BreadCrumb Trail (The Yellow Hoods, #2): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale Read online

  Klaus held a few bars of hardened yellow wax. “This is a special wax from a friend, an expert—very talented. Rub this on the skid bottoms until they are slick, and keep some with you.”

  Hearing Nikolas mention wax took Bakon back. When he and his brothers had first met Nikolas, he’d put wax dust on a makeshift tent to make it rain-resistant. He marveled at how Nikolas helped people.

  “Wow, that’s awesome,” said Richy. He took a bar and started applying it to his sail-cart’s skids. “Like this?”

  “Keep going!” said Nikolas enthusiastically. He handed a stick each to Elly and Tee. They started copying Richy.

  “Your parents must be proud of your innovations, yes?” asked Nikolas.

  Richy paused. “Um, to be honest, they didn’t really notice.” He looked at the snow-covered ground. “Sometimes I feel they don’t know what to make of me.”

  Nikolas put a reassuring hand on Richy’s shoulder. “I am sure there is something distracting them. You keep doing this. You were born to do these things, so do them! I am sure whatever it is your parents are struggling with, they both want the best for you.”

  Bakon caught Richy’s eye. “I still hear tales in the taverns of how some Yellow Hood flipped his sail-cart into that villain, Andre LeLoup, sending him flying. The maniac who, after Egelina-Marie took him down, comes back and nearly has his revenge—except you stop him. You’re a legend, kid,” he said, offering his handsome, roguish smile.

  “Thanks, Bakon,” Richy said, with half a smile.

  “Anytime, kid,” said Bakon, walking past him and messing his hair. “We misfits, we stick together.”

  Richy flashed a full smile, and got back to waxing his sail-cart’s skids.

  “I’ve got the horses!” said Bore excitedly, walking the four horses forward.

  “And here’s the rest of the gear for attaching them to the sleigh,” said Squeals, dropping the gear into the snow. “Feels heavier than last year.”

  Bakon was about to give his brother his disapproving, disappointed face when he stopped himself. After a moment, he punched him in the shoulder instead. “Feel heavier, now?”

  Squeals glared back at Bakon with a cheeky smile.

  Nikolas thought about how this would likely be the last year when all this would be necessary. His secret invention, the horseless cart, would soon change everything. But first, he needed to give a copy of its plans to the Tub, to make sure his friends and allies had the advantage he suspected they needed.

  The Tub was a secret society, led these days by a butcher, a baker, and a candle and stick maker. Founded upon noble principles, the Tub’s influence grew, over time spreading to all of the kingdoms, but eventually coming into conflict with another such society, the Fare. After centuries of a cut-throat, cloak-and-dagger war, the Tub finally achieved the upper hand. They used that opportunity to bankrupt the Fare, and shackle its members with a crippling peace agreement that would see certain actions taken by any Fare-man as grounds for execution. In the decades since that agreement was put in place, the kingdoms had enjoyed relative peace.

  Nikolas had been involved in the Tub for a long time. He’d never completely bought into their ways or principles, but he had his own reasons for supporting them. He’d always been on the outside, often thinking that their struggles weren’t necessarily his. The recent events with LeLoup and Simon St. Malo had made him rethink that.

  “Elly, what’s poking out of your cloak pocket there?” asked Egelina-Marie. “Something is trying to escape.”

  “Oh,” said Elly, securing the forearm-length metal rod. Its small handle was visible and had caught on the secret pocket’s edge. Elly collapsed the handle back into the base, and placed the rod back into the pocket. “Just one of my shock-sticks. At least the other is behaving,” she joked.

  Elly had grown a bit quicker than Tee in recent months, making them now the same height. The two best friends had birthdays only a month apart and seemed to inch slightly ahead of the other every couple of months. While Tee was the daring one always jumping into adventure, Elly was the loyal friend who always jumped in after, knowing that together they’d get out of whatever it was. “Since we tangled with LeLoup, I think it’s always best to be prepared. We’ve helped more than a dozen people since, by being prepared. Although, my shock-sticks seem to need more winding and don’t give off as big a shock these days. We got these new ones—”

  Elly caught herself, not wanting to reveal to everyone the secret treehouse at the top of the mountain, and how new equipment just seemed to appear, though it had been a while since any had. “—about two months ago. We stopped using our old ones since they aren’t as effective… maybe because of the weather.”

  “Hmm,” said Nikolas to himself, making a mental note.

  After checking the horses were hitched correctly, Nikolas turned to everyone. “It’s wonderful to have your help. Now let’s go have a wonderful Solstice! I’m sure it’ll be the best yet.”

  Tee, Elly, and Richy hopped into their sail-carts and pulled up the telescoping masts. Within moments, the wind filled their sails and they started heading off.

  “Okay, we’ll see you down there,” yelled Tee as she started to pick up speed.

  Bore and Squeals climbed into the sleigh with Nikolas.

  Bakon pulled out some cross-country skis and eyed them uneasily. “See you guys down there in a couple of hours—I hope.”

  Squeals leaned over the edge of the sleigh. “Bakon, if you think you’re about to humiliate yourself, find a larger tree this time. It wasn’t very sporting of you to take out that little one last time. Mind you, it did do a number on you. Try not to damage the family name,” he said, laughing.

  Bakon took a swipe at his brother’s head. “Get out of here.”

  “See you in Mineau!” yelled Nikolas. He gave the reigns a flick and followed the departing Yellow Hoods.

  Egelina-Marie and Bakon watched as the convoy left. Gradually, everything fell silent.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea? Do we even have enough daylight left?” said Bakon.

  “We’ll be fine. Are you as scared as you sound?” said Egelina-Marie, putting her skis on.

  Bakon had skied before, just not very successfully, unlike his younger brothers. He would have never considered trying again after the tree fiasco three years ago, but Egelina-Marie had a way of talking him into things.

  “Follow my lead, watch what I do, and try to glide,” said Egelina-Marie. “And if you get lost or go missing, I’ll find you.”

  “Promise?” asked Bakon, sarcastically.

  “Can I get back to you on that?” replied Egelina-Marie with a wink.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A Letter of Warning

  Maxwell Watt slammed his notebook down on the side table, whipped off his glasses, and looked at the fire snapping and popping away in the fireplace. The fire seemed to mirror his frustration at being interrupted again.

  “Keep your blooming trousers on!” he bellowed as he got up and stomped over to the front door. After a second to close his robe before facing the winter weather, he angrily opened the door. “What do you want?”

  A man stood there, holding a letter. “Special delivery, sir.”

  “Oh, sorry,” said Maxwell. “A lot of people have been caroling this evening. A man can’t be left alone with his thoughts, it seems.”

  “Don’t appreciate the singing, sir?” asked the man drily, still holding the letter.

  Maxwell looked around, in case friends or neighbors were about to approach who might take offense. “Singing I don’t mind, but packs of wild people howling at each doorstep like out-of-key wolves baying at the moon? I do mind. How can a man change the world with such horrible distractions?”

  The man stared blankly at Maxwell and gently offered the letter again.

  Realizing it was late at night, and devilishly cold, Maxwell quickly found a silver coin to give to the man. The man smiled respectfully, gave Maxwell a tip of his
hat, and left.

  Maxwell hurried back to the warmth of the fire and his comfortable chair.

  “Who was that, father?” asked a teenage male voice from upstairs.

  “Just a messenger,” said Maxwell, putting his spectacles back on. “Go back to sleep.”

  Hearing the thump, thump, thump of feet coming down the stairs, Maxwell put the letter in his lap and waited.

  “Franklin Charles David, I told you to go back to bed,” he said sternly, though not convincingly. Maxwell wasn’t a strong parent—instead he thought of his son more like a special friend.

  The messy, dark blond-haired fifteen-year-old plunked himself down on the ottoman and warmed his hands by the fire. “Actually, father, you told me to go back to sleep. I wasn’t asleep yet. So given that your directive was invalid, I thought I’d come see what the bother was about.”

  Maxwell tried to hide his smile. Franklin was certainly his son, much to the disdain of his ex-wife.

  Franklin turned, peeking over his shoulder at the letter in his father’s lap. “Who’s it from? Costs extra to have it delivered at night, on a Saturday so close to Solstice. Must be important.”

  “I haven’t yet had a second to look. Shall we?” said Maxwell, waving his son in. He hated to think that he played favorites with his kids, but he did, and he knew it. Franklin Charles David was the eldest by five years, and had shown signs of scientific genius at an early age. His daughter, Emily, was a wonderful girl, but Maxwell just thought of her as a pleasant child. Emily seemed to be very much his ex-wife’s child, and Franklin his.

  Maxwell leaned forward and held up the envelope. “It’s from my friend, Mister Nikolas Klaus.” He paused. “Hmm, that’s odd.”

  Franklin yawned. “You get letters from him all the time, father. Why’s that odd?”

  Maxwell hesitated before opening the letter. “It’s just that Nikolas replies to my letters, but he doesn’t initiate—at least, that’s been the pattern since we started corresponding two years ago. I send him one, and then he responds, without fail. Now… this. It’s out of pattern. Why do you think he’d do that?”

  Franklin rubbed his tired face. “I don’t know, father. Just open it.” He hated it when his dad needlessly tried to solve a puzzle when the answer was right there.

  “Come on! Let’s have a guess,” said Maxwell, insisting they try to figure it out.

  “I’m only doing this to speed up to the part where we actually open the letter, okay?” said Franklin, tired and now annoyed. “Maybe he wrote to tell you he invented something to make your steam engine look archaic? That he was just patting you on the head like a child?”

  Maxwell seemed a bit hurt and glanced at the letter, now half expecting it to say exactly that.

  “Maybe he has a new recipe for cookies that he just had to share? I don’t know. Just open the letter. The answer is right in front of you. Look at it.”

  Maxwell made strange lip movements as he thought about what could be in the letter. “He rushed this the entire way. That costs a small fortune, like you said. What’s so important to warrant that, I wonder?”

  “Maybe he’s daft like you and figured out a simplified solution to an equation that no one cares about,” Franklin said, stretching. “Okay, that’s it. I’m not waiting anymore. I’m off to bed.”

  Franklin made his way toward the stairs. He heard his dad tear open the letter, and when he got to the first step his father said, “Stop. Franklin Charles David, come here, please.”

  Sighing heavily and a bit more annoyed at having to turn back, Franklin returned to the ottoman and glared at his dad. “What could your letter possibly have to do with me?” He then noticed his dad had turned a shade of gray. “What’s wrong, father?”

  With a slightly trembling hand, Maxwell removed his spectacles. “It seems that we’ve been betrayed. Mister Klaus was attacked by someone named Andre LeLoup, sent by Simon St. Malo.”

  Franklin tried to place where he’d heard the name Simon St. Malo before. He remembered enough to know St. Malo wasn’t a good person.

  Maxwell continued, “He was attacked for the steam engine plans. My steam engine plans. That means—”

  Standing up, Franklin scratched his head and continued his father’s thought. “That means that someone knows you two are corresponding, but doesn’t know who is helping whom. Or, at least, they didn’t. Maybe they do now.”

  Maxwell stood up and threw the letter into the fire. He wiped his sweaty forehead with his robe’s sleeve. After a deep breath, he smoothed his already flat, thin, light brown hair with both hands.

  “Did you read the whole letter?” asked Franklin, watching it curl up into ash in the fire. Evidently, there were several pages, and he hadn’t seen his father leaf through more than two.

  “I have to get rid of everything. They’ll come for me next,” said Maxwell as he started pacing.

  “Did you finish reading it? It looked thick. Maybe he knew who the traitor was?”

  Maxwell nervously rubbed his cheeks with his hands. “I skimmed what I needed. I’m pretty sure I know what he was going to say. It’s… it’s obvious, really. I need to think.”

  Franklin glared at his father. “It’s not obvious. You didn’t know when you started reading it that there was a traitor! You have to stop doing this whenever you get scared. You always jump to conclusions! You really—”

  “Franklin Charles David, please! I’m trying to think.” Maxwell paced about the room, drumming his fingers on his pointy chin, and then said to himself, “Yes, I see it now. There’s only one thing we can do. I need to send him in the morning.” He sighed deeply. “Well, that’s sorted then.”

  Franklin knew his father was a genius, as was he, but he’d seen his father in panic situations and knew how terribly his brain seemed to work at those times. His mother’s announcement that she was leaving his father had been one such occasion. His father had been so distracted that he’d accidentally put the laundry on the fire, and put his sister outside instead of the cat.

  Another time, when his father had an inventors’ meeting coming up, he’d refused to listen to Franklin’s advice about the amount of pressure a prototype steam engine could take. He nearly blew up the house.

  With a scowl on his face, Franklin crossed his arms. “Send me in the morning? What are you on about? I’m not going anywhere.”

  Maxwell walked over to a writing desk in the corner of the room, sat down on the ribbed chair, and pulled out a piece of paper. With a distracted tone, he replied, “Yes, you are. You have to. They can’t get their hands on it.”

  Franklin rubbed his face in frustration. “On what, father? On your never-going-to-be-finished steam engine? I haven’t had the heart to say it, but it’s never going to work. Let them have it. Maybe it can consume their fortune, as it has ours.”

  Putting his quill down, Maxwell turned and looked at his son. He could see that Franklin was right on the cliff of losing faith in him. He motioned his son closer.

  Franklin hesitated, hating being treated like a child, but he could see something in his father’s eyes that he hadn’t seen in a while. Rolling his eyes and giving in, he dragged his feet to stand beside his seated dad.

  Glancing about as if a spy could be hiding in the room, Maxwell whispered, “It does work. It’s been working for the past month. I didn’t want anyone to know, so I kept messing around, purposely blowing things up every now and then. Nikolas’ last letter helped—I had it working within days.”

  Franklin folded his arms and curled his face in disbelief. “I don’t believe it. It’s working?”

  “Yes,” replied his father, nodding.

  “For real?” said Franklin, putting his hands on his hips.

  “Yes,” replied his father, smiling.

  “Really?” asked Franklin. He was starting to feel that his father had been more devious than he’d thought possible.

  Maxwell smiled a rarely seen devilish smile. “Yes, Franklin. This will change the wor
ld, but we can’t let St. Malo get his hands on it. I’m sure the only reason he’s still around is that he’s in league with others, and they’d tear the world apart with my invention.” He returned to the letter he’d started writing.

  Franklin was stunned. “You got it working,” he repeated several times, quietly. Finally, he came out of that loop and said, “You got it working… and I didn’t even notice. You cheeky monkey.”

  His father looked at him quizzically. “Cheeky monkey? Is that any way to talk to your father?” he said, trying to sound firm.

  Franklin chuckled. “My father? No. A sneak who has been making me think that he’s only half the genius I hoped he was? A cheat who made me believe that my father was an old codger? That man is one cheeky monkey indeed.”

  Maxwell changed to a serious look, and his eyes locked on those of his son. “You’ll need to take my plans to Mister Klaus himself. He’s the only one I can trust with them.”

  Franklin blinked, surprised. “Me? By myself? Why me? Wouldn’t the journey take weeks?”

  Maxwell stood up, maintaining his look at his son, who was only an inch or two shorter. “You’re the only one I trust to carry my plans there.”

  Worried, Franklin thought about all the people his father knew, hoping to think of someone he could mention that would take the burden, but he couldn’t think of one. “Why can’t you take it, father? I can come with you. We could—”

  Maxwell sighed and smoothed his thin hair again. He removed his spectacles in order to clean them on his shirt. “You don’t understand, Franklin. They will be looking for me, whoever they are. They won’t be looking for you, at least not yet. I will try to go north, maybe to Eldeshire where we spent the summer a couple of years ago, but I’m certain they’ll catch me before then. I doubt I will evade their clutches for long.”