All The King's-Men (The Yellow Hoods, #3) (16 page)

“What were you doing?” asked the woman.

“He’s deaf. My brother Bore has a friend just like him. The guy lives seconds behind everyone else. Bore taught me some of the simple gestures. Honestly, I’m surprised I remembered them - haven’t used them in a while.” Bakon paused, briefly wondering about how his brothers were doing. “These guys will be leaving now. The big guy knows I’ll shoot them if they don’t,” whispered Bakon, keeping his pistol pointed at the trio of thugs.

“I can’t believe you were able to reload it that quickly,” said the woman, watching in disbelief as the men left.

A sheepish smiled appeared on Bakon’s face. “Well, to be perfectly honest,” he whispered, “I didn’t. I don’t have any bullets on me.”

“So it’s not loaded?” asked the woman.

“No.”

She covered her eyes. “I can’t believe I was just saved by an idiot.”

“Some people are never happy,” said Bakon, putting his gun arm down as the thugs started off. He peeked over his shoulder at the bald man, who was still unconscious on the ground. “He with you?”

The woman laughed. “Dad’s fine. He fainted. Too much excitement and it’s like someone doused his lamp—out he goes. Loud noises do it to him, too. He’ll be up soon.”

“If you don’t mind sharing some of your fruit, we can hook your hand-cart up to my horse.”

The woman nodded. “Sounds fair.”

After attaching his horse and making sure that the old man was steady enough to walk, Bakon walked over to the fruit. Suddenly, the woman screamed and the old man passed out again. 

Bakon rolled his eyes. “What now?” he asked, trying to find the imminent danger.

The woman pointed at an arm that was sticking straight up into the air from the side of the road some fifty yards away.

“I think it’s a zombie,” whispered the woman, crouching down as if the ground would somehow give her protection.

Bakon walked over to it, putting the spent pistol in his pants. “Can’t you see that the fingers are moving? Why does everyone want to believe in magic?” he muttered to himself.

Arriving at the arm, Bakon turned back to the woman. “Hey, lady?” he asked. “Did you lose another guy? There’s one here attached to the arm.”

“That one’s not mine,” she replied.

“Huh,” said Bakon, studying the rousing man. “Are you okay?” He helped the shaggy man carefully to his feet.

The man had a strange look in his eyes. “I was trying to help… someone. I heard a scream,” he said, gazing about, confused. “How did I get here?”

“Did you happen to lose a horse?” asked Bakon. “One trotted past me earlier.”

The man scratched his beard. “I don’t think so. I seem to remember talking to my brother, though.” He turned about, taking in where he was. “I’m guessing it was a hallucination.”

Bakon sighed and shook his head. He’d run into this type before as well. 

As they climbed out of the ditch and onto the road, Bakon got a good look at the man. He had a scruffy beard, sunken brown eyes, and clearly hadn’t eaten well in a long time. He was Bakon’s height, and dressed in tatters. Oddly, there was something familiar about him.

“What’s your name?” asked Bakon as they walked towards the horse and cart.

“My name”—the man rubbed his head—“is Abeland.” He stopped and studied Bakon’s face. “You’re… wait… you?… you’re not, are you?” 

“Pardon?” asked Bakon.

Abeland rubbed his head again and the strange look drifted from behind his eyes. “Sorry. I was given some bad medicine and it’s still messing with my mind. I thought you were my brother for a moment.”

“Oh,” replied Bakon. “Do you know where you are?” 

Abeland studied the forest road. “I came from that direction. I was trying to go home,” he said, finally orienting himself. “Do you know where this road leads?”

The woman, who had been slowly approaching, interjected, “To Evana, and then on to Relna.”

“Relna? So I’m in Belnia… they moved me that far?” muttered Abeland to himself. He scanned the trees and landscape again to confirm. “Belnia…” He squinted at Bakon, thinking. “I need to get to Relna. I have a house outside of there. If you’ll take me, I’ll pay you handsomely for your help.”

At first pass, the man appeared to be a crazed beggar, but there was something about his clear, crisp speech and the way he was standing that told Bakon he was far more than he seemed.

“Okay. My name is Bakon.”

Abeland paused for a second. “Bakon?” There was something disturbingly familiar about that name.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

What a Sharp Mind You Have

LeLoup was enjoying his day in the Frelish capital city. He’d picked up a custom leather holster for the Liar, allowing it to rest comfortably on his right thigh. He’d also managed to squeeze a finished long coat and pants out of Pascal early. 

He paused and appreciated his own reflection in a shop’s window. “I really am ruggedly handsome, aren’t I?” he smiled.

Seeing a crowd, LeLoup made his way over to find a street gambler at the heart of it. He had a makeshift table made with some crates and a piece of wood. On top of it were nine cards in a square, face down.

Small piles of notes and coins were on the table, and everyone was eager for the street gambler to flip two cards. After the first card, the crowd took an anxious breath, and with the second came the grand disappointment to most and celebration by a few. The street gambler smiled as he took his winnings and handed out what he owed.

LeLoup leaned against a brick wall, listening to the smooth pitch of the street gambler. It sounded so innocent, so inviting, so alluring, that people couldn’t resist putting their money on the table and trying their hands at the game.

A blond-haired teenage boy came and stood beside LeLoup, watching the street gambler do his magic. “He’s a good one,” said the boy. “He isn’t cheating. Most of them cheat, but this one is just very good at what he does. I’ve been watching him for a while.”

LeLoup turned his gaze to the boy for a moment, before returning it to the crowd. “Now how would a boy such as yourself know anything about a game like that, unless you’re a street gambler yourself?”

The boy pushed off of the wall and then rocked back. “I lost a bunch of money to one months ago. Even when I won, I lost. It didn’t matter that I was smarter than everyone in that stupid town.”

LeLoup nodded knowingly. “Some larger men helped you with the burden of your winnings, I take it?”

The boy nodded, scowling.

As the crowd erupted with yells and cheers, the boy nodded to himself.

“Predicted that one?” asked LeLoup.

The boy confirmed it with a quick glance.

LeLoup stroked the underpart of his chin. There was something about this boy. He was confident, and clearly following every detail of what was going on. “Isn’t it always the way? When the genius creates something, thuggery and ignorance try to bring it down?”

The boy turned to LeLoup, annoyed. “It shouldn’t be that way. And even among the geniuses, there are liars and scoundrels.”

“True,” said LeLoup, scrutinizing the boy a bit more. His eyes were sharp, the wheels clearly turning inside.

LeLoup observed the crowd. No one seemed to be paying any attention to the boy. “Where are your parents?” he asked casually.

The boy shook his head. “I’m here with friends. We’re traveling to Costello. They’re back at the inn, though. I’m here alone.”

Smiling to himself, LeLoup replied, “Costello is very nice this time of year.” 

Sounds of anticipation emanated from the crowd.

“Before he flips it over,” said LeLoup, nudging the boy.

“Bottom left card and the middle top card,” said the boy. 

They watched as the street gambler flipped them over and held them high for everyone to see. The crowd once again exclaimed, mostly in disappointment, but with a few cheers.

LeLoup nodded. “Very well done.”

The boy shrugged. “It’s simple, really.”

“There are many things in life that look simple,” said LeLoup. “Why are you going to Costello?”

The boy moved his head away from LeLoup.

“Sorry. I’m being too nosey,” said LeLoup apologetically.

“Speaking of Costello, I’ve met the Abbott once. Painful fellow, made me want to give him what for. Thick like a brick,” said the boy, making them both chuckle.

LeLoup stared at the boy. “You know, it’s one thing to see what should be done from the sidelines, but can you see things in the heat of the moment?”

The boy rolled his eyes, not dignifying LeLoup’s question with an answer.

“I have some powerful friends—friends who would appreciate someone with your insight and abilities,” said LeLoup, stroking the boy’s ego. He could see the boy straighten up with a touch of pride. “But first, a test.”

“Name it,” said the boy.

“Let’s see if we can win three times in a row.” He walked over to the gambler and glanced back at the boy by the wall. “Are you going to change your life, or are you going to stand there in the shadows?” LeLoup grinned from ear to ear when he saw the spark in the boy’s eyes as he approached. 

“We’re in,” said LeLoup to the street gambler.

“Place your bet,” said the street gambler, offering a charming smile.

LeLoup reached into his wallet and took out a thousand coin note. His piercing green eyes caught the nervous movements of the gambler’s gaze and the bead of sweat starting to form on his temples. “Is this too rich for you?” LeLoup asked coyly. The gambler followed LeLoup’s glance to the Liar strapped to his thigh. “I’d hate to have to collect in other ways.”

The street gambler smiled at the intimidating pistol, and then at LeLoup, and said, “We’re good.” 

The crowd was gossiping about the amount and what would happen.

“Wonderful,” LeLoup said to the street gambler. “Let’s see if my young colleague is as brilliant as I suspect he might be.”

A minute later, the crowd erupted, and the boy and LeLoup exchanged nods at having won. LeLoup glared at the street gambler and asked him, “You’re good for the money, aren’t you?”

The man sweated a little and glanced at the crowd. “Everything’s good. We’re all good here, sir. Everyone, place your bets.”

“No, not everyone, just me,” said LeLoup.

The street gambler smiled at him nervously. He knew if he backed out now, he’d never be able to work this part of town again. “Okay.”

When the crowd erupted once more, both LeLoup and the boy were excited and pressed their thumbs together in triumph. Members of the crowd immediately copied them.

“My young friend here has a talent, ladies and gentlemen!” yelled LeLoup, raising the noise level.

“You just wiped out a year of earnings, kid,” whispered the street gambler angrily.

The boy gave him his own version of LeLoup’s predator grin. “That’s a shame. I thought we’d taken everything. Let’s see if I can make this a bad decade for you, shall we?”

LeLoup gave the boy a slap on the back and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him in. “Win this one, boy, and the world is yours.”

The boy nodded excitedly.

“What’s your name?” asked LeLoup, releasing him.

“Franklin. Franklin Watt.”

LeLoup couldn’t believe the day he was having.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A Neu Way

Marcus banged on the ceiling for the driver to stop the carriage. Moments later, the door opened.

“Everything okay, sir?” asked the new captain.

Climbing out, Marcus said, “We’re going for a walk, no entourage.” 

“Sir, we—”

Marcus cut his new captain off. “You weren’t going to say that you have orders from someone, were you? I’d hate to have to replace my captain twice in two days.”

Nervously, the captain shook his head. “I was… I just… we are in the middle of nowhere.”

“Actually,” said Marcus, scanning the winding road carved through yet another forest, “we are very much somewhere. Remain here.”

Nikolas was a bit surprised when the door opened; he’d been lost in a book. Marcus had been in the front office section of the carriage working since the early morning, leaving Nikolas in the back with books, paper, ink, and his thoughts.

Stepping out and having a good stretch, Nikolas took in the scenery. The sky was a deep blue, with a handful of gray clouds. The trees and other foliage gave Nikolas a good idea of where they were, but not why they’d stopped. He was about to ask Marcus about where they were headed when, for the first time, he saw the carriage in full daylight. It was quite something to behold.

The extended carriage had four sets of twin wheels, with a wheel-within-a-wheel design, connected with tightly coiled springs. The exterior was painted fairly simply, in black and gray. At the front was a bench seat for the driver with a flip-up armored panel for cover. Four crouched soldiers were stationed on top with rifles.

Nikolas bent down and studied the suspension and wheel system in detail. He muttered to himself as he pieced together how it worked and why certain engineering decisions had likely been made.

“Do you approve?” asked Marcus, curious, as Nikolas got himself fully under the carriage to scrutinize it up close.

Nikolas nodded. “It’s a very practical design. The horses aren’t the sole source of propulsion, though, yes? I noticed—”

Marcus laughed. “How long did it take you to realize that after you were under there—a minute?”

Nikolas pensively touched his fingers to his thumb, counting. “Approximately.”

“It took Simon nearly twenty minutes,” he replied. “I wouldn’t give him any of the details, however.”

Nikolas took Marcus’ hand and got back to his feet. “It’s nothing obvious. You shouldn’t worry,” said Nikolas, brushing himself off.

“Indeed,” said Marcus, smirking.

Nikolas added, “I was curious about it, as I had noticed a particular sound when we were traveling. There’s a… a type of harmonic rubbing, metallic sounding. It occurred every two to four seconds when we were on an incline. I couldn’t place it at first, but now it’s clear to me.

“I realized that it must be related to this carriage being heavily armored, yes? So I calculated the weight it would have to be, and determined that it couldn’t be pulled by four horses alone. Also, I assume it’s meant to withstand a cannon blast from one hundred yards, yes?”