Beauties of the Beast (The Yellow Hoods, #4): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale (5 page)

“I understand,” said the Hound. “I have many layers of shame, many lives I’ve walked away from in hopes of finding a new one that would let me be better than the last. Each one seemed to be worse than the one before it.”

Gretel took his hand. “I hate that feeling. When I was taking care of you, I felt like all of that didn’t matter.”

“You helped me. You’re a good person,” he offered.

“Am I? Does one good act clean the slate? I don’t trust myself,” she said. “I don’t know who I am.”

The Hound hung his head. “I hope it means something. It’s got to.”

They watched the sun bury itself below the horizon.

Gretel wondered if he could feel her hand in his. Despite his wounds and strange tufts of sprouting hair in his otherwise bald face, he was beautiful to her. “What’s your name?”

“The Hound,” he replied without thinking.

“No, your real name,” she pressed.

He glanced at her, then back at the sky. “It’s The Hound.”

She was about to push harder when a silly thought popped to mind. “Well, if you’re going to be like that, then you have to call me Regretel.”

He laughed, surprising himself. Turning to her, he saw the image that he’d focused on to fight the pain. The face that never failed to light up his soul. The fifteen year difference between them felt like he’d simply taken longer to get to a worthy point in his life.

“You had a name once. What was it?” she asked gently.

He stared at her, unsure of himself. “I’ve gone by a lot of names, had a lot of different lives. But my first name… was Raymond.”

Gretel rubbed her nose and sniffled. “I like that name.”

The Hound shrugged. “I don’t remember the guy.”

“Well, you aren’t the Hound anymore. He died in that crash. He was hairy, and chained to whoever made those shocking gloves. You have no master anymore, you are nobody’s lapdog,” said Gretel, thinking. “How about Ray?”

He frowned at her. “Why would I call myself that?”

“Because you give me hope. You’re my Ray of Hope.”

He frowned even more. “I don’t know if I like that. I’ve never cared for word jokes.”

“You liked Regretel,” she pointed out.

He laughed. “Yeah. I guess so. Maybe the Hound is dead.”

She smiled. “I’ve decided. You’re Ray. Can you live with it?”

“I think so.”

Reaching over, he pulled a two foot long darkly wrapped item into his lap. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked, knowing he was killing the mood but wanting to get it off his chest. “Or do we leave the past in the past?”

She stared at the ground, and nodded nervously.

He removed the cloth wrapping, revealing Hans’ broken rapier. “I didn’t kill him. I was tempted, though. I honestly didn’t know how you’d feel about it, so I left him severely injured. I think I broke his arm, maybe his leg, too.”

Gretel glanced at him and then at the rapier. Unconsciously she started rocking herself back and forth.

“After he was down and no threat, I picked this and you up and went back to the cabin to check on Saul. He was gone. Not sure what to do, I just started walking. If you don’t want this, I’ll—”

Gretel stood and threw the rapier as far as she could. Ray caught her as she stumbled backwards.

“That felt good,” she said, laughing.

“What now?” he asked, steadying her on her own two feet.

“In the morning, we start our road to redemption.”

CHAPTER SIX

Pieces of the Pieman

Abeland groped around for something to cover his head and block the morning sun. The bed he’d cobbled together from the remains of Richelle’s estate had included a mattress and makeshift pillow, but no blanket. He sat up and yawned, gazing through the broken glass window. The fresh, warm summer air felt good. “Might as well get another breathing treatment in before breakfast,” he said, getting up and reaching for his shirt.

It had been a challenging couple of days to shake all of his pursuers, but once he had, he’d made his way to Richelle’s in hopes of meeting up with her. Along the way, he heard of the Laros coup, the dissolving of its parliament and the hunt for Richelle. He was relieved that there was no word of her having been captured or killed.

He nodded at the broom leaning against the far wall. It had been a long, long time since he’d used one, but it had felt right bringing a bit of order to the master bedroom before sleeping in it. It was one way of reclaiming the mob-ravaged home of his niece. Picking up the broom, he headed for the basement and the secret entrance to the laboratory where his spare breathing apparatus was set up.

As he double checked the dials and levers of his machine, he noticed a subtle closet door. Walking over and opening it, he laughed and clapped his hands. Richelle had several of his old shirts, pants and even one of his tricked-out long coats. “You are simply the best niece, ever,” he said. “The sun won’t set today until I figure out what happened to you, I promise.”

With the knobs properly calibrated and a fresh dose of medicine in place, Abeland sat in the chair and pulled down the barbaric looking helmet. For the next hour, as his lungs were exercised and the medicine pushed in, he planned his day.

After washing and dressing in fresh clothes, Abeland found a renewed sense of daring. He went into the small village nearby and bought some fruit, bread and meat for the day with coins from Richelle’s secret cache. No one recognized him, even all dressed up. Maybe it was the lack of his customary eyepatch or monocle. Maybe it was because no one was looking for Piemans. Either way, he knew not to push his luck.

He set his sack of goods on the kitchen table and put the lone surviving plate down gently. The white porcelain plate had a crack running from the edge through the Pieman’s crest. He remembered seeing a plate like that at Lennart’s, the last time he’d dropped in to visit. He’d played with little Beldon, and then, as always, he’d argued with his brother about spies and plots and things that they seemed to violently agree on rather than disagree about. He vowed to do right by his brother and make sure that his son would have a good life. 

Abeland pushed the cracked plate away and rubbed his forehead. He’d lost his appetite. It was rare that he let his mind wander out of bounds, and always felt uneasy when it returned. 

He gazed out a broken kitchen window at the beautiful day. He wondered how disciplined Caterina was, and how she would handle discovering that her little boy Beldon was now
Bakon
, alive and well. He was all but certain she wouldn’t be distracted for long, one way or the other. His sense of family responsibility was confused. Should he be trying to rescue Bakon because he was a Pieman, or treat him like a Maurice? He was Richelle’s brother, but neither of them knew that, which made it seem less real. 

Walking out into the garden, he pondered his next move. Richelle was out there, somewhere. He needed to reach out to his spy network to find her, but if he tried too hard, he was sure that Caterina would hear of it. He had to be smart and careful, the latter of which he rarely was, particularly when he was by himself.

Returning inside and climbing the stairs to the second floor, Abeland started feeling along the trim of the corridor and of every room, looking for a secret panel. It was standard practice for the Piemans to hide their real offices, unless they were in Teuton. He doubted Richelle would have broken with tradition. He’d already searched the basement to no avail.

“Turn around!” boomed a voice from the bottom of the staircase.

Abeland clutched his chest. “You scared the ghost out of me,” he said chuckling. “I’m glad to see you’re not dead.”

“We Piemans
are
hard to kill,” replied Richelle, relieved to see her uncle.

“We are, indeed,” he said, trotting down the stairs.

Richelle gave him a big hug. “Is that red in your cheeks, uncle? Is emotion creeping in along with the grey?” she asked.

“What? Never,” he said, touching his hair. “Have you perchance been taken to a new fashion in my absence?” She resembled a drowned cat who had then gone through a windstorm. Her hair was twisted and knotted, her clothes filthy and ruined. She had dried blood on her face and hands. 

Richelle pulled a twig out of her hair. “I took a flying leap off a rail-raft into a lake. The hundred yard drop was exhilarating, but the sudden stop was rather painful. It’s been a long road home.” She gave Abe a smile. “It’s good to see you. I thought
you
were dead, and with Opa captured, I thought I was all that was left.”

“So father’s been captured?”

“Yes, by the Lady in Red,” answered Richelle.

Abeland glanced about. “Hmm, so she was striking at us from every angle she could, then. She must have a lot of royals in her pocket.”

“Where have you been?” asked Richelle.

“Prison, betrayed by Simon. I escaped recently and then was nearly captured by her. I then made my way here. So let me ask, is rail-raft jumping a new sport now? From the vanguard of innovation to just… things to do when bored?”

“Did I mention the Fare soldiers trying to kill me?”

“No,” replied Abeland. “You left that part out.”

Richelle smiled. “It turns out Ron-Paul Silskin is working for Caterina. He lead the ambush. Mister Jenny was there, too, though I think he’s the reason I had a chance to escape.”

Abeland was surprised. “Jenny, after all this time? Huh. It’s like the past is coming back to haunt us.”

Richelle detected something as he averted his gaze. “What is it? You’re hiding something from me.”

He was out of practice at keeping things from her. He’d trained her to notice the little things, and she was doing him proud, as always. “We need to talk for a moment.” Over the next ten minutes, he shared with her the discovery that her mother was alive, and that she was the Lady in Red. After that had settled in, he went on to tell her about her three brothers and why he and Marcus had never told her. To his surprise, she wasn’t angry

“Once… I think I was about ten, you told me about my brothers. It was one of those rare occasions where you were drunk before lunch. Something was bothering you, and I listened, and then you told me about them and my parents, and how much I meant to you. I didn’t know if you were telling the truth so I went to Opa. He took me into his secret office and sat me down. He gave me a cookie and told me everything. I was angry for months. But that was then. I’m not going to let old anger haunt or control me. That woman isn’t my mother, she’s just the woman who birthed me.” Her hands shook, betraying her air of calm.

He nodded, stopping himself from consoling her; it had never been his role. He’d always been the one to pick her up, set her focus and run with her, not the one to cuddle her in the dark moments. “Shall we put her on the revenge list?”

“The list is
all
her now,” replied Richelle.

“So, what do we do next? I have no idea where we stand,” admitted Abeland.

Richelle bent down and picked at some chards of an old vase, thinking. “Simon should have the steam engine plans by now.”

“It was finally invented, then? Excellent. Klaus, I presume,” said Abeland.

“Watt, actually. Yes, I was surprised as well. Anyway, Simon’s still using the same manor in Staaten, so we should be okay.”

Abeland raised a finger. “A point on that—we’ll need to be careful. Besides being the Lady in Red, I think Caterina serves as Regent for Staaten. I noticed an insignia on some of her soldiers.”

Richelle nodded. “We should check any messages they’re sending by Neumatic Tube.”

“Check?” said Abeland, surprised.

“I don’t invent much,” replied Richelle, “but I did build a way to intercept most messages, at least within a region.”

“Clever girl,” replied Abeland.

Richelle rolled her eyes. “Girl indeed. Anyway, we should get to my office. Care to lead the way?” she asked gesturing to the stairs.

Looking sheepish, he replied, “Um… why don’t you go first? I’ll follow your lead.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

One for the Road

The door of the abbey bedroom creaked open, rousing Tee from her troubled sleep. As the soft footsteps came closer, Tee peeked out at the world. When the figure bent down and laid his hand on her back, she knew immediately who it was. 

“Dad?” said Tee sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

“Hi, little love,” he replied, his voice warm and loving.

She pulled him into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’ve missed you, too,” he said, rocking her gently. “The Abbott tells me you’ve been through a lot.” He remembered leaving a note for Tee, detailing that his wife, Jennifer, and he were going to check out some concerns in Mineau. He’d been certain they would see her for dinner. He was wrong. “Mind if I open the curtains?”

Tee sniffed and wiped her tears. “No, go ahead. What time is it?”

“Probably about six in the morning,” he said as he tied the curtains back. “I got in two hours ago.”

“Six, already? I should be doing my workout,” she said pulling her blanket aside instinctively. She then looked at him and smiled.

“So you really do take it that seriously, don’t you?” he asked, smiling.

Tee nodded.

He glanced about the small room. “This is a nice little room they have you in. Just enough room for the necessities.” He gestured to the sparse furniture.

“They gave Elly a visiting bishop’s room,” said Tee. “I’m not in here much—just to sleep.”

William stared at her and shook his head. “How can you look so much older? It’s only been a few days.”

“It’s been weeks,” replied Tee, chuckling. “You always do that.” Her smile halted as she sensed something from him. “Are you okay, Dad? You look thinner. Tired.”

He sat beside her and patted her hand. “I’m doing okay. I came here as quickly as I could, that’s all. You did a great job leaving me those coded messages, from Elly’s back doorframe with the chalk, to the notes with the innkeepers. I’m so proud of you. You did everything we told you to do in a crisis.” He gave her a kiss on the head. “Well done.”