Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (14 page)

The portraits were
blank canvases, bare nothings. Empty spaces framed by gold.

“Wouldn't even
know if he's awake...” I walked the perimeter of the room. “What a silly
claim.”

Two times I walked
the room.

Three times I
walked the room.

Ten times I walked
the room.

Three and a half
times I walked the room.

“Do you need
help?” the Watchmaker's Doll asked, surprising me by existing in the corner.

“Have you been there
since I've been here?” I responded.

“Almost. The cats
put me here.”

“How do we get
out?”

“I don't know.”

“Oh.”

“What were you
doing?”

“Looking at these
portraits.”

“But they are all
the same.”

“I know. But each
time I pass one, I pretend there's something different about each one, some
quality to make the walk interesting.”

“Very clever,” she
said. “Are you enjoying your journey?”

“Not especially.
I'm actually pretty afraid that I'll run out of things to imagine before the
walk's over. Then I'd just be strolling with blank white until it ends.
Wouldn't that be horrible?”

“I suppose. When
will the walk end?”

“I don't know.”

“Maybe it won't.”

“I doubt that I'm
that lucky and I doubt that I'm that cursed.”

She pressed
herself against the corner. I took another turn around.

“Hey,” I said to
the Doll. “Let me borrow that brush.”

She looked down at
the blue-tipped paintbrush that she was suddenly holding. “You don't need it.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“I'm going to
paint something on them.”

“You don't need
to. You see the pictures in your mind.”

“You don't.”

“So?”

“So you can't see
what I make.”

“Is that
important?”

“Of course it's
important! How else would anybody know I put something there? How would they
know I was
here?
How—“

I fell through the
floor again and landed on my feet back in the long hallway. I thought I saw
myself in the back, sitting with the grey cat, but I ignored it before the
scene became repetitive.

“...mistake life
for death and excitement for boredom and hunger for satisfaction!”

“I'm always bored,”
the other me said. I ignored him.

When I got to the
door with the other two cats, I paused and ran a mile to another random door.
The floor inside was constructed of reflective glass and walls were striped.
Very becoming. Very...modern, I suppose. The room was packed with tall stacks
of saucers, each filled with milk, warmed, I somehow knew. Great piles of food
neatly cut into mouth-sized bites were everywhere, and I was careful not to
step on the slightest morsel as I moved. The door closed behind me and it was
fairly dark until I reached the center of the room. Once I had, a sharp
spotlight from above snapped on, creating a smooth ring of light on the floor.
In the center of this lighted circle sat the Watchmaker's Doll upon a lofty
throne. She was petting the grey cat, now bereft of his clothing. The others,
similarly unattired, were sleeping on the armrests.

“It's okay,” she
said. “I fed them.”

“Why are you doing
this?”

“I want to help
you out.”

“Why?”

She ran her
fingers along the scruff on the back of the cat's neck.

“Because you
turned my key,” she said with a smile. “You did hang on to it, right?”

“Yeah...yeah, I
did.” I held up the turnkey, which had manifested in my right hand. “I fished
it out of the bin.”

“Thank you.”

“Where did you go
off to, little doll?”

“I went to help.”

“Will you come
back?”

She smiled and
gently placed the cat on the floor.

“Very—“

Thud! A dirty boot
hit my ribs in the alley. I woke up tumbling over, and a mean-spirited man in a
low-brimmed cap yanked me to my feet.

“All right! Where
is he?”

“What?”

He threw me
against the wall.

“The unwashed
bastard who swiped my carriage! I saw you with him earlier, gallivanting and
roaming around! Now where is he?”

“I don't know! He
took off without me!”

He threw a punch
at my stomach. I blocked it, but caught a stinging shot in the arm in exchange.

“I'm not fooling,
friend,” he threatened.

“And I'm not
lying!”

He threw another
punch. I ducked it and pushed him to the opposite wall.

“You bum!” he
spat, scrambling to his feet. I took off through the dark, weaving my way
through the backstreets. The irate merchant was following close and I was too
tired to keep up the pace for much longer.

“Help!” I started
shouting. “This idiot's going to kill me!”

“I'm definitely
going to try!” he barked.

I flew around
another corner and hopped a back railing. I realized I was back behind the
Happy Machinist Tavern, which meant there were people around. I grabbed at the
back door only to find it locked. I swore and started to bang my fist on it. I
was soon rushed by the thug, who knocked me straight to the ground.

“No carriage, no
business, friend!” he snarled. “That prospect doesn't make me very happy.”

“Really? How does
this make you feel?” I kicked my boot up and knocked a cloud of black dust into
his eyes. I rounded the side of the building as he swore and scrubbed his face
with his sleeve.

“Help!” I shouted.
“Anybody!”

Anybody turned out
to be a large-framed man in a bowler, drunk, who was leaning over a side rail,
the only body outside.

“Wha...” he muttered
in a fairly strong stupor. “You need something?”

The thug rounded
the corner. He had found a piece of chain and was spinning it in his hands.

“Him!” I shouted.
“Trouble!”

“Oh...” the drunk
in the bowler said with a laugh. “Sure. No problem.”

He slid his hands
into his pants pockets and brought them back out coated in a pair of
copper-plated false knuckles, which I wasn't sure were legal to tote about
town, but didn't feel like asking.

“Okay...” he said,
tipsy. “Where was the trouble again?”

“Him!” I shouted
as the thug swung the chain at our heads. My new and very,
very
good
friend with the big arms and the knuckles threw a solid punch, the copper
knocking the chain away. The thug began to retreat.

“No, no, wait,
man! Where ya goin'?” the brawler said, merrily grabbing the guy by his collar.

I'll kindly omit
the following encounter out of courtesy to the younger or more tender-stomached
readers, but anyone interested in how the copper-knuckle punk dealt with my
attacker should visit a corner pretzelmaker and pay specific attention to the
bending and twisting of the dough.

“Now say you're
sorry,” the brawler said to the would-be assailant, now on the ground.

“I don't think he
can,” I pointed out. “His shoe is really wedged in there.”

“Ah, don't be soft
on him.” The brawler pointed a cheerful finger to his victim. “Say you're
sorry.”

“Mmm...ffrry...”
said the man on the ground. I felt a little bad. He
did
lose a carriage
and all. The brawler laughed and nudged me on my shoulder.

“You gunna be
okay?”

“Yeah. I'll be
fine. Thanks.”

“No problem. No
problem. Was fun.” He wobbled over to the front of the building. “I'm gunna go
vomit some more.”

“Godspeed.”

I wandered a bit
more in the dark, got lost, and must've passed out. Next thing I remember, I
was waking up to Kitt and Dolly arguing about the fox's driving. I was staring
at the cloth topper of an electric carriage and I could hear ticking. My head
was resting on the turnkey girl's lap.

“I am
too
allowed to go this way down this street!” Kitt argued. “Hey! Look who's up!”

The Doll hung her
head down over my mine.

“Good morning.”

“...morning…” I
uttered. “What's going on?”

“We came back and
you were gone!” Kitt said. “You know how worried that made us? Why didn't you
sleep in the trash bin?”

“I didn't want to spoil
myself,” I grumbled.

“He's cranky,” the
Doll said to Kitt from the backseat.

“Don't be cranky,”
Kitt said.

'“I'm not,” I
muttered, trying to sit up. “I had a rough night.”

I stretched my
neck and looked around. My familiar bottle of faerie juice was sitting politely
in the corner next to the girl's feet.

“Us too,” said
Kitt, more seriously. “I'm afraid I have some news.”

“No news,” I said.
“I don't want news.”

“I'm sorry, but
you need to hear this.” He took a long breath.

“Just spit it out,
Kitt.”

“We've been named
as enemies to Britain.”

“To
Britain?!?
All
of it?!?”

“Yeah...”

“What the hell did
we do?!?”

“We took
her
.”

I turned and
stared at the Doll.

“Hello,” she said.

“Okay...” I said,
trying not to get overwhelmed. “First things first. What happened yesterday?”

“Yesterday,” Kitt
said. “All right. Well, first of all, it turns out there were these cylinders—”

“Right. Wax
cylinders. I overheard that part. What did they say? What do the authorities
know?”

“Hang on, I'll get
there. So I hear that the soldiers are going to take a listen to what they
found, so I panic and I follow this guy as he goes out to call for a carriage.
I grab him and give him a fake name, tell him I've got a carriage and hang
tight while I go fetch it.”

“So you stole a
carriage.”

“I'll bring it
back. Anyway, I figure I've got to stop or at least stall them from hearing
what was on that wax.”

“You know, I met
the man you stole the carriage from.”

“Really? That
guy's insane.”

“I noticed.”

“So I get the
carriage and drive it up—“

“He tried to kill
me.”

“I'm glad he
failed. So I drive it up and the officer says 'let's go,' and I can't think of
a good excuse, so I drive him to the station.”

“Thanks. Big
help.”

“He made a stop
first,” said the Doll, defending Kitt.

“And where were
you?” I asked her.

“Hiding under the
blanket back here.”

“You thought that
was safer than the bins?”

“The bins
smelled!”

“I tried to talk
her out of it,” Kitt said. “She walks right up when I'm returning with the
carriage and almost got seen. I start to complain but she just climbs in, says
she's bored. Hides seconds before Jonesy comes back out.”

“Jonesy?”

“The officer.
We...bonded a little.”

“Kitt—“

“Like I said, we
stop. I tell him it's a routine mechanical check. I let Dolly out the back and
send her into a department store to retrieve a novelty musical cylinder. You
follow?”

“Quick switch?”

“Pretty clever,
right? The bag was in the back with her, so easy swap.”

“Wait. Where'd you
get money for this? And weren't the shops all closed at that time of night?”

“Yes,” Dolly said.
“Kitt showed me how to break an old door.”

My head hurt.

“Still!” Kitt
said. “You must admit that's pretty clever.”

“Clever, maybe,
but you only, eh, 'retrieved' one hunk of replacement wax? There were
three
cylinders.”

“Yeah...I
sorta...didn't realize that...until after I sent Jonesy off...and Dolly told
me.”

“We still have
this one,” the Doll said, holding up the pilfered cylinder with hope.

“So the police
have two pieces of incriminating evidence,” I flatly stated. “And one piece of
novelty music.”

“It was really
guarded!” Kitt argued, defending himself.

“What was?”

“Wherever Jonesy
had us take him. We couldn't get another chance to swipe the bag.”

“All right,” I
said, trying not to panic. “So this is bad.”

“No kidding.”

“But we can still
get lucky if the—”

“Recordings can't
identify us? Yeah, about that...”

“Don't tell me.”

“I'm afraid so.
According to Jonesy, our introductions were pretty crystal clear. 'Nice to meet
you. The name's Kitt Sunner. The name's Will Pocket. What's that object in your
back? Sure, we'll join you for breakfast.' All of that.”

“H-how do you know
this?”

“Had to drive
Jonesy back to the watch shop to report, now didn't I? Some other soldiers too.
Boy, were
they
mad!”

“Wonderful,” I
said.

“The good news is
that they don't know what we look like.”

“Not yet.”

“Right, not yet.
But,
mad!
Absolutely
furious,
these blokes were! You shoulda
heard them ranting on. 'Pocket and Sunner! Pocket and Sunner!' They just kept
repeating it on the drive back. I tried some subtle mind trickery to make them
forget, kept saying 'Paulson and Sulliver' to mix them up, but to no avail.
Minds like steel traps, these men have.
That
is today's militia! A
thinking man's army! Anyhow, I dropped them back at the watch shop and we took
off. Could barely get away from Jonesy and his talk-talk-talk-talk, but finally
we were able to start perusing the alleys for your sleeping self.”

“Kill me.”

“At least we're
not caught. It's something.”

“It's something
bad.”

“I can go back,”
the Doll said, sullen. “That's what will happen. I'll go back to them so you
won't get in trouble.”

“Forget that,” I
said. “I heard those grunts talking. I'm not about to trust you in their
hands.”

“Yeah!” Kitt
agreed. “I don't know what they have on you, Dolly, but you're staying with
us.”

“Us?” I said to
Kitt.

“That's right,
Pocket,” Kitt said with a laugh. “We're all in this together, I'm afraid.
Dolly, you wanted some traveling companions. Well, you're stuck with some now.”