but they did so with far less enthusiasm than they had in the past, and far fewer shoppers stopped to purchase anything. There were also fewer stores than I recalled.

Their worn clothes were threadbare in some places, and the booths lacked the sparkle and shine they'd possessed the last time I was here. Two years ago, these stalls were all different, vibrant hues overflowing with ribbons, food, colorful clothes, exotic plants, and other goods.

Those colors had dulled with age and weather, and no one had repainted the booths. Many had spots where bare, rotting wood was exposed, and there weren't as many offerings as before. The only things still in excellent condition were the lightning rods on top of every building.

The flap of a poster nailed to a nearby vendor stall drew my attention. I pushed past Dorothy and Sampson as I stalked over to the stall and ripped down the paper.

Drawn on the thick parchment was a portrait of a slender man dressed all in black with a hood covering his features. Thick, black lettering scrawled across the top of it.

WANTED

The Hooded Robber

Beneath the picture were the words:

Reward:

$1,000 Carisle

I crumpled the reward poster as I looked at Sampson and Dorothy again. "How long has he been stealing?"

"About three months," Sampson replied. "No one has any leads into who it is."

Dorothy fluffed her hair as she adjusted her gloves. "That's because those things in The Hollows and the other towns are protecting this… this… despicable thief."

Sampson rolled his eyes before catching himself; his gaze shifted to me, and he edged away from Dorothy to claim the horses' reins. I shoved the WANTED poster into the pocket of my black pants.

"Why aren't there any leads into who this is?" I asked Sampson.

Sampson opened his mouth to start speaking, but Dorothy cut him off. "Because the vermin in The Hollows hide him."

At this point, I was more annoyed by her than Sampson was, and my driver was not impressed with her assessment of the situation. "Sampson?" I asked.

"I already told you?—"

"Enough," I interrupted Dorothy harshly. "I'm talking to him."

Dorothy lifted her chin and released a delicate snort. She puffed up her blonde hair and turned her head from side to side while playing with her curls.

"Why are there no leads, Sampson?"

Sampson glanced around before edging closer to me. "They say The Robber gives the money away."

"Gives it to who?"

"To those in The Hollows, the other towns, and whoever else needs it. The amsirah in those towns protect him."

Dorothy snorted again. "They're animals."

"What are The Hollows?" I demanded.

"That's what the locals call Nottingshire now, milord," Sampson replied.