Snappy and Dashing

Ch.1 - This Little Piggy Went Boom

With her ears ringing from the sudden cannon blast, Richelle braced herself as the coach rolled onto its side. A moment ago, she'd been crumpling up a report about confusion among some of her Red Hoods, annoyed at how everything seemed to be slowly unraveling; civil wars, coups and mishaps suddenly seemed in fashion.

As another cannon blast struck the coach, she was thankful that her grandfather had insisted she double its armor. If she survived this, she would owe him an apology for her vehemently resisting the idea.

The coach flipped in the air before landing with a heavy crunch. She blinked the dust from her eyes and imagined what she would do next if she was the one leading just such an ambush. Without a second thought, she dropped to the bottom of the coach and made herself into as small a ball as possible, covering herself with her protective red hooded cloak.

One breath later, chained cannon balls ripped the coach in two. The sky was instantly decorated with shreds of reports and correspondence from her mobile office. Taking advantage of the cover, Richelle sprang out of the coach and ran for the opposing edge of the forest, away from the mystery attackers.

As she ran, she caught a glimpse of the last of her soldiers falling, joining dead comrades and their horses. Whoever this is, thought Richelle, they knew exactly where we'd be, and when—and they know what they're doing. Bullets whizzed past as she entered the forest. Leaping over roots and racing past red pine trees, she tried to think of who'd have the nerve to attack her. She was a Pieman, and along with her grandfather, Marcus, and her uncle, Abeland, she had a reputation for being ruthless, cunning and resourceful. They commanded the Fare, an old secret society whose principles and direction they had reshaped to serve their own purpose. Her attackers had to have known that if they failed, they'd be bringing a formidable wrath down upon themselves, their families and their allies.

Richelle skidded to a stop as a huge golden oak tree came into view. Using her hands to shield her eyes from the sun, she glanced up at the forest canopy. She couldn't see any hint of the canopy bridges or walkways. She took a moment to study her surroundings. Then, with a nod to herself, she ran around the cabin-sized trunk of the golden oak.

"Over there!" yelled a commanding voice, sounding close behind her.

Leaning against the back of the golden oak, Richelle studied its lowest branches. "Too high to try," she muttered to herself. The other nearby trees were too thin or awkward to have a decent chance at climbing. She clenched her jaw as she tried to find another way to get an upper hand. It had been a while since she'd been in any real danger— never mind entirely on her own.

Richelle's blood started to boil with anger, the old blind rage wanting to come out and play. The scars on her back ached, reminding her of the last time she'd allowed it to take control. Now in her mid-thirties, she knew it had no place in her life. Wisdom was of greater value than brashness, despite how much she missed the excitement of it.

Pushing her shoulder-length hair over her ears, she wondered if the secret society known as the Tub was behind the ambush. Even though she'd captured the second of their leaders several hours ago, she couldn't imagine the nearly destroyed Tub being able to pull together such a strike so quickly, never mind it not being their style.

Besides, she'd handed over the Tub leader for direct transport to her grandfather's compound in Teuton. She knew that having the candlestick maker with her could make her a target. The more that Richelle thought about it, the more concerned she became. Something had been feeling wrong for a long time, stemming from the day that she'd considered forming the Order of the Red Hood in the first place.