by Adam Dreece
They looked at the riderless horse trotting by, then Richy, who was cheering as he ran toward Elly, and then back to their daughter. They weren’t sure what to make of everything.
Elly climbed out of the cart and smiled at her parents. “Sorry—I can’t talk about it. Official Yellow Hoods business.”
“Huh,” said her parents, dumbfounded.
Tee needed to maintain strict focus in order to control her sail-cart as she rocketed down the mountainside. The last time, she had taken advantage of every opportunity to slow down. This time, she tried to go as fast as she could—LeLoup was trying to run her down. She could hear him screaming incoherently behind her.
Meanwhile, back at Tee’s home, William and Jennifer had just finished loading the second trunk onto the cart.
“I think that’s everything,” said William. “I can’t believe that even with all of the stuff out here, the house still looks pretty full.”
“Do you hear something?” asked Jennifer, glancing about.
William listened and looked around carefully. “Sounds like it’s coming from over there,” he said, pointing.
“That sound… I can’t figure out what it is,” said Jennifer.
What had started as a single, rumbling noise quickly separated into a concert of distinct sounds: tree branches snapping, underbrush being crushed, wood knocking on stone, a horse whinnying, and a familiar high-pitched voice calling out.
“Get the crossbow!” yelled Jennifer. “Now!”
“Huh? Why?” said William, though he reacted immediately and started to search.
“It’s Tee!” said Jennifer.
“Are you sure?” replied William, confused.
“Yes! Something’s wrong!”
Both of them searched furiously for the crossbow and the bolt with the rope attached.
“Why can’t we ever remember where we put that thing?” yelled William, frustrated.
Over the noise came Tee’s desperate voice, “Mom! Dad! Help!”
Jennifer was almost paralyzed by the screams of her baby girl. “Will, I’ve got the bolt with the rope! Quick—she’ll be here any second!” Jennifer started to track where Tee might be coming from.
“Got it!” yelled William, sprinting from the other side of the house, crossbow in hand.
Jennifer handed the bolt to her husband. “Someone’s chasing her!”
William yanked the string back hard with one hand, cocking the crossbow.
“She’s coming too fast, Will!” said Jennifer, panicking. “Slow down, Tee!” she screamed.
After placing the bolt in the crossbow’s barrel, William aimed for where Jennifer pointed, awaiting his exact target. The seconds seemed to stretch out forever until, in the blink of an eye, Tee shot out of the forest and across the clearing, with LeLoup only a few yards behind.
William was beside himself. “The cliff—I—I didn’t have time,” he stammered quietly.
Before any emotion could settle in, Jennifer yanked William’s arm and yelled, “Come on!” They darted after Tee.
Seconds later, they heard a horse’s prolonged neigh, a loud crash, and then silence.
As Tee re-entered the forest across the clearing, she realized her parents couldn’t save her this time. She was closing in on the cliff.
When the familiar tree came into view, Tee remembered how she, her grandfather, and dad had reinforced it, tying it back with the cables her grandfather had crafted, and packing down the roots with more soil. Her grandfather had also secured a mysterious iron ring to the tree, at about his shoulder height. He’d measured where it was to go a half dozen times, and after installing it, had tried his best to pull it out, but it held firm. He hadn’t explained why he’d attached the ring. All he had said was, “I put it here just in case.”
Tee pulled the sail-cart’s brake with both hands, but sensed it wouldn’t be enough at this distance. There must be some other way, she thought, her eyes desperately searching for an answer. Then, she noticed the other lever, similar to the brake on the right, but on the left. It hadn’t been there before. Grandpapa!
With nothing to lose, Tee pulled the second lever with all her strength. Suddenly, five mini-crossbow bolts shot out of the front of the sail-cart, trailed by thin black cables. As her grandfather must have expected, one connected with the tree’s iron ring, and—like magic—locked itself securely in place just as Tee and her cart went sailing off the cliff.
The horse, upon seeing the cliff edge, neighed with panic. It violently turned and started back up the mountain, throwing LeLoup into the air.
He grinned at the thought that Tee would share his fate—but then the slack in the cable ran out and both Tee and her sail-cart flew through the air in a semi-circle, and back onto the cliff’s edge.
“No!!!!!!” screamed LeLoup.
A moment later, Tee’s parents arrived to find their daughter face down in the dirt and leaves. Her sail-cart lay a few yards away, smashed and tangled in cables. To their relief, Tee rolled over and looked at them with her beautiful large brown eyes.
After repeatedly checking herself for injuries and hugging her parents, Tee said, “I guess LeLoup won’t have to worry about people knowing he was defeated by the Yellow Hoods.”
Her parents chuckled with nervous relief.
“You forgot something,” said Jennifer.
“What’s that?” asked Tee.
“Your triumphant La-la,” answered her mom, sweetly.
Tee thought about it for a moment. For years, Tee had added her special exclamation to things she’d done—but none of them had been as serious as this.
Sitting on her dad’s knee, and looking at the trees and their enchanting, colored leaves, she said, “Mom, I think I might have outgrown it.”
Her parents hugged her tightly.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tale of The Yellow Hoods
From the moment that Jennifer had proposed to everyone to bring their families, and some food to share, the hours had flown by. The evening was a victory celebration. Almost everyone made it.
After eating, Jennifer gathered the group around the wood stove and retold the tale of the recent events. In her captivating tale, she deftly wove together everyone’s perspective. Though they all knew the outcome, she held her audience in suspense the entire time. This telling would cement the story in everyone’s minds as the first tale of the Yellow Hoods.
William had coordinated the food and beverages, and kept the fire going while Jennifer regaled everyone with the tale. He was fond of watching his wife tell a great story.
As a side tale, she explained to Tee the long-standing relationship between the Cochon brothers and the family. Tee apologized, again, to Bakon for the stone incident.
Nikolas sat quietly during all of it, cuddling his granddaughter. He thought to himself how these gatherings helped make the house a home.
He’d watched Bakon and Egelina-Marie with fatherly pride. Each was unsure how to act with the other in front of family, friends, and neighbors. Gabriel and his wife seemed to be oblivious to the whole thing.
Bore and Squeals reminded Nikolas of when they were little and would sit by the fire with his other children, while Jennifer would capture their imagination with wild bedtime stories. Now they sat there, bigger, but still boys, soaking in everything and laughing at the best parts. Isabella would have loved to have seen it.
Nikolas felt Tee’s head gently slump against his arm, and gave her a nudge. “Okay, my dear, we must get you to bed now.”
Tee nodded slowly, her eyes barely open. Nikolas stood her up and guided her to her bedroom.
She sat on the bed and let her grandfather pull off her socks. She lay down and he pulled her covers up and tucked her in. He gave her a kiss and was about to leave when she said in a sleepy voice, “Grandpapa …”
“Yes, my dear?” he replied softly.
“No one answered my question,” she said, turning over and propping herself up with a pillow. Light from t
he main room silhouetted her grandfather, preventing her from seeing his face.
“What question was that?” asked Nikolas softly.
Tee yawned and closed her eyes. “Did—” she said sleepily, “did anyone find LeLoup’s body?”
Nikolas leaned on the doorframe in thought for a moment. He started to answer, only to be interrupted by the sounds of Tee’s deep breathing.
“Tee?” he asked gently.
There was no reply.
He smiled and whispered, “You’ve had a busy enough day.”
Before returning to the main room, Nikolas pulled a small red box out of his pocket. He’d waited long enough. Carefully, he opened it.
He removed an encoded note and what looked like a special bath plug. The plug was made of steel and had divots around the edge.
Nikolas had wanted to provide a way for the Tub to communicate securely. Almost as a joke, he had designed both the “bath plug” key and a machine which could use it to encode and decode letters. To his surprise, it had become an immediate hit with the members of the society and had been in use, with little modification, for the past ten years.
He examined the divots on the plug’s perimeter, mentally building up the list of which letter or letter combination decoded to which other letter. With the decoding key in memory, he then read the note.
He gently rubbed his forehead and then tugged lightly at his newly trimmed beard as he digested the message and its implications. After a moment, he put the plug and letter back in his pocket, planning to destroy them before the evening was done.
Nikolas looked again to his granddaughter, sleeping peacefully. “I fear the world will need you and the Yellow Hoods sooner than I’d hoped,” he said with dismay. With that, he quietly closed the door.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rise of the Hound
It had been a long, painful road, but the dark figure was determined and tenacious. If word got out he was still alive, he was sure he’d be hunted down. Fear helped drive him, but more than anything, he wanted to stop being a nobody.
The echoes made by his heavy, tattered boots on the marble floor were almost deafening. The long, poorly lit corridor provided little distraction from the sounds of his rhythmic pace—a pace he’d kept up for weeks. No matter how exhausted or how much pain he’d felt, he’d forced himself forward.
The glint of the gold trim around the huge double doors at the end of the corridor finally came into view. His stomach tightened. He knew he’d be putting his life in the hands of a man known to be untrustworthy—known to use people up, and then dispose of them. Still, he pressed on.
His knock on the great doors was followed by silence, his heartbeat his only company.
As he waited, he finally noticed the paintings and statues decorating the corridor. When he looked at them, he felt nothing inside. He’d stripped away so much of who he’d been to get there; he couldn’t remember if he liked art of any kind. He wondered how many other things he’d walked past without taking notice, how many other things he didn’t care about anymore.
Finally, the enormous door creaked open. A bald, sickly looking old man in fine brown and green attire stuck his head out. He slowly examined the figure before him, from head to toe and back. The old man wrinkled his nose at the sight and smell of the visitor, but then showed him in.
The visitor had a grizzly, dirty, red-brown beard and hair that hadn’t seen a brush in weeks. His face had caked-on dust and sweat. His clothes were torn and dirty.
Entering the room, the nameless man was taken aback by its grandeur. It had the look and size of a royal library—though he’d never actually seen one. He could imagine two or three hundred people milling about in the space.
The outer walls were covered with gold-embossed bookshelves that reached all the way up to the thirty-foot ceiling. There were stairs on wheels, and ladders here and there—all to provide access to the highest shelves. Inside the room, eight-foot-high bookcases were arranged throughout, almost making smaller rooms within the grand room.
There were three stunning, dark wooden worktables covered with drawings, as well as several antique couches and chairs. The floor was a polished, icy-white marble with flecks of blue and green. He had never seen anything like it.
The immense chandelier, which hung in the center of the room, cast light everywhere. With the reflective marble, and freestanding oil lamps positioned perfectly throughout, all shadows were eliminated. Side tables had books stacked in perfect piles. Everything was methodically arranged.
A man wearing scholarly robes seemed to appear out of nowhere, almost as if he had slid out from behind a bookcase.
“Incredible, isn’t it? This is my sanctuary,” he said. He was a clean-shaven man with salt-and-pepper hair, and about five-foot-eight-inches tall and likely in his late forties. His fine robes were a luxurious purple and had detailed gold and silver embroidery.
The finely dressed man quickly assessed his guest. He let an uncomfortable moment pass before introducing himself. “I am Simon St. Malo, inventor and advisor to the regent of this kingdom. Come, please—let us sit, and let us be civilized.”
Simon St. Malo was a master of word choice and tone. The words he chose were inviting, yet his tone made it clear he was looking down on the nameless man. His guest bowed his head slightly and then followed. Simon secretly smiled. He liked that his guest was obedient. What he didn’t like was that he looked and smelled like a dirty, mangy dog.
St. Malo was making the nameless man’s skin crawl. He wondered what devil’s bargain he was about to make, but it was too late to turn back now.
Simon gestured for his guest to sit in a chair—a chair which he was certain cost more money than the guest had seen in the past year. Simon made a mental note to have the chair burned later, figuring there was no good way to rid such fine upholstery of the reek of wet dog.
“Cleeves, some tea please,” Simon commanded. He turned to his guest. “Do you drink tea? If you don’t, you should. It is said that tea is good for one’s health. Besides, Cleeves isn’t useful for much, but I do appreciate how well he can boil water and pour it onto dry leaves. Asking him to bring it gives him a sense of purpose in life.”
Simon, himself at ease, purposefully let his guest wait in uncomfortable silence.
Eventually, the old man arrived with the teacart. He poured fresh, hot tea slowly over a strainer and into each of two teacups he’d set out on the cart. He carefully handed each man a cup and saucer, motioned to the assortment of biscuits and other items, and left as quietly as he had come.
Simon used silver tongs from the teacart to inspect a piece of crystallized raw sugar. Deciding it met his criteria, he lowered it carefully into his teacup. He watched it start to dissolve before stirring it gently with a small ornate spoon.
Seeing that his guest did not wish anything in his tea, Simon clapped for his servant. Cleeves returned and took the teacart.
After enjoying his first sip, Simon broke the silence. “I’ve been told you dragged yourself down a mountainside to the town of Mineau. From there, you walked for days until you stole a horse from a farmer—leaving the man stranded with a plow in the middle of his own field.
“That first horse, you rode until it couldn’t move anymore. They say you then walked until your feet bled. And when a man stopped to help, you beat him until he gave you his horse. Is this all true?” Simon asked, leaning forward a bit, trying to hide his eagerness. He studied the man as he awaited his response.
The nameless guest looked down at his tattered stolen boots. Hidden inside were his badly cut and blistered feet. He then looked up at Simon, his face confirming everything and more, without saying a thing.
“You took his boots, too?” said Simon, smiling. “You’re committed, driven. You are a loyal dog,” said Simon, leaning back. “Blind devotion to the idea of coming here. I like that.”
Simon looked around for a moment, in thought. He had a look of surprise as an idea hit him. “Clee
ves!” he called out. “Make a note regarding the new pistol design. I should make the handle wider by a half inch. I’ll remember why. Have you noted it?”
“Yes sir, I’m noting it,” replied the old man from somewhere in the room.
Simon’s mind was always working on several things at once, and Cleeves was often the man to catch the thoughts Simon tossed out for his later reference.
“Well—he’s done two things right in one day. I should make a note of that,” said Simon snidely to his guest. “When genius strikes, it is our responsibility to capture it, no?”
The man, his tea untouched, looked at Simon with dead eyes and nodded. With a man like St. Malo, not responding might be unsafe, even when the question seemed rhetorical.
After taking a couple more sips of tea, Simon placed his teacup and saucer down. “I can understand coming all this way if you were Andre LeLoup himself, as it is literally his head on the line. But you… you were just a horseman. Why go through this trouble? Where is LeLoup, anyway?” he asked.
The man decided that before he’d answer, he would take his first sip of tea. Despite not having ever enjoyed tea before, this tasted somehow like… success. Though that didn’t make much sense, he decided he wanted more of it and what it represented.
“LeLoup’s dead. Went off a cliff,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. He had barely spoken in weeks. He took another sip of tea, and then looked for a place to set it down. He noticed that while St. Malo had a side table, he hadn’t been provided with one. This couldn’t be accidental. He could see another side table, oddly placed off in the corner. He realized St. Malo subtly treated his guests this way to make them uncomfortable.
“Hmm,” said Simon. “Dead? Unfortunate. I didn’t take Nikolas Klaus for a killer. I guess we all evolve. I have underestimated him in the past.”
The nameless man gently shook his head. “It wasn’t Klaus. It was”—the man paused, swallowing his nervousness—“the Yellow Hoods.”
