by Adam Dreece
“There would be more than one horse. Also, they’d be all over the place, and noisy,” added Saul. “Whoever this is, they’re alone.”
“You’re right. Also, the kids wouldn’t still be here,” said Hans. “Those captains would’ve taken them away.”
Gretel rubbed her chin. “Whoever it is, they probably left the children out and the horse in view to let us know they’re here, waiting for us.”
“Maybe it’s Master—” started Saul.
Gretel shook her head. “We haven’t had any training in years. Mother is broke, and I think she long ago used up every favor anyone ever owed her.”
Saul thought for a moment. “Okay. So, what do we do?”
“You go in through the back door. I’ll go in through the front door. Gretel?” said Hans.
Gretel nodded in agreement. “I know to what to do. I’ll find a spot for a clean shot through the window. First, though, we have to deal with the kids.”
So far, they had managed to stay out of sight from the kids, but that wouldn’t be possible as they approached the house.
Hans looked at his sister, knowing she wasn’t going to like his suggestion. “How about you lead the kids away first?”
“Why me? Because I’m a girl?” replied Gretel indignantly.
“Don’t you always correct us to say woman?” asked Saul.
Gretel’s look could’ve burned him to the ground. “Don’t get me started.” She walked away in a huff.
Five minutes later, they were in position. Gretel gave the nod, and both men entered the home, from opposite ends.
“Mother!” screamed Hans.
“What’s going on?” yelled Gretel, slinging her bow over her shoulder and rushing to the front door. She could hear Hans yelling and sobbing. Peeking in, she could see him holding Mother’s limp body.
“She failed to keep her end of the deal,” said the Hound calmly. He stood in the far corner, leaning against a dirty white wall. He was dressed in the same beige and brown leather coat, but this time he also wore large, metallic, gear-covered gloves.
Saul came in, glanced at Mother, and then at his siblings. “Is she dead?” he asked in disbelief.
“You killed her!” growled Hans, standing to face the Hound. Hans’ tear-streaked face filled with rage.
Gretel started to giggle. “She’s gone. She’s really gone! We’re free,” she said, repeating it as she gazed upon the old lady’s body.
Saul stood there, confused. His body was unwilling to take any action other than remain standing while his mind filled with conflicting emotions.
The Hound turned the dial on each forearm’s control box to its first position. The fingers of the gloves started to snap and crackle with small electrical arcs. “I’m only here to talk—but I came prepared,” he said firmly.
Hans pulled out his rapier and lunged at the Hound. Mother’s death angered him, but he also wanted to beat a challenging opponent, to make up for the day’s earlier defeat.
The Hound side-stepped Hans’ clumsy attack, but nearly fell over due to the weight of the large battery hidden under his coat. “Stop! If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already!”
He’d taken a calculated risk coming alone, never mind wearing the shock-gloves for the first time. He knew that if they were going to listen to him, they were going to have to see his confidence and what he could be capable of.
“Hans—wait!” cried Gretel as Hans lunged forward again.
The Hound moved out of Hans’ way and then hit him with a gloved hand. With a flash, Hans found himself on the far wall, dazed, while little arcs of electricity danced around him.
The Hound turned to Saul. “You need to make an important decision.” He switched his gaze to Gretel. “Either I crank these gloves up, and you all die here, today, with that insane woman—or, you can join me and find new purpose in life. Choose!”
The orders that Marcus had given the Fare’s enforcer were clear: either retrieve Franklin Watt, or the steam engine plans, or leave the Ginger Lady dead. Engaging the Red Hoods hadn’t been mentioned, but the Hound wasn’t one to waste an opportunity. He felt they could be useful, and figured that having his own small team maybe wasn’t a bad idea—a team that Richelle would think was hers, but he would know was his.
Gretel looked down at the crumpled woman. “Did you kill her because she took the children before handing over Watt?”
The Hound decided to put all his cards on the table. “Yes, that, and the fact that you don’t have the Watt boy, or his brass tube. My orders were clear.”
“Oh,” said Gretel. She looked at the dead woman and was getting angry at herself for starting to feel a sense of loss.
The Hound walked slowly toward the open front door. “I waited for you three because you reminded me of myself, not so long ago. You’re lost. You need purpose. You want to matter. Come with me and you’ll matter.”
Gretel and Saul looked at each other nervously.
Hans slowly got himself to his hands and knees. “Do we get toys like those? Because, if we do, I’m in,” said Hans, trying to laugh.
“Wait, did you hear that?” said Saul.
“Come, now! Before they see my horse,” said the Hound.
A guardsman repeated, “Over there! A building!”
“You were right, Captain—the children weren’t far from the house,” said Pierre.
“Sometimes, you don’t want to be right,” replied Captain Charlebois.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Lost Boys
“You eat too fast,” said Mounira, shaking her head at Franklin.
Franklin paused to glare at Mounira, and then continued to wolf down the breakfast-style late lunch that Jennifer and William had made. Once Franklin had walked through the door and into the wonderful aroma of pancakes, sausage, and other goodies, he couldn’t focus on anything else. The parade of flavor was very much welcome.
“Franklin, when you were held captive, did you avoid eating so you could think straight?” asked Richy. “You mentioned the other kids and the Ginger, but not much about you.”
Franklin put down his knife and fork and carefully wiped his mouth with a napkin. He was starving, but he still was a young man of distinction, with manners. “The Ginger Lady put that concoction in the food—bread and cookies, mostly. She must have put too much in mine since I got violently ill and passed out. That stuff was horrible—it made me tired as well as made thinking difficult. Once I had my senses back, I tried taking only water.”
“Are you done?” asked Tee, gesturing her willingness to start collecting everyone’s plates.
“Let me have a breather,” said Franklin, eyeing the heaps of food still in front of him.
“Pardon?” said Tee, confused.
Franklin was slightly taken aback. Tee and everybody else spoke with only a slight accent, which he had assumed was merely a regional difference, but he hadn’t expected any difference in vocabulary or idioms. “Um—give me a minute?” he offered as an alternative.
“Ah, okay. Everyone else?” asked Tee.
Elly got up and helped Tee carry the dishes to Jennifer and William, who were washing up.
Nikolas rubbed his full belly; he hadn’t eaten like that in a while. Even on Solstice morning, he’d moderated his eating, but today was truly a one-of-a-kind celebration, or so he hoped. “Franklin, you have filled your stomach now, yes? Good. Now, we can talk of other matters.”
Franklin sat up straight and glanced around. “Here?” he said, leaning forward, surprised.
“I see no problem. Do you?” said Nikolas.
“With… all of them?” said Franklin, pointing to Mounira and the Yellow Hoods. “I know you are a great inventor and a member of the Tub, but… them?”
Elly intentionally bumped into Franklin with her arms full of dishes. “Before you say something insincere, I’ll remind you—with all due respect—that we found you and saved you. You might want to reconsider what you’re saying, genius.”
<
br /> Franklin realized Elly had a point: he was making assumptions based on the way they were dressed. Nikolas was dressed as a gentleman, and could have easily been a guest in the parlor of any noble’s house in Inglea, but the rest were dressed as petty commoners. While Tee’s mother had the decency to wear a dress, Tee and Elly were dressed like boys.
After a minute of silence, Franklin pointed at Mounira. “Well… she wasn’t there, so why does she need to be part of this? She’s a deep southerner, and you can’t trust those people. I don’t see why she should be here. How old is she, anyway—eight?”
Mounira was about to pounce on Franklin, but Tee placed a hand on Mounira’s left shoulder.
“She’s got more life experience than you have, even with your little adventure,” said Tee sharply.
Franklin rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Anyway, we men have business to attend to,” he said. While he knew his father would disapprove of such rudeness, he knew that Inglean men behaved that way—and, therefore, he assumed it must be right.
“Listen,” said Elly with a growl, her right index finger pointing at Franklin, “we’re going to leave—only so that Mounira doesn’t tear your head off.”
“With one arm?” said Franklin, scoffing. “Please.”
Elly grabbed her yellow cloak and ushered Mounira out.
Tee brought the last load of dishes to her parents. Then, just before she followed Elly and Mounira, she glared at Franklin and said, “Mounira could do that with her arm tied behind her back. You might have anger, but she has fury.”
“Let’s go see where Richy is,” said Elly, outside. “He should’ve been here by now.”
“I liked that fury bit,” said Mounira as they walked off.
Inside, Nikolas turned to Franklin and spoke with a rare forcefulness that sent chills down Jennifer’s spine. “Franklin, when you are in my presence, it is for me to determine who may hear what. The Yellow Hoods have proven themselves wise and capable beyond their years, and you should hold them in high regard for having saved your life. As for Mounira—if I deem her worthy of hearing something, then you will, as well.
“Lastly, if I hear one more word from you with any sense of that pig-headed, islander nonsense about women, or southerners, I’ll walk you back into the clutches of those Red Hoods myself, yes? Is this clear?” finished Nikolas.
Franklin’s brain tumbled through many thoughts while Nikolas spoke. At first, he wanted to argue and prove he was tough, but that melted away. Then, he thought about the preconceptions he’d already dispelled along his journey. His father and Nikolas shared similar viewpoints, yet he had easily ignored his father, and no one else around him had shared his father’s opinions. Franklin wondered whether he would’ve listened better if his father had just used the same passion and conviction as Nikolas.
He looked up at the great inventor with new respect. Nikolas had barely raised his voice, yet it had had an impact like nothing Franklin had experienced before.
Nikolas’ eyes narrowed, showing he was running out of patience.
Franklin nodded, “Yes, sir.”
“I don’t feel like I’m allowed to move,” whispered William to Jennifer. “I never heard him talk like that.”
Jennifer put the plate down that she’d been holding since her father had started. Leaning toward her husband, she replied, quietly, “I still remember the speech he gave me about needing to respect myself more. I’d been listening to some older girls in town and was repeating dumb stuff—you know, stuff like how the only smarts a girl needs is to trick a rich boy into marrying her, and whatnot.”
William was shocked. “You said things like that?”
“Yup,” said Jennifer, smiling sheepishly. “But not after that speech. And that one wasn’t as bad as the one he gave my—” Jennifer cut herself off as Nikolas turned to look at them.
“Yes, papa?” she said, trying to hide any nervousness.
William just stood there, frozen.
Nikolas stood up and straightened his brown-and-red vest. “Would you allow… how do they say it? Master? Master Watt, here, to sleep at your home? I will take him for a walk first, but I don’t believe he should”—he turned to glare at Franklin, who shrank away—“be a guest at my home—not yet.”
“No problem,” blurted William, his voice cracking in the middle.
After walking a while with Nikolas, Franklin offered an apology. “I’m sorry for what I said.”
Nikolas took a breath and looked at Franklin. He was a good-looking lad, full of passion, and he could see he was genuinely sorry. Nikolas rubbed his chin, thinking back to lessons he himself had needed to learn.
“You know,” said Nikolas with a friendly tone, “your father was young when we met. He had many lessons to learn, too—as we all had. Your father once believed that people should be separated by status—by how much money they had, or made. He believed that people who were poor were just being lazy. All of that changed as he experienced the world.” Nikolas could see Franklin’s mouth agape. “Oh, you don’t believe me?”
Franklin looked at the ground pensively. “It’s just… I didn’t know that about my father. I guess there are a lot of things I don’t know.”
Nikolas offered a gentle wave as they passed other people out for a stroll. “Good to see you,” he said to them.
Franklin looked up at Nikolas’ warm, bearded face. “I thought my dad was just wrong for saying the same stuff you said back there. Everyone else seems to say the opposite. I suppose sometimes you have to be the one reed that will not bend.”
Nikolas messed Franklin’s hair. “Now that is your father’s expression. Tell me, do you feel status is important? Do you have any status here?” he asked.
“Of course—” replied Franklin instinctively.
“Really? Why?” asked Nikolas, folding his arms. “Who, here, do you believe has ever heard of the Watt family? And if they have, what influence on them do you think it has, hmm?”
“Um—” said Franklin, looking at the people walking by. “None, I guess.”
“Your status is what you earn, what you achieve—and if you ever rely on it, it will likely fail you,” said Nikolas.
They continued their walk in silence, during which Franklin looked at Nikolas several times. He remembered the stories his dad had told him about Mister Klaus. He’d always thought his father gushed about Nikolas, and now he wondered if, maybe, his father had actually been holding back.
“Oh!” said Franklin, straightening as if suddenly shocked. “How could I forget! I need to tell you what I did with the plans for—”
Nikolas silenced him by stepping in front of him and placing his right hand on Franklin’s chest.
A tall, elegantly dressed woman approached the two. Franklin could tell she wasn’t from this region—her fancy clothes and jewelry stood out like a torch at midnight. She carried a silver walking stick topped with a gold head.
“Anna? What are you doing here?” asked Nikolas, surprised to see her. William’s father, Sam Baker, occasionally showed up unannounced, and DeBoeuf, the third leader of the Tub, had once, too, as part of a disastrous surprise birthday party for Nikolas—but Anna had never come without first sending a letter declaring when she was coming, and for how long. She was big on protocol, and though they had both been born in the eastern kingdoms, each had kept different elements of the culture.
“Nikolas, who is this? Is this one of the Yellow Hoods?” asked Anna. “Actually, the clothes are ratty, but… Inglean. Is this the Watt boy?”
Anna tried to look around Nikolas at Franklin, but Nikolas kept in her way. Something didn’t feel right to him.
Franklin, hating to be talked about as if he weren’t there, peeked around and said, “My name is Franklin Charles David Watt. Who, may I ask, are you?”
Anna looked at Franklin, not sure for a moment whether or not to talk to him. She looked back to Nikolas. “Nikolas, we need to discuss something, and urgently. I was in the area when I caught win
d of a meeting of the Fare. We need to make a plan and act against them,” she said in her most commanding tone.
Nikolas’ bad feeling grew. He turned to Franklin so that his back was to Anna. In a serious tone, he whispered, “Go. I want you to tell Tee and her friends the tale you were about to tell, yes?”
Franklin was briefly confused, and then realized what Nikolas meant. He nodded and ran off.
“Now, Anna, do you want to sit for a tea? I know a good café not far from here.”
As Richy told the whole story, he could see the pain growing on the faces of his friends. He took a deep breath to hold back his tears and keep his emotions bottled up.
“Basically, my parents want to split up and they want to move to different cities because they’re afraid of all the talk of war and stuff. Each assumed the other one was going to take me with them,” said Richy, his face heavy with emotion.
Richy now also understood why Jennifer and William were always concerned about him, always inviting him to stay for a meal. What he’d just found weird before now had a meaning, and he struggled to think about how to explain to his friends the rest of what he’d learned.
“I can’t believe that,” said Elly, putting her arm around Richy in a big-sister fashion. “You can’t leave—you’re one of us!”
Mounira, angry on Richy’s behalf, was almost growling. “You can declare yourself your own master, right?” she asked. “Your kingdom has that rule, does it not? It is the fantasy of kids at home. These parents of yours, they dishonor you. Rid yourself of them.”
Tee paused, never having thought about that. “Yes, I think we do have that rule, though I haven’t ever heard of anyone using it.”
“Then it’s decided!” said Mounira, looking up at the taller Yellow Hoods.
“I’m sure it can’t be that easy,” said Tee, gesturing for Mounira to calm down.
“There’s something else, isn’t there, Richy?” asked Elly, reading a hint from his face that only she could see.