Shadows of Sherwood Read Online Free PDF Page B

herself staring down at a double-page spread of stylish stiletto heels. The warden was reading a fashion magazine. Robyn wondered if that kind of shoe came in camo print.
    â€œHands on the desk,” the warden said. Robyn complied. She pulled a wand from a drawer and waved it over Robyn’s gloved hands, then sighed. “No Tag. Why am I not surprised?”
    Robyn was confused. Of course she had a Tag. The ID chip was right there in her hand, like it was in everyone else’s. You just couldn’t see it, under the gloves, but the scanner should be able to read through the cloth just fine.
    â€œWould you like me to input her?” the larger MP offered. “The prisoner database looks like it’s up and running.” He moved toward the door of the computer room, Robyn’s backpack in hand. The warden punched a button on the edge of her desk and the door buzzed, allowing him to enter. Robyn watched as he stuck her bag in one of the cubbyholes and tagged it with a paper on a string.
    â€œI’ll process her later.” The warden flipped to a page full of purses. “Burle, put her in the end. With the street rats,” she said.
    The thin guard laughed. “She smells like one of them.”
    â€œHey,” Robyn blurted, automatically offended. It wasn’t like there’d been a shower in the jeep. And she’d been running through the woods all night. Her clothes had been shredded by unseen sticks and branches. Not to mention that she’d been lying under fishy-smelling cardboard before that. No wonder they thought she was from Sherwood.
    There was no chance to protest her arrest. The guard was already dragging Robyn toward the other glass door, which buzzed open to allow them access to the cell block. He led her down a dim corridor, lined with bars on one side and a solid concrete wall on the other.
    The cells were crammed with people. Dozens. Hundreds maybe. Sitting, lying, standing. Heads in their hands, reaching their arms through the bars, as if there was some help to be had there.
    Their evident despair sliced at Robyn’s heart. The walk seemed to grow longer and longer as the strange new reality settled over her. She was a prisoner now, just like them. The thought left her cold, afraid.
    The final cell in the row was empty, except for a small pile of rags in one far corner. The guard slid open the gate and pushed Robyn inside, harshly enough that she stumbled. She landed on her knees, thrusting her still-bound hands down to help break the fall.
    The bars clanged shut behind her.
    Â 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
    The Rags Come to Life
    â€œMy hands,” Robyn said, holding them up to the guard. “You didn’t untie them.”
    â€œTough luck.” He barely glanced down before he strode away, his boot heels clicking down the concrete hallway.
    Robyn sat alone in the cool, dank cell as the echoing sound of his steps receded to silence. She blinked into the gray air. The surreal sensation of being under arrest quickly settled into actual fear. She was locked up. Behind bars. In jail. A prisoner. It was the sort of thing that happened in the movies, not in real life.
    The cell was cold, with solid cement on all sides. Except, of course, for the bars that formed the door. Beyond them, the dim concrete corridor was lit only by the occasional bare bulb.
    â€œI’ll untie you,” whispered a small voice.
    Robyn scrambled around to look behind her. The cell remained dark and empty. But she was sure she’d heard something.
    The pile of rags in the corner began to move. Robyn edged away, until her back pressed against the corner where the bars met the cool concrete that separated this cell from the next one.
    The pile of rags unfolded into a shabbily dressed, stick-thin girl. She emerged through the shadows, ghostlike and small, scooting toward Robyn on hands and knees until she reached Robyn’s place at the front of the cell.
    â€œOh no,” Robyn gasped