All The King's-Men (The Yellow Hoods, #3) (30 page)

“But Saul’s—”

Hans grimaced as he interrupted. “Nothing to us. You know it’s a lie as much as I do. Mother must have told you, and if she didn’t, then you must have figured it out,” said Hans. “I gave him what he deserved of the treasure as well.” He gazed down at the simple wooden box in his lap. 

Gretel released her legs so she could sit more comfortably. “You shouldn’t have hurt Saul.”

Hans wobbled his head back and forth in thought. “Maybe… maybe not. Maybe he deserved it for getting between us. Things have been… very different since Mother left.”

“Like the nightmares,” said Gretel, staring at the grass, wanting the ground to swallow her up.

“Yes,” said Hans, sounding sympathetic, “the nightmares. What ones are you having?”

Gretel’s eyes welled up as she tried to talk.

Hans moved beside her and rubbed her back. “It’s okay, shh, never mind. Look, I made you something,” he said, opening the box.

 “Gingerbread?” said Gretel in happy astonishment.

“I will admit,” said Hans coyly, “that I didn’t make any for the Hound or Saul. This is just for you. Though in fairness, I did give them another type of treat.”

Gretel smiled at him as she reached for the large cookie. After a few small bites, Gretel felt a small wave of calm hit her.

Hans closed the lid. “I just want things to be how they were, but better,” he said. “You and me and the world. I want all of it.” He stood and offered Gretel his hand.

Gretel stopped and sniffed the air for a moment. “Do you smell something?”

Hans sniffed. “It’s probably some wood smoke from the campers I saw nearby. I was going to rob them, but I thought the last thing you needed to see were signs of a fight on my new clothes. I wanted to look nice for you, to make this reunion special.”

Gretel munched on her cookie as they walked and chatted about old times.

“We should go back,” said Gretel, glancing around, trying to figure out which way it was to the cabin. “I need to make sure that Saul is really okay with everything. That the Hound—”

“No,” said Hans, grabbing her hand.

Gretel tried to pull her hand away, and stumbled. Hans caught her by the elbows.

“Hans, I don’t… I don’t feel right,” said Gretel, worried.

He stroked the back of Gretel’s hands with his thumbs. “Everything is going to be wonderfully fine,” he said with a deeply sinister smile. “It’s going to be like it used to be.”

Gretel’s eyes went wide with horror. “That’s what the man says in my nightmares.”

“Oh, you remember that, do you? I wasn’t sure how quickly the Ginger would affect your mind; apparently not as quickly as I expected,” said Hans. A giggle quickly grew into a maniacal laugh as he let go of Gretel and enjoyed the terror in her eyes. “I was so disappointed at how you changed as your steady diet of Ginger wore off. Saul lost focus, but you… you changed into this crying mess. I had no idea that your mind would remember all those wonderful times we spent together, and bring them back as nightmares. You know, it actually pains me to know that
you
have replaced my sweet, cruel Gretel.”

Gretel stumbled. “That’s… that’s why you never ate the cookies,” she stammered, recoiling and nearly falling over.

“The cookies were always my way of preparing you for our special moments together.” Hans sprang forward and pushed Gretel back as she tried to regain her footing. “It’s nasty stuff, that Ginger. When I was sixteen, I made a batch so strong I was able to knock out a horse for three days. I felt so… powerful that day,” said Hans, his hands out. 

He twitched as he saw the anger and disgust in Gretel’s eyes, and turned his gaze to the sky. “Mother loved me, you know. Through everything she did to me, or had done to me, I believe she was always trying to make me stronger. And as long as I was a good boy, she’d let me do anything.” Hans’ eyes pierced Gretel. “Anything.”

Gretel got up and took a clumsy swing at Hans. He easily stepped out of the way and pushed her to the ground again. As she landed, the world started to spin.

Hans chewed on his lip for a moment, his eyes dancing with malevolent joy. “Sorry about the nightmares, but I have to tell you, it honestly delights me. It means I wasn’t alone in those moments. I sometimes felt like I could have set fire to the house and no one would have noticed, no one would have moved a muscle. I’m getting quite good at that, by the way.” 

Gretel forced herself up and started running, staggering back and forth.

Hans laughed hard. “Running back to your Beast, or just running away? Come on then, run!” Hans mocked her as she ran like a drunk in the dark. “Go on! Run, Gretel, run!” He yelled at her, his tone twisting. “Run, run, as fast as you can, you can’t outrun me… I’m the Gingerbread Man.”

Gretel’s soul-splitting scream traveled down the forest path, into the burning cabin, and snapped the Hound’s eyes open. He felt an intensity of purpose fill his veins like never before. Suddenly there was no pain, no self-pity. There was only one thought: Gretel.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Armed and Dangerous

Mounira awoke to a knock at her door in the middle of the night. A hunched-over old man stepped out of view just as she opened the door. For a few minutes, she followed him through the stone corridors of the ruined castle, wondering who he was and if he had indeed awoken her.

“Who are you?” she asked, not wanting to take another step until she had some sense of where she was being taken. She didn’t recognize this part of the castle.

“Ah,” said the old man, turning and allowing Mounira her first real look at him. He had a long white beard and crazy, bushy white hair. His brilliant blue eyes twinkled in the white light emanating from the top of his cane.

“That light… that’s like Anciano Klaus’ light in his study,” said Mounira. “Do you know him?”

The old man seemed disoriented for a moment, almost surprised to see Mounira standing there a few yards away. “There are lots of things,” he said, glancing around at the walls, “lots of things I know, lots of people I’ve met, and some of them were even real.” He scratched his head. “Are you real?”

Mounira narrowed her eyes, wondering what the stranger was talking about. “I am. Are you?”

“I hope so, otherwise I’m a ghost who forgot to shed his mortal coil,” he said. He tapped his forehead with his fingers while shushing, almost as if trying to quiet voices inside.

“You have coils?” asked Mounira, not sure exactly what he meant. His Frelish was heavily accented, more so than Nikolas’, but similar.

A sweet smile spread across the old man’s face. “Christina was not exaggerating when she said you are a fountain of questions. She didn’t know I was listening, but I was. I was there. I was listening.”

Mounira smiled uncomfortably. She could tell that something wasn’t right about the man, like his soul was stuck in a broken machine. It dawned on her that he’d not been wandering aimlessly, but rather had brought her to a part of the castle that she hadn’t explored. 

“Have you enjoyed your week here? Are the people nice?” he asked, resting both hands on the cane. “I don’t know them. I stay in my room. I look at my wall. Sometimes I write on her. I like my wall.”

Mounira walked up to the man, studying his face as she did. “You brought me here. Did you want to show me something?” she asked, guessing.

The man nodded and sighed with relief.

She gently took his hand and he jumped.

“Who are you?” he asked, startled.

A memory from long ago flashed before Mounira and tears came to her eyes. She remembered the last days of her great-grandmother, before she passed.

“My name is Mounira. I’m a friend. You were going to show me something. What’s your name?”

The man glanced all around fearfully. “My name is Christophe the Con…?”

“Hello, Christophe,” said Mounira soothingly. She held his hand, and he gazed down at it and sighed heavily. “Are you feeling okay now?”

Christophe nodded. “I feel better, yes. You remind me of Luis. Did you know him?”

“No,” replied Mounira, curious. “What happened to him?”

“Brilliant boy. He drowned. So sad,” said Christophe, staring off in the distance.

“Oh.” Mounira thought for a moment. “How come I haven’t met you yet? I’ve been here for a week.”

“Christina was not exaggerating when she said you are a fountain of questions. She didn’t know I was listening, but I was. I was there. I was listening,” said Christophe, exactly as he had before.

“I know Anciano… I mean, I know Nikolas Klaus. Do you know him? He’s a very nice man.”

The old man nodded. “Yes, I know Nikolas. I haven’t seen him in a long time. Is he okay?”

Mounira frowned, and bit her lip in thought for a moment. “He’s fine. Everything is fine. Do you leave your wall very often?”

“No,” muttered Christophe. “I like my wall. She’s very good to me. I get to write all my ideas on her when I have to get them out of my head.” He gazed down at Mounira, her brown eyes shining in the light. “Oh! I wanted to show you something. I make it when I sneak out at night. The lock they have on my room, it’s not very good. They think I’m not all there, but I am! I am!”

Mounira wondered if it was such a good idea to be out with this man. “Okay then, why don’t you show me?”

“Yes, yes it’s right…” Christophe glanced around. “It’s this way!”

Christina knocked on Mounira’s bedroom door and gently pushed it open. She’d tended to all of her morning duties, and had been surprised to hear that Mounira had returned to her room after a quick breakfast. 

Mounira was staring out the window at the grassy lands surrounding the ruined castle. It was so different from her homeland. She had her yellow cloak on, the hood up.

“Good morning,” said Christina. “Everything okay?”

Mounira nodded.

“Well, we’re going to meet up with Tee and Elly this morning. I promised Nikolas I’d keep an eye on them.”

Still staring out the window, Mounira asked, “I met him last night. Did you know he wanders the halls sometimes at night?”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Christina, leaning on the doorframe.

“Your father. Christophe.”

Christina stiffened and straightened up. “What are you talking about? He’s dead to the world, a body with no soul anymore.”

Mounira shook her head. “He heard you talk about me. He said you said I ask a lot of questions.”

“This isn’t funny,” said Christina, a tremor of emotion in her voice. “My father—”

As Mounira turned to face her, Christina caught sight of a lump on her back, almost like she had a backpack underneath her cloak.

“I met him last night. He was wandering the halls. He had something to show me,” said Mounira, a strange smile spreading over her face.

“What are you talking about?” asked Christina, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.

Mounira pulled her cloak aside, jerked her head back, and moved her stump. Christina watched as pieces of metal rotated and clicked into place. 

Raising her mechanical arm, Mounira moved its two fingers and thumb.

Christina’s chin trembled. “He made that?” she whispered, trying to keep everything in.

Mounira nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Sliding down the door to sit on the floor, Christina stared at the marvel as Mounira walked up to her. “He hasn’t done anything other than write nonsense or stare at that wall for years. I talk to him every day that I’m here, and he just stares blankly at that wall.”

“He heard you talk about me. Is that why he made this?” Mounira asked.

Christina shrugged, sniffling and rubbing her nose with her hand. “I… I don’t know,” she said, working around the lump in her throat. She grabbed Mounira and hugged her tightly. “You have no idea how much this means to me. I’d thought the arm had been lost, I thought he’d been lost… now, we need to get Tee and Elly before they are lost.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Humpty Dumpty

As Marcus and Nikolas walked out of the library building and started to cross the garden towards the presidential manor, a young male servant ran up to them. 

“Lord Pieman,” he said, then waited for Marcus to acknowledge him.

“Yes, what is it?” said Marcus, annoyed.

 “You have an unexpected visitor. He says that you know him and that he works for Simon St. Malo.”

Marcus thought for a moment. Simon had never sent anyone with a message before. “Is this an old man?”

“Yes, and he has a sickly look about him.”

He rubbed his stubbly chin. “Thank you. I’ll see to the visitor,” he said, dismissing the boy. After the servant left, he said, “Simon treats Arthur horribly, always has. Even though the man is his only family.”

Nikolas was taken aback. “Family? But—”

Marcus started walking. “He’s Simon’s uncle. He appeared about ten years after you left. Arthur saw Simon walking in the streets of Relna and walked up to him. He recognized the man, even in his beggar robes. Arthur was to be arrested when he begged Simon for forgiveness and offered anything to make it up to him. The rest is history.”