I spent the night in what had once been a storage shed. Someone had thrown down a bedroll and a blanket that smelled faintly of horses and more strongly of another person. I wrinkled my nose. I think I would have preferred just to smell horse. and Jack had untied my hands with a warning look that suggested I shouldn’t try anything stupid. Dekka curled up against my side, still annoyed about the sack incident but willing to forgive me since I was clearly not to blame for our predicament.

  Sleep came in fits and starts. For some reason, this bedroll didn’t have the ‘magic’ of instant sleep. As I lay and stared up into the darkness, listening to small terrier snores, I thought back to Robbie’s face when she’d said her name.

  Robin.

  The leader of a band of outlaws in the forest. It was so perfectly on the nose that I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it coming. But then again, I’d been a little distracted by the whole kidnapping thing.

  The “Comrade” title sat on my character sheet like an accusation. I’d opened it twice during the night, staring at it. What did it even mean? Were the ‘Merry Men’ supposed to be communist? Was this an anticommunist storyline? And if it was, why did I get the title?

  The trousers of the people were apparently just normal brown wool trousers, the kind any peasant might wear, but they gave me +2 Charisma. I couldn’t decide if that was the game being ironic or making a point.

  Morning came with grey light through the gaps in the shed walls and the sound of the village waking up. Voices called to each other; children laughed; somewhere a hammer rang against metal. It sounded almost normal. Peaceful, even. Not like a bandit camp at all.

  The door opened and a woman I didn’t recognize came in with a bowl of porridge and a cup of what turned out to be weak ale. She set them down without a word and left, barring the door behind her. The porridge was plain; I got it down, but it would have been greatly improved with a bit of fruit or honey. I debated about the few apples I had in my inventory. I decided against pulling them out. One, I had no way to slice them into the porridge; two; I wasn’t sure how crispy non baked apple would taste in my breakfast, but most important was my third reason - what if they didn’t know about inventories? I wanted to keep that a secret. Not that I had anything in there that was immediately useful, but maybe I could snatch a key or something and put it in my inventory to avoid being caught. I mused this as I ate the bland gruel. However, it was warm and filling. Dekka got her own bowl, which she attacked with much greater enthusiasm.

  I was scraping the last bits from my bowl when I heard voices outside. Robbie’s voice, and then Scarlock’s.

  “-tomorrow night,” Scarlock was saying, his voice carrying that eager edge of someone about to do something dangerous. “The information is solid. Most of the guard will be at the tournament in Millfield. It’s perfect timing.”

  “Keep your voice down.” Robbie’s tone was sharp. “We’ve been over this. In and out, no one gets hurt if we can help it. We take the tax collection and anything else portable and valuable, and we’re gone before they even know we were there.”

  “I still think we should burn-”

  “No,” Robbie cut him off. “We’ve talked about this. We’re not arsonists. We take from the rich; we give to those who need it. We don’t destroy for the sake of destroying.”

  “A summer castle, though.” Scarlock’s voice was practically gleeful. “Do you know how much that place cost to build? While people in the villages around here starve?”

  Had they forgotten I was in here? Was I meant to overhear this? My stomach dropped. A summer castle. Some noble’s private retreat. What were they planning?

  “Which is exactly why we’re taking his gold,” Robbie said. “Gold that came from taxes. From the labor of people who’ll never see a summer castle in their lives. We’re just... redistributing it.”

  I pressed my ear closer to the wall, straining to hear.

  “It would be better if the wealth could be distributed as the peasants generate it.” Robin made a small noise I couldn’t decipher. “How many people are we taking?” Scarlock asked.

  “Twelve. Maybe fifteen if we can spare them. Jack, you, me, the usual crew. We’ll need to move fast once we’re inside, so just those of us that have experience.”

  Their voices faded as they moved away. I sat back, my head swimming. They were going to rob a noble’s summer castle. Tomorrow night. And I’d just heard the whole thing, and I wasn’t sure if that was intentional.

  I was still processing this when the door opened again. Robbie stood there, Scarlock behind her. The moment she saw my face, her expression shifted. They both looked shocked. So I hadn’t been the intended recipient of this information.

  “You heard.” It wasn’t a question.

  “You guys were the ones talking outside. It’s not as if I could have left the area to give you privacy,” I said flatly.

  “Scarlock,” Robbie’s voice was flat. “Did we just discuss our plans right outside where our prisoner is being held?”

  The young man in red had the grace to look sheepish. “I... we were just walking past, and I forgot she was here. And so did you…”

  “I know I rely on you to remember these things.” Robbie pinched the bridge of her nose, a gesture so familiar and human that for a moment she seemed more real that the usual NPC. A tired manager dealing with an enthusiastic but careless employee. “This is why we have operational security, Scarlock.”

  “She’s tied up in a shed,” Scarlock protested. “Where’s she going to do?”

  “I’m not tied up anymore,” I pointed out. This banter between them felt more mock serious than real.

  Robbie closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, she looked at me with something that might have been resignation. “Well. I suppose we need to have a conversation then.”

  She came into the shed, Scarlock following. There wasn’t much room with the three of us plus Dekka, who had backed up and was eyeing Scarlock with deep suspicion.

  “You heard about tomorrow night?” Robbie said.

  I nodded.

  “And you know what that means.”

  “You can’t let me go,” I said quietly. “In case I warn them.”

  “In case you warn them,” Robbie agreed. She pulled a crate over and sat down, elbows on her knees. “Which puts us in an awkward position. We don’t exactly have a jail, Elizabeth. We’re not set up to hold prisoners long-term. And we need everyone we have for tomorrow night. We can’t spare people to guard you.”

  “So, what are you going to do? Kill me?”

  “No,” Robbie said after a pause, looking me up and down. My lack of concern threw her a bit. She must not know that we fellow players respawned. “No,” she said again, more firmly. “That’s not who we are. We’re not murderers.” She paused. “Well. We try not to be. We don’t kill unless we have to. Not in cold blood.”

  I wasn’t sure how much I believed her. I had met some of her bandits along the road before.

  “But we do have a problem,” she continued. “We leave at dawn. The ride is a full day, hard riding. We need to arrive after nightfall. Which means if we leave you here, we’d need to leave you secured. For two days at least, maybe three, depending on how things go.”

  I pictured it. Tied up in this shed for days. No way to move, to stretch. Depending on someone to bring me food and water, to let me relieve myself. Dekka trapped with me, confused and miserable.

  “I don’t like that option,” I said. “What else do you have?”

  “I didn’t think you would like that.” A smile flitted across her face. “Which is why I’m offering you an alternative.”

  I waited.

  “You come with us.”

  I had anticipated that “How would that work?”

  “You ride with us tomorrow. You will see what we do and why we do it. And maybe...” she paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. “Maybe you understand that we’re not the villains in this story. Or at least, we’re not the only villains.”

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  “You want me to help you rob a noble.”

  “I want you to witness it,” Robbie corrected. “You don’t have to take part. But you’ll be there. You’ll be watched, obviously. You’ll be with us where we can see you, where you can’t run off and warn anyone. And when it’s done, when we’re safely away... we’ll talk about what comes next.”

  “And if I say no?”

  Robbie’s expression was sympathetic but firm. “Then I’m sorry, but you’ll spend the next few days tied up in this shed. I’ll make sure you’re as comfortable as possible, that someone brings you food and water, that Dekka is taken care of. But you’ll be here, secured, until we get back.”

  It wasn’t really a choice. Not a real one. Also, she seemed very much to want me to come along. Why did she want to convince me so badly?

  “I want my gear,” I said. “My club. My pack. And Dekka comes with me.”

  “Done,” Robbie said immediately. “You’ll ride with us; you’ll have your gear. But Elizabeth, if you try to warn anyone, if you try to run, if you do anything to compromise this operation...” She leaned forward. “I won’t kill you. But I will make sure you regret it. Are we clear?”

  I looked at her. At the lines around her eyes, the grey in her hair, the calluses on her hands. This was a woman who’d chosen a hard life for reasons she believed in. Who’d built a community of outcasts and outlaws. Who was trying, in her own way, to make things better.

  She was also planning to rob someone. Maybe someone innocent. Maybe someone who didn’t deserve it.

  But what choice did I have?

  “We’re clear,” I said.

  Robbie stood. “Good. We leave at dawn. Get some rest. It’s going to be a long ride.”

  They returned my gear an hour later. My club felt familiar in my hand, the weight of it reassuring. My pack had everything I’d had before — which was really nothing, as everything but my weapon and my tent were in my inventory.

  Jack appeared as the sun was climbing higher, leading a horse. It was a solid bay mare, not flashy but sturdy-looking. “You know how to ride?” he asked.

  “Sort of,” I said. How did I explain that I could manage to stay on a moving horse in the real world, yet every in game horse had lawn darted me with enthusiasm?

  “Good enough.” He showed me where the mounting block was and adjusted the stirrups for my height, as this wasn’t as simple as the saddles I was used to.

  Dekka he placed in a leather satchel that hung from the saddle, her head poking out. She looked deeply unimpressed with this arrangement, but seemed to understand it was better than the burlap sack.

  Cautiously, I mounted the horse. That I had succeeded with before. It was the moving off that had been an issue. Gently pressed my calves against the mare’s sides. For a moment I thought I was going to be in for another flying dismount. Her black-tipped ears pinned back for a moment, and her shoulders tensed, and her back came up. Then it was like a switched was flipped, and with an irritated swish of her tail she relaxed and walked forward.

  This horse, I was allowed to ride. I wondered if I could keep her.

  The village was busy with preparations. People moved with purpose, checking weapons, packing supplies, saying quiet goodbyes to those who were staying behind. I saw Mary, Robbie’s partner, helping to pack saddlebags. She glanced at me once, her pale eyes unreadable, then went back to her work.

  Children ran between the horses, excited by the activity even if they didn’t understand what it meant. An older woman, someone’s grandmother, by the look of her, pressed packets of food into hands, murmuring blessings, or warnings. It felt like a community sending off soldiers to war.

  Which, I supposed, it was. In a way. These people didn’t seem evil. They smiled and hugged with warmth but worry in their eyes.

  Robbie appeared on a grey stallion, her bow now strung and her quiver full. She wore the same leather armor, but she’d added a dark cloak against the chill. Scarlock was beside her on a chestnut horse — probably the closest he could find to red — practically vibrating with excitement. Jack mounted a huge draft horse that barely noticed his weight.

  There were others, too. A dozen in total, maybe more. Men and women both, ranging from Scarlock’s age to someone who had to be in their fifties. All armed. All grim-faced and determined.

  “Mount up,” Robbie called. “We’ve got a long ride ahead.”

  I climbed onto my horse, awkward but successful. The mare shifted under me but didn’t protest. Dekka huffed from her satchel.

  “Stay close,” Jack said quietly, bringing his horse alongside mine. “Don’t fall behind. Don’t try anything stupid.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” I muttered.

  Robbie raised her hand, and the group fell silent. “You all know the plan,” she said, her voice carrying across the square. “We ride hard, we arrive at nightfall, we do what needs doing. No unnecessary risks. No one plays the hero. We get in, we get the gold, we get out. Understood?”

  A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.

  “Then let’s ride.”

  The first few hours passed in relative silence. We rode single file along narrow forest paths; the horses picking their way over roots and rocks. The woods around Oakfend were dense, old-growth forest that blocked out much of the morning sun. It was beautiful in a wild way, untouched and primal.

  I rode near the middle of the group, with Jack ahead of me and Scarlock behind. Robbie was at the front, setting the pace. It was more trotting than I have liked; my muscles were not happy. I tried to tell them it wasn’t real, but they ached all the same. Thankfully, my mare seemed content to follow the horse in front of her. I had asked about her name, still thinking I should find a way to keep her if I could. Jack seemed to think it strange that I wanted to know her name. But he told me it was Shamoly.

  Dekka, after initial protests, had settled into her satchel and appeared to be napping.

  We emerged from the forest around midday into rolling farmland. Fields stretched in every direction, some planted with grain that rippled in the wind, others lying fallow. Here and there I could see farmhouses, small and humble, smoke rising from their chimneys.

  Robbie slowed her horse, letting the group spread out a bit on the wider road. She dropped back to ride beside me.

  “See those fields?” she asked, gesturing to the farmland around us.

  I nodded.

  “Every stalk of grain in those fields belongs to Lord Pemberton. The farmers who work this land? They keep maybe a quarter of what they grow if they’re lucky. The rest goes to taxes. To feed his household, his soldiers, his guests at his fancy dinners. Those farmers work from dawn to dusk, every day, and half of them will go hungry this winter because they gave so much away they don’t have enough for themselves.”

  I’d heard versions of this before. The game had mentioned taxes and the hardships of peasant life. But I’d never really thought about it, not deeply. But all these lords meant even more peasants. I had hoped situations like in Scott’s Hill were the exception. I was now thinking that was more the norm.

  “That’s not fair,” I said quietly.

  “No,” Robbie agreed. “It’s not. But it’s legal. It’s the way things are. The way things have always been, according to the lords. They own the land, so they own everything that comes from it. Including the people. To them, the people are just... tools. Resources to be used. Some might look after them well while they are useful. But they all throw them away when they can no longer work as required. “

  We rode in silence for a moment.

  “What would you change?” I asked. “If you could. What would be different?”

  Robbie’s eyes lit up; it was clear I had asked the right question and this was something she was passionate about. “The land belongs to the people who work it,” she said. “Not to some lord who inherited it from his father, who inherited it from his father. The farmers would decide together what to grow and how to divide it. They’d choose their own leaders, people they trust, people who work alongside them. Not nobles who’ve never touched a plow in their lives.”

  “That sounds...” I struggled for the word. “Idealistic.”

  “Maybe,” Robbie said. “But why shouldn’t we aim for ideals? Why should we accept oppression just because it’s traditional?” She gestured to a group of farmers working in a distant field. “Those people are no different from you or me. They’re not less intelligent, not less deserving of comfort and security than the nobles; in fact, I would argue they are more deserving. But that is another argument.” She shook her head, “they’re just not born into the right families. Why should that determine everything about their lives?”

  I thought about Toronto. About democracy, elections, social services. About all the things I’d taken for granted before I’d gotten stuck in this game. “I don’t disagree with you,” I said slowly. “About the unfairness. About people deserving better. But...”

  “But?”

  “Violence,” I said. “You’re talking about overthrowing the entire social structure. That doesn’t happen peacefully. People die in revolutions. Innocent people. Guards who are just doing their jobs. Servants. Children, sometimes.”

  Robbie’s expression hardened. “People are already dying,” she said, and I heard the echo of what she’d said yesterday. “They die slowly, from hunger, from disease, from being worked to death. Just because it’s not violent doesn’t mean it’s not murder. It’s just... quieter. More acceptably out of sight. Less messy,”

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” I said, and immediately felt like I was quoting a children’s book.

  “No,” Robbie agreed. “They don’t. But sometimes doing nothing is also wrong. Sometimes standing by while people suffer because you don’t want to get your hands dirty is the worst choice of all.”

  I didn’t have an answer for that.

  We rode past a village, small and poor-looking. Children played on the dirt roads, wearing clothes that were more patches than original fabric. An old man sat outside a house, his legs twisted with some disease or injury, begging. No one stopped to help him.

  “See him?” Robbie asked quietly. “He probably worked the fields until his body gave out. Now he’s useless to the lord, so he’s left to beg. To starve. Because his value was only in his labor, and he can’t labor anymore. And the worst part is, if he is caught begging by the lord, he will be punished. It makes the lord look bad, but he will do nothing to fix it.”

  “That’s horrible,” I said, and meant it.

  “Yes,” Robbie said. “It is. And it happens every day. In every village. In every city. The system grinds people up and throws them away. We’re just trying to save a few. To make it hurt a little less. To show people that they don’t have to accept this.”

  “By stealing?”

  “By redistributing,” Robbie corrected. “The gold we take tomorrow? It was collected as taxes from people who could barely afford to pay them. We’re just... returning it to the people it was taken from. Making sure it feeds hungry children instead of buying another tapestry for a castle that sits empty most of the year. The resources should belong to the people who create the wealth. Not those who hoard it.”

  The afternoon wore on. We stopped once to water the horses and stretch our legs. Scarlock brought me a waterskin and a piece of hard cheese, grinning like we were on some grand adventure instead of riding to commit a crime.

  “Your first raid,” he said. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

  “Not really the word I’d use,” I said.

  “What would you use?”

  “Terrifying?” I suggested. “Morally complicated?”

  He laughed at me and walked away, not giving me a reply.

  As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, the landscape changed. The farmland gave way to more forests; these were more manicured and controlled. Hunting grounds, probably. Rich people’s parks.

  “We’re getting close,” Jack said quietly from ahead of me. “Another hour, maybe less.”

  My stomach churned. An hour until we reached the castle. Until I had to watch these people — people I was starting to like despite myself — attack a castle. Guards were going to fight, and they were just as trapped in this system as everyone else.