"Clayton Emery - Robin Hood's Treasure" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

Much checked himself slowly. "No."
"Oh, good. I was afraid you'd fallen."
"No."
Tom pointed. "Uh, what's in the chest?"
Much turned half-way around peering at it. "Trea-sure."
"T-treasure? Real gold?"
The idiot frowned.
Tom brushed at his clothing. "I, uh, lost my knife. D'ya see it?"
With his free hand, Much drew his own knife and pointed it at Tom.
"Knife like this?"
"Uh..."
Much suddenly jerked the knife sideways, just missing Tom's arm.
"`Point that damned thing some-where else!'" Then he jerked it back in
Tom's direction. "You take mine. Every-one needs knife."
Tom gingerly took the blade away and shoved it in his own empty
sheath. "Right. Thanks. That's better. Uh, if that's really treasure -- I
mean, uh, Robin's sent me to take that treasure from you -- for you."
"Oh." So Robin had known what to do. Much shoved the chest at the
robber, who caught it awkwardly.
Tom grunted. The box was heavier than Much had made it look. It must
be chock full of gold. He scouted the trail again, then set the box down.
No harm in checking...
He pried back the lid and had to shield his eyes. Even under the green
roof of leaves the sun jumped around in the box. Tom grinned so wide
his face hurt. "It is! It's gold!" Then he remembered Robin Hood's man.
Much grinned too. "`Gold can't buy any-thing 'por-tant."
"What? Never mind. Let's... lighten the load some. No use hauling the
box."
He was hot anyway. He shucked off his hauberk and his shirt. He laid
the shirt on the leaves, then dumped the coins onto it and pitched the
box. He stirred the treasure with his hand. The coins made a lovely
liquid sound, a friendly chuckling noise. He stuffed some into a pouch to
spread the load, then gathered the corners of the shirt, made sure there
were no leaks, and slung the sack on his back. He staggered as it hit.
Much asked, "I help carry? I strong. Strong as Lit-tle John at arm
wrestle."
"No." The old man shook his head and staggered again. "No, thanks,
lad. I'll manage. You run along back to --" Wait. He couldn't point him
towards camp. He'd run right into Robin Hood. "You better come with
me for a while, lad. Keep out of trouble. What's your name?"
"Much the Mill-er's Son. `Sher-wood ain't much with-out Much.'"
"Much. Good. I'm... Peter. Come along now."
So Tom, or Peter, hunched now and rolling like Much, set off down the
trail. The unencumbered idiot followed, happy as a dog after its master.


"If you'd gone into the cave we could have killed him there!"
"And if you hadn't gone into the cave there'd still be four of us!"
"Afraid of a cave!"
"Stupid enough to be taken in the dark!