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

for her dad. There was nowhere to run from the pain.
    In a dream, when it seemed like the pain was going to consume her, it started to rain. The rain was icy, familiar. The rain gave her strength. Mounira glared at the huge pain monster through the dreamy rain. Summoning all her strength, she yelled, “You will not beat me! I will show you! I am stronger than you can imagine!”
    “What did she say?” said Gretel to Hans and Saul.
    “I’m stronger than you can imagine,” repeated Mounira to herself, looking around blearily. For a moment, she was confused. Her pain had awakened her, pulling her back to the reality of the snow and the leafless tree. Perhaps the pain wasn’t always her enemy—it didn’t want to die, either. Mounira stood, shaking her head to wake up. Her pants were wet and freezing.
    “I have to keep going,” Mounira said to herself.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Driven by the Seaside
     
    “What’s in the shiny tube?” asked the scowling, thin-haired, unshaven man. Franklin had only just stepped into the tavern of the seaside town. To date, Franklin’s journey had been filled with thrilling and scary moments, but overall he felt he’d done well.
    With his best steely-eyed gaze, Franklin looked to the man seated at the bar. “Inside are the fingers of everyone who’s tried to nick it,” he answered sharply, yet his stomach twisted with fear.
    The scowling man squinted, sized Franklin up, and then started to laugh. “I like that, boy. I like that a lot,” he said jovially to his bar mates. “I’m going to use that next time. What’s in the bag, Grimmy? Oh, it’s the fingers of… no wait, the noses of everyone… no, I think fingers are best.”
    Franklin sighed. He’d managed to get safely to the southernmost tip of the island kingdom of Inglea, to this seaside town of Chestishire. Now, a new challenge stood ahead. It was one thing to ask if he could ride on the back of a cart to speed his journey, but it was going to take something else to get him across the waters to the shores of Freland. He’d heard tales about boys on ships finding themselves sold to service in foreign lands—and worse.
    One of Franklin’s hands held the straps to his travel bag and the brass tube. Both were slung over his shoulder. His free hand started shaking, broadcasting his feelings. He looked at it and made a fist. Spotting a suitable empty table, he sat down. He knew better than to stand on display. His clothes already stood out, but he hoped not by much.
    Franklin pulled out his last bag of coins and held it under the table’s surface. He ran his right hand through the remaining coins. “Thirty-six,” he whispered. He hoped it would be enough to hire a boat and get the rest of the way to Nikolas Klaus, but he was doubtful.
    He’d been hard on his dad about many things, especially money. They constantly seemed to be going from boom to bust and back again. Franklin believed his father saw money as a simple thing, not worth managing carefully. Now, he had newfound respect—the task was harder than he’d anticipated. Like his father, Franklin had no financial schooling, no financial role model, and no idea about what things should really cost. He knew, logically, that given he was only a third of the way through his journey, he should probably have used up at most a third of his money—but just a quarter of it remained. He owed his father an apology.
    “I can see by your scowl that you’re not used to places like this,” said the waitress as she sauntered up. She had a mess of curly reddish hair and large, friendly green eyes. Her freckles were a match for her flowery dress. Franklin was slightly intimidated by her larger frame and booming voice. She held a wooden serving tray under her arm, and Franklin imagined she could use it as a weapon, if necessary.
    Giving Franklin the once over, she put on a skeptical face. “Are you supposed to be in here? How old are you?”
    Franklin narrowed his eyes, doing his