Robin Sherwood of Pittsburgh, Part I
by Emma Redmer
Disclaimer: The characters in this story don't belong to me; they belong to WENN's own king, Rupert Holmes. No infringement is intended.
Author's Note: This fanfiction was inspired by Dana Sherman's comment that I tortured poor Scott too much in my "Happy Homecomings" resolutions. I took a good look at the stories and realized that she was right. I also decided to go in for some spoof, since my other stories were pretty heavy. Here is the result... Both parts are set the night after the events of "Magic"/"In the WENN Small Hours"
"No...yes...no, well, he sure sounded like he was crazy, Mr. Medwick. Lunar ticks! He...no, I didn't see Victor Comstock, either, unless you count the photo in the hallway. Victor Comstock died in the London Blitz. Everyone knows that. Well, everyone who's been in America for the last two years." Scott Sherwood had to hold the phone as far away from his ear as possible. He'd spent most of the day attempting to explain Cutter Dunlap's behavior on "Agitato Alert" last night to Mr. Medwick. He'd asked Betty for help with the situation, but she had complained of a headache late that afternoon and went home early.
It was eleven o'clock when Medwick finally decided that he was tired of bellyaching about his canceled show. Scott offered him a nice, safe sitcom about a nice, normal mom-dad-sister-brother family to make up for the incident. That calmed the sponsor down a bit. Medwick had eight children and seventeen grandchildren. Anything involving children and/or families went over big with him.
"A Book at Bedtime" was just going on the air when Scott received another call. This one wasn't as pleasant as kindly but timid Mr. Medwick. The smooth, snobbish voice was the last one he ever wanted to hear. "Mr. Sherwood, have you looked at your budget recently?" it hissed.
Scott rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Oh, hello, Mr. Pruitt." Rollie Pruitt was the bane of his existence. He was the station's own villain, a man so menacing that the staff's "affectionate" nickname for him was "The Satanic Santa". Pruitt was a grouch, a miser, a skinflint, and ugly to boot. He couldn't seem to get it through his thick skull that being GLOBE's major stockholder didn't mean he was entitled to run all of the company's holdings. Half the time, he acted like he was WENN's station manager. Pruitt hadn't made an appearance at the station since Christmas. If Pruitt ever appears at the station again, it will be too soon! Scott thought grumpily as Pruitt gave him an earful about how much the fashion show he had put on last week had cost.
"Do you know how much money pretty things cost these days?" the accountant barked.
"Not on my salary, but I have the feeling you're going to tell me." Scott sighed.
And tell him he did. For twenty whole minutes. Scott spent most of those twenty minutes trying to avoid snoring into the phone. He slammed the phone down on its cradle when Pruitt was through ranting. It's a good thing he doesn't know about the Victor Comstock Memorial. He'd personally feather and tar me if he was aware of the fact that I embezzled from the sponsors to create it! Scott could imagine the gleeful expression on the accountant's face if he ever found out that Scott had done something so blatantly illegal. It was a frightening thought. Pruitt doesn't care about Victor Comstock. I'll wager he didn't know him any more than I did. He didn't know him the way the staff here at WENN knew him. All he cares about is the money in his pocket.
He turned his mind from his phone conversations to Betty. She had been acting strange all day. The lovely scriptwriter seemed fine last night when they caught the Nazi saboteurs, but when he came in this morning after leaving Cutter Dunlap at the hotel with Jeff, she looked spooked. She was so pale that he couldn't help but note that she appeared to have seen a ghost. She gave him the cold shoulder for the rest of the morning. He just couldn't understand that girl. Maybe she saw the ghost of Victor Comstock. He smiled at the idea.
He turned up his radio and listened to the "Book at Bedtime" broadcast. Jeff was in great voice as he read Betty's exciting adaptation of "Robin Hood". Scott rested his head on his hands and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to drift off into fantasy......
******
Baron Scott Hood of Pittsburgh Woods was riding home at last to his own castle from the Crusades. Let King Victor and his men handle the gristly stuff, he thought. A guy could lose his hide trying to plunder the African lands! No, he'd be happier here, reunited with his people and his beautiful and intelligent Maid Bettian, the king's ward.
It was strange being back in Pittsburgh Woods after his long
journey. There was so much that he didn't recognize...like that sign attached to a great
oak tree with an arrow. The piece of parchment stated...
Here Ye, Here Ye
All Citizens of Wenningham and the Surrounding Towns
That Means You Too!
You Will Now Pay a Fifty Percent Tax
On Anything That Wasn't Taxed Last Week
By Order of the Sheriff of Wenningham
If Ye Don't Like It
Tough!
The Sheriff's Right Hand
Scott frowned. He knew that there had been some changes, but since when were the taxes that high? King Victor himself couldn't afford to pay that! He didn't recall the king hiring any Sheriffs or right hands. There was something rotten going on in the state of Wenningham, and darned if he wasn't going to find out what it was.
He galloped on, and nearly ran over a plump woman walking and singing down the road. She was simply dressed and carried nothing but a guitar. He got off his horse and helped her up.
"Sorry about that, ma'am," he quickly apologized, "but you were walking in the middle of the road."
The woman's sunny smile never left her round face. "Oh, that's all right, young man. It was my fault entirely. Sometimes I get so involved with my music that I don't see where I'm going!" She shook his hand vigorously. "My name is Eugenia-a-Dale of Altoona. I'm a wandering minstrel. I go wherever folks listen to music. That's the kingdom of Wenningham right now."
"I'm heading to Hood Castle at the edge of Pittsburgh Woods." Scott admitted. He gave her the charming smile he always used on females. "Why don't we journey there together? Wenningham is just beyond Pittsburgh Woods."
The good-natured minstrel beamed. "Wonderful! I so tire of traveling alone! It would be nice to have someone besides myself to chat with."
Scott led his horse and Eugenia-a-Dale followed along beside him, sometimes singing one of her pretty songs. She told him of the many changes that had taken place while he was gone. The Sheriff of Wenningham had taken full advantage of the king's absence and taxed the people day and night. Scott spoke of his many adventures, of his ancestral home, and especially of Bettian.
"You sound like you're in love with her." Eugenia-a-Dale interjected in the middle of Scott's description of Bettian's beauty and creativity.
"Well.." Scott didn't really know how to respond. It was just as well. They had arrived at the edge of Pittsburgh Woods to find little more than a large clearing where Hood Castle should have been. There was nothing. Nada. Not so much as a stone. Scott tossed the reins to the startled Eugenia-a-Dale and ran into the clearing. He threw up his hands in annoyance. "Ok, this has gone waaaayyy to far! A castle doesn't not just get up and walk away! There has to be something..."
"Maybe we're in the wrong place." the puzzled minstrel suggested. "Or the wrong country."
"Do you think I can't remember where my own home is?" growled Scott.
"It's gone for taxes, my boy." an aged voice replied. An old man dressed all in rags shuffled out from behind a tall maple. "The Sheriff took everything. Or maybe everything took the Sheriff?"
"Old Eldridge!" gasped Scott. "Who's the Sheriff? What happened to Hood Castle?"
"The same thing that happened to us,"added a Brooklyn accented voice. A woman and a man joined them in the clearing. They were an extremely odd pair - a tall, buxom redheaded woman and a short, middle-aged, balding man.
"Welcome to what's left of home, Baron." the woman continued. "I'm Willahema Scarlet, but you can call me Willa for short."
"Nahh, I'm the short one." joked her companion. "They call me Little Mack, for obvious reasons."
Another man shyly joined them. He was a small, pale creature wrapped in a clergyman's cloak. "Oh, yeah, and this is Friar Foley, of our local parish." The little friar bowed. "He's taken a vow of silence."
Willa went on. "The Sheriff has taken everything we own for these stupid taxes of his. Simply put, we're broke. Everyone in Wenningham is broke. There isn't a plugged nickel left in the whole land."
"Not everyone is broke." a gentle voice added. "The Sheriff and his assistant are making more money each day."
Scott let out a yelp of joy and swept the newest arrival in his arms. "Bettian, thank goodness you're alive!" he exclaimed.
Bettian was dressed in the garment of a male peasant. "I borrowed these clothes from C.J, the page at the palace, when I heard that you were back in Wenningham. I have to warn you. The Sheriff has a price on your head. King Victor went missing in Africa and the Sheriff took his place. He claims that the tax money is going to help Victor, but I know that he's lying through his teeth. He doesn't care if Victor lives or dies. All he cares about his the size of his wallet."
Scott was about ready to explode. "I'm supposed to be in charge of Wenningham in King Victor's absence! We made a deal! Is there any way that I can talk to this Sheriff and tell him what I think of him?"
"Well," Bettian admitted, "There is one way..."
Scott and his five friends crashed Sheriff Pruitt's party that night. The young page begged them not to go in, but Scott paid no heed to the lad. There were whistles from the men for Willa and from the ladies for him. He felt like he was the grand martial at a parade. Wenningham Palace blazed with a thousand lights. The Sheriff himself, a large, ugly man swathed in fine velvets and linens, sat at the head of the dining table. To his right was a dowdy middle-aged woman wearing a simple gray velvet dress. To his left was lovely Maid Bettian and her gossipy lady-in-waiting Gertrude. Scott told his companions to enjoy themselves, and they did. Willa sat near a group of admiring earls, the friar helped himself to the dessert cart, Eldridge chatted with Gertrude, and Little Mack tried to strike up a conversation with some of the prettier ladies. Scott settled in front of the Sheriff. He helped himself to a chicken leg off of the Sheriff's plate.
The Sheriff grabbed the chicken leg back. "I thought I said no gate crashers! There are important people at this party, and I don't need common rabble making a mockery of my social image!"
"I'll let you do that." Scott grinned. "I bring these partridges in the name of King Victor and Wenningham. I wish you'd remember those name more often, say, when you're raising the taxes to fifty percent."
Sheriff Pruitt smiled slimily. "Well, if it isn't Scott Hood, the former Baron who's titles, lands, and castle had to be sold for back taxes. You're reputation as a con artist is famous, Hood. You can shoot a dear at three hundred paces and charm the birds and the women equally with that smile of yours."
"How about we make you a deal?" Little Mack asked when the ladies proved unresponsive.
"Yeah, we'll leave your big whoop-de-do if you give us all the money you stole from us,"added Willa. Friar Foley nodded in agreement, his mouth full of pastry.
"I didn't steal that money. Taxes are perfectly legal, especially when they're going to help our dear departed leader."
"Oh, come on, Pruitt! You have no intention of using that money for anyone's benefit besides your own. You're putting the dough in your own pocket. It would do the king and his people more good if it were spread around." insisted Scott.
"You're one to talk about lying." the Sheriff snarled.
"The Sheriff has bread dough in his pocket?" asked Eugenia-a-Dale between gulps of orange juice.
"He means money. Mula. The green stuff." Willa explained.
Scott turned his Bettian. As he did, he purposefully knocked the gravy boat onto Pruitt's lap. The Sheriff leaped up and began to hop around. His aide, Guyina of Cosgrave, tried to clean him off and just ended up dancing along with him. It was quite a sight. The guests were rolling with laughter. Only Bettian and Scott remained silent, holding hands and dreaming about world that only lovers know.
"Oh! My outfit! My reputation!" wailed the Sheriff of Wenningham. "GUARDS!!!! GUARDS!!!! Get these nuisances out of the castle! I declare Scott Hood and his five friends outlaws and pests!"
"That's the signal to get outta here." Scott reluctantly let Bettian's hand go and made a dash for the door. As Willa and Little Mack chopped the door down, he bowed at the still fuming Sheriff Roland Pruitt and the applauding ensemble. "Oh, would you look at the time! It was a barrel of laughs, but we really must be going." They made it out the door as twenty of the Sheriff's men pursued them.
They lost the soldiers in the Pittsburgh Woods. They knew the woods. the guards didn't. They set up a crude camp and prepared to turn in for the night. Scott was cooking a venison steak that he had shot over the campfire when he came up with an idea.
"I've got it!" he roared so loudly that Friar Foley jumped five miles.
Eugenia-a-Dale stopped strumming her guitar. "Got what?"
"The Sheriff will never give up that money willingly. So, we'll take it unwillingly." Scott explained.
The others looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. "Steal? From the Sheriff of Wenningham? Scotty, are you feeling ok?" asked Willa.
"Not just from the Sheriff." Scott went on. When he had a great plot forming in his brain, nothing could slow him down. "From all rich nobles. We'll rob wealthy folk who travel through Pittsburgh Woods and give the money to the peasants in the name of King Victor. Kind of like a fund."
Scott thought of Bettian and her great admiration for her guardian and Wenningham's true ruler. "Very exciting."
Eldridge seemed to read his mind. "What of Maid Bettian? She would like the idea of us helping the king, but I don't think she'd like where the money was coming from."
Scott shrugged. "I'll explain it to her tonight. Maybe I can convince her to help us."
Little Mack seemed genuinely interested in the idea. "Yeah, I can see this working. I mean, most of those royal folks have it coming to 'em, right Friar Foley?" All the clergyman could do was nod.
"Count me in." Willa Scarlet agreed. "I ain't got nuttin' betta to do. 'Sides, I'd love to see the look on ol' sourpuss Sheriff Pruitt's face when we clear him outta everything he's got."
"Me too." said a smaller voice. C.J, the page from Wenningham Palace, emerged from the woods. "The Sheriff fired me when he found out that I let you in the palace. I'm an orphan. I have no money and no place else to go." the youth explained sadly. "So, I followed you here in the hope that you could use me."
Scott nodded. "We're gonna need help, and lots of it. Willa," he ordered the tall woman, "I want you to round up the bravest and best fighters you know. Little Mack and C.J, go with her. Tell them to bring all the weapons they own. The rest of you watch the camp."
"What about you?" asked Eugenia-a-Dale.
"To Wenningham Palace. I have an audience with Maid Bettian." replied Scott.
Maid Bettian was both surprised and amused when she saw Scott climbing up her balcony. Or at least, attempting to. He wasn't doing very well. "Need a little assistance, Romeo?" she asked.
"It would be nice if a certain maid could do more than wisecrack. A guy could break his neck doing this!" he grumbled.
The girl helped him into his room. He immediately explained his scheme in great detail. Eldrige was right. She didn't approve.
"The idea of you aiding the peasants in the king's honor is both a heartfelt and noble gesture, but not your way of acquiring the money! You'll be arrested or killed or both!"
"Only if we're caught." Scott reassured her. "My friends and I know Pittsburgh Woods like the back of our hands. We'll easily be able to hide from Sheriff Pruitt and his men."
"It's not just that." insisted Bettian. "It's the stealing. Stealing is wrong. There must be some legal way for you to make cash for the masses."
"What's a few thousand g's to the well-to-do set? They don't need the bucks. People like C.J and Willa and Eugenia-a-Dale do."
Bettian considered the plan, then hesitantly said "I'll do it, Scott, but only because it's for the good of our people...and our king. I'll help you in any way I can."
"Wonderful!" Scott exclaimed. "I need you to write me a letter each week describing the goings-on at Wenningham Palace. It'll keep me informed of the Sheriff's movements. C.J will deliver it to me."
"You want me to spy on Sheriff Pruitt and his aide, Guyina of Cosgrave?" Bettian queried incredulously. "But that would be committing a crime, too!"
"Aren't overtaxing already poor folk and usurping power also crimes?" Scott reminded her. "Wenningham doesn't belong to the Sheriff. It belongs to King Victor, you, the citizens, and me! Pruitt has no right to be doing what he's doing. He's only making more capital for himself, and I don't find that to be a capital idea."
The two conspirators were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and the voice of Gertrude. "Bettian, your bath is getting cold, and running water hasn't been invented yet to fill it up again!"
Bettian gave Scott a gentle kiss on his cheek as he made for the balcony. "Scott, I still believe that your plan is foolish, but, God bless you!" She then went to handle Gertrude. She'd make up some silly lie about reciting a poem out loud to amuse herself.
Scott stood dazed for a few moments before he remembered that it would be unwise to be discovered here. He headed for the woods, silently vowing never to wash his cheek again. When he and Bettian could get back into close quarters, they'd continue the whole romantic gunk thing. For now, he had bigger problems.
The Pittsburgh Woods were crowded with the largest assortment of shapely beauties Scott had ever seen outside of Atlantic City. What in the heck is this, a bimbo convention? he wondered in annoyance. I asked for warriors, not beauty pageant contestants! There had to be at least thirty.
He elbowed his way through the group of gorgeous women until he found Willa. She was taking names a big piece of oak. Little Mack was admiring the females. Friar Foley looked shocked as some of them gathered around him, giggling. Eldridge was conversing with a few more, while still more women sobbed over some sad ballad Eugenia-a-Dale was performing. Scott dragged Willa out of the assemblage.
"Willa," he growled, "who are these females? I wanted you to round up men who can shoot arrows and swing swords, not the Crimson Follies' chorus line!"
"Hey, now, don't get all upset on me!" Willa shot back. "You didn't specifically say fellas. You said fighters. My buddies needed a job where they weren't being rubbed, stroked, and catcalled thirty-six hours a day. If anyone knows about fighting off soldiers, it's these girls."
"Willa, there are only twenty-four hours in a day." Scott pointed out.
"I never was much good at telling time." the redhead shrugged.
Scott sighed. "Well, I guess they'll do all right."
"They'll do anything you tell them to as long as it doesn't involve taking their clothes off in front of hot and bothered men." she assured him.
Willa turned out to be right. The women were as adept with weapons as any man Scott had known. They knew just where to punch, slap, and elbow a man so that it hurt for days. Scott knew that they knew. They'd used him to practice their skills on. It was a decision he'd later regret. He hurt in places he'd never known existed.
Their first day of work dawned bright and sunny, a perfect day for traveling. Scott, Willa, and several of the girls sat in the trees and bushes, waiting for their first victim. The first people to ride by were a bickering couple. The man was tall and handsome. A couple of the girls eyed him with interest. His companion was a lovely but older woman. They were dressed in faded, much-repaired silk garments. The lady wore a smattering of tarnished gold jewelry. Their steeds were thin and underfed.
She sighed. "Tell me again why we must pawn the last of my jewels, Jeffrey darling."
"Hilary, we need the money." Jeffrey explained tightly. "Those trinkets of yours are all we have left worth selling. Bedside Manor is such a state of disrepair that we couldn't give it away. We've dispatched my mother's jewels, nearly all of the furniture and good clothing, the servants, and our own wedding rings."
Hilary narrowed her eyes. "We dispatched with the wedding rings years ago, Jeff, around the time that you started attending to that bubble-headed blonde maid at Wenningham Palace."
"Hilary, don't start!" Jeffrey snapped. "We only have enough food for the two of us tonight, and just barely that. Face it, we are not as wealthy as we once were."
Pairs of sympathetic eyes glanced down from the oaks and maples.
"Aw, Scotty," Willa whispered, "we can't lift money from them! They ain't got any more clams than we do."
Scott sighed and nodded. He let out an ear-piercing whistle. The girls descended from their hiding places. Jeffery reached for his rusted sword and Hilary reached for her adornments.
"Robbers!" wailed Hilary. "Pumpkin, quick, do something! They'll steal my jewels!"
"We are robbers, but we have no intention of robbing you." Scott admitted. "We only steal from nobles who can afford it."
Willa walked around the couple, looking them over. The girls joined her. Willa grinned. "You obviously can't afford it."
"You're one to talk!" Hilary shouted. Her husband diverted himself from staring thoughtfully at Willa's ladies to place a hand on his wife's shoulder.
"Hilary, they don't seem to mean us any harm." He turned to Scott. "My name is Lord Jeffrey Singer. This is my wife, Lady Hilary."
"Lady Hilary Booth, dear." his wife corrected him. "We were going to Wenningham to speak to the pawnbroker there." She sighed dramatically. "My Jeffrey and I were once the richest nobles in Wenningham, until King Victor vanished in the Crusades and the Sheriff started to tax everything in sight. Now we're so darn poor that we're eating last year's lima bean supply and the estate that has been in my family for generations is falling apart at the seams. Or have I said too much?"
Scott thought about the pair's words. "Huddle!" he called to Willa and her girls. Hilary and Jeff watched in consternation as the group decided what to do.
After a few moments, Scott turned back to them with a large smile on his face. "I think we can make arrangements. We'll give you a share of the profits we make if you promise to help us."
"Are you sure you can collect that much money?" asked Lord Jeffrey skeptically.
"Sure we're sure, right girls?" Willa said. She was answered by a chorus of "Yeah!" and "You bet we can!"
Lady Hilary was staring distastefully at Willa and her pals. "I refuse to associate with thieves, strippers, and common barmaids." she sniffed.
Jeffrey was admiring the women. Hilary glared at him. He averted his gaze from the ladies to Scott. "All right, it's a deal, Mr...."
"Hood." replied Scott, bowing. "Scott Hood of Pittsburgh, your lord and ladyship. We're both in the same boat. I also lost my wealth through the Sheriff's taxes."
"Pumpkin!" shrieked her Ladyship in shock; "You heard what these people do for a living!"
"They do something that can make more money in a day than we make in a month." the young lord snapped back. "Sitting in Bedside Manor and waiting for it to crumble to the ground is not the way to restore its glory. Earning some kind of currency is." He regarded Scott again. "What is it that you wish of us, Scott Hood?"
Four months later, Scott was very happy with his operation. The Lord Singer and Lady Booth acted as scouts, although Scott was certain that her ladyship hated the work. She was accustomed to being petted and pampered and she hated the outdoors. Lady Hilary guarded her husband like a hawk, glaring at any female who so much as said "Hi." to his lordship.
Willa and her girls made great fighters and thieves. All the ladies needed to do was crowd around a male mark and use their feminine charm, and he'd give them his soul if they asked for it. Little Mack was a great fighter as well, despite being superstitious and easily frightened by just about anything. Cheerful and sweet Eugenia-a-Dale played her crowd-pleasing ballads. Friar Foley offered wordless comfort. C.J acted as the liaison between Scott and Maid Bettian, delivering her letters about the goings-on in Wenningham Palace. Scott had gone to see Bettian a few times more since the night of Sheriff Pruitt's party. She seemed to be warming up to his plan and to him as well. She hadn't kissed him again, but her looks were tender and her concern for his safety genuine.
It was a breezy but warm morning in May. Scott, Willa, and several of the girls were up in the trees preparing for Lord Jeff and the next fancy carriage. The impoverished nobleman came riding up in gallop, sweat pouring down his handsome face.
"There's a carriage coming down this road. It's loaded to the gills with gold and precious stones. I peeked in myself." Lord Jeff panted.
He road into the trees as the aforementioned carriage did, indeed, come ambling down the road. Scott gestured to Willa and several of the ladies, and they rushed in front of it. They were disguised as alluring gypsies. They shook their hips and their tambourines. Since the coach didn't seem to be stopping in a hurry, Willa lifted her dress to show one long, Betty Grable-esque leg. Scott never saw a coach go in reverse so fast.
A man popped his head out the door. He wore five jeweled rings a royal blue velvet coat. "I say," he shouted, "what in heaven's name is going on?"
Willa leaned on the side of the coach. She giggled. "Would you like to have your fortune told, Sir?" she asked in a pseudo-Slavic accent that wouldn't have fooled Stalin.
The noble took one look at her and exclaimed "Certainly! Come right in!" Willa turned and winked at Scott as she entered the carriage. The wink was his signal.
Scott leaped gently onto the top of the carriage and disarmed the driver. He started to unload the gold. Jeff unloaded the back, while the "gypsies" handed bags of coins and fine clothes and jewels to Little Mack, who carried them into the forest.
Lady Hilary road up to the carriage just as the "gypsies" were climbing out. The man tried to join them, but they pushed him back in. He attempted to reach for Willa, but she pushed him away teasingly.
"Oh, come now, my lovely. Don't act like that!" he said. Scott slapped the horses on their flank, and the carriage went on its way. Lady Hilary looked surprised.
"Scott," she exclaimed, "you just robbed the Earl Giles Aldrych, my old mentor from the Wenningham court. I haven't seen him in years. The least you could have done was ask him to come out and see me!"
Scott grinned slyly, draping a blue velvet coat over his shoulder. "I don't think you would have wanted to see him in his present state, Lady Hildy."
"It's Lady Hilary!" she shouted as she road off into the forest after the coach.
Scott visited Bettian later that night, but she seemed distant. There was ice in her brown eyes. She pushed him away when he tried to embrace her. Her face was pale and confused. He talked about his scams and thefts, but she didn't find them as interesting as she usually did.
Bettian's anxious voice suddenly broke through his delight. "Scott, I think you should turn yourself into the authorities."
He frowned. "Turn myself in? Whatever for? I don't particularly feel like having a noose around my neck, and I don't think that the others would, either. Everything is working out splendidly."
She turned away from him. "Scott, what would his Majesty do if he knew that you were stealing from innocent people?"
Now Scott was the one who was confused. "The Sheriff is doing the same thing I am in a different way." He sighed. "Bettian, what's wrong with you? Why are you acting so hard all of a sudden? The last time we talked, you seemed to appreciate the fund...and me."
"I...I've done some thinking in the past couple of days, Scott." she said without a hint of warmth. "I just need some time alone, that's all."
"All right, I'll go. I can take a hint." Scott turned on his heel and left down the balcony, like he always did. He thought he heard a familiar man's voice in her room as he left, but he might have imagined it.
The girls and Little Mack were awaiting him when he returned. Little Mack's face looked like a storm cloud.
"What's wrong with him?" Scott asked when the short fellow didn't give so much as a hello.
"We raided the Duchess Penelope Comminger while you were off making passes at Maid Bettian. Mack said that he was once her honey, but he'd jilted her 'fore she could become the first Mrs. Mack cause he didn't have no money." Willa explained. "We gotta pretty penny offa that dame." she added proudly.
The Lady Hilary came charging back into the camp as angry as a cat caught in a downpour. Scott would lay three-to-one odds that she'd never found her mentor. "Earl Aldrych is gone, but Guyina of Cosgrave is on her way here with a whole battalion of troops and a very large trunk of silver coins. I heard them discussing it. It's enough to feed Wenningham for an entire year!"
Scott, Willa, Hilary, Jeff, Little Mack, and the girls settled in their usual hiding places as the dowdy red-haired assistant and at least a dozen guards clopped slowly through Pittsburgh Woods. They were all obviously nervous, but none were more so than Guyina herself. She kept twitching the reins and attempting to make small talk with the soldiers, who remained tight-lipped.
Willa, Scott and the ladies leaped upon the guards so fast that they were off their horses and unconscious before they could blink. Little Mack and their lady and lordship removed the trunk and carried it into the woods. All Guyina could do was bleat her protests.
"Sheriff Pruitt isn't going to like this at all!" she moaned.
"That's the idea. I don't want him to like it." Scott told the quivering assistant. He slapped her horse on its flank and sent her bouncing off into the woods. "Have a bad night!" he called after her pleasantly. "Tell the Sheriff I hope he has unpleasant dreams!"
There was some commotion when he returned to the campsite, but it wasn't over their spoils. Friar Foley was wrapping a bandage around a wide cut on C.J.'s leg. Eldridge was trying to calm Gertrude. She ran to Scott when he arrived and grabbed him by his collar.
"Oh, it's horrible! The Sheriff has arrested Bettian! He knows about the letters and the visits. She was found guilty of high treason! Sheriff Pruitt is going to have her publicly hung tomorrow at noon in the Wenningham Palace Courtyard. Oh, please, Baron Hood, you must rescue her!" the distressed lady-in-waiting babbled.
Poor C.J looked like he had tried to take on the Sheriff's entire force by himself. He was covered with bruises. The young man winced when Friar Foley applied pressure to the wound. "I tried to help Bettian when the Sheriff's men came to take her away," C.J explained feebly, "but there were about ten of them and three of us. Gertrude and I barely escaped."
Scott felt sick. "Is Bettian..."
"Alive? Yes." C.J replied. "Scott, please take care. I overheard the Sheriff talking about a plot to trap you and all of the people who work with you. I don't want us to end up in the dungeon with Bettian."
He patted the youth's shoulder. "I won't, C.J. You can count on that." He then gathered his group and explained the situation.
"Now, look, this is no different than what we do every day." Scott reassured them when they flat out refused to go anywhere near Wenningham. "We're just stealing a person instead of cash."
"And you just happen to love this person more than anything." noted Eldridge.
"Is it true?" asked a slender peroxide blonde. "Is this Bettian your sweetheart?"
"It sure is." replied Gertrude, who'd gotten hold of herself and was now leaning against a pine. "Don't look so surprised!" the old woman laughed. "No self-respecting lady-in-waiting can resist listening through keyholes. I've heard all of your conversations, including that first one when you convinced her to spy on the Sheriff."
C.J limped over to the crowd with Friar Foley's help. "Bettian's arrest is part of Sheriff Pruitt's plan to arrest Scott and his merry women. He's trying to draw us out of Pittsburgh Woods and into the open courtyard where there are no trees to hide in. Her maidship is the bait. The castle will be heavily guarded and the Sheriff himself will witness the hanging."
Scott looked at the snoring guards lying near the big trunk and a scheme immediately began to form itself in his roguish mind. He grinned. "Piece of cake."
The next day, Wenningham Palace Courtyard was filled with people of every description. Some were bloodthirsty, some were bored, and some were selling peanuts, popcorn, and soft drinks for a nickel. Eldridge and Gertrude were disguised as vendors selling peanut brittle, but Gertrude wouldn't stop eating her wares.
Scott, Little Mack, and ten of the girls were dressed in the uniform of the Sheriff's guards. They waited behind the Sheriff's tent as Lord Jeff and Lady Hilary distracted Pruitt and Guyina. It seemed like forever before Hilary finally handed Scott the keys to the dungeon. He stuffed them in his pocket and hustled his group off to find Bettian as Willa, Eugenia-a-Dale, Friar Foley, a still limping C.J, and the other girls arrived dressed as the day's "entertainment". They were wearing skimpy costumes left over from the Crimson Follies' last medieval-themed skit and doing a kickline number. They were actually back up in case something went wrong with Scott and his gang.
Scott and Little Mack had to knock a few guards senseless before they could get a map of Wenningham Palace. They took two wrong turns and first wound up first in the kitchen, then at the Great Wall of China, before they found the maximum-security prison. They flattened themselves against the wall. The musty, damp dungeon was thicker with soldiers than it was with rats and mice.
"Great," Little Mack muttered, "There's got to be more guards in this hallway than there are movie stars under contract to MGM! How are we gonna get to Bettian's cell?"
"Leave that to us." insisted a curvaceous brunette. "Ohhhh, boooyyyss!" she trilled. The other girls followed suit. Scott and Little Mack remained in hiding as the girls took off their helmets and revealed their true genders to the soldiers. Scott had never seen a pack of men move so fast. Once the girls got the guards attention, they smacked them over the head with their swords. "They forgot that we're armed and dangerous." giggled the brunette.
Bettian was trying to unlock the door to her cell with a piece of jagged metal. She was every inch a beauty, even with her dress torn and her face streaked with dirt.
Scott tried about eight keys before he figured out a better way to open the cell door. "Stand back!" he told her. She looked unconvinced, but she did as she was told.
He slammed the lock with his sword. The vibration nearly jiggled him to pieces, but it did break the lock. Bettian rushed out of the cell and flung her arms around him.
"Thank you for saving me, Scott! You are noble, despite was some people think." she declared.
"Not so fast, Hood! I have you right where I want you." a voice from behind Scott proudly announced. Scott felt something pointy against his back. Bettian screamed as they turned around to face the Sheriff, his right hand, and many of his soldiers. Lord Jeff and Lady Hilary struggled in the arms of the Sheriff's troops.
"I'm not the idiot that you believe me to be. I knew all along that the charming Lady Booth and Lord Singer were merely decoys." The Sheriff purred. "You fell right into my trap. It's rather ironic that I captured you in the dungeon. This is where you'll spend the rest of your short life, but don't get used to it. I plan to have you and your band of burlesque belles executed on charges of tax evasion and grand larceny as soon as possible."
That was when the door of the dungeon fell down on Sheriff Pruitt's soldiers, who released Hilary and Jeff. "Sorry we're late, Scotty." Willa apologized. Her girls looked flustered and Eugenia-a-Dale and Friar Foley were reading a map of the castle, their expressions puzzled. "We took a right turn at the left tower and ended up in New Mexico. Now, can we do that sword fighting free-for-all thingie that always ends these movies?"
Scott looked at the Sheriff and shrugged. "Sure. Begin the fight sequence!" Which they did. It was every man, woman, and con artist for themselves.
Scott grabbed Bettian and the two of them ran for the courtyard with the Sheriff in hot pursuit. He waylaid them at the ice cream vendor. The vendor had long since abandoned his cart, so Bettian and Scott heaved his melted wares at their pursuer. The Sheriff slipped on the ice cream and toppled to the ground, causing a minor earthquake. The lovers were halfway to the gate before Pruitt stopped them again. He ran in front of them and brandished his sword at Scott.
"Careful, Sheriff." Scott joked. "You might actually hurt someone with that thing."
"Which is what I intend to do." Sheriff Pruitt snarled. "Come on, Hood, let's have it out here, businessman to businessman."
Bettian grabbed Scott's arm. "Scotty, don't! The Sheriff is one of the best duelists in Wenningham! I don't want you to get yourself hurt or killed."
"I'm no slouch myself." Scott reminded the fair maiden. The two men dueled, slashing and jumping this way and that, insulting each other and trading jokes like the one about the Romanian queen and the elephant.
Bettian just shook her head. This was fun to watch but was getting nowhere quickly. The fight in the dungeon had finally spilled out into the courtyard and the dueling area was growing crowded. She grabbed the ice cream barrel they had emptied and prepared to throw it at the Sheriff.
Scott was suddenly pounced upon by not one, but two people. Guyina of Cosgrave triumphantly snatched his sword from him. Bettian hurled the barrel at the Sheriff, but she took out Guyina instead. Several of Sheriff Pruitt's guards held her arms as she screamed bloody murder. Pruitt pinned Scott's shirt against the wall with a knife he'd had up his sleeve. He was about to run Scott through with his sword when an arrow soared right into the Sheriff's back. He made a gurgling sound, staggered for about five minutes, and then fell down dead.
Scott looked in the direction of the arrow that had saved his life. A tall, fairly handsome man with a smooth scalp and a serious countenance stood on the scaffolding that held the hanging noose. He had just lowered a beautifully crafted bow. He threw off his ragged cloak to reveal armor emblazoned with the royal crest of Wenningham. The soldiers were so startled that they released Bettian. She joyfully ran to the man. Scott followed her, dazed. The rest of the citizens of Wenningham stopped what they were doing and stared, shocked, at the man.
Eldridge, who had been selling peanut brittle the entire fight sequence and hadn't gotten a scratch, spoke while everyone else was gawking. "King Victor! Where the hell have you been?"
"Victor!" Bettian gasped as she embraced the magically revived ruler. "You're still all right! I've been so worried since you came to me in the wee small hours and told me that you lived through the Crusades!" Scott couldn't help feeling jealous. Bettian never hugged me like that!
"Thank you for keeping my secret these past few days, dear Bettian." King Victor greeted her. He then addressed Scott. "And thank you, Scott Hood, for saving my kingdom and my treasury from the greedy Sheriff of Wenningham." He turned to his subjects. "Before any of you ask any questions, yes, I'm alive. You're not dreaming, so don't splash me with water. I promise you all I will not melt like the Wicked Witch of the West." He gestured at the body of Sheriff Pruitt, which several guards were taking away. "My first order of business is to revoke the Sheriff's ridiculously heavy taxes. The second is to order the arrest of Guyina of Cosgrave on charges of attempted murder and high treason. The third," he turned to Scott and his friends, who had joined him on the scaffolding, "is to pardon the outlaws of Pittsburgh Woods. I don't approve of how the money was collected, but I do approve of why. Lord Jeffrey and Lady Hilary will be given all the funds they need to restore Bedside Manor to its former beauty. C.J will be re-hired as the palace page." He turned to back to Scott. "As for you, Scott Hood, I want you to kneel."
As Scott did, the king gently rested his gleaming sword on Scott's shoulder. "I restore to you the lands and treasury of the Barons of Pittsburgh Woods." Scott rose. King Victor continued. "Wenningham and I are both in your debt, Baron Hood. If there's anything that I can give you, just name it, and it's yours."
Scott eyed Bettian. "There is one thing, your majesty. I'd like the hand of your ward, Maid Bettian. I love her more than anything else in the world."
King Victor gazed at the girl standing behind him. "If she agrees to the union."
"Yes! Yes!" She ran to Scott and looked passionately into his eyes as a chorus of "Awwwwwwws" went up behind them. "Scott, I truly love you. I always have, and I always will."
Just as their lips met in a soulful kiss and everyone in Wenningham cheered, Scott heard Gertrude's voice and felt someone shake his arm violently. "Mr. Sherwood! Mr. Sherwood, wake up! Mr. Sherwood!"
******
Scott was jolted awake by Gertie's incessant shaking. He yawned and looked up to see the redheaded receptionist standing in front of his desk. "Mr. Sherwood! The rest of the staff left twenty minutes ago! I almost locked you in." He stood up and stretched cramped muscles. The radio was on but silent. He switched it off with a sigh.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Scott." Gertie told him as she went to collect her hat and coat from the green room. Scott decided that it was time he did the same. He took one last, longing look at the photo of Betty hanging on the wall of his office.
"I love you, Maid Bettian." Scott whispered. "Someday, I'll be the one who wins your heart.
The End