The tollhouse smelled of cold ashes and damp wood. Despite an attempt to balance it with a piece of wood, a simple table stood askew on the uneven floor. A small, sooty fire was the only source of heat, and the smoke only escaped reluctantly through the stone chimney. The bulbous inkwell with a tattered feather left black spots on a stack of papers full of lists of names and numbers.

A gaunt man with greasy brown hair was leaning over the stacks of parchments and coins, which glimmered in the light of a lonely candle. A scale took up part of the counting table, with a large, plain jug standing at the edge next to a painted clay cup, exuding the smell of spiced wine. Roger, the tollkeeper, carefully counted the heavy silver coins from a plain linen bag, placed them on the scale and checked their authenticity by weight.

A glance from his brown eyes flickered to the wooden table in the corner of the room, where two soldiers sat on wobbly chairs. Humphrey's head was lying on the tabletop, buried in spilt ale and wine. The cup he was still holding was leaning more and more horizontally and was about to spill the rest of its liquid content onto the floor. Stupid George had made himself comfortable in his chair in his drunken stupor, slumped backwards and snoring loudly with his mouth open, and from the upper floor, only the sonorous humming of the other sleeping guards could be heard.

"That was almost too easy..." the greasy man murmured to himself while his gaze wandered over the list before his nose.

A trade convoy had passed through the toll station today, and Roger had made the wealthy Cornish merchants pay handsomely for the many metals they wanted to ship via York. The income would undoubtedly satisfy the Sheriff... and maybe he would finally get him out of this hellhole! Besides, no one would notice if a coin or two went missing. And since he had managed to drink the two fools under the table...

Roger's mouth twitched slightly; then he slid the stack of shiny shillings into his pocket smoothly. He knew he had to be careful because the bell outside had been rung less than ten minutes ago, and that meant that one of the two guards outside the door would soon bring the nightly traveller's toll to the chamber.

Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud creak under the kick of a boot, and a cold wind whistled in; the thieving tollkeeper flinched like a little rascal who had just been caught with his fingers in his grandmother's cookie jar.

"Shut the damn door, you idiots!" he snapped at the two men before their boots had even touched the first plank.

Immediately, the rain wet the house's threshold while the toll collectors rolled a barrel inside. The rain dripped from their hoods and cloaks, so they left a trail of rainwater on the bleached wooden floor with every step they took inside.

"Sorry!" one of them murmured.

"A small merchant. We took a third of his goods... and a whole barrel of ale," the other man's voice sounded as they set it upright. The quiet clinking inside the barrel was only missed by the counter because a small bag of coins landed on his desk. "In addition to the toll, of course."

Roger's glassy eyes were fixed on the shimmering coins inside the bag, whose loose leather lacing had opened under the impact. His lips formed a broad grin showing his yellowish teeth, and his earlier frustration quickly vanished.

"Today we have had an excellent haul," purred the greedy man, snapping at the bag of coins like a fish at the bait.

His broad, self-satisfied grin remained as he pushed aside the cloak on his shoulders. With a reach to his chest, Roger pulled a key on a leather strap from under his linen shirt and stood up to open the heavy iron chest behind him, where the day's toll revenue was safely stored.

"Take the barrel to the storeroom and put it with the other confiscated goods," he ordered in a smug tone as if he had personally extorted the traveller's money and ale.

Obediently, the two men rolled the barrel to the storeroom door, and Roger caught a glimpse of a mischievous smile out of the corner of his eye.

It irritated him enough to look more closely, so he failed to hear the strange rumbling from the supposedly full barrel.

Roger narrowed his eyes briefly, and the two men's gazes met in a split second.

In that fleeting moment, Roger recognised the person under the guard's armour... and the guard recognised him.

"Shit," Robin hissed.

"Hood!"Roger gasped.

The customs officer took a sharp intake of breath and stumbled backwards, his eyes widening in shock as the memory of their last encounter flooded back like a tidal wave. He had been working as the Earl de Burgh's counting master back then and had been the victim of the robberies by Hood and his gang.

"T-Thieves!"

As the words came over his lips, he felt like he was experiencing déjà vu. Roger raised his hand, pointed at the man with a trembling index finger, and clenched the key on the leather band in his fist as tightly as if it were a rosary that promised him salvation from the depths of hell.

"HOOD! It's Robin Hood! Shit! WAKE UP!" shouted the tax collector, whose face turned bright red under the quivering anger of his voice. His gaze slid from the door to the guards' table...

But they were snoring in the corner, as he had left them before: face in a pool of wine and their saliva.

Roger turned pale as he realised that he had knocked them out himself.

The loud noise and Roger's cries dragged the two drunkards slowly out of their wine-soaked slumber.

Staggering and reeling, they slid up at their table, blinked against the influence of drunkenness and fumbled for their weapons. The adrenaline tried to displace the influence of the alcohol, but at their level, it was in vain.

Humphrey lurched sideways and clumsily knocked over the spear he had leaned against the wall with his hand. When the man hastily bent down to pick it up, he leaned unhappily on the tabletop that the wobbly table frame tipped over. The cups on the tabletop flew like missiles through the room while the guard, accompanied by the clanking and clattering of his armour, fell face-first onto his nose.

His comrade, who had at least tried to get up and go on the attack, stumbled over his friend and landed on his face on the ground as well.

At this sight, Robin couldn't help but burst out into laughter.

"They're drunk as skunks!" he snorted and took a threatening step towards Roger while Will Scarlet removed the hood of his disguise and tore the lid off the barrel of ale they had brought in. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled Robin's sword out of the straw, which should have been steaming with telltale sounds, and deftly threw it to his companion.

The King of Thieves deftly caught the weapon.

"Apparently, they still don't have enough respect for us if they can get drunk on duty," Scarlet agreed, joining in the laughter as Robin's boots made the floorboards creak.

He approached his old friend with a vicious grin on his lips and his sword in his hand. "So, let's get down to business..."

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