by Adam Dreece
“Deaf?” asked Christina, annoyed.
Fuming, Franklin quieted. Deep down, he wasn’t sure how much of the truth he could handle. His sense of superiority stemmed from his and his father’s work, and was part of the foundation of who he was. Now, he was tormented by the idea that his father’s invention wasn’t even relevant, never mind that the very man his father had looked up to had been playing him for a fool.
As Christina finished her checks on the third King’s-Horse, Franklin snuck up to the first one again. He peeked through the holes and muttered to himself as he thought through how it might work. There was something about the pedals that bothered him. For such a brilliant and elegant design, they seemed rather… crude, almost like they were an afterthought.
The more he thought through how the mechanical horse might work, the more the anger boiled inside him. He tried to open the panel that Christina had said was for storage, but it was locked.
“What are you doing?” yelled Christina, knocking Franklin to the ground.
Franklin pointed at the panel angrily. “That’s got to be for an engine. An engine, forty blooming years ago? That small?! What’s going on?”
Christina stared at Franklin without blinking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in a firm, dismissive tone.
He scrambled to his feet. “You know exactly—”
Christina’s hand instinctively went to her sidearm as she took a quick step forward, forcing Franklin to cower back. Her expression could have stopped a falling tree. In a fierce, eerily calm tone, she said, “The more you act like this, the more you become a liability. If you want to feel insecure about your daddy’s work, go right ahead, but understand that I need to get us moving—with or without you.”
Franklin scoffed at Christina’s bravado, on the knife’s edge between anger and tears. “Then good luck finding the steam engine plans without me,” he said, folding his arms and trying to match her glare.
Elly, Tee, and Mounira watched the confrontation silently.
Franklin looked away, running his hands through his hair. “Why are we even going after the plans? I mean, given what I’ve seen in just a couple of days, it’s all been a colossal waste of time. Better things already exist! My father’s engine isn’t of any value to anyone.”
Christina took a second to breathe. It was loud enough to make everyone feel like she was trying to stop herself from just shooting him. She closed her eyes and opened them, more centered.
In a controlled tone, she said, “That steam engine is going to revolutionize the world. The world is ready for it and it can scale up, powering huge things.”
A sinister grin swept across Franklin’s face. Christina had stepped right into his trap. “How would you know? You haven’t seen them. Or have you? Because my father hasn’t sent anyone a copy of them. He’s been extremely careful who he’s told about it as well.”
Christina couldn’t believe she was having this argument, let alone with a fifteen-year-old in the middle of nowhere. “So the attack by the Fare—” she started to say.
Franklin threw his hands up. “Actually, I don’t know if it was the Fare. My father thought they were behind everything, but he burned Mister Klaus’ letter without reading the whole blooming thing. For all I know, it’s the Tub who sent the troops, or maybe it’s just blooming coincidence because world politics never make any sense!”
Christina pointed a finger sharply at him, her other hand still on her pistol. “Get on that middle King’s-Horse, now. This conversation is over. If you’re not ready in five seconds, I’m leaving you here.”
“You can’t do that,” said Franklin, clearly rattled.
“Try me,” she said, her voice scorching his soul. She mounted the first horse, positioning herself behind Mounira. “I’m done with having a liability. Contribute or die. I’m done with you.”
Christina shot a glance at Tee and Elly, who were just standing there. “You’re riding the last one together. Get moving.”
Elly stiffened at the thought of riding with Tee, and immediately felt a sense of sadness and guilt for it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Liar
Every time the boutique’s door opened, Manny twiddled his fingers nervously. Each customer who’d shown up in the past hour had made him jump, and for good reason.
It had been a regular morning until Pascal had run in, sweating like a pig and stammering like a fool. They’d had a complicated, uncomfortable friendship for decades. Manny felt that Pascal was pretentious and self-centered, but at the end of the day, he was the only person Manny trusted to make clothes that looked good on his large frame. Pascal didn’t approve of the weaponsmith’s line of work, but he appreciated the quality and artistry. Even though he was a pacifist, Pascal had purchased a custom blunderbuss rifle years ago and mounted it above his fireplace at home.
“Is that you, Manny?” asked LeLoup, peeking his head around the door. He was much later than Pascal had predicted. His green eyes shined eerily, making Manny stiffen. “You look like you’ve lost a couple of pounds. You look good.” He stepped in and admired the store. It had been a while.
The boutique was a nice box, with its dark hardwood floor, creamy walls, and exposed wooden beams in the ceiling. Manny had decorated it such that it felt like a living room with a counter in the corner, where he often stood. Firearms and crossbows hung on the walls and in special glass cabinets. Sometimes clients would sit and read a book while they waited, enjoying the fire and a glass of wine.
“Um,” said Manny, rubbing his fat-fingered hands together. “I’m planning to see my feet by next Solstice.” He straightened up, trying to appear confident. He hadn’t wanted to believe what Pascal had said about LeLoup, but he could already see it. The man before him moved differently, and though his voice was the same, there was a sting to it that was new.
LeLoup walked up to the counter and leaned on it, piercing Manny with his green eyes. “You didn’t believe those rumors about me going into hiding or dying, did you?” He started to laugh. “I mean, dying at the hands of a yellow-hooded child, really?” He laughed harder.
Manny chuckled against his will. He hadn’t felt intimidated like this since he was in elementary school. His size and a false-gruff personality had been his defense ever since. “No,” he replied, nervously laughing.
LeLoup wiped a tear as he calmed down. “Good, I’m glad. I was worried that you’d have sold my beauty,” he said, gravely serious.
Manny breathed a sigh of relief. “I have it right here,” he said, reaching under the counter and putting out a two-foot-long, elegant wooden box on it.
LeLoup stared at the box, then gave Manny a questioning gaze. “How did you know I was coming?”
After a moment of internal debate, Manny decided to come clean. “Pascal let me know. He said you’d be dropping by.”
“Oh,” said LeLoup. “I didn’t know the two of you were friends.” He was intrigued that there was a relationship he was unaware of.
“We’re not really friends,” replied Manny, wiping his forehead with a kerchief from under the counter.
LeLoup moved his gaze back to the box and started tapping on it in thought. He stopped and asked, “Who else do you think he ran around and told?”
Manny shifted his stance uncomfortably. “Um… no one. He said he had a lot of work to do for you,” he replied, shaking his head.
LeLoup frowned as he considered the picture Manny was painting. “He does have a lot of work to do for me,” he said, tapping the box and staring at the front door. “Yet, his non-friendship with you was so important to him that he… ran, I presume… all the way here to tell you I was coming.” His face twitched. “It must have been a funny sight, him running.”
“He was all sweaty and everything,” said Manny, trying to laugh, but LeLoup’s gaze squashed the humor.
“So he told no one else then, Manny? Okay. I believe you. He knows that I’m not one to let people break promises, and he promised to ha
ve my work done. But how about you, Manny? Who did you tell? Because I don’t like people spoiling my surprises.”
Manny stared at him silently, unsure how to answer.
“Mind if I have a look at my pistol?” asked LeLoup, ignoring Manny’s blank look. He carefully opened the hinged lid and peered inside.
“I call it the Liar,” said Manny, relieved to talk about something he was comfortable with. “I had to modify the three-barrel design from the prototype, and I was able to improve the weight. Oh, and I improved the barrel rotation speed as well. They rotate in a fraction of a second now.
“This little lever here is why I call it the Liar. You see, every barrel is double-loaded, and so after you’ve shot your sixth bullet, you flip that switch, and it’ll load one more bullet.”
LeLoup picked up the long, three-barreled pistol. Its handle was a thick, beautiful, stained wood. He ran his hand along the smooth casing that hid the geared mechanism. “So when I’ve fired my six,” said LeLoup, standing back and pointing the weapon at Manny.
Manny dug his fingers into the counter for all he was worth so he didn’t flinch. He kept reminding himself that he knew the gun was empty. He’d made sure of that three times after Pascal had left, yet he feared that somehow the maniacal look in LeLoup’s eyes could change reality.
“I’ll then pull the trigger, an empty barrel will rotate up, and it’ll be clear I’m out of bullets.” LeLoup pulled the trigger at Manny repeatedly. “All the fun is gone.”
Manny’s left arm went numb. Despite a growing pain in his chest, he stayed silent, his fingernails scarring the counter.
LeLoup straightened up and put the pistol against his shoulder. “Then when that Yellow Hood thinks me harmless, I’ll flip this switch.” LeLoup slapped the switch. It got stuck halfway.
Manny was horrified. “It probably needs some extra oil, that’s all.”
LeLoup slapped it again, frowning at Manny. “It’s fine.” He pointed the pistol at Manny’s head and pulled the trigger again. “Liar. I like it. Very… me.”
Manny grimaced, ignoring the wash of pain in his chest.
“The dark mahogany and gold accents, and the detail work… well done,” said LeLoup, putting the gun back in its case.
“Thank you,” said Manny, sweating profusely.
LeLoup examined Manny for a moment before rifling through his wallet and putting a note on the counter. “I know you won’t be telling anyone I was here, right? Of course not. Goodbye, Manny.”
As the door closed, Manny fell to one knee, and then to the floor, clutching his chest.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Abominators and Friends
Christina slid off her King’s-Horse, handing the reins to Mounira. She double-checked the deserted back road for prying eyes, then led the team deep into the woods.
The few people they’d passed hadn’t had enough time to determine what it was about the horses that didn’t seem quite right as they’d ridden past.
“This is a good spot. We’ll cover them up and leave them here. Dismount and I’ll bring them side by side,” said Christina.
Mounira tumbled backward off the side of the horse, barely making a successful landing. “La la - right, Tee?” she said, glancing over at her big sister figure.
Tee dismounted and gave Mounira a nod. “Yeah, that was a good one,” she said flatly, pulling her hood over her head.
Elly slid off and scowled at Mounira. “No. You don’t get to use La la,” she said, then turned to Tee. “If you’re not going to use it anymore, then, like so many things, it’s just gone. Just… gone.”
Mounira shrugged. There was something going on that she wasn’t following, nor cared to.
Christina pulled the camouflage blankets out of one of the saddlebags of each horse and covered them. She then stepped back several yards and examined them. “Yeah, they look okay there. Someone passing quickly by should miss them, and no one should be this close in the first place.”
“How long did you have them at the bottom of the mountain?” asked Mounira.
Christina smiled at the embodiment of never-ending questions. “Months.”
Franklin wondered what other inventions Christina had access to, and what other secrets of the world had been kept from him and his father.
“Wow, I guess that blanket works really well,” replied Mounira, studying it with newfound interest.
“It does,” replied Christina. She remembered her father telling her when she was six that if she’d stop asking questions for ten minutes, he’d give her a diamond. He’d never had to pay up.
“Okay, make sure we’ve got everything. Let’s go, everyone. We’ve got a couple of miles to walk,” said Christina.
After a minute of walking, Mounira asked, “Why can’t we just put the King’s-Horses in a stable? You know, like real horses? Why do we have to hide them?”
“We need to keep going,” answered Christina, hiking on. She shifted her backpack, trying to find a more comfortable position for it.
Tee moved closer to Mounira as they walked. “We can’t just bring them into town. Someone would notice them and we’d have a lot of trouble.”
“Are they illegal?” asked Mounira, worried.
“No, but we are,” said Tee, grudgingly sharing some of what she’d learned recently. “They have a special word for inventors, scientists, and engineers who don’t work under a set of strict rules—”
“Abominators,” said Franklin. “That’s what your uncivilized part of the world calls people like us. We might just find ourselves getting our heads cut off, depending on what this kingdom’s High Conventioneer recommends.” Franklin ran his finger across his throat.
Mounira gestured wildly with her one arm. “For what? Horses?”
Tee put her hands on Mounira’s shoulders and said in a very calm tone, “Remember the story Christina told us about how these were made? There was this king who decided he didn’t want any people around who were smarter than him, or who made him look bad. Freland is better than most places, from what I hear, but it’s still dangerous. Long ago, that thinking spread like fire through the kingdoms, and correcting it is a very slow process.”
Elly said, panic leaching into her voice, “Wait, are you saying they still kill inventors? I’m not one though, right? I don’t invent things.” For the first time, Elly deeply regretted having left home.
Tee shot Elly a harsh glance. “You helped make that first sail-cart with me, didn’t you? That’s an engineer thing you did,” said Tee. “Don’t go pretending you’re somehow not a part of this.”
Elly started to get riled up.
Christina yelled over her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. If you look a certain way, build something that makes someone else jealous, speak a certain way, or—in some places—are just born a smart woman, they will label you an Abominator. If you’re lucky, they’ll let you become a Conventioneer.
“All of us are in danger no matter where we go, except for maybe the Republic of Teuton.”
“Why are they called Conventioneers?” asked Mounira.
Tee avoided Elly’s gaze as she answered, “Because they abide by the rules—conventions—set by the monarchy or whatever government. Nothing too imaginative, too weird, or potentially threatening.”
Franklin piped up proudly. “Things are better in Inglea, though. We did away with the Order of the Conventioneers a few years ago and got those Abominator laws almost completely off the books. Now we have the Royal Society for Collective Progress. My father’s even a member. It answers to Parliament and if you’re doing anything big, you just need to go present to a committee. I’m not allowed to join until I’m sixteen, but I’ve already been pre-approved.”
“Was the steam engine allowed? I can’t see how there could be all this secrecy about it, if it was,” said Elly, poking at Franklin’s smugness.
Christina caught Franklin’s scared expression, and couldn’t help but smile. “We need to be careful. That’s why we�
�re not going directly into Palais.”
Elly and Mounira were visibly disappointed.
Franklin glared at Christina. “What?” he said, feeling jilted. “Let me go at least. I’m older than the rest of them, and I survived on my own for months.”
Christina considered Franklin’s request. “The inn’s about a couple miles southeast of here.” She snapped her fingers. “Actually, Tee and Elly, put your yellow hoods into Tee’s backpack. Mounira, give me yours. They’re fine when we’re walking through the forest, but not when we’re close to town like this. I don’t want anyone remembering us easily.”
Franklin rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think they’ll notice an annoying, one-armed Southerner?”
Mounira kicked him in the shin.
“FOR THE LOVE OF—” yelled Franklin, hopping around. “How do you keep managing to do that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Mounira, walking away with a smile plastered on her face.
Franklin was fuming. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant simply—”
“Enough,” said Christina, cutting him off. “After we’re settled at the inn, you can go into town if you want, Franklin. But if you run into trouble, you’re on your own.”
Glaring at all of them, he curled his lip and nodded to himself. Clearly, his comments weren’t welcome. “Thank you,” he replied calmly, putting his leg down. He’d won a small victory, and hoped to turn it into a bigger one.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Trust Me
Bakon hardly noticed the hunger building up in him. The gravity of what he’d learned and the rashness of his actions still weighed on him, clouding everything.
One simple piece of paper in the Ginger Lady’s house had made him betray so many people. He’d abandoned his father figure, Nikolas Klaus, by not rejoining Tee to help find him. He’d deceived his brothers, Richy, and the love of his life, Egelina-Marie, by running off without them. The ever lingering doubt that he wasn’t good enough for Eg was having a field day. Why couldn’t he just ignore that maybe once he’d had the name Beldon Pieman?