All The King's-Men (The Yellow Hoods, #3) (11 page)

“No, you won’t,” said Hans, pulling out his rapier.

Gretel turned to see Saul picking himself up off the ground.

Hans shoved his sister aside. “We are not wasting what little we have on this hideous beast!” He took a step forward, and found his sword-hand stopped by Saul’s staff. Hans’ eyes burned with fury at Saul.

Saul pleaded, “Hans, we need to think about this. I know you’re still upset about Mother—”

“You don’t get to talk about her!” yelled Hans, lunging for him.

Gretel caught a flash of steel out of the corner of her eye. Kicking off a tree, Gretel pulled a short staff from under her red cloak, and smacked Hans across the face. He dropped to the ground immediately.

Gretel helped Saul as he picked himself up again. He’d been grazed on both arms and a leg by Hans’ blade, but was otherwise all right. 

Hans was on one knee, rubbing his jaw. “I always forget that you can do that. Master Kutsuu never taught me that type of thing. I hate that sissy stick of yours,” he said, standing up.

Gretel smiled, relieved that the fire was gone from his eyes. “You’ve been calling it my sissy stick for too long. I told you one day you’d think differently about it,” she said, joking.

“Yeah,” said Hans smugly. “But I’m still going to kill him. That’s how it’s going to be.”

Gretel felt a wave of disappointment. She frowned as she tried to find some way to stop Hans. “The red-cloaked lady doesn’t know us. We could have stolen these cloaks. We need him,” she said, trying to make sure there was no weakness in her voice.

Hans glanced at Gretel. “We’ll just tell her that Thomas gave the cloaks to us, that’s all.” He was annoyed. He stepped past her and leaned over the Hound. “Bye-bye, doggy.”

“Hans,” said Gretel in a sharp, disapproving tone.

He paused, the tone going right through him. He glared over his shoulder at his twin sister. There was something she didn’t recognize in his eyes, and it curdled her soul.

“If you’re wrong, this is our new life you’re destroying. Is this what you want?” asked Gretel. “Do you want to show Saul and me that you get your way, no matter the cost to all of us?”

Hans positioned his rapier above the Hound’s heart. He could see Gretel’s grip on her emotions wavering.

Fighting any signs of tears, Gretel said in a lower, controlled tone, “We don’t know anything about Thomas. What’s his last name? Where is he from? We know nothing.”

Saul piped up from behind. “That red-hooded woman had the Hound in her carriage. She stood right beside him. Don’t you think she’d want him alive?” 

Hans thought, pointing his rapier at Saul. “Don’t say a word to me—not a word. Understand?”

Saul froze.

Hans sheathed his rapier and started to walk off, then stopped. His head tilted towards the ground, his light-blond hair falling over his eyes. Peeking through it menacingly, he said, “I will find a cart that we can use to load this… thing into. You two stay here. If you follow me or intervene in the slightest, so help me, you’ll wish to be in as good condition as that
thing
is,” he said, pointing angrily at the Hound.

Gretel and Saul didn’t move until Hans was out of sight.

Finally, letting out a breath, Gretel sat down beside the Hound’s head.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Safe House

The sunbeams gently nudged Christina, Elly, and Franklin towards wakefulness. Christina’s eyes snapped open as a floorboard creaked. She quickly glanced around the room without moving a muscle. To her surprise, Tee was sneaking back into the one-room cabin and heading off to bed.

Christina had led the team to the safe house in the middle of the night. They’d all agreed that Tee should take the bed, given the injuries she’d sustained in the battle with the Red Hoods. 

Tee carefully slinked through the room, stepping over Elly, who was sleeping protectively at the foot of the bed. 

Franklin sat up and rubbed his face. He noticed Christina’s open eyes. “Morning,” he said, stretching and yawning. “Though I wouldn’t say good, really. This floor is a touch less comfortable than I had imagined, and I’d imagined it to be rather uncomfortable.” He smiled inside as Christina’s nose flared and she shook her head. He figured he might as well enjoy himself, even if he had to admit it was petty.

Christina sat up and started checking her belt pouches. She’d made it a ritual decades ago to check everything she had on her, and not to assume anything. Finishing with the small hidden pouches at the tops of her boots, she felt settled.

Christina signaled for Franklin to give her a hand, and they moved the heavy, thick oak table a couple of feet over. Christina reached under the table and pulled out a foot-long stick. She carefully put it into a series of holes in the floor that had been covered by the table legs. With the last poke into the floor, there was a satisfying click and a two-foot-by-two-foot section of the floor raised slightly. Christina grabbed it and revealed darkness below.

“What’s down there?” asked Tee.

“That shiner’s looking quite sporting,” said Franklin to Tee.

Elly roused and stared at him, confused.

Franklin tried to clarify, “It means—” 

“I figured it out,” said Tee, waving him off.

Christina waited to see if they were done, and then answered Tee’s original question. “It’s a cellar. It should have dried fruits and meats we can eat.”

“What is this place?” asked Franklin, studying the simple cabin again. “I thought we were just stopping at random.”

“What’s what?” asked Mounira, uncurling herself and coming out from under the bed.

Christina was about to answer, and then hesitated. She stared at Elly and Tee, and thought some more. She smiled as she saw Mounira rub her face with her one arm, her hair a complete mess. The young girl’s ferocity and innocence were wonderfully mixed together.

“Well?” asked Franklin, a bit offended at her pause.

Christina shifted her gaze to him and held out for another beat before answering. “It’s a hideout I use every now and then,” she said quickly, leaving everyone feeling there was more to the story.

Elly surveyed the small cabin. Other than the bed, dresser, table and chairs, it was barren. “I don’t see a lantern or anything we could use for light. It’s a shame our one from last night smashed to pieces just before we got here.”

“I’m surprised it survived using the sliders down the mountain,” said Mounira.

“To be honest, I’m surprised you survived that,” said Franklin.

“I’ve had practice,” said Mounira, winking at Elly and sharing a smile. 

“It’s nice to have a name for the pulleys and weights. ‘Sliders’ works,” said Tee. While Christina had mentioned in passing being responsible for them, she hadn’t said why they’d been built.

Christina lay on the floor and reached into the dark cellar as far as she could. After a couple of grunts, she managed to snag something and pulled out an old, simple oil lantern. “Elly, there should be a flint and steel in the middle drawer of the dresser there,” she said, pointing.

A moment later, the lantern was lit and Christina lowered herself into the cellar. She crouched down and got some preserves. She was debating grabbing some other supplies when she saw Franklin’s head pop in through the ceiling and ask, “Are you done? I’m starving. Hey, what is that stuff? Do you need a hand?”

“No!” said Christina. “I’m coming.”

“Someone needs a cup of chamomile,” said Franklin, going back up. “Or maybe a clonk on the head.”

With their stomachs full and the floor restored to its original state, Christina asked everyone to exit the cabin, allowing her to do a final check to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything.

As the door closed, Franklin turned to the others. “Christina’s a ripe weird one, right?” he asked, hoping to get some camaraderie going against her. 

Elly glared at Franklin. “Weird? Weird how?”

Mounira folded her arm across her chest in disapproval.

Franklin scratched his neck and looked around the misty morning forest. “I don’t know, she’s like… paranoid or something. Like we’re going to go off and tell her enemies all her secrets. Do we even know who she is? I mean, think about it. We’ve never seen her with anyone we know, and yet we’re following her to the ends of Eorthe.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, she looks like a bit of a weirdo too, don’t you think?”

Mounira stepped forward, piercing Franklin with her deep brown eyes. Her darker skin stood out in sharp contrast to his. “You’re talking about the brilliant woman who saved your life and everyone else’s? That one, right?” she asked, defending her hero.

“I don’t find her weird at all,” said Elly with a big smile. She glanced over at Tee to see if she was going to get an elbow to the ribs. Tee hadn’t noticed there was a conversation going on.

Christina exited the cabin, closing the door firmly behind her. “Okay, now we need to get moving. We have a bit of a hike to get to the horses.”

Elly, Tee, and Christina started walking. Mounira ran up and took Christina’s hand.

Franklin stood there. He detested not being in the know. “Hey, guys, did you notice that?” he said, pointing to the smoke in the air south of them.

“That’s…” Tee searched for the sun in the cloudy sky to orient herself. “That’s Mineau.” She saw Mounira’s hand start to tremble and Christina grab it a bit tighter.

“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.”