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

if someone can be clear-headed enough to walk all the way to the docks from here, and then drown, then it’s the fault of the patron, not the establishment.”
    Franklin glared back in anger. She’d made a fool of him. She was nothing but a mere peasant with the nerve to play a trick on a young man of noble blood—never mind one that would change the world someday. While he enjoyed playing tricks, he couldn’t take them. His father had spoken to him about it, and he had tried to be a good sport, but it didn’t work. He had a deep-seated fear that he wasn’t actually smart—that, somehow, he was just fooling everyone. Sometimes he wondered if people just assumed he was smart because his father was a genius. At other times, the mental limits of those around him frustrated him. 
    The waitress sat down again. “You don’t like having your leg pulled. Sorry, love,” she said, half-apologetically. “Wasn’t intending to upset—just trying to have a little fun. Relax! You’re all wound up so tight. If you don’t relax, you’re going to attract a wee bit more attention than just being a lost boy from a well-to-do family.”
    Her assessment surprised Franklin, but he wouldn’t show it.
    “Look,” she continued, “you’ve probably already learned that the world is different than you expected, but I can tell that you’ve seen nothing of its rougher side. You’ll need to realize the world is unlike your privileged home town. It’s rougher, but also full of amazing things.” She smiled at Franklin with a motherly look—and that rubbed Franklin the wrong way.
    She doesn’t have insight, he thought to himself. She’s just dishing out generic advice—things she heard others parroting. “Thanks,” he said coldly, folding his arms. “Your insights are… astounding.” His sarcasm was biting.
    Insulted, the waitress stood up. “Fine. Eat up, pay up, and be on your way.” She turned and walked away. “Arrogant little jerk,” she muttered.
    Franklin finished his lunch and stepped out of the tavern. He was determined to show that waitress—and all those like her—that he wasn’t some lost boy. He was going to get across to Freland and find Nikolas Klaus, no matter what.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gingerly Lost
     
    Mounira stumbled clumsily in the snow.
    “Just a couple more steps,” urged Gretel. “You can do it.”
    Mounira stepped out from the tree line, spotting a large clearing surrounded by more red pines. In the midst of the clearing were the remains of a burned down old house. She looked around, confused, tears in her eyes.
    “You’ve arrived,” said Hans triumphantly. “Welcome to Mother’s house!”
    Mounira looked around wildly. “I don’t understand—there’s no house here! Just—”
    Gretel was annoyed. “ This is Mother’s house. She still owns it. We used to come here and she’d tell us about the children she used to have here, long ago, before the bad men came to steal them away. That’s when she burned it down. She didn’t want anyone to know about our other house, the one where we still live.”
    Saul continued, “We thought you’d like it. You can stay here if you like.”
    “I bet she’s going to complain it has no walls,” said Hans.
    “And no roof,” said Gretel, giggling.
    Hans laughed. “Some people are so picky.” The trio went on with their banter.
    Mounira looked at the ground, shaking with rage at having been tricked. Her body was numb, except for the pain from the stump. The pain reminded her that she wasn’t asleep, that she wasn’t going to awaken shortly from the nightmare, that this was real.
    Then it dawned on Mounira that she was likely going to die in the middle of this snowy, red forest, and her rage collapsed into fear. Her lip started to tremble, and tears rolled down. “ Why are you doing this?” she said, her voice breaking. “Show yourselves! Look in my eyes and tell me!”
    At the edge of the clearing, three red-hooded figures stepped into