All The King's-Men (The Yellow Hoods, #3) (8 page)

Nikolas nodded in agreement. “But by skilled hands. They are still well-made.”

“Yes,” said Marcus, leaning in. “I’d guess they would have had to produce a lot to not notice.

“That all said,” Marcus rolled his shoulders back, straightening himself up, “I heard that they are marching out in the morning. We’re safe regardless.”

Nikolas turned back to Marcus, wondering. His old friend sounded certain about that last part, as if he knew that even if all of the soldiers in the inn turned on them at once, he would win.

Leaning forward, bowing his head a bit and putting his hands between his knees, Nikolas yawned and then looked up. “I know you are not wanting to discuss business any more, but—”

Marcus could see what was on Nikolas’ mind. “You’re worried about your granddaughter.”

Nikolas nodded.

Marcus took out a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his black vest. “Here, this was with Richelle’s letter, which I received from the man at the cart.”

Nikolas tried to act surprised.

“Don’t do that,” said Marcus, waving off Nikolas’ feigned expression, offended. “I know you too well, even when I’m exhausted and we haven’t seen each other in years. I know that you noticed him. You noticed the pistols, and just so you know, I haven’t stopped thinking about that either.” He removed his monocle and rubbed both eyes. “There are a lot of things to keep in mind when you’re playing a hundred games of chess at the same time.”

“Such as giving me the piece of paper from Richelle?” asked Nikolas, pointing to the paper still in Marcus’ possession.

Marcus laughed and handed it over.

Nikolas was surprised to find the letter was addressed to him directly. Richelle wrote about how she’d tried to reason with Tee, but Tee’d been too upset to listen. Ultimately, she hadn’t captured Tee and could confirm that she’d left the battlefield with only minor bruises. 

Closing his eyes, Nikolas smiled. He imagined Tee in the trap that he’d been too trusting to help her avoid, a fireball against the impending darkness. She’d grown up so much in the past several months. The LeLoup incident had changed her, but the core of who she was had made it through unharmed. He felt a mix of guilt and pride in having seeded her upbringing with the tools she’d recently needed. A thought then occurred to him.

Nikolas sat back and stared at Marcus curiously.

Marcus lowered the letter he was reading. “Now that look, Nikolas, I
don’t
recognize.”

“The Tub’s rule about not passing knowledge or training on to successive generations,” said Nikolas, pausing.

“Yes?” asked Marcus, putting the letter away. He slipped the strap of his geared monocle back on and fit it into place.

Nikolas’ eyes danced around the room as several things that had bothered him for years finally fell into place. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

Marcus tried to hide his smile. He leaned back and folded his arms, his eyebrows going up. “What would make you think that?”

Nikolas’ eyes narrowed. “It bothered me when I first heard of this rule. It is one thing not to share your prejudices and misshapen beliefs with another generation, but to pass nothing on? To believe that the victory over the Fare was permanent? I always found the reasons given to be excuses, but every question I asked led in a circle, and in the end, the Tub wasn’t mine to fix. It is clear now.”

“That I had already started dismantling the Tub before we met? Yes,” replied Marcus, a bit uncomfortable. “As I’ve mentioned before, it didn’t bother me that you were still peripherally involved with the Tub after you left. You had to be, given your son-in-law. You did as you promised: you didn’t tip the balance, not that they would have allowed you to…”

There was much about his ambitions and strategies that Marcus had never spoken to Nikolas about. Nikolas had always been caught in a moral conundrum when it came to him and his plans, as he could see both sides of the equation. Ultimately, it had always come down to his faith in the man.

Nikolas closed his eyes and rubbed his bald head as he thought. He muttered to himself as he tried to determine how Marcus could have done such a thing. Finally, he opened his eyes, his hand over his mouth in surprise. “The old candlemaker, Alan Waxman. I remember noticing that the bylaws had been changed when he fell ill. That was you, yes?”

Marcus’ steely eyes told Nikolas that it had gone much deeper than that.

“But how did you do this so early?” asked Nikolas, leaning forward.

Marcus waved at a barmaid as she rushed by before turning back to Nikolas, unsure how he wanted to answer.

“Back in a second!” she yelled over her shoulder.

Leaning forward on his elbows, Marcus glanced around to see who was listening, as if anyone could hear over the ruckus. “After I took control of the remains of the Fare by… means that were less than savory, I moved quickly to undermine the Tub. They were already highly dysfunctional. Their leadership was old, worn, and about to change hands. Successors were not obvious yet, so I acted quickly. 

“As candidates came and went, I had new laws put on the books. I had the ethos changed. When you got involved, I knew it would be relatively harmless. Yes, there were some skirmishes here and there between the Tub and the Fare, but that was more often than not with remnants of the Fare that wouldn’t follow my lead, rather than with anything I was doing.

“I couldn’t have the Tub undermining what needed to be done. They were supporting the status quo—a status quo that still allowed our kind to be killed or jailed without question.”

Nikolas scratched his beard as he tried to remember his Tub history. “So this was all before Eleanor DeBoeuf took her role. How did you convince her? She—”

“Everyone has a price, a weakness, or a blind spot. Except maybe Samuel Baker, you’ll be happy to know. He’s a different matter altogether. I have high respect for the man.”

Nikolas rubbed his chin, thinking of Tee’s other grandfather. 

Marcus smiled. “Those that you can’t attack directly…”

“You render unable to harm you,” said Nikolas, quoting a popular saying in military history.

Marcus nodded.

Nikolas was impressed. “Very well-executed,” he said, in genuine appreciation of the complexities involved. “Anna was a dangerous wildcard, yes?”

“To be honest, I never intended for her to take the role she did. I made a mistake; rare, I know. For a long time she was simply disruptive to DeBoeuf and Baker, and then when I took DeBoeuf out of the equation, it surprised me to find Anna Maucher taking the leadership reins of the Tub. It wasn’t long before I heard of the peace deal she wanted. My spies told me, however, that she had no real support from the factions that made up the Tub.”

 “What may I offer you gentlemen this evening?” asked the barmaid.

Nikolas recognized her from earlier, when he’d been by the fireplace.

“Alright, everyone!” boomed a decorated military man at the entrance. “Time to haul out. We leave at dawn and we’ve got a long march to camp. Let’s go!”

Nikolas understood the words, but couldn’t place the language at first. “Karuptaf?” whispered Nikolas to Marcus.

Marcus thought about it for a moment, then nodded. He leaned over the side of his chair and watched the soldiers drop their coins, collect their things, and start to head out. “I wouldn’t have thought them from Karupto,” said Marcus, thinking.

“Does Abeland still write you letters every month?” asked Nikolas.

Marcus eyed Nikolas suspiciously.

“You always wear that expression when you’re worried about Abeland.”

Marcus sighed, letting out a half-laugh. He’d been around geniuses and master inventors all his life, but there was no one like Nikolas.

He paused for a moment before smiling at the barmaid, who had been standing there patiently. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

“No worries,” she said. “I appreciated having a moment to myself. It’s been quite the hectic day, and a very long night.”

“Is it always this busy?” asked Nikolas.

The barmaid’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, it’s been a madhouse lately, but it’s usually pretty quiet. The other night, though, we had another rowdy bunch like these ones, dressed similarly, too. They headed out west, I think.” She put the tray she’d been absentmindedly holding in front of herself under her arm. “What would you like to eat? We still have a couple of items off the… oh, I didn’t bring you menus.”

“It’s okay,” said Marcus, sporting a charming smile. “Do you have that meat pie? I had it when I was here before.”

“Yes…” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the innkeeper, who was starting to collect the coins left everywhere. “Em, do we have meat pies in the ov’?”

“A couple.”

Marcus continued. “That, and a cup of hot water.“

The barmaid was staring at Marcus intently, and then snapped her fingers. “Oh, you’re Lord Pieman.” She did a sloppy curtsey. “I’ve never met a lord before.”

Marcus stiffened, his jaw tensed. “Pardon?”

The barmaid went flush. “Oh, sorry, was I not supposed to say anything? It’s just that the reservation for all the rooms was under that name. When you said—”

“That’s fine. I was just… surprised,” said Marcus, his smile shifting to a plastic grimace. He found it hard to believe that for the first time in decades of traveling, one of his aids had made such a reservation in his actual name. This felt deliberate.

Turning to Nikolas, the barmaid asked, “And for you, sir?”

“Does the pie have a baked crust?” asked Nikolas.

“Yes, it does,” said the barmaid cheerfully.

“Do you have anything else that is baked?” he asked hopefully. “I have a craving for this, yes?”

The barmaid looked back at the innkeeper for a moment. “We might have some pastries left. Would you like me to check? I think they might be two days old.”

Marcus shook his head as he watched the last of the soldiers leave. “Dessert discussion before the meal? How absurd. Never mind discussing stale pastries.”

Nikolas gave the barmaid a serious stare, and said in a soft tone, “I’d really appreciate it, even if they are two days old. Some things are important to me.”

“Emery, do we still have any of those pastries?” she yelled over her shoulder, maintaining eye contact with Nikolas.

“Go look for yourself! Who works for who?” he yelled back.

“Whom,” muttered the barmaid.

That got Marcus’ attention. He reached for her hand as she started to leave.

“Pardon my rudeness,” said Marcus, “but what did you say?”

The barmaid was startled. “What?” she said, frowning at Marcus blankly.

He glanced at Nikolas, who was equally surprised. “Never mind. My apologies. Rash actions of a tired mind,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

CHAPTER SEVEN

An Eg Unscrambled

Richy and Egelina-Marie approached one of the eastern entrances of Mineau very carefully, staying well- hidden in the brush at the edge of the Red Forest. 

The strange glow against the midnight sky had turned out to be towering flames. The closer they’d gotten, the less real it had seemed. Somehow a war had taken place in a matter of hours, with buildings set ablaze and wreckage strewn about. The snapping and popping of the flames were occasionally interrupted by rifle, pistol, and cannon fire. Every now and then they could hear people screaming. 

Advancing on their hands and knees, Richy asked anxiously, “What the yig happened here?”

“Richy!” said Egelina-Marie, surprised to hear him curse.

A smile broke on his tense face. “What? You’re not my mom,” he replied cheekily.

Egelina-Marie laughed at herself. Of all the things in that moment to be concerned about, she’d jumped on him for a silly word choice. The youthful side of her didn’t want to apologize, so she smiled and said, “I claim big sister privilege, so watch it, buster.”

“Buster? I’m a buster now. Okay, got it,” said Richy. “What’s a buster?”

“Someone who is about to get busted up for asking lots of stupid questions,” she answered, nudging him with her shoulder and chuckling.

Their banter was silenced by the appearance of a dozen soldiers coming towards the entranceway from inside the walled city. Four of them marched behind a cannon that was being pulled by a horse, and all of them had rifles slung over their backs and torches in hand. 

Richy strained his eyes. “Are those Mineau soldiers or foreign ones like we fought earlier? I can’t tell.” It felt like forever ago that they’d been in the battle with Richelle Pieman and the Red Hoods, never mind the foreign soldiers they’d dealt with afterward. 

Egelina-Marie shook her head. “I can’t tell. If they are from Mineau, then that means the magistrate and maybe others were in on this. We’ll need to get a closer look,” she said, scanning about.

Richy nodded. “Do you think our friends are in trouble?” he asked, worried.

Eg’s face fell as she thought of them, in particular Bore and Squeals, who she and Richy had dropped off in Mineau only a few hours ago. “Trouble? Nah. I’m sure if something happened, they had fun with it. That’s what you Yellow Hoods do, right?”

“Yeah,” said Richy, trying to convince himself.

She pressed herself flat to the ground. “Something’s coming up behind the soldiers. They’ve got a convoy of some kind.” 

Lying flat as well, he noticed something. “Why aren’t they using lanterns?” he asked. “It’s not like they’re a new invention or anything. And if they were Mineau guards, wouldn’t they be using standard issue ones? So why use torches?”

“Ah, I don’t know,” said Egelina-Marie, thinking. “Too expensive, maybe?”

“Maybe,” replied Richy.

They sat quietly, hidden in the brush as the soldiers marched past only ten yards away, followed by a procession of horses pulling wooden cages.

“They’re mercenaries,” said Egelina-Marie, pointing.

“Huh?” said Richy.

“These guys are wearing Mineau colors, but their march isn’t right. No kingdom’s army is going to wear another kingdom’s colors, or another city’s. It’s a macho-ego thing. That means these guys are paying for their own supplies, and if they have torches, it means they’re a bunch of cheap pargos.”