BreadCrumb Trail (The Yellow Hoods, #2): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale (24 page)

“What just happened?” said Elly.

Suddenly, an arrow narrowly missed Richy’s head.

“An archer—in the forest!” warned Tee.

“Scatter!” yelled Richy.

As the battle grew louder and the rain pounded down, Anna thought about how little she’d trusted those around her, and how much she’d acted out of fear and pride. She had unnecessarily risked all of their lives, and possibly doomed the Tub.

Just before she blacked out, she heard Tee scream for help.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Allies Old and New

Pierre had spent most of his morning searching Minette for the Cochon brothers and Egelina-Marie. As he was about to give up, he spotted them leaving a tavern at the end of a road. “I wouldn’t have thought to look there,” he said to himself. The habits of towners were still somewhat a mystery to him.

“Well,” said Bakon, slapping his middle brother on the back, “you’re an old man now, Squeals!”

“Can we sing happy birthday again?” asked Bore, always the big kid.

“No!” yelled the others in unison.

“You’re a grown man, Bore—enough with the happy birthdays,” said Squeals.

“Don’t make me cuddle you and call you George!” said Bore, grabbing his older brother and giving him a play squeeze.

“Oh—hello, Monsieur de Montagne,” said Squeals, quickly getting out of his brother’s grip.

“Have you been drinking?” asked Pierre, worried he might already have failed in his mission.

Bakon laughed. “Huh, no, no—it’s morning. We just started the day with a great breakfast. It’s Squeals’ birthday, and this place has an amazing breakfast for special occasions, if you ask well enough in advance—
or
if you’re Egelina-Marie and ask the night before,” said Bakon, winking at her.

Egelina-Marie lost her relaxed pose and straightened up. “What’s the matter, Monsieur de Montagne? Something’s wrong.”

“That’s not just concern on your face,” said Squeals. “Spill it.”

Pierre was nervous. In all his years, he’d rarely been entrusted with a task so important. “Monsieur Klaus sent me to find you. The Yellow Hoods’ lives might be in danger.”

After relaying everything Nikolas had told him, Pierre studied their expressions. “I don’t know what all of that means, but I know it’s not good, and it’s some distance away,” he said.

Bakon rubbed his stubbly face. “It means we shouldn’t’ve spent five minutes standing here!” 

Egelina-Marie took charge. “Squeals, Bore—go to the house and get your flintlocks. Bakon, get some horses—
fast
ones. I’ll get my stuff. Meet me at the southern exit of town.”

“What should I do, Sergeant Archambault?” asked Pierre.

“Come with me. Go over everything you said, again,” said Egelina-Marie. “We’ll plan on the way. Bakon’s right—we don’t have much time.”

Mounira hid, curled up in a tight little ball, under her bed. Quietly, she repeatedly mouthed the words she’d heard Nikolas reusing, hoping it was some kind of message. “Marcus, Pieman, old home, engine.”

Every few minutes, panic started creeping in. At first, she fought it off by reminding herself that she had to save her friends, and Anciano Klaus. When that wasn’t enough, she focused on a mental image of her father and mother, and thought about how much she wanted to see them again.

The next time panic came, nothing seemed to work. She wanted to run outside and reveal herself to the guards and the man who would take Nikolas away, just to be done with it. She was halfway out from under the bed when she caught herself and forced herself back under.

Mounira curled herself back up again into a tight ball, closed her eyes, and focused on the one thing she had left: her pain. Every moment of every day, she had worked at blocking out the pain from her right arm’s stump. She imagined herself facing the evil pain monster, grabbing it, and pulling it into herself. The pain was so intense that she was certain she was going to pass out, but she didn’t. When she opened her eyes, she was nearly soaked to the bone. 

The front door closed, startling Mounira. She was about to crawl out from under the bed but heard a floorboard creak nearby. She watched well-worn, black leather boots walk into and around the room, leaving traces of grass and mud. Finally, the person turned and left. When the front door closed again, there was finality to it.

Mounira remained there, under the bed, a little longer. She had no idea what to do. With a deep, calming breath, she climbed out from under the bed and decided to brave the hallway. Shuffling her feet, she nervously made her way to the kitchen and timidly peeked around the corridor corner. Nothing was out of place in the kitchen—even the sink was empty.

She wondered if perhaps they’d washed the dishes and put them away, though she couldn’t recall hearing that take place. She felt the side of the kettle; it was cool enough to the touch that she doubted whether they’d really made tea. Could she have fallen asleep and imagined everything?

Suddenly, the front door burst open. Mounira spun around and screamed at the top of her lungs. Standing there, arm up in the air, she yelled “I give up!”

A beige-hooded figure stepped in and closed the door. “Sorry to scare you. I didn’t realize anyone was here—and actually, the people who just took Nikolas must not have known you were here, either.” The figure pulled back the beige hood, revealing short, blond hair and a striking, square-jawed woman.

Mounira, frozen with her arm still in the air, stared at the woman slowly ascending the stairs.

Gesturing for Mounira to remain calm, the woman said, “My name is Christina. I don’t mean you any harm. By the way—I don’t mean to be rude, but do you only have one arm? Your blouse sleeve seems empty… or might you have a crossbow or pistol hidden behind your back?” Christina raised her own hands to show she wasn’t carrying a weapon.

Mounira smiled nervously and put her arm down. “No. I—ah—just have the one, since about half a year ago.”

“Sorry to hear that,” the woman said compassionately. She walked up to Mounira and crouched down to look her in the eyes. Christina was five-foot-eight, a good deal taller than Mounira’s four feet and four inches.

Mounira examined Christina’s clothes. She wore a white blouse and a simple, buttoned, dust-colored vest over top. Her leather pants were dark brown. Her boots were light brown, and appeared quite durable. A black belt held several pouches of various sizes, a strange-looking pistol, and a familiar eighteen-inch metal rod.

“Is that a shock-stick? Like the Yellow Hoods have?” asked Mounira, pointing to the metal rod.

Christina glanced down. “Yes, it is.”

“You know Anciano Klaus, don’t you?” said Mounira. “Were you here last night?”

Christina smiled. “Yes. Did you hear us? We tried to be quiet. I hadn’t seen him in a couple of months and I had some things I needed to discuss with him. He was my father’s best friend.”

Mounira looked at Christina’s arms; it looked like there was something under one of the blouse sleeves. “Are you an inventor, like him?”

Christina smiled and stroked Mounira’s hair. “You’re observant. I grew up inventing things with my father. We traveled a lot. Several times, we came here. I’ve known Nikolas for a long time—I was younger than you are when I first met him.” Sadness crossed her face as she thought of her father.

“You have nice teeth, and I like your accent,” said Mounira, smiling back. She let out a gargantuan sigh.

“Thank you,” said Christina. “I came running here once I saw a coach departing with its windows covered. I recognized the colors as—”

Mounira blurted out the words she’d been trying to remember, “Marcus Pieman’s old home engine!”

Christina was confused. “Wait—what? Was Marcus Pieman here?” she asked, standing up and looking worried. “Marcus Pieman?
Here?
”

Mounira nodded. “Yes. Who is he? And why did Anciano Klaus and he sound so friendly when they were talking to each other?”

Christina thought for a moment. “Are you
certain
it was Marcus Pieman?
Absolutely
certain?”

Mounira nodded vigorously. “Yes! Nikolas kept saying the other man’s name and so I thought he was trying to signal something to me. He also had a funny way of saying the other words—
old home
, and
engine
.”

Christina closed her eyes and tried to remember something. “Wait—um… Now how did my father used to do it… Tell me—which words are the ones that stand out when I say: The dog went
home
last Thursday, after
it
rained.”

“
Home
, and
it
,” answered Mounira.

“Great!” said Christina, grinning, though with tears in her eyes. She started looking around, for nothing in particular. “This is terrible. Your friends are in worse danger than Nikolas thought. We’ll never get to them in time, even with my whirly-bird.”

Mounira poked Christina to get her attention. “Maybe there’s something in Anciano Klaus’ secret lab, downstairs?”

Christina patted her on the head. “Oh? That’s just a library,” she said. “I’ve got to figure this out.”

“
No
,” said Mounira, with fiery eyes. “I mean the place that the
rug
lowers into. There’s got to be something in there?”

Christina analyzed Mounira’s face. “Show me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Battle of the Hoods

The Yellow Hoods scattered as the rain continued beating down. Richy ran toward the sail-carts and the two guardsmen there. Elly bolted off to join Franklin and the four guards by the southern rock pile. Tee ventured out onto the rampart.

Gretel emerged from the Red Forest, southeast of the rock pile. Hans, with his own escort of soldiers, engaged the guards protecting Elly and Franklin. Saul, with two soldiers, headed for Richy and the sail-carts. The trio proudly wore their red hooded cloaks.

Tee nestled into position and pulled out her slingshot and stones. She took aim at a soldier attacking Elly and Franklin. The rain made it challenging, but her third shot connected, distracting the soldier. Elly took advantage, and lit him up with a shock-stick.

“Crack shot, she is,” said Franklin from behind Elly.

“That’s my girl!” said Elly, dodging another soldier’s sword.

“If he doesn’t make short work of you,” sneered Hans to Elly, referring to the soldier, “then I will—once I’m done with your guards.”

“
Get him, Elly!
” Tee cheered into the loud rain. A glint of gold caught Tee’s attention, and she turned to see that she was not alone on the rampart. A huge man in his long, brown leather coat and scary gloves stood there; water was pouring off him as if it were afraid to get him wet.

Before exacting revenge for his humiliation at the hands of the Yellow Hoods, months ago, he wanted Tee to know his name. “My name’s the Hound,” he said, looking down at her.

“Well—what
big gloves
you have, all the better to—” jested Tee, as she sprang up—but then lost her footing. As Tee slipped over the wall’s edge, her slingshot’s leather strap got caught between two of the rampart’s stones. She clung to it, tightly, with both hands.

The Hound shook his head. “Huh—you are
unbelievably
lucky. This time, though, luck
isn’t
going to save you. I’m going to have all your yellow hoods hung on a wall.”

Just as the Hound reached down to grab Tee, a shot rang out that startled him. The Hound slipped and banged his head on the rampart stones. Stunned for a moment, he lay there.

Still dangling, Tee said, “You need to work on your follow-through, especially after that bit about my luck. Of course, any time you’d like to get up and, ah, help me up, I’d appreciate it.” Inside, she bordered on terrified.

Elly glanced over to Richelle whom, to Elly’s surprise, was still standing in the rain, some fifty feet away, with her hood up. Richelle hadn’t retreated to the dry comfort of her coach but instead remained on the battlefield. She watched her soldiers finish loading Anna’s body into the coach.

“Another one down,” said Hans, finishing with the last guard. He stared menacingly at Elly and Franklin.

Elly and Franklin recoiled in fear.

“Get the Watt boy,” commanded Hans to his remaining soldier.

Franklin turned to run, but slipped. The brawny soldier scooped him up.

Hans pointed his rapier at the ground and gave Elly a smug look. “Care to surrender? We’re not supposed to hurt you, but
accidents
do happen.”

“Run, Elly!” yelled Franklin, struggling hard, yet unable to get loose from the soldier.

Elly changed her grip on her remaining, fully-charged shock-stick and clicked its activation button. She took a step toward Hans, who leapt backward, and then threw her shock-stick at the soldier. Just before it made contact, Franklin used the back of his head to knock the soldier in the chin, causing him to lose his grip on Franklin. The soldier never knew what hit him.

Hans raised his blade. “I don’t mind two-on-one, but you’re all out of shock-sticks, aren’t you? So—what are you going to do now, against my blade?” He slashed at the air with his rapier.