Author's Note: disclaimer, of course I don't own the rights to Robin Hood.

This is a lovely little episode that takes place between episodes 3 and 4 in season 1. This time, the Sheriff is up to the same old antics, but this story follows the prologue I have written, "A Hero's Prologue." Thus, as a refresher, Catrine is Guy's wife who died months ago when he went to the Holy Land.

Enjoy! And please R&R! :)


The thick oak doors opened with a loud squeak, causing the Sheriff to look up from the giant, dusty tome that lay on the table before him. Guy entered the library, a room seldom ever used in the castle. Dust floated everywhere and piles of books and manuscripts and parchments lay haphazardly over tables and on shelves.

"Gisborne. I'd like to consult with you … alone… if you don't mind," the Sheriff shooed away the guards that entered with Guy. The guards receded, shutting the thick doors behind them.

Guy stepped closer to the Sheriff, eying the parchments and bound books everywhere. "I thought we were to discuss the tax money, Sheriff. We are nearly 1000 pounds behind in taxes this year."

"All in good time, Gisborne." The Sheriff continued to flip through the pages of the book before him. "Tell me, what do you know about… vampires?"

"Vampires, Sheriff?" Guy asked, stepping to the table beside the Sheriff and leaning down over the book. He looked down on the page; graphic descriptions and illustrations lay illuminated on the thick and dusty page.

"Yes… nasty creatures, really," the Sheriff pointed lightly over a picture of an undead vampire covered in the blood of a dead woman in his arms. "They come out only at night, sucking the blood of sheep and goats… and people. Nothing kills them but running a wooden stake through their lifeless hearts."

"I don't understand…" Guy's gaze remained fixed on the image of the dead woman. Blood dripped down her body, streaming from the monster's fanged mouth. He shuddered.

The Sheriff's lips curled into a half-smile. "Gisborne… tell me… what wards off vampires?"

His trance breaking from the image, Guy looked over the rest of the page. "Crosses, holy water, and garlic," he listed.

The Sheriff walked around the table to face Guy. "So… if there were a scare throughout Nottingham… that some monster, say a blood-thirsty vampire, were on the loose… the people would do anything and everything they could to protect themselves? Say, even buy objects and herbs known to protect against these vile creatures?"

Guy smiled; now he understood. "I'm fairly certain that the people would buy anything for protection, for any price."

"Precisely," the Sheriff nodded, turning towards an inner door of the library. "Oh, yoo-hoo, Geoffrey!" he called, cupping his mouth with his hand.

From this inner door stepped a stout, balding man, his round body cloaked in a brown sackcloth robe.

The Sheriff flashed a smile and said with a wave of his hand, "Gisborne, meet Geoffrey Minor, the newly dubbed purveyor of relics."

The man could barely bend enough to bow; he held a small wooden box in both his arms. "A pleasure," his nasally voice echoed through the dusty room.

"Now! Show us your goodies!" the Sheriff rubbed his hands together and cleared space on the table. Geoffrey set the box down, unhooking the latch and rifling through the various objects within.

He began pulling out small vials of water. "Now, to ward off vampires, we have a variety of options of relics to sell. For a large profit of course. Holy water to mark the doors…" he indicated the vials, "garlic to hang everywhere and to wear…" he pulled out foul smelling cloves and sprigs of wild garlic, "and of course the most assured method … and the most expensive … the silver cross." He pulled out several sizes of shining crosses, some for the walls and some as pendants.

"The more expensive the better," the Sheriff commented as he fingered one of the crosses.

Geoffrey Minor slapped away his hand. "Of course, as purveyor of relics, I will get a fifty percent cut in the profits…"

Guy sniffed from his stance across the table, and the Sheriff threw half a smile. "Fifty percent?"

"Where else would you get your relics from? You can't sell relics officially without a purveyor," Geoffrey's black eyes glinted with greed.

"Very well," the Sheriff backed off with an innocuous smile. "Well, Geoffrey," he said as he opened the main door. "You'll know when to begin your business. Ta-ta."

The Sheriff stared as Geoffrey left with his box and slammed the door behind him. Dust flew all over Guy, and he began to cough.

The Sheriff came over and clapped him on the back. "There, there Gisborne, I need my vampire to be in the best health possible." He spun Guy around to look him in the face. "Well, actually your health doesn't really matter, does it; you're supposedly the undead."

"How soon do you want me to begin?"

"We'll start small, just take out a few sheep, drain them of blood and place them somewhere conspicuous." The Sheriff gently traced Guy's nose and strands of his hair. "Yes, you'll make an excellent vampire, dark and always dealing and risking death."

Within his deepest thoughts, Guy startled at the Sheriff's words. Something about those words stirred his memories.

Then he was shocked out of his thoughts; the Sheriff pinched Guy's cheeks together, exposing his teeth.

"Oh, too bad. I half expected to find fangs." The Sheriff released his cheeks, and Guy massaged them. "You'll just have to settle for a dagger instead, won't you Gisborne."