Snappy & Dashing: A Yellow Hoods Companion Tale #1 (The Yellow Hoods)

by Adam Dreece

  Silskin quickly pushed out another well-practiced smile. “I had hoped to introduce myself shortly, but not yet. I hope you understand,” he said, glancing at Mister Jenny in the distance.

  She found it curious why such a creature of politics and the court would be out here overseeing an ambush. You’re someone’s pawn, she thought. “I understand,” she replied. “The most subtle advantage can sometimes make all the difference between being the victor, and being the victim. Anyway, we are finally properly introduced, after years of playing spies and secrets,” said Richelle, putting her hand forward.

  Lord Silskin stared at her hand in wonder. He knew her reputation, never mind what Mister Jenny had told him about her. He was certain she could quickly and easily kill him, particularly with Jenny not right there to protect him. He glanced around at his riflemen standing at the ready, but drew little comfort from them. Richelle was known to take on seemingly impossible risks as personal challenges, and though he was nearly certain she would die in any attempt to harm him, he doubted that would stop her from trying.

  Grimacing nervously, he accepted her hand and shook it. As she let go and offered him a polite smile, Silskin let out a quiet, controlled breath. “That is a remarkable handshake. I’ve never known a woman to handle such a ceremony of men like that before. Did Lord Pieman teach you?”

  She smiled at Silskin’s unconscious use of her grandfather’s title. “Yes, as did my uncle. They made sure I understood all the subtleties at an early age. They taught me how each country and kingdom differs in culture and custom. My test was being stranded in Hattar, and getting accepted as a man at age eighteen. I passed their trials of combat, knowledge and the complex handshake.”

  Lord Silskin was visibly impressed. “That’s a remarkable achievement.”

  Richelle studied his expression and relaxed posture. It was clear to her that he was enjoying feeling like a part of her world, of being part of something big, but there was more to it. He was enjoying being part of the other side of the grand game for a moment; she could see it in his eyes. “Would you expect anything less from my family?” she asked softly.

  “No,” said Silskin, smirking. “Marcus Pieman’s attention to detail is—was—legendary,” he said.

  Richelle had hoped that it was only she who had noticed her grandfather slipping. For decades he’d said you could never hurry history, and yet in the last few years, she’d felt that was exactly what he was doing.

  Silskin continued, “I can’t imagine that it was an easy upbringing. Mister Jenny is a steel trap in terms of that era of his life.” Noticing Richelle’s fake smile, he realized how much of his guard he’d let down. He straightened up and restored his sense of formality. This was not a friend he had just bumped into—this was the Richelle Pieman.

  Smiling back at her, Silskin reached into his brown vest pocket and checked his pocket watch before hastily putting it away. “Now, if you don’t mind, we need to move along, as we do have a timetable to keep.”

  Richelle glanced about and frowned. “Aren’t you going to bind my hands, or otherwise immobilize me?”

  He stared at her, embarrassed at being called out on his obvious inexperience. The family resemblance between Richelle and her grandfather was uncanny, but it was the dangerous fire behind the eyes that really spoke to her heritage. He wondered what she would have been like in another ten years, if he hadn’t caught her. “I’d hoped we could be civilized, at least until we board the rail-raft. There, I will have to insist on you being restrained—but more for your safety than anything else. The ride can be rather bumpy at times.” He gestured for Richelle to continue forward. “Come. Let’s board the rail-raft.”

  Richelle remembered the first time she’d heard the term, two years earlier.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Key to the Future

  Richelle stepped into Marcus’ main-level office in the Presidential Palace and closed the door. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Is Abeland off?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, his feet on the desk.

  She nodded.

  “Good. Much hangs on him doing well. Trying to manage the Southern Kingdoms through our agents hasn’t worked, so hopefully he can bring them in line. We need his special way of adapting to situations out there. Anyway, I called you here to let you in on a pet project of mine. Have a look. I call it a rail-raft,” said Marcus, pointing. “I’m having a model of it built. We’ll use it to test that the railways work properly. The railways are the lines there.”

  She followed her grandfather’s gaze to the opposing wall. It was covered in drawings from floor to ceiling. When she’d last been in there two days ago, it had been barren. After scanning everything, she found what Marcus was specifically pointing at. “How big is this supposed to be?” she asked.

  “The width of the rails it rides on are the width of a standard merchant's cart. I needed a frame of reference and figured that was a good one. The wooden floor, or platform, that rests above the wheels of the rail-raft hangs over the edges by two feet. This drawing has it three yards long, and with one bank of manual propellers,” he added, thinking through the design.

  “The propeller things… you mean these see-saws?” asked Richelle, examining the details of the drawings. “You should add some swings. Children everywhere will rejoice at having a mobile playground.”

  Marcus frowned at her. “This will change the world,” he replied.

  “Oh, I’m not laughing—just noting that you make some of the best children’s toys,” she quipped.

  Marcus offered an exaggerated grumble.

  Richelle studied one drawing after another, finally happened upon a simply drawn map. She stared at her grandfather and his devilish grin. “You want to build these railways outside of all the major cities? The scale of this is huge.”

  “It will help solve one of the three great problems we always talk about: communication, transportation, and people. What do you think?”

  “Does Abeland know about this?” she asked, an impressed smile still stuck on her face.

  “Yes. I shared this with him this morning. The first phase of our project will focus on the capital cities around us. The second will bring us to Palais in Freland, and near your residence in Wosa. The third phase will be to expand through the southern kingdoms—assuming that Abeland gets them all in alignment.”

  Richelle nodded, then turned back to the intricate drawings. “How much of this have you already built? I know you and your pet projects, Opa. Why do you always wait to tell me?”

  “Because things like this are a distraction, an amusement of mine—until I know that they work. I need more than just politics and strategy to live on.”

  “You and Abeland are so alike,” she replied, putting her hands on her hips and shaking her head.

  Marcus held his tongue, wanting once again to make a remark about how similar Richelle was to her father, Lennart, but knew there was no good way to state it. As much as he had loved his now long-dead son, he couldn’t respect how he had abandoned his daughter.

  “On the map you’ve found,” said Marcus, returning to the purpose of the meeting, “are some dotted lines that I made. I want you to oversee those railways being built.”

  Richelle pulled the map off the wall and studied it. “You’re stopping short of cities, and staying out of the way of main roads,” she thought out loud. “Something isn’t ready, is it?”

  “The answer is right there on the wall,” said Marcus, inviting her to find it.

  She systematically went through the drawings, piecing together the grand puzzle that Marcus was sharing with her. A particular drawing drew her attention, and she slowly removed it from the others. “This is why we’re spying on Watt, isn't it?” Richelle turned to her grandfather in near disbelief. “This,”—she looked at the title written at the bottom right-hand corner—“this steam train. What is this, really?”

  “It's the key to the future,” said Marcus.

  CHAPTER SEVEN


  Faith

  A shove from the shock-gloved man awoke Richelle from her daydream about the rail-raft, and what it could mean that Silskin had possession of it. She reluctantly walked up the ramp.

  The rail-raft was ten yards long with three banks of see-saws for propulsion. Three wooden dining chairs were nailed down in a row at the front, while a similar row was nailed down at the very back. Two chests of drawers were secured in the middle, as well as a large trunk. The cannon was being chained near the front.

  With the help of two other soldiers, the shock-gloved man’s equipment was disassembled and put into the trunk.

  “If you’d kindly take a seat,” requested Silskin, pointing to the back row of chairs. “In the middle, if you please.”

  Richelle nodded politely and took her seat.

  Mister Jenny locked on her eyes for a moment, pausing briefly before heading to the front row. Something in Jenny’s eyes screamed a warning at her, and she thought for the first time that she might be in real danger. She glanced around at the soldiers, taking in how they were armed and where they were stationed. She studied them as they took their final positions—one sitting beside her, with Silskin on the other side, two sitting at the front with Mister Jenny and the rest either pumping the platform forward, or standing ready to have their turn pumping.

  After several minutes, with the wind starting to bite against their faces, Silskin turned to Richelle. “The speed is quite remarkable, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” she replied politely, while fidgeting her bound hands and feet. “I understand the rope at our waists serves to secure us to the chairs. What about those soldiers in the middle—has anyone ever fallen?”

  Silskin looked at them with the smallest amount of concern, a true aristocrat gazing upon the less valuable of society. “We actually lost a few soldiers on the way here. It’s been our longest trip yet. We’ve only been using the rail-raft for a couple of days,” he said. “We’ll need to make certain improvements, but otherwise it’s quite effective.”

  Richelle nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Silskin’s lack of concern at sharing these tidbits with her, and it was clear that he wasn’t sharing them accidentally. He had the confidence of a man who knew the person he was speaking to would never have the opportunity to do anything with the answers. “May I inquire as to where we are going?”

  Silskin considered the request for a moment before answering, "We're off to Relna. Mister Jenny and I have a meeting tomorrow morning. I need to get statuses on our many endeavors. Even in the grand game, there are these elements of bureaucracy from which we cannot escape.”

  “Why do I not feel included in that we?” She asked loudly, leaning in to try to overcome the building noise of the rail-raft. She also continued to subtly wiggle her arms and legs.

  Silskin chuckled. “Once again, your heritage shines through. Ever able to dissect nuance and detail. Correct, you are not included in that we. Sadly, I cannot tell you where you are going. My instructions were clear, and absent of any details that could be used against us.

  “Oh, hang on—this part is the first of the rough patches.” He grabbed the bottom of his seat with both hands.

  Richelle stared ahead as the rail-raft headed downhill and over a small, rickety bridge. She closed her eyes and took advantage of each bump to rock her chair as hard as she could.

  “I think she’s scared!” yelled the soldier beside her to Silskin.

  “We’re all afraid of something!” he shouted back.

  Ten minutes later, with the second of the rough patches out of the way, Richelle had a good sense of where they were. She twisted her wrists and reached under her cloak to the back of her belt. Turning to Silskin, she said, “I’m surprised at you, Ron-Paul.”

  He frowned at her, both for using his first name and because of her tone.

  “Oh—I mean no disrespect, and I mean this from one player in the political realm to another. Neither of us directs our side of the grand game, and so in many ways we are alike, different only in role,” she said, looking through her messy black hair that had fallen almost entirely out of its original ponytail. “You’ve been doing this longer than I. Is it still satisfying?”

  His face relaxed and his eyebrows came together as he thought. “I hadn’t considered it,” he replied, looking up and around.

  Richelle stared ahead and took a deep breath as she recognized the long, cliffside bridge ahead. Just as the rail-raft reached it, everything started to shake violently. The legs of her chair broke as she rocked it forward with all of her might.

  As the soldier seated beside her reached out to grab her, she slashed at him with the knife from behind her belt. She then kicked him squarely in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Shaking off the remains of the chair, she made a straight line for the edge of the rail-raft.

  Two soldiers abandoned their pumping station and charged at her, one managing to grab her by her right arm as she tried to jump off. She swung back onto the platform.

  “What’s happening?” screamed Silskin, flailing with the rope that bound him to his seat.

  Richelle started to panic as the lake raced past. Lodging her knife into the leg of one soldier, she took the other soldier right over the edge with her.

  “What just happened?!” screamed Silskin, twisting to stare back as Richelle and the soldier tumbled to the cold waters far below. “Stop the raft! Stop!”

  Mister Jenny shot a look back and quickly untied himself.

  One of the soldiers abandoned his station and came to Silskin. “My Lord—we can’t stop! We won’t have the momentum needed to get up the next hill.”

  “YIG! YIG, YIG, YIG!” Silskin cursed as Mister Jenny approached carefully.

  “I told you—” growled Jenny, staying low to the floor, a dagger at the ready for bracing himself. He had argued against Silskin’s idea of having him sit away from his former student. “I couldn’t hear anything up there. You should have never questioned my loyalty, but listened to me,” he barked, digging right into Silskin’s unstated insecurity. But inside, Jenny smiled. Everything had gone as he’d expected, and his hands were perfectly clean. He’d trusted Richelle to do exactly what she’d done.

  Silskin closed his eyes and shook his head furiously. “Listen to me, Mister Jenny. The story will be that she died in the assault on the coach. Anything else could raise questions that would ultimately cost us both—dearly.”

  Mister Jenny shook his head as he got within inches of Silskin, his eyes seething with rage. In a gravelly whisper, he asked, “What about all of them?” He gestured with his head to the soldiers. “At least one of them is going to talk, or else try to blackmail us. You know that, don’t you?”

  “We’ll need to clean them,” said Silskin hesitantly. “Just— time it after the next hill.”

  Jenny glanced at the soldier who was staring at him in horror, having overheard their conversation. A moment later, Jenny silently pushed the throat-slit soldier off the rail-raft.

  THANK YOU FOR READING THIS BOOK

  Reviews are powerful things, and are more than you sharing your important voice and opinion, they are also about telling the world that people are reading the book.

  Many people don’t realize that without enough reviews, indie authors are excluded from things such as important newsletters and other opportunities that could otherwise help them get the word out.

  So if you have an opportunity, it would be greatly appreciated. Don’t know how to write a review? Check out AdamDreece.com/WriteAReview. Where could you post it? Here on Amazon and GoodReads.com are a great start!

  Thank you

  - Adam

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Starting The Yellow Hoods was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. It ended decades of ‘maybe someday I’ll be an author.’ All it took was some medical events to flip me on my head, and my daughter to give me a nudge. That ended 25 years of writing and doing nothing with it, and happily concluded
20 years in the software industry.

  This would have been impossible without the support of my amazing wife and kids, and the fantastic writing community I’ve stumbled into both in the physical and virtual world.

  I live in Calgary, Alberta, Canada with my awesome wife, amazing kids, and lots and lots of sticky notes and notebooks.

  I blog about writing, life and more at AdamDreece.com. Join me on Twitter @adamdreece, on Facebook at AdamDreeceAuthor or send me an email Adam.Dreece@ADZOPublishing.com

  Make sure to check out the other books in the series!

  "highly recommended" - Readers' Favorite, 5 Stars

  "A very promising series opener… that should win fans." - Kirkus Reviews

  In a world quietly coming to the brink of war, where our fairy tales and rhymes are their real world events and people, a critical invention is at hand, the steam engine. As an agent for a secret society (the Fare) is dispatched to retrieve the plans, three 12 year-olds get caught in the middle as they try to protect brilliant inventor, Nikolas Klaus.

  Meet Tee Baker, granddaughter of the baker from secret society The Tub and of Nikolas Klaus, and her best friends Elly and Richy, as they come together heroically for the first time as the legendary Yellow Hoods. Danger, intrigue and secrets await, and the intense grows as the series builds. A hit with those 9-15 and adults.

  “Powerhouse of young adult fiction” - IndieImprint.com

  “Breadcrumb Trail is a complex, yet accessible adventure with a clever plot that constantly urges the reader to turn another page.” - GoodReads.com

  In an act of desperation, inventor Maxwell Watt entrusts his son to secretly deliver plans for his completed steam engine to Nikolas Klaus, a master inventor in another kingdom. When the Fare, the nefarious secret society, learns the game-changing invention’s plans are en route, they accelerate their own scheme to neutralize Klaus on their path to reclaiming long-lost control over kingdoms.