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

view. They wore matching red cloaks.
    The red figure on the left leaned against a tree. “We thought we should have some fun. We tracked you for a while, and thought you’d be fun. I have to say, you have been, Lefty,” said Hans.
    The figure on the right turned around. “I’m getting cold. I think it’s time we go,” said Saul, bored.
    “Just before we go,” said Gretel, the middle figure and shorter than the other two, “let me leave her a present .”
    “Breadcrumbs?” asked Saul.
    “Oh, better than that. She’d freeze to death before she could follow,” said Gretel.
    “What are you doing, now?” asked Hans, curious.
    Gretel held her hands apart so Mounira could see. “Here is some flint and steel. Seen them before? I don’t know if you southerners have such things, so let me explain. You just need to hold the flint—this part here—in one hand, and then strike down with the steel part—this piece here—in another hand… like this.” Gretel made sparks appear. “Make sure the sparks land on some dry leaves. Then, voilà , you have a nice warm fire.”
    “Oh, that’s vicious, Gretel! She only has one arm!” said Hans, bursting into laughter. “And dry leaves? Ha!”
    Gretel chuckled. “I’m going to leave these here for you.” Gretel dropped the flint and steel in the snow. “Come on, boys. Mother’s probably wondering where we are.”
    Saul looked at Mounira, nearly frozen. She was just a kid, while they were twenty years old. They’d never led someone into the forest to die before. At first, he’d thought maybe Hans was right, that it would be fun. But looking at Hans and Gretel’s faces, and looking at Mounira, he felt strange inside—unsettled.
    A moment later, the trio had vanished.
    Mounira screamed as she ran to where Gretel had dropped the items, falling twice. She couldn’t feel her feet to balance herself properly. She frantically hunted for the flint and steel with her numb hand. Her tears nearly froze her eyelashes shut.
    “I’m stronger than you imagine,” she said to herself, borrowing a phrase from her mother’s favorite book. “I am a titan . I will take the fear you have given me and make it the sword from which I will have victory.” Her teeth chattered furiously.
    She felt around in the snow with her ever-more-numb hand. Despair crept in. “Where is it?!” she yelled. Snow blew around as she frantically searched.
    “Mama, help— please . Don’t let me die here,” she said. Then, her hand hit something solid.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Grooming the Hound
     
    The corridor was silent as the Hound stopped to look at a particular painting he hadn’t noticed before. He looked at the oil lamps; he’d never seen them all lit before. Studying the painting, he quickly recognized one of the three men as a younger Simon St. Malo, perhaps age twenty. A shorter, dark-bearded man, likely in his thirties, stood with his back to Simon. An older, clean-shaven man stood behind them, slightly elevated, arms behind his back. There was both a sense of camaraderie, and tension among the figures.
    The Hound looked for a nameplate at the bottom of the frame but was surprised there wasn’t one. He glanced at the other paintings in the corridor, all of which had nameplates. Just as he was about to leave, a glint of gold from the top of the painting caught his eye.
    After checking that no one was coming, the Hound carefully lifted the painting off and leaned it against the wall. He read the top nameplate and then wondered aloud, “Why are you called Faces of the new Fare ? What’s a Fare ?” He studied the painting for another minute, but found no better clue.
    After carefully placing the painting back on the wall, he continued his walk to the gold-trimmed double doors that sealed off Simon St. Malo’s study. The Hound’s boots picked up the same rhythm he’d had since the first time he’d walked down this corridor, months before.
    Standing at the huge doors, his stomach