BreadCrumb Trail (The Yellow Hoods, #2): Steampunk meets Fairy Tale by Adam Dreece

best to look intimidating. “I’m old enough to have enough money for whatever I want.” He realized how awkward that had sounded.
    “Well, a young man with words like that will soon find himself with bruises instead of money,” she replied. She gave a practiced smile. “Relax a bit. What is it you want?”
    Franklin looked around, trying to think of something. He’d briefly forgotten that in a tavern, he would be expected to order something. Though he felt guilty for using up money when there might be a cheaper alternative, he was hungry, and already here. “Do you have a sandwich? Anything that isn’t going to make me sick?” he said, feeling the grime on the table.
    The waitress rolled her eyes. “We’ll find something,” she said, and headed off.
    Franklin took a deep breath and then got out his notebook and writing materials. He uncorked his precious ink bottle and jotted down a few ideas and observations he’d been holding in mind. His thoughts then returned to the challenge that lay ahead.
    He analyzed each person in the tavern. He couldn’t see anyone who looked like a sea captain. He checked his notebook to see if he’d previously written down thoughts on hiring a boat and finding a captain—nothing useful.
    When the waitress plunked the plate of food down hard in front of him, he didn’t flinch, much to her surprise. He looked up with a smug smile. “Thought I’d jump?” he asked.
    The waitress paused to consider her answer, and decided to cut him a break. Franklin was evidently away from home, and, judging by his worn clothes, for more than a couple of days. She could detect the nervousness under his bravado.
    “Yes, I did,” she admitted. “You can’t be more than fifteen. What’s your story?” She sat down opposite him, tilted her head, and waited for his answer.
    Franklin was uncomfortable around women. Having the waitress sit and stare at him felt personal. His stomach tightened. He could feel the part of his brain that dealt with words already getting mixed up. Under the table, he clenched his fist. “Are you… allowed to sit down with customers?”
    The waitress smiled mischievously. “Oh no, of course not. I’m sure in a moment the owner will come over—to throw you out. He’s the giant bald guy back there, the one with so much hair growing out his ears he could comb it over the top of his head.”
    “What?” yelped Franklin. He straightened and nervously glanced around. His naturally pale face went white, while his cheeks went red. “But I—ah—”
    The waitress laughed. “ Relax . Listen, I’m not sure what you’re doing here, but you stick out like a sore thumb. Why are you here? Maybe I can help get you on your way.” She had a soft spot for dumb boys.
    Franklin wasn’t sure whether to trust her, but he did need help. He decided to let his guard down. “I need to get across the sea… to Freland.”
    “Oh, is that all? Go to the docks, then. Why are you in the middle of town?” she said.
    “This is the middle of town?” He was certain he’d walked to the southernmost edge. He felt like an idiot, and hated that feeling.
    “I’ll admit this is a small place, but go to the docks. Did you think a boat captain was just going to walk into the bar? Reminds me of an old joke…” she laughed again, got up, and left.
    Franklin was annoyed with himself. “How did I miss that?” he said to himself.
    After a couple of minutes, the waitress returned. Since she’d left him sitting there, he’d done nothing but mentally beat himself up. She’d set fire to the internal doubt that had always existed within.
    “You haven’t touched your food. You okay?” she asked.
    He looked at his food. He didn’t want her to see the defeat in his eyes.
    The waitress now felt bad. “Oh, come now. I was just teasing. You are at the tavern closest to the docks. The docks are only half a mile down the road. Provincial rules don’t permit taverns any closer. Something about how