BreadCrumb Trail (The Yellow Hoods, #2): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale
Read BreadCrumb Trail (The Yellow Hoods, #2): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale Online
Authors: Adam Dreece
Tags: #Science Fiction, #Emergent Steampunk, #Steampunk, #fantasy, #Fairy Tale
Contents
Chapter Two - The Man in the Crimson Coat
Chapter Three - A Letter of Warning
Chapter Four - Tale of the Mountain Man
Chapter Five - Hounding the Watts
Chapter Seven - Bakon & Eg's Breakfast
Chapter Eight - Meet the Maucher
Chapter Nine - Spirits of the Red Forest
Chapter Ten - The Road from Augusto
Chapter Eleven - Driven by the Seaside
Chapter Twelve - Gingerly Lost
Chapter Thirteen - Grooming the Hound
Chapter Fourteen - Makings of a Hood
Chapter Fifteen - Difficult Decisions
Chapter Sixteen - A Family, a Fare
Chapter Seventeen - Initiation
Chapter Eighteen - A Ginger Offer
Chapter Nineteen - Watt to Come
Chapter Twenty - Of Spice and Substance
Chapter Twenty-One - The Abbot of Costello
Chapter Twenty-Two - Clutches of the Ginger Lady
Chapter Twenty-Three - Escaping the Ginger
Chapter Twenty-Four - The Canopy Trail
Chapter Twenty-Five - The Fare of Failure
Chapter Twenty-Six - Lost Boys
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Maucher of Plans
Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Visitor
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Jammed Thoughts
Chapter Thirty-One - Crumbling Plans
Chapter Thirty-Two - Allies Old and New
Chapter Thirty-Three - Battle of the Hoods
Chapter Thirty-Four - The Yellow Hood
Chapter Thirty-Five - Fall of the Mountain Stone
Chapter Thirty-Six - Rocketing Ahead
Chapter Thirty-Seven - Foreign Element
Chapter Thirty-Eight - Ginger Secrets
Chapter Thirty-Nine - Knock, Knock
Copyright © 2014 by Adam Dreece.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at [email protected].
ADZO Publishing Inc.
Calgary, Alberta, Canada
www.adzopublishing.com
Edited by: Jennifer Zouak, Chris W. Rea
Printed in Canada, United States, and China
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Dreece, Adam, 1972-, author
Breadcrumb trail / by Adam Dreece.
(Book 2 of the Yellow Hoods : an emergent steampunk series)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-0-9881013-3-3 (pbk.).--ISBN 978-0-9881013-5-7 (pdf)
I. Title. II. Series: Dreece, Adam, 1972-. Yellow Hoods ; bk. 2.
| PS8607.R39B74 2014 | C813'.6 | C2014-905593-5 |
| | | C2014-905594-3 |
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 4/12/16 66,444
DEDICATION
To my daughter, who is my muse,
To my sons, who remind me what raw, simple, awesome imagination is about,
To my wife, whose support continues to make these books possible,
and
To the fans of Book 1 and Twitter supporters of
@AdamDreece
,
who make me
smile, laugh and feel appreciated.
EORTHE
Cartographer: Driss of Zouak, 1793
Created at the behest of the Council of Southern Kingdoms
CHAPTER ONE
Crumbled Plans
The Hound stood back up and rubbed his head as a dark April rainstorm beat down. He’d landed hard on the slick stone rampart, yet had managed not to slip off or black out. Rain poured off his brown and beige leather long-coat.
For a moment, he looked concerned. He glanced at the control boxes on his forearms and the connections to his oversized, metallic, gear-covered gloves. He hoped rain wasn’t getting in. Satisfied, he turned up the dial on each forearm’s control box. Electricity started to jump and crackle between his fingers. He then turned his attention back to the Yellow Hood at his feet.
The yellow-hooded Tee dangled below the half-built rampart, desperately clutching her slingshot. When she’d slipped, its leather strap had caught between two of the moss-covered stones. She could feel her hands slipping as the rain wormed its way between her fingers to moisten the slingshot’s wooden handle. She looked down and swallowed hard.
The plan sounded bad from the start, but they had trusted the leader of the Tub. It was bad enough to be asked to go deep into the Red Forest, to an open area with an unfinished, crumbling castle tower and half-built rampart wall—never mind the leader’s unwillingness to tell them why they were going there in the first place. Once the opposing secret society’s coach had arrived and the representative for the Fare had stepped out, the plan fell apart.
Tee shot a glance around to look for her fellow Yellow Hoods. Elly, with her gray metal shock-sticks in hand, was dodging and blocking a red-hooded swordsman’s thin blade. Richy couldn’t be seen.
“Lights out, kid,” said the Hound. His gloves crackled and electricity danced from finger to finger.
Tee took a deep breath. She could only think of one option, and it was risky. She freed one hand to delve into her yellow cloak’s hidden pockets. Pulling out a shock-stick, she pressed its activation button while staring into the Hound’s eyes. He hesitated.
“You’ve
enjoyed
this before, haven’t you? Care to do so again?” Tee said menacingly. She wasn’t sure if she was willing to risk the fall to the cobblestone below.
Suddenly, Tee’s pinky finger slipped off the end of her slingshot. She could feel the other fingers slipping, too. Then, a glint of steel from an arrow aimed at her from less than twenty feet away caught her eye.
The red-hooded archer smiled and said, “Goodbye, little yellow birdy!”
CHAPTER TWO
The Man in the Crimson Coat
Four months earlier, Nikolas Klaus buried his hands in the comfortable pockets of his crimson, full-length coat. Enjoying a deep breath of crisp air, he looked around at the newly fallen snow. He loved December. There was something honest, something innocent about December. Perhaps it was the Solstice celebration, just hours away, that made the month so special to him.
Once again, he checked the skids on his sleigh, and the reins that awaited the horses. Everything was ready.
“I already checked everything, twice, Monsieur Klaus,” said Bakon, coming up behind Nikolas and laying a friendly hand on his shoulder. Bakon’s brothers, Squeals and Bore, both smiled.
Bakon sported a well-worn brown leather and fur coat, and a fur winter hat. His brown hair peeked out from under his poorly stitched hat, just below his ears. His soft, brown eyes were in contrast to his rough, yet good-looking face.
His brothers were similarly dressed, but rather had blond hair poking out from under their fur hats. Whereas Bakon was five feet and ten inches, Squeals was six feet tall, and Bore, a massive six-foot-five.
Bore remained, as ever, a gentle giant, but Squeals and Bakon had changed in recent months. Egelina-Marie’s presence had softened the edges of Bakon’s personality, and Bakon gave Squeals more room to prove himself. Squeals, having helped save the lives of the Yellow Hoods months ago, had seemed to finally be finding his adult footing, at the tender age of twenty-four.
Nikolas nodded his approval and appreciation for the brothers’ help. It was great to have them back. Since he and his late wife, Isabella, had taken in the abandoned Cochon children, the boys had been there, along with the rest of the Klaus children, to help prepare for the winter Solstice celebrations, until Isabella’s death ten years ago. She’d always said that Solstice was the best way to chase away winter and make way for spring. Nikolas missed her deeply.
“Bore gave the sleigh a good shake, and nothing moved,” said Squeals.
“I’ve got the last bag of toys here, Monsieur Klaus,” said Egelina-Marie, arriving on the scene to heave the bag on top of others already in the sleigh. Her blue eyes were filled with the joy of feeling like a kid again. Her shoulder-length, dark brown hair framed her heart-shaped face. She had fond memories of seeing Monsieur Klaus come into town in his red coat, followed by screaming children. The adults would follow with food and drink to share with friends and neighbors.
Nikolas looked sternly at Bakon, his old-fashioned values showing themselves.
“Hey—! Eg insisted she carry that last bag,” said Bakon, defending himself, hands up.
Egelina-Marie chuckled and Bore started to laugh, covering his face with his enormous hand. Until a couple of months ago, Bore had almost never seen Bakon smile. Now, he saw it on occasion. He liked that. He liked Egelina-Marie very much, too.
“Mister Nik, we all done?” asked Bore, his voice deep and simple-sounding.
“Almost, Boris, almost. You did good, very good,” Nikolas said. His eastern kingdoms heritage was evident in his heavy accent. He reached over and gave Bore an affectionate slap on the arm. “Now, where are my granddaughter and her friends? They are a bit late. We need to get down to Mineau for six o’clock. Squeals, will you fetch the horses, please?”
Squeals nodded and pulled Bore along. “Come on, big guy, let’s go see the horses.” Bore loved horses.
Nikolas snapped his fingers, remembering the brass tube with design plans that he wanted to bring. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Oh, Monsieur Klaus, my father wanted me to tell you that he’ll meet you at the gift-giving ceremony. He has a couple of things to attend to before that,” said Egelina-Marie.
Nikolas’ eyes went wide as he realized he hadn’t taken care of something important. He rubbed his short, salt-and-pepper beard. To avoid his usual clumsiness with words, he’d typically take his time to smooth out thoughts before speaking—but right now he didn’t want to miss another opportunity to say what had been on his mind. “Ah… Egelina-Marie, there is a thing I must say.”
Bakon’s eyebrows went up. He hadn’t heard this tone from Nikolas before.
Nikolas took hold of Eg’s hands and smiled at her, looking up slightly. She was an inch taller than his humble five-foot-eight. “No more
Monsieur Klaus
, please. You must call me
Nikolas
. Will you do that for me?”