“Bert, I presume,” said Princess Anya, bowing to the woman in forest green. Ardent followed her example, looking rather embarrassed that he hadn’t smelled out what appeared to be a very large number of members of the Association of Responsible Robbers. (They had been downwind of him, so he was not actually derelict in his duty.)
“Yes, I am Roberta, leader of ARR. And as everyone does, you may call me Bert. I take it from the Gerald the Herald we spoke to earlier that you are Princess Anya, sworn enemy of Duke Rikard of Trallonia and defender of transformees?”
“Um,” said Anya, “I am Princess Anya. And definitely sworn enemy of Duke Rikard, though I wouldn’t call him ‘of Trallonia,’ much as he’d like to be. I’m not a defender of transformees, as such—I just have to change back Prince Denholm and … er … now Shrub as well.”
“So you’re not helping all transformed humans?” asked Bert.
“Well, I hadn’t planned to,” Anya admitted. “This just sort of happened, starting with Denholm … ”
She stopped talking as two Responsible Robbers dragged a moaning, black-clad man through the bushes and laid him down at Bert’s feet. He had been wearing a mask but it had slipped, revealing a very ordinary face, currently screwed up with pain. The cause of this was an arrow in his shoulder, a cloth-yard shaft from a longbow, undoubtedly shot by one of Bert’s people.
“An assassin,” said Bert. “From the city. They never learn that black isn’t very sensible up a bare tree in daylight.”
“I’ve got nothing to say,” said the assassin, suppressing a groan.
“I haven’t asked you anything yet,” Bert pointed out. “But now that you mention it, would you like that arrow taken out and the wound dressed?”
“Yes, yes, I would,” said the assassin.
“So you have got something to say,” said Bert.
“You’re tricky,” said the assassin admiringly.
Anya rolled her eyes. He wasn’t a very smart assassin.
“Oh well,” the assassin went on, “I might as well talk! This never happens to any of the others. I mean, shot by a robber! We’re meant to be on the same side, robbers and thieves and assassins and all. Why are you interfering in the course of my legitimate business?”
“Because we are not on Duke Rikard’s side,” said Bert. “Or on the side of anyone else involved with the League of Right-Minded Sorcerers.”
“Is he?” Anya interrupted. “Rikard, I mean. Involved with those sorcerers who turned Shrub into a newt?”
“Paid-up member of the League,” said Bert. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. They all specialize in transformation, and they have big plans. Not just taking over little places like your Trallonia.”
“What do you mean?” asked Anya.
“They want all of it,” said Bert, stretching out her arms to encompass the forest, the sky, and everything beyond. “All of the old High Kingdom of Yarrow. Can you imagine everything ruled by cold sorcerers who’ve gone beyond any human feelings? Some of them have even gone beyond having human bodies, like the Grey Mist.”
“So he really is just a cloud of mist?”
“She is,” confirmed Bert.
“Well, if I’d known all that, I never would have taken the job,” the assassin declared indignantly. “Head office never tells us anything! I just get a raven with a message to give me the job number, the target, and so on. No background—that’s the trouble with the assassination business. No big picture. I never should have signed up. Should have been a public executioner like my mum. Now there’s a steady, safe job—”
“Take him away,” Bert ordered. “Bandage him up and drop him off on the Rolanstown road.”
“Thank you kindly!” called out the assassin as he was carried away. He waved awkwardly at Anya as well. “No hard feelings, Princess. Glad I didn’t get to finish you off.”
“Not as glad as I am,” said Anya. She looked speculatively at the leader of the robbers. Though Bert was very old from Anya’s point of view, perhaps even thirty or thirty-five, she was clearly as tough a forester and highway robber as ever walked the earth. Yet she also was no ordinary robber, with her association and its ideal of only robbing from the rich to help the poor, as well as her hatred of evil sorcerers.
Her robbers were well disciplined, well armed, and, even just from the ones she could see, there appeared to be quite a lot of them. They would be perfect allies to join in the fight against Duke Rikard. Anya was just about to mention this when Bert forestalled her.
“So, Princess Anya. You know that I lead the Association of Responsible Robbers?”
“Yes,” said Anya.
“We steal from the rich and give to the poor.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re a princess. That puts you with the rich.”
“What?” asked Anya. “I’m not … ”
Her voice trailed off as she was hit with the sudden realization that compared to most of the folk of Trallonia she was rich, even when Duke Rikard didn’t hand over her pocket money. She had three hearty meals a day, and good clothes, and a very comfortable place to live. There were servants who looked after her, and would do even more than that if she let them. Basically, she was rich.
“Um, I suppose you’re right,” said Anya slowly. She’d never thought about her own good fortune compared with that of the ordinary folk before, and felt a sense of unease that perhaps she should have made herself more aware of what was going on outside her library and beyond the castle walls.
“I don’t have a lot of valuables on me at the moment, though,” she continued, “and I need the ones I have for my Quest. Could you perhaps agree to rob me later? I mean, afterwards, once I’ve transformed Prince Denholm and Shrub back, and defeated Duke Rikard.”
“Perhaps,” said Bert. “The ‘rob from the rich, give to the poor’ is more of a general overview than a specific thing we have to do every time. It really means making sure those who have too much do some sharing with those who have too little, and it isn’t always just about valuables or money or even basic things like food. It is also about sharing power and opportunities.”
Anya’s forehead wrinkled.