All The King's-Men (The Yellow Hoods, #3) (29 page)

 As they walked, Nikolas took in the detail. He appreciated the artistry of those that had put such a place together, but cringed at the excess. He hadn’t realized until just now how much his perspective had changed over time.

“That’s Gilbert’s Horror,” remarked Nikolas, pointing to a famous painting denoting the beginning of the Era of Abominators.

Marcus stopped beside the chilling painting. “I found it in a small village called Bodear. I can’t remember why I was there, but I learned they had protected our kind from the beginning. When the elders of the village learned who I was, they gave it to me. They asked me to hang it so that I would see it every day.

“I’ve returned to that village often. They are wonderful people. They seem very simple, but they understand a lot about physics and mathematics on a philosophical level. Whenever I go, it feels like a cleansing of the mind. I do some of my best work there. They help keep me grounded. Well, as grounded as I can be,” he said with a smile.

Nikolas nodded, studying the painting. He turned to Marcus in wonder. “Did you do all the reforms you’d hoped?” he asked. 

Marcus frowned. “In Teuton, I’ve been able to enact most of them, but it will take a generation or two for the reforms and educational changes to really have the needed effect. Old habits and mindsets are difficult to change. Elsewhere, I’ve had less success. In Freland, it went better than in the inexplicably disintegrating southern kingdoms. My intuition tells me it’s related to Abeland. He hasn’t written to me in quite some time.

“The greatest lesson I’ve learned is that you have to make it more painful, more difficult, to stay with how things are, than to move to the new way things need to be. People are actually the hardest problem to solve, but I believe I have a solution.”

Nikolas felt a chill at Marcus’ statement.

Marcus continued. “I’m coming to believe people need something dramatic to motivate them. Otherwise, the many always feel threatened by granting the same rights and privileges to the few that they have long denied us.”

Everything Marcus said was a more experienced, nuanced echo of what he’d said in the earliest days Nikolas had known him.

They walked down beautiful corridors lit with clock-work lanterns of Marcus’ design until they came to a statue and the study. Marcus entered the cozy study while Nikolas stopped and stared in shock at the statue just outside. 

To almost everyone, the figure would have appeared to be a remarkable statue of a horse kicking at the air, but Nikolas was certain it was an actual King’s-Horse. A wooden face and mane had been added, but he could see the shiny gears and belts through the small holes intended to allow heat to exhaust. Then his eye caught the heart-panel, and he got nervous for the first time since being in Marcus’ presence. 

Nikolas scrutinized the details without touching the King’s-Horse. It was definitely an original King’s-Horse, but quick mental math accounted for all the ones that he and Christophe had built. He couldn’t understand where it had come from. He stared at the heart-panel, trying to remember if they had somehow mistakenly created any more than the four he could think of that had it. He adjusted his spectacles and leaned in, making sure that the heart-panel was indeed a door. He rubbed his chin as his eyes darted around, his memory trying to figure out how this was possible. Questions ran through his mind:
If Marcus has this, what else does he have? What else has he been hiding? Does he know about the MCM engine? Or worse, does he have the plans?
 

He knew better than to test the polite charade that he and Marcus had going on. Nikolas knew he was a prisoner, but as long as he didn’t give Marcus any reason to make that apparent, he would be allowed to roam around and glean whatever information he could from whatever sources were available.

 “Nikolas, come. The tea’s ready,” said Marcus.

Nikolas reached over the side of the high-armed, red velvet chair, and laid the book he’d been reading for the past two hours on the floor. He gathered the notes he’d been writing off and on for the past few days, and gazed at the tables and side tables. He still didn’t want to connect his work with anything associated with Marcus’ endeavor, so he placed them on the floor in a pile once again. He knew it was silly, but it was the only form of rebellion he felt he could do unnoticed. He pulled off his spectacles and rubbed between his eyes.

The tea they’d had in the study by the King’s-Horse had been cut short the other day, and ever since, Nikolas had hardly seen Marcus. Whenever he’d caught a glimpse of Marcus, he’d had an intense look. 

The guards allowed Nikolas to wander around the mansion and to go into the gardens, but only if accompanied. There were areas that he was politely asked to not go, and Nikolas understood all too well.

Nikolas rested his head on the high back of the chair and put his spectacles back on. He gazed in thought at the stained glass ceiling some sixty feet above him. It was a gilded cage, and he wondered what exactly Marcus’ intentions were for him.

He stood up and stretched, then glanced at the catwalks and ladders that decorated the towering bookcases. Ever intrigued by the huge glass wall at the east end of the library, Nikolas made his way over to it.

He gazed down from its second floor height at the gardens below and the white stone towers that defined its boundaries.

Putting his hands in his pockets, Nikolas watched the servants and soldiers traveling between the white towers. He’d been unsuccessful in trying to glean much information about the towers, but he could tell they were significant somehow. He noticed food occasionally going in or coming out, and figured that meant they housed important prisoners of some kind—but who?

Nikolas leaned against the glass, resting his head against an arm. He casually gazed down at the massive garden. Its bushes and flowers formed wonderful patterns. Nikolas enjoyed the gardens and wondered about possibly taking lunch there.

Something caught Nikolas’ imagination and started to pull him back from his thoughts. There was something about the garden, the flower arrangement in particular. He frowned and sighed as he tried to grasp the fleeting idea. What was it?

Standing back, folding his arms and tugging on his beard, he studied the towers and then the garden as a whole again, and it hit him. The void between the flowers and the shrubbery made the symbol of the old Fare, facing north. Nikolas took a step back and looked at it again to be certain. A cold sweat came over him.

Nikolas knew his history well enough to know that the Fare had first risen to prominence in the shadows of others, and had left signs of their growing boldness everywhere. What if Marcus had not replaced the Fare, taking all of its broken pieces and using it in his new puzzle, but instead been an instrument of the Fare’s will all along? Had they been behind some of his more ambitious successes, and were they now behind his limited ones?

For a brief moment, Nikolas wondered if Marcus had done this intentionally. It didn’t seem like something Marcus would do, given how he felt about the original Fare, but he didn’t know for certain.

“Nikolas!” boomed Marcus, making him nearly jump out of his skin. Marcus was wearing his signature black long coat and vest, the gold chain of a pocket watch visible from a lower pocket. His right eye was covered in a black eye patch.

 “Sorry,” said Marcus. “I didn’t realize you were deep in thought. Was it anything interesting? I could use a good distraction.”

Nikolas glanced at the garden before focusing back on Marcus. “The garden. Has it always been like this?”

Marcus frowned and walked over to look at it. “No… is there something of particular interest? Recently the head gardener proposed some changes and I was too busy to be involved. He has a disfigured woman helping him, I’ve heard.” Marcus looked at the garden, squinting. “It seems pleasant enough.”

Nikolas nodded as he absorbed the statement.

“Are you free?” asked Marcus, turning to Nikolas and gesturing for him to follow. 

“Let me gather my things,” said Nikolas, picking up his papers.

Marcus smiled. “Good. I apologize for being such a bad host these past few days. Some sacrifices had to be made to stop the ambitious and the opportunistic.”

“Where are we going?” asked Nikolas as they headed out of the study.

“To my principal office, in the main building. I have a couple of things I’d like to discuss with you, a few things to show you, and then we can have lunch in the garden.”

Nikolas stopped, deciding that he could no longer hold off asking the question. “How long do you plan for me to be
here
?”

Marcus smiled uncomfortably. “I think—“ he paused. “I think things will be clear by this evening.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

A Bargain Made

Angelic voices and music wove their way into Elly’s dreams, until finally she opened her eyes. Before her, on the ceiling, was a beautiful painting. It showed people leaping off a cliff and becoming birds as they flew towards the sun, then coming back, changing from birds into people again and getting in line for their next turn. Elly had never seen anything like it. She felt at peace gazing upon it.

Eventually, she moved her eyes around the room. Elly noticed two large, open windows with morning light pouring in. They had thick red-and-gold curtains drawn aside. She couldn’t remember what time of day it was when she’d been shot. 

She was about to close her eyes and drift off to sleep again when she realized that beside the curtains was a man kneeling, dressed identically in red-and-gold robes. He was bald and had a thin, clean-shaven face. He was muttering to himself, rocking back and forth on his knees, with his eyes closed. When Elly’s eyes landed on him, he ceased moving and smiled at her, revealing his gentle eyes.

He stood, bowed, and silently left the room.

She returned to staring at the ceiling until she heard the hint of a familiar sound. Her excitement built, until finally Tee burst through the open doorway, sliding on the marble floor. Elly winced in pain as she thought about trying to move.

Tee’s eyes were tear-filled, her face hopeful and pained. She leapt to Elly’s low bedside, a blur of red cloth and black hair. She buried her head in the side of Elly’s pillow, her left arm wrapping around her bedridden best friend.

With a choked-up voice, Tee asked, “How… ah… how are you feeling?” Tears of relief were rolling down Tee’s face, wetting Elly’s ear.

 “I’m okay,” she said weakly. “Good thing we have the no dying rule, right?”

Tee chuckled, but the river of tears continued.

Elly carefully wrapped her arms around Tee, wincing in pain as she did so. “You saved me. We’re okay now.” Tee’s tears accelerated and she hugged Elly harder.

Elly couldn’t remember ever seeing such a display from Tee. She took a deep breath and rubbed Tee’s back gently. “I’m okay, you saved me,” she repeated, failing to console her. As the seconds passed, Elly’s anxiety crept up. “Tee? Are we okay?” she asked nervously. 

Inexplicably, Elly felt her gaze drawn to the doorway. She could sense a presence there, just out of view.

“Tee? What happened?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The Gingerbread Man

Gretel sat on the grass, gently stroking the white petals of the wild Black-eyed Susans she’d picked off the fence’s vines. The afternoon light made the hearts of the flowers look bruised to Gretel. She stared at them until a rush of emotion made her crumple them and drop them to the ground. 

She pulled in her legs and rocked herself back and forth as she tried to expel the images that had started invading her waking hours, no longer happy to simply be nightmares. Each day, she wanted more and more to get out of her skin and away from the increasing flood of emotions. She wondered if somehow Mother had cursed her. Had she heard the relief in Gretel’s voice at her passing? Was this her revenge?

“Hi, Gretel,” said Hans.

Gretel’s gaze jumped from the ground to her brother. He was smiling and appeared peaceful, dressed in a new brown jerkin and darker brown pantaloons. He had a new white shirt with puffy sleeves and black, shiny boots.

“How many people did you kill to pay for all that?” asked Gretel hostilely.

Hans frowned and put his hands up, keeping a small box tucked under his arm. “I actually paid for this out of my share of our little treasure pile. A treasure pile, I will point out, that you raided quite unfairly to pay for food and other stuff to tend to your… hobby.”

“And our brother,” said Gretel.

Hans gnashed his teeth, his eyes narrowed. “You know,” he said, “I came to try and make things how they used to be.”

“I’m sorry,” said Gretel, letting out an uneasy breath.

“I didn’t want to talk about him. To be honest, I’d prefer if we never talked about him or that pet of yours again,” said Hans.

Gretel glared at him.

“Allow me to start again?” asked Hans, sitting down a few feet away. “I have just spoken with Saul. We have squared away our differences. He will take care of the Hound, and you and I are free to go wherever we will.”