A Clockwork Fairytale (2 page)

“Superior, huh?” He smiled. “What are you, thirteen?”

She nodded vigorously. Although she was seventeen, she was small and skinny and passed for a lad of thirteen easily.

In the roof beside them, a lamp sputtered to life behind a small skylight. Master Turk put his finger to his lips and peered through the window. After scrutinizing the room for a few seconds, he relaxed and leaned back against the chimney.

The light revealed the fine fabric of his jacket, the stitching almost invisible. The five small circles of a tiny silver Earth Blessing gleamed against his dark neck cloth. Black jewels glittered on his ears. He dressed like a nob.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Mel.”

“Well, Mel, if you’re such a good runner and thief, won’t your current master miss you?”

Her hand went to the tin disk stamped with Master Maddox’s symbol on a length of twine around her neck. His baker’s shop in the third circle was the only home she’d known. She’d been happy there, but lately things had changed. Since she’d turned sixteen, he’d stopped her bunking with the boys in the warm storeroom behind the bakery oven and made her sleep alone in the loft. And he never let her fill her belly anymore, telling her it was best she stay skinny.

“He won’t miss me,” she said, hating the catch in her voice. She couldn’t afford to be soft like a girl or she’d get found out and end up in a whorehouse or as skivvy in a tavern.

“Give me your hand.” Master Turk leaned closer, bringing with him the tang of lemon spice. He even smelled like a nob.

Don’t give anyone your hand unless you’d give them your blade
. Maddox’s lesson echoed in her mind. Why did Master Turk want to touch her? She thought about refusing, but then he might turn down her pledge. She inhaled deeply, tasting the lemony scent of him on her tongue, and held out her hand.

His fingers closed around hers, his grip firm and warm. Melba held her breath, risked a glance up at his face, and found him watching her, dark eyes narrowed. A strange shivery feeling washed through her that made her squirm inside her clothes.

He dropped her hand, pressed his lips together, and scrutinized her from head to foot.

With a flare of horror, she thought he’d sensed she was female.

“Mayhap I’ll give you a chance. What will you pledge me?”

On a sigh of relief, she looked down at the three carved wooden toggles on her jacket and slid her fingers behind her favorite. “Carved this meself from a sliver of ironwood I found on the shore.”

He raised his eyebrows and ran a finger over the pattern. “That’ll suffice.”

She grabbed the knife from her boot and sliced off the toggle before dropping it in his outstretched palm. He tucked her pledge inside his jacket and felt in his pocket. “Hold out your hand.”

When she did, he dropped something smooth, black, and oval into her palm. She stared at it aghast. Poor masters gave their boys tin disks, the more prosperous used carved bone or wooden tokens. She’d never seen the likes of this pledge before.

“It’s a starlight stone,” he said in answer to her quizzical expression. “Hold it up to the moonlight.”

She turned the warm weight of the stone over in her hand and then angled it toward the moon. Tiny sparks of light danced across the stone’s surface as silver, purple, and green streaked through its crystalline depths. For a moment, she forgot where she was, entranced by the colors.

“Take another look tomorrow,” he said. “It contains different colors under the sun.”

“Oh.” Melba curled her fingers around the treasure. Nobody had ever given her something this pretty before. A little fizz of excitement went through her. Perhaps he liked her. She glanced up at his darkly handsome face. “Do you give this type of pledge to all your boys?”

He nodded.

She ignored the sting of disappointment and jammed the stone deep in the secret loot pocket in her breeches where it couldn’t fall out. All that mattered was that Master Turk had accepted her pledge. As long as he didn’t discover she was a girl, she had a chance to become a spy and make something of her life.

“You stink as bad as an alley cat,” he said with a grimace. “When we reach the bunkhouse, first order of business is to get you out of those filthy clothes and into a bath.”

***

Turk stopped at the top of a set of brick steps that were little more than foot and handholds, invisible unless you were in the know. He glanced over his shoulder at Mel. The boy had been silent since he’d accepted his pledge. Yet Turk was keenly aware of the boy behind him, his vibrant, energetic presence extraordinarily strong for a boy untrained in Earth Magic.

They were now only a few streets from the bunkhouse he kept for his boys, and he had to make a decision on what to do with him. He had planned to pass Mel on to his friend and fellow spy Steptoe for training, but something about this boy niggled at his awareness, something more than the boy’s latent magical ability.

Although Mel had initially seemed eager to tag along, he now had a sour look on his face, his shoulders slumped. “Spit it out, lad,” Turk said. “What’s troubling you?”

Mel shrugged and stared down at his cumbersome boots. Those would have to go. How the lad had managed to walk the skyways wearing such boots was a miracle. At least it proved Mel had balance and courage.

At length, the boy raised his intelligent blue eyes and wrinkled his nose. “I don’t need no bath, sir. I’ll scrub off me face and hands under the pump in the yard. Don’t do to smell too clean.” As if to emphasize the point, he spat on his hands and rubbed them against his breeches.

Turk groaned inwardly. He couldn’t understand why all his boys detested soap and water. When he was a boy, he’d hated being filthy, his skin sore from the dirt.

Mel blinked in the moonlight. Even his dirty face couldn’t hide his jewel-bright blue eyes. Turk rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. Mel was unusual. Only a boy trained by the Shining Brotherhood should be capable of shielding his thoughts from an Earth Magic adept like Turk, yet he could read nothing from him but vague emotions. Even the tiny Earth Jinn inside the starlight stone had failed to magnify Mel’s thoughts enough for Turk to read him.

It would be a waste to have Steptoe train the boy as a regular spy and ignore his fledgling power. He needed to be trained by the Shining Brotherhood, or perhaps Turk could bring him home and undertake his training himself. Mel’s small, even features would likely scrub up well enough to make him acceptable in the highest circles. If he proved skillful, the boy had potential to spy on Nob Hill, even in the Royal Palace. Turk’s only problem would be persuading his housekeeper Gwinnie to accept the boy.

“Come.” Turk indicated a change of direction and set off toward the inner circle.

“So I don’t need a bath?” the boy asked hopefully.

“I’ve decided not to take you to the bunkhouse.”

Mel’s boots clattered and Turk spun around in time to see Mel scramble up from where he’d slipped on the tiles. “I’m still pledged, ain’t I, sir? If it’s that important, I’ll bathe.”

“Aye, you will bathe. I’m taking you to my home and I’ll not allow a grimy tyke inside. For all I know you’ve got lice.”

“I keep me hair short so’s I don’t get no lice. Master Maddox brushed me hair with pepper dust only last week.” Mel pulled off his cap revealing a short fuzz of what was undoubtedly grubby hair.

“My housekeeper Gwinnie will make sure you’re clean.” And she wouldn’t use pepper dust. The back of Turk’s throat stung at the memory of that vile dust in his eyes and up his nose.

“You mean a woman will clean me?” Mel asked wide-eyed.

“Yes, a woman.”

“Oh.”

Turk jumped another alley and turned to watch Mel back up a few steps before he hurled himself over the gap like a rat leaving a sinking ship. The boy scrabbled on the edge and pulled himself up, breathing hard. Mel had guts; he’d give him that. He was observant, brave, strong for his size, and bright as a flare: all qualities that could potentially make him an excellent spy.

Mel stood up and looked around. “We’re heading to the inner circle, Master Turk.”

“Aye.” Turk pointed to the row of tall, narrow palaces fronting the canal that ran around the inner circle. “The one decorated with flower mosaics and green metal balconies is Waterberry House. It’s mine.”

Mel gasped. “You
are
a nob.”

Turk glanced at Waterberry House with a twinge of regret. He loved the place and it felt like his own even though it wasn’t. But he was as far from nobility as it was possible to get. “A good spy knows that looks can be deceiving.”

He set off again and thought Mel would wake his neighbors with his clodhopper boots on the palace roofs, but no one stirred to raise the alarm.

When they reached Waterberry House, he opened the small gate into his roof garden and led Mel along the winding path between the plants. The boy stared around open-mouthed. “I ain’t never seen a place like this before.” He ran his fingers along the thin brass pipes of the irrigation system and sniffed the flowers in a way that reminded Turk of himself when the monks of the Shining Brotherhood first took him in and he discovered the garden at the Seminary. “’Tis so beautiful, it looks like you summoned an Earth Jinn.”

Turk examined Mel’s face, wondering if he could sense the presence of the Jinn that tended the plants, but the boy had obviously just used the term as an expression of praise.

“Here,” Turk cupped a pink rose in his hand and angled the bloom toward the boy. “My favorite fragrance.” The spirits of the roses could be turned into mischievous little Flower Jinns that held a special place in Turk’s heart. The first Jinn the Brothers had taught him to summon had come from a pink rose.

Mel sniffed and his bright blue eyes widened. “That smells lovely.”

“Get out your knife. We’ll cut a few stems for my housekeeper, Gwinnie.” Flowers might put her in a good mood.

He took Mel’s blade, grimacing at the dirty handle, and demonstrated how to cut a rose and trim away the thorns. Then he watched while Mel cut and prepared four more stems.

Mel tucked his knife back in his boot and held the roses out before him reverentially. Turk led him through the small tower door and they descended the narrow winding steps. When they reached the third floor, they took the hall to the main staircase and made their way down to ground level. The mouth-watering smell of baking dinner rolls flavored the air as they approached the kitchen.

Gwinnie turned from the polished brass range when they entered and her brows snapped down. “What’s this ragamuffin doing in me kitchen? Send him to the bunkhouse.”

Turk nudged Mel in the back and he shuffled forward and presented the roses. Gwinnie scowled down at Mel before taking the gift. “He smells like a sack o’ dung.”

“I’m training this one myself.”

Gwinnie huffed and puffed as she clattered around finding a vase and then filling it with water. “Don’t want no filthy tykes in me kitchen.”

Turk walked across to the bathhouse door and pushed it open. The white china tub sat in the center of the room, cold and empty. “Fill the tub with warm water and find the lad some clean togs. His name’s Mel.”

Gwinnie scowled at the boy again. Mel stood sucking his lip and staring at his feet. He’d removed his cap and held it clasped before him. In this light, the boy’s hair was unusually pale, even coated with a layer of grime. His head looked small, his features delicate. Luckily, the lad was a lot tougher than he appeared.

“I ain’t scrubbing the filth off him,” Gwinnie snapped.

Mel looked up, his blue eyes sharp and defensive. “I can bathe meself.”

Mel and Gwinnie glared at each other. Turk grabbed a fresh bread roll from the baking sheet and decided not to bother with butter. Retreat seemed the best course of action. Mel and Gwinnie would reach an understanding far sooner if he didn’t interfere.

***

The old woman narrowed her pale brown eyes and pinned Melba with a fierce look. Melba knew nothing about housekeepers. The only women she had dealings with were the whorehouse madams she ran messages to and the skivvies who trudged around the markets first thing in the morning. The old woman’s face was as wrinkled as her droopy stockings, and one of her cheeks was pitted with scars from the Scab. Her gray hair was pinned up beneath a lace cap with ribbons dangling down her cheeks like a proper lady. At Melba’s scrutiny, Gwinnie jammed her hands on her wide hips and puckered her lips.

“What you looking at, boy?”

“Nothing.” Melba dropped her gaze to the woman’s faded layers of gauzy lace skirts.

“Get yourself over here then and help me shift this water.”

Melba rounded the table, but got distracted by the silky pink petals of the roses arranged in a blue jug on the table. She’d never guessed that such beautiful, sweet-smelling flowers existed. They seemed to tickle the edges of her mind as though they called to her. While Gwinnie poured hot water into a bucket, Melba leaned forward and breathed in the fragrance of the flowers. If she was a lady, she’d keep roses in every room so she could sniff them whenever she wanted.

“Oy, lad, you leave them roses be. They ain’t for the likes of you,” Gwinnie said.