BreadCrumb Trail (The Yellow Hoods, #2): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale

by Adam Dreece

  Elly ran to the smashed ice and started removing chunks. Tee pushed the sail-cart slowly onto the lake’s frozen surface, hoping to avoid breaking through the ice. For her plan to work, they would need the full benefit of the wind.

  “Come on! Come on!” yelled Tee, going red in the face. Then, the wind snapped the sail to its limits and the sail-cart started to creak forward.

  “We’re good, Tee!” said Richy.

  Tee darted back to the black cables. She nervously grabbed at the first, but it was slack. She looked over to Elly, who checked the second—and it was taut.

  “We’ve got something!” yelled Elly.

  Finally, the top of Pierre’s head broke the surface of the water. Tee and Elly, with the sail-cart’s help, hauled him out of the water.

  “Richy, he’s up!” yelled Elly.

  “We didn’t kill him, did we?” asked Richy fearfully.

  Tee discovered the mini-crossbow bolt lodged between Pierre’s heavy coat and his javelin holder. The bolt tips were designed to grab, not just pierce. “Nope!”

  “That’s one lucky man,” said Richy.

  They tore off his coat, and Elly put her head on Pierre’s chest. “He’s not breathing.”

  “Are you sure?” said Tee. She took off a mitt and put her hand over his mouth. “I don’t feel anything.”

  Elly and Tee worked together to pump water out of Pierre’s lungs, but his eyes remained a blank stare.

  “We did our best, Lala,” said Richy to Tee. “He’s gone.”

  Elly stopped and looked down at the lake.

  Tee was shaking, and her eyes welled up with tears. “We’ve got to do something. He can’t be dead. He can’t! There has to be something else we can do. Come on—think!” yelled Tee, more to herself than to her friends.

  “His body just doesn’t remember it needs to breathe,” said Richy, putting a hand on Tee’s yellow-cloaked shoulder.

  Tee snapped her fingers as she thought of how they’d taken down the dire lynx. “Shock-sticks!” she said, and grabbed the shock-sticks from her cloak’s special pockets. She handed one to Elly, and then started winding up the other.

  “Lala? What do you think you’re doing?” said Richy, standing back. “You could kill him!”

  “He’s already dead, Richy!” replied Elly. “Let her try.” Elly vigorously wound the other shock-stick and then handed it back to Tee.

  Tee looked at Elly and Richy. Each nodded support as they backed up. Tee pressed the activation buttons and struck Pierre in the chest. Sparks flew, and Pierre convulsed wildly—and then, after a second, he coughed and blinked.

  “It worked!” yelled Richy, punching and kicking wildly in the air with joy. “I can’t believe it!”

  Tee stared in disbelief at Pierre. “He’s—he’s breathing. We did it—”

  Elly gave Tee a huge hug. “You saved him!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Hounding the Watts

  The only sounds in the town home were of two leather boots still being broken in as they walked about the hardwood floor. Though the Hound had hired the best men available, he personally wanted to check everything.

  Unlike his predecessor, Andre LeLoup, he wasn’t going to fail Simon St. Malo. The man had power and influence and had granted the Hound the opportunity to move from unimportant henchman to someone whose name sent chills down spines of more and more people every day.

  Simon St. Malo had been generous. The more he did for St. Malo, the more the twisted inventor did for him. The Hound was very much his namesake, a loyal dog who found what was needed and brought it home—no excuses. Every now and then, Simon would psychologically dig into the Hound to remind him of who worked for whom, but the relationship remained a productive one.

  The Hound leaned against the open front door and stared into the crackling fire, trying to think like the man who lived there.

  Before the Hound heard the voice of one his hired hands, he heard the crunching snow beneath the man’s feet. It reminded him that before they left, they would need to brush the path between the doorway and the coach to erase any footprints.

  “Sir,” whispered the voice behind him, “we’ve secured Watt and his daughter.”

  “Excuse me?” said the Hound, peering over his shoulder with a glare that made the hired thug’s blood turn cold.

  The thug stammered, “By—by—by secured the daughter, I mean we’ve delivered her to her mother’s house, as you asked, and all is fine.”

  “Did she wake?” asked the Hound, his gravelly voice needing little volume to be heard clearly.

  “No, she didn’t.”

  The Hound nodded approval, looking back at the enchanting fire. “And the mother?”

  “She appreciates your assistance in dealing with her ex,” replied the thug. “She’s got everything she needs to make her side of the story work.”

  “When everyone wins, there’s no mystery to be solved,” the Hound said wistfully.

  “There was, ah, an odd remark from the mother I thought I should mention,” said the thug.

  The Hound stiffened and turned. He wasn’t especially tall, nor large, but he was broad and muscular, and had an intensity about him that could wilt a tree. “And?”

  The thug nervously fumbled with his hands. “She appreciated you taking care of Maxwell and her son, of whom she’s not fond, it seems.”

  The Hound turned on his heel, back toward the fire. “So that’s why everything didn’t quite fit together. He has a son. Why didn’t our little spy tell us that? Hmm.” He rubbed his reddish-brown beard. “Maybe she thought he’d gone somewhere else? Maybe someone tipped Watt off that we were coming and he made up his own story to cover why his son wasn’t here?”

  “Why don’t we ask Watt?” asked the thug, trying to get on the boss’ good side. “He’s still conscious, somewhat.”

  The Hound considered it, but decided to trust his gut. “He already blacked out twice at the sight of me, and I wouldn’t believe anything he says anyway. He could send us on a wild fox hunt. St. Malo will decide what to do with him. By the time they get answers—if they can—it will be too late for us. We will have failed, and whatever Watt is up to could have succeeded.”

  The Hound stepped into the house. “I need to check things again, now that we know the son is missing. I’ll see you in the coach shortly,” he said, dismissing the thug. The Hound smiled secretly at the idea of riding around the kingdoms in expensive coaches, wearing fine clothes, eating exceptional food, and having impressive access to resources. Such luxuries facilitated his focus and dedication. Since LeLoup had died, his life had changed considerably.

  Leading up to this evening, he’d taken time to gather information on Watt, before approaching the cleaning lady who spied for St. Malo. He’d then approached Watt’s ex-wife and struck a deal, gaining her support to convince authorities there was nothing out of the ordinary about Mister Watt suddenly being out of town. This afternoon, he’d hired some thugs—indirectly—in order to set fires across town, to keep authorities distracted.

  From the moment the Hound had turned the key in the front door and walked in, everything had proceeded like clockwork. Not a side table or shoe was out of place, and if they had missed anything, the cleaning lady was due at seven in the morning sharp, and would remove any final signs of him and his team having been there.

  The Hound had generously paid the cleaning lady two-thirds of the promised money; she’d only expected half. She was to be paid the rest in a week, when everything calmed down. However, he was certain that St. Malo intended her to have the same fate he suspected was in store for the thugs he’d hired. He didn’t like thinking about things like that—it bothered him and got in the way of getting a job done.

  He went upstairs to double-check Maxwell’s room, making sure that everything that should’ve been packed as part of a long trip had been taken. Then, he went through the daughter’s bedroom one more time.

  Finally, he entered the bedroom he’d tho
ught was unused. The Hound checked under the bed, under the mattress, and all of the drawers. “Other than the lack of dust in some places, it looks like no one’s been living here. Smart. The boy’s probably traveling with a light pack,” he mused. The Hound drummed his fingers on the fine chestnut dresser. “I was hoping for a hint of where you’d sent him, Watt.”

  He went back downstairs, sat on the ottoman, and warmed his hands by the fire. “What did you do with your notes and plans, Mister Watt? And where did you send your boy?” he asked himself.

  The Hound looked around the room. He spotted the writing desk tucked in the corner and went over to it. After carefully going through everything, he went back to the ottoman, disappointed.

  “What would I do with my life’s work in this situation? Would I fear more for my son’s life, burn all my stuff, and send him to a distant relative?” Staring into the fire a while, the Hound noticed something behind the logs. He got the poker and moved them around.

  “You burned paper. That makes sense,” he mused, and paused. “I’d burn a lot of things, but I don’t think I’d burn my life’s work. St. Malo made it clear how important this is to you. You wouldn’t destroy everything.” He stood up. “You gave it… to your son… to take to someone. Perhaps… ah.” Satisfied with his deduction, the Hound slapped his knees and then stood.

  With a final glance around, he turned and exited the town home. He carefully locked up, and then called over one of his thugs. “I need you to brush all around here—we want no sign of footprints. Do you understand?”

  The thug nodded.

  “Your money will be waiting for you at the tavern where we met earlier. Ask the bartender,” said the Hound. He stepped into the coach and closed the door.

  Inside the coach, Maxwell Watt, tied up and with a large man at each side, stared at the Hound.

  “Watt, I know where you’ve sent your son,” said the Hound, grinning menacingly.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Merry Solstice

  It warmed Nikolas’ heart to see the large crowd that had gathered for Mineau’s first community Solstice celebration. He greeted and thanked every person who came forward with something to donate. Some apologized for the quality or number of gifts they were giving, and Nikolas reminded them no score was being kept, and that it was their act of generosity that was the important thing.

  The line of children awaiting a gift started at the sleigh, then wound and snaked away so far that Nikolas couldn’t see the end. There were Mineau guardsmen throughout, more as a reminder to everyone to behave well, than for any specific action. Nikolas loved seeing the children of the poor and rich alike, standing side-by-side, and eventually talking to one another. He’d seen remarkable friendships develop because of the Solstice lines.

  Some people out for an evening walk stopped and stared, not sure what to make of everything. Some watched from a distance, often being approached by someone participating and thus being drawn into the event. If anyone had an issue with what was taking place, they kept it to themselves.

  “I can’t believe you guys made all this stuff,” said Tee. The Yellow Hoods were responsible for taking gifts from the sleigh, one by one, and handing them to Pierre, who handed them to the line of Cochon brothers and guardsmen, and then on to Captain Gabriel Archambault of Minette and his Mineau counterpart’s right-hand man, Deputy Captain Samuel Davis of Mineau, and finally to Nikolas, who handed each gift to a child.

  It was Isabella, many years ago, who insisted Nikolas be the one to hand the gifts to the children, instead of being the one taking them out of the sleigh. The Magistrate of Minette had made a point of telling Nikolas, with Isabella at his side, that if Nikolas wasn’t going to be the one to hand the gifts out, then there would be no community celebration. The Magistrate at the time felt it was very much Nikolas’ creation. Nikolas was certain it was a bluff, but relented. From then on, he required everyone involved in the gift giving line to train together, so they could get through it quickly, without the children feeling they were having toys thrown at them.

  The Magistrate of Mineau sat at the table closest to where the gifts were being handed out, but had been too suspicious at first to participate. He watched for twenty minutes as each present was placed into the hands of an appreciative child, on the stage he’d insisted be built for the purpose. Then, to the surprise of many, he got up and took the place just before Nikolas. He didn’t feel right taking the spot he’d originally demanded, that of being the one to actually hand the presents to the children. He struggled to keep up, often forcing Deputy Captain Davis to toss gifts above or around him to Nikolas to maintain the flow. It made for a wonderful spectacle and drew cheers from the crowd.

  After the last child, Tee looked down the line and saw there were still several gifts in people’s hands. “Does that mean we actually have too many, for the first time ever?”

  Bakon chuckled. “I thought that one year, but no. This is only the first wave. You guys weren’t old enough before to help with the second wave—if you’d even realized there was one. Some people are so poor or embarrassed about something that they don’t come out until everyone else is gone. They eventually do come out, hoping that Monsieur Klaus and the sleigh are still here. That’s why we have the other sleigh full of gifts.”

  “What other sleigh?” asked Elly and Richy.

  “The one that William and Jennifer brought,” said Squeals. “You didn’t know there was another sleigh, did you?” He and Bore chuckled.

  “Yeah, Mister Nik is sneaky. Your mom and dad sneaky too,” said Bore, in his dim-witted, deep voice. He was tapping his head and acting goofy.

  “Grandpapa, why all the secrecy?” asked Tee as he approached, having caught wind of the conversation.

  Nikolas removed the knit winter cap from his bald head and put it in his coat pocket. “That is because greed is a sad thing, and it does many things to the way people think. The second sleigh is smaller—don’t think it is this size; it is not. It only has about two hundred more toys, maybe, but hopefully it is enough.

  “And will they come? Every year they have, and so that is why we will sit here until dawn. Well, that is, except for right now,” he said, looking at his pocket watch and picking up a lantern he had in the sleigh. “I have an appointment I must get to. Squeals, tell Jennifer and William to bring the other sleigh in now, yes?”

  Squeals nodded and smiled. “No problem.”

  As Nikolas walked off, Squeals turned to the Yellow Hoods. “Go enjoy the town. You guys deserve it with all the good you’ve been doing lately.”

  Elly, Tee, and Richy exchanged uncertain looks. They loved the idea, but they each had a deep sense of duty.

  “Are you sure, Squeals? I mean, we can wait with you guys,” said Elly.

  Bakon chimed in. “After these guys get back from bringing the other sleigh,” he said, pointing to his brothers, “we’re sending them off to enjoy the night, too. Egelina-Marie and I are sitting with… Nikolas… until morning, and then I’m having breakfast with her family.”

  “Did you just say Nikolas?” asked Tee. “It looked like it was painful to say.”

  “Almost as painful as saying you’re having breakfast with her family,” added Richy.

  Bakon shifted uncomfortably and smiled awkwardly. Part of him wanted to lash out, but that was the old him, impulsive and raw. Grudgingly he said, “He asked that Egelina-Marie and I call him that now. It’s like trying to get a rock out of my mouth, every time. I guess it’s… I don’t know… it’s weird.”

  “You’ll get used to it. You can do anything,” said Richy. He admired something about Bakon. Maybe it was that his reputation as a thug had been a disguise for work he was secretly doing for Captain Archambault back in Minette, or maybe it was because Richy couldn’t imagine anyone being tougher.

  Bakon gave Richy a wink. He then clapped his mitted hands. “Okay, enough. It’s Solstice! Get out of here before I have to create a crisis for you Yellow Hoods!”

&
nbsp; “Yeah, go have fun!” boomed Bore.

  “Okay, okay,” said Elly on behalf of the trio as they started to wander off.

  Elly turned to Tee. “Isn’t permitting someone to call him by his first name a big deal for your grandfather?”

  Tee nodded as she thought about it. “It’s a biggie. He’s formal about things like that. I don’t know if everyone from the eastern kingdoms are so formal, but he is, at least. I remember a story about how Grandpapa tortured my dad. Every time my dad wanted to talk him about proposing to my mom, Grandpapa just changed the subject.”

  “That’s it? Just change the subject back. How hard can it be?” asked Richy.

  “It took my dad months, and he needed the help of my Grandmama,” answered Tee.

  “Seriously?” said Richy. He pulled his coat in, as the winter night air was getting a bit nippy.

  Elly gave a raised eyebrow to Richy. “Have you had a conversation with that man that he didn’t want to have? His mind is an island unto itself.”

  Richy gave Elly a fake, surprised look. “Unto. Wow. Pulling out special words for the holiday, are we?”

  Elly gave Richy a shove. “It’s a word.”

  “Oh, I know it’s a word. It’s an unloved, unwanted word. A problem unto itself, if you ask me.”

  Rolling her eyes, Elly said, “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “You know, last year,” said Tee, changing the subject, “we were just three kids running around playing with our homemade yellow cloaks. Now look at us.”

  “Well, not all cloaks were created equal. You had yours from your grandfather, Elly made hers with her mom, and… I made mine,” said Richy.

  Elly smiled at Richy and said, “Well, yours was less of a cloak and more of an honest effort in trying to get a bed sheet to bend to your will.”

  Tee started laughing. She tried not to, but it was true.