All The King's-Men (The Yellow Hoods, #3)

by Adam Dreece

“What do you think happened?” asked Elly, worried.

  Christina fixed her eyes forward. “The world’s falling to pieces, so it can’t be by accident. Keep your eyes peeled for trouble.” She could sense there was a grand plan being executed, but she had no sense of by whom.

  Tee watched the smoke for a minute, and as nonsensical as it was to her, she asked the wind to make sure her parents were safe. Of all the crazy things she’d learned about her Aunt Gwen, putting a wish on the wind had seemed to top everything, until now.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Like a Brother

  The ten-year-old Abeland peeked through the crack in the door. He loved spying on his father in his secret meetings. Marcus had such presence and command in his voice that his boys would often pretend to be him, ordering their wooden toys to do one thing or another, and then dying of laughter.

  Abeland loved how everyone who came to the house was dressed, and how they spoke to his father. One day, he wanted to be just like him.

  “What are you doing?” asked his five-year-old brother, Lennart.

  Abeland turned to see the little guy, standing there in his shorts and shirt, smeared with tomato jam. Lennart peered through long bangs. Abeland thought he needed a haircut, but Mother loved his curly locks.

  Lennart had a teddy bear under his arm, one that father had bought for him on one of his many trips away. The face was well worn from cuddling.

  “I’m listening to Father,” whispered Abeland.

  Lennart frowned and wagged his finger at his big brother. “You’re not supposed to be doing that, Mother said. Father doesn’t like to be dis-tur-bined.”

  Abeland rolled his eyes. “Disturbed. We’re not going to disturb him, anyway. Come, listen. He’s talking about moving horses and cannons around.”

  Lennart dispelled his frown and cuddled up beside his brother, putting his ear to the door. “He always tells us we shouldn’t do this.”

  Abeland tapped his brother on the head. “Shh!”

  “But I’m not doing anything!” yelled Lennart.

  Abeland grabbed Lennart and clamped his hand over his brother’s mouth. “Shh, don’t make us get caught.”

  “Boys?” came a weary female voice.

  “Mother!” whispered the boys with wide eyes.

  “Okay, Lenny, let’s go! Come on!” said Abeland. He grabbed his little brother by the hand and tore off in the opposite direction of the approaching footsteps.

  They ran through the kitchen, where a dozen servants were working diligently. “Excuse us!” the boys whispered as they wound their way through and out the back door. Then, to their surprise, they found a boy who appeared to be the same age as Abeland standing there in the backyard.

  The boy had a black eye and filthy clothes. His hands trembled at having been discovered. Abeland quickly followed the boy’s eyes to a pie and a loaf of bread that were cooling on one of the kitchen window ledges.

  Lennart pointed to the stone wall that surrounded their inner-city backyard. “Did you climb the rock wall? It’s very high.”

  The dark-haired boy stared at Lennart and then at Abeland, unsure of what to say.

  “Did you climb it?” asked Abeland.

  The boy nodded.

  “Huh. You must be a pretty good climber,” said Abeland, impressed.

  “Really good!” said Lennart excitedly. “Will you show me how you did it? I can’t get up very far.”

  The boy eked out a smile.

  Abeland turned back to the food on the ledge. “I’m guessing you smelled this fare here. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes,” said the boy nervously.

  “What’s shiny?” asked Lennart, pointing to something tucked into the boy’s frayed rope belt.

  Abeland stopped himself from walking over and having a peek. He understood that if he got any closer to the boy at this point, he’d make him feel anxious and threatened. Abeland smiled as he remembered his father teaching him that about injured animals recently.

  The boy slowly and carefully pulled out a geared bird. He turned a tiny metal rod and it flapped its wings. Abeland and his brother were impressed.

  “Did you make this out of broken watch pieces?” asked Abeland.

  The boy nodded and smiled.

  “This is really good,” said Lennart.

  The boy let out a big sigh. “I sell them for money, but this is my last one. I made this one from my dad’s watch.”

  “Where’s your daddy?” asked Lennart, glancing around.

  The boy’s face fell. “He’s dead.”

  Abeland studied the boy. They were the same height, and likely no more than a couple of months apart in age. “What’s your name?”

  “Simon,” said the boy. He straightened up, showing that he was clearly from a better background than it had first appeared. “Simon Stimple.”

  Abeland put his arm around the boy. “Simon, I want you to meet my father. I’m sure he’ll let you stay with us and you can have all the fare you can handle!” he said, pointing to the food. “But…” Abeland removed his arm and gave it a sniff. “We better get you bathed first. Otherwise Mother will kill us.”

  Simon gave the sleeping Abeland a nudge with his boot again, rousing him. “I thought I’d say goodbye before I left. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again. I need to get back to the store before anyone notices it’s unmanned, so to speak.”

  Abeland blinked hard at the morning light assaulting him from the open doorway. The weight of his manacles quickly reminded him of where he was.

  Simon tapped him on the chest. “Your breathing sounds terrible. Haven’t they been giving you the medicine I’ve been sending? Oh, wait, I haven’t been sending any,” said Simon, smiling to himself. “Mind you, you look terrible from head to foot, so why not inside and out? I never really appreciated just how well-groomed you’ve always been until now.

  “You know, I’m sure Lennart would have found a way to still look good. It’s a shame you killed him.”

  Abeland sat up, leaning against the cold stone wall. “What are you talking about?” he whispered, coughing. His throat was dry, his lips chapped. His lungs felt like they barely moved when he breathed. He focused on Simon, surprised to find him crouching down beside him, instead of keeping his distance as usual.

  “Oh,” said Simon, tilting his head from side to side, “little secrets that I’ve been let in on. I’m not mad, even though he was my best friend. I always idolized you, but you never seemed to have time for me like Lennart did. I suppose it’s like my friend Charles says: it’s survival of the fittest. Though, I have to admit, I would have preferred if the tables had been turned.”

  “You aren’t making any sense,” said Abeland. “I didn’t kill my brother. I loved my brother.”

  “Well, that part I know isn’t true,” said Simon. “But I don’t care. Anyway, what was it I was talking about? Ah, medicine. I hate to see you in this state, so I brought you a little something. See, after I leave here, only one more person is ever going to come. You’ll get a final meal and that’s it. But don’t worry, you shouldn’t starve. The plants around here,” he said, pointing at the walls, “they’ll be in full bloom in the next couple of days, maybe the next week. That wonderful breeze you have from that barred window will make sure it’s over soon.”

  Simon took out a two-inch vial of green/blue liquid from his vest pocket. “What if I offer you some breathing medicine in exchange for some truth? I want to know when you got this lung disease. You didn’t have it until recently.”

  Abeland glared at Simon with his brown-and-gray eyes. “Give me the vial first.”

  Simon toyed with it for a moment before popping the cap off. “I don’t see a way I can lose, so why not?” He poured the contents into Abeland’s mouth, and smiled as the chained man nearly spat it out.

  “Did I mention I made some changes to your formula? I made it extra bitter and gave that hallucination side effect an extra kick. Just my little way of ensuring that you enjoy your
final days.”

  Abeland forced himself to swallow all of it.

  Simon took out a small red cloth and wiped Abeland’s mouth. “There, some decorum. Now, I have to admit, I was really surprised to learn that you had such an accessible weakness. When did it happen?”

  A twinge in Abeland’s chest told him the medicine had contained a potentially dangerous amount of nightshade. “It was the battle of Tangears, before I came to the southern kingdoms. They had a weapon that set fire to the air. I inhaled some of it as I yelled for my troops to take cover.”

  “Hmm,” said Simon. “That’d be about four years ago. I’ve seen you several times over that period, and yet I didn’t know.”

  “I keep my secrets well-hidden,” said Abeland, taking a slightly larger breath than he had in months.

  Simon leaned back against the wall. “I’ve also heard you built quite the apparatus to process the deadly nightshade into something helpful and harmless. Why not share that with the world?” he asked mockingly. Abeland always seemed to wrap whatever he was doing in explanations about how it was better for the world in the end.

  “Because we don’t have a world that shares well,” said Abeland, coughing.

  Simon started to stand, then crouched back down. “In all these months together, you’ve never asked me once why you were here, or who asked me to do this to you.”

  Abeland glared at Simon.

  “You know, don’t you?” said Simon.

  Abeland just silently stared, his breathing calm and steady.

  Simon put on a fake smile. “Dear old dad’s plans not so subtle then?” As he went to stand, Abeland grabbed his legs and pulled them out from under him. As he sat up, Abeland hit him in the nose with his forehead.

  Abeland quickly put a chain across Simon’s windpipe and whispered into his ear. “Unlike my lungs, your weakness of supreme overconfidence and love of picking at other’s pain has no remedy.”

  Simon struggled to no avail. Abeland was still stronger than him, even in his reduced state.

  Abeland yanked the chain, making Simon squeal in pain and flail his arms in desperation. “I know you wouldn’t have come sit beside me unless you had the key to my freedom on you, you sick pargo.” He tightened the chains around Simon’s neck. “So where is it?”

  “You broke my nose,” screamed Simon.

  Abeland held the chains as tightly as he could, cutting off Simon’s air. Abeland himself was starting to see stars as he strained his lungs so much. “Words are expensive, so you shouldn’t be wasting them like you’ve wasted the opportunity I gave you all those years ago. All you’ve done from day one is act entitled and been a pain. My father should have listened to me years ago and tossed you out.”

  Simon tapped Abeland, yielding like he had when they had fought as teenagers. He relaxed the chains slightly, and Simon slowly moved his hands to his left boot heel. A moment later, he produced a key and handed it over.

  With his hands free, Abeland smacked Simon’s head against the stone and shackled him in the chains. He paused at the doorway, debating whether or not he should just kill Simon and be done with it. His tactical mind didn’t really believe that it was Marcus who had orchestrated his downfall. Abeland figured the most likely path to the truth was through the mistakes a desperate and panicky Simon would make.

  Abeland stumbled out of the small underground building and found himself standing in the middle of a field surrounded by a forest in the distance.

  “What the...?” he said, turning around and around in confusion. “Where am I?” He’d been pretty certain he was on the grounds of a castle.

  A wave of dizziness hit him, making him stumble to one knee. He put his hands down to brace himself as the feeling slowly passed. He wobbled back to his feet. “Simon wasn’t kidding when he said he’d been messing around with the side-effects. This is going to be bad, I can just tell,” he muttered to himself.

  “Better be careful,” said a deep voice.

  Abeland glanced around. There was only a horse, stocked with saddlebags. Otherwise the green-and-brown grassy field was empty.

  He walked around the horse, searching for someone, before turning to look it in the eyes. “You didn’t just talk, did you?” asked Abeland.

  “Me? No,” said the horse, shaking its head. “You must be hallucinating.”

  “Wonderful,” said Abeland, rubbing the horse between the eyes.

  “Have you ever had hallucinations before?” asked the horse.

  Abeland nodded as he stared at the horizon. “Back when I first started experimenting with nightshade. After the battle of Ganounia where my lungs got burned, I did a lot of research to find something that would work. But I never had a talking horse hallucination.”

  The horse raised its head. “I thought you told Simon that it happened in Tangears.”

  Abeland laughed. “Are all horses so trusting? I lied,” he answered, opening up the first of the saddlebags to check it.

  “If there’s an apple in there, I’d appreciate it,” said the horse, nodding.

  “Um, okay.” A moment later, he handed the horse a green apple and then prepared himself to get on. “Do you mind if I… um, mount?”

  “No, go ahead,” said the horse, gazing about. “I think we’re safe. Just be careful. You’re seeming… a little off.”

  “I’m a bit woozy, but I’m okay,” said Abeland. He finally got up on the horse and then slowly slid down the other side.

  “Maybe you should have a rest first?” said the horse, staring at Abeland lying on the ground.

  “I’m fine. Just… another sign that this medicine wasn’t made right. Its muscle relaxation properties are too strong.”

  Focusing hard, Abeland mounted successfully. He took hold of the reins and they trotted a couple of yards in one direction, then turned around, and then turned around again.

  The horse raised its head and said, “How about we take the trodden path over there?”

  “Okay, listen,” said Abeland, leaning over and patting the horse on the side, nearly falling off. He noticed his hands and forehead were sweaty. “Um, thanks for the advice, but from here on out, don’t talk, okay? I can already feel my mind going squirrelly as it is.”

  The horse’s head moved from side to side. “Squirrels? Please tell me you don’t see talking squirrels. Those little beasts are pure evil, especially the purple ones.”

  Abeland rubbed his face. “Now I have a paranoid hallucination.” He tapped the horse’s side. “No talking unless you absolutely have to, okay?”

  “Got it,” said the horse, bobbing its head up and down.

  Finding the main road, Abeland took it eastward. Every now and then, he rubbed the palm of his hand on his bearded face, using it to judge how much sensation he had left. After an hour, he couldn’t feel anything and nearly tilted himself off the horse when he raised his arm.

  His mind was now a mess as well. Several times, he asked the horse if it saw the imaginary creatures in the shadows, but true to its word, the horse said nothing.

  A while later, as Abeland was leaning heavily on the horse, drooling and almost asleep, he heard a woman scream. He rocketed himself upright, nearly flying off the back of the horse. He clutched the reins like a man dangling off a cliff. He was soaked to the bone in sweat.

  Abeland searched about. “Richelle? What’s that little girl gotten herself into this time?” he said to himself, slurring his words. He blinked awkwardly as he noticed he couldn’t feel his tongue properly or see clearly. When the scream came again, he zeroed in on a woman with a food cart up ahead.

  He shook his head, surprised at how much it weighed. “Richelle, Richelle, Richelle. What have you gone and done this time? It’s nearly time for your dance lessons.”

  The horse moved from side to side. “You’re in no shape to go and help.”

  “Shh,” said Abeland, waving his hand, his gesture wildly exaggerated. He patted the horse’s neck and smiled. “Lennart, you really should be
taking charge here. She’s your daughter. I don’t understand why you didn’t want her. Well, I mean, I know why, but still.

  “It was clever of you to change her name to Mother’s right when she died. So sneaky to have kept her full name from Father the whole time. He didn’t even notice you manipulated him into taking her away!” Abeland tapped his nose. “I think it was the only time you got the best of him. Don’t worry though, your secret’s safe with me.”

  An old man fell to the ground and the woman screamed again.

  “You missed out though; she’s really a good kid. By the way, brother to brother, Lennart, you really need a shave.” Abeland struggled to focus on the road ahead. “Okay, here I go. I’m coming, Richelle!” he yelled, sliding off the horse. His legs immediately buckled and he fell to the ground, hitting his head. He was out cold.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Pascal's Dilemma

  LeLoup smiled at the devilishly handsome, green-eyed man in the full-length mirror. It felt good to be back.

  Convincing a soldier to steal a horse and bring him to Palais, the capital city of Freland, was child’s play. The soldier had been a bit skeptical at first, but a few words and timely tapping of the brass tube containing Nikolas Klaus’ plans for a horseless cart, and the soldier was his.

  The soldier had waited for his payment outside the brownstone townhouse, as instructed. LeLoup had escaped out the back, having given him a fake name. He wondered if the soldier would be hunting down Maxwell Watt for the year’s salary he’d been promised. LeLoup chuckled at how clever he was as he checked out his backside in the mirror.

  He wondered for a minute about the wisdom of selling the plans to that woman, instead of taking them to Simon. He’d intentionally never dealt with her before, having heard she had ties to unscrupulous people, even by his standards. But he needed money, and if he was ever going to see Simon again, he wanted to make sure he was in a position of strength.

  “I have to say, Pascal, you have such wonderful new clothes,” said LeLoup, brushing his neck as he lifted his chin and inspected the new style of shirt. He’d stopped for a hot shave and haircut on the way, and was already feeling like a new man. He loved the look of the high-collared white shirt, especially with the gray tailed coat and pants. It was incredible to him that people seemed to have abandoned pantaloons and britches so quickly. The world seemed so eager for change these days.