A Clockwork Fairytale (26 page)

“I could fight off a Foul Jinn,” Gregorio retorted, his voice tight with pain.

“At your age the effort would destroy you.”

Gregorio closed his eyes and sagged as the fight went out of him. “Very well. I will send Turk away. But on condition that you use your influence in the Palace to maintain the Shining Brotherhood’s dominion over the monastery grounds. There must be no interference in the way I run the Brotherhood’s affairs.”

Vittorio shook his head with a disbelieving laugh. In the end, his father had been true to form. He had traded his trash tyke for his reputation and his monastic empire.

***

Turk tossed and turned in the small hard bed in the tiny terraced cottage that was his bolt-hole in the third circle. His emotions churned like a stormy sea as he tried to decide what to do next. He had expected the bluejackets to search for him long into the night, but the sound of their shouts had quickly faded. Now, in the early hours of the morning, all was quiet.

He rose and pulled on his boots before opening the window. He climbed out and used the hand- and footholds in the bricks to hoist himself onto the roof. He raced up the steep tiled incline and sat on the ridge tiles, facing the inner circles.

Nob Hill rose in the center of the island, the Royal Palace a fairytale structure of towers and turrets sparkling with lights. He shut one eye, reached out, and pretended to cradle the Palace in his hand. For a short while, he had thought that Melba was his, but he had fallen for his own illusion that he was noble and worthy of her.

Dropping his hand, he expelled a resigned breath. Melba had changed him. He could never return to his old life with the Shining Brotherhood, but he could never follow his heart and court her. She was filled with naïve romantic notions, but he knew that however they felt about each other, the king would still make her marry a prince for political reasons.

A warm wind ruffled his hair. He stood and turned to face south, staring over the outer circle at the midnight blue expanse of sky speckled with a million stars. Somewhere far away he must have relatives who thought he was dead. Perhaps his future lay with them.

He had foggy memories of a time before he arrived on the trash barges, memories of gliding along above the sea in an airship while the merchant brig below plowed through whitecapped waves, the sails snapping, a dark-haired man with aeronaut’s goggles on grinning at him. Further back, he remembered the sweet fragrance of a woman, the rattle of bracelets, the long silky lengths of brightly colored fabric over her head and around her body, blue gliss lining her dark eyes.

He would stay on Royal Malverne Isle until he was sure Melba was safe. Then he would travel south to the land of his birth to visit the legendary Metal City of Arco and find out who he really was.

In the meantime, he must lay low for a few days until the uproar over his altercation at the marketplace blew over. Then he would busy himself with his refuge for the trash tykes.

Turk made his way across the roofs of the third circle into the second circle, his feet reluctant to take him back within the confines of the monastery walls. He felt like an escaped animal returning to its cage.

As he approached the monastery, he lightened his step and took extra care crossing the trip wires protecting the buildings from skylarkers. He jumped down onto the balcony in front of his master’s chamber to find Gregorio standing outside his door in his nightgown waiting for him. At this time of night, he had expected his master to be asleep.

Turk bent to remove his boots, but Gregorio motioned him to leave them on and hurry inside. “What do you think you have been up to, boy? I’ve had Vittorio himself here trying to intimidate me.”

The blood drained out of Turk’s head and left his ears humming. He had never intended to bring the Royal Victualler’s wrath down on the Brothers. “I’m sorry, Master. I only wanted to see the princess again.”

“I heard about your dramatics in the marketplace with the whole of Malverne Isle watching.” Gregorio shook his head. “Has the girl stolen your good sense?”

He turned and poured himself a drink. “A man cannot use his heart and his head at the same time. Perhaps it would have been better if you
had
broken your vows with the girl and got this infatuation out of your system before she returned to the Palace.”

Turk stilled in shock at his master’s words. Gregorio
wanted
him to break his vows? Anger burned through the shock. “I would never use Melba that way. My feelings for her run far deeper than that. They won’t fade.”

Gregorio cut a dismissive hand through the air. “Of course they will. You’ll forget her in a few months. But that is beside the point. Vittorio views you as a threat, so we must get you to safety. I think you should travel to the mainland for a while.”

“I don’t want to leave Malverne Isle until I know Melba will be safe.”

“Safe or not, she is out of your reach now, boy. She is her father’s responsibility. He will find her a husband from one of the royal families on the mainland. Plenty of young princes need wives. No doubt Santo has already started looking.”

Although Turk had been thinking the same thing only minutes before, Gregorio’s words still filled him with a numb hopeless pain. Melba would soon have a royal husband. Turk must leave Malverne Isle before that happened. He wasn’t sure he could bear to watch her get married.

He turned back to his master. “I shall travel south in search of my family. I appreciate all you have done for me, Master, but I must leave the Brotherhood. I don’t know if I shall ever return to Malverne Isle.”

Lips pressed together in a tight line, Gregorio stared at him. At length he released a long breath and nodded. “When I sent you out into the city to spy for the Brotherhood, part of me knew you would never return to the monastery. I tried to deny my instinct because I didn’t want to lose you.” He beckoned Turk toward him.

Gregorio gripped the back of Turk’s head and pulled his face against his shoulder. “You have been like a son to me,” he whispered. “I shall miss you, boy.”

Turk embraced the old man. “You have been like a father to me, Master.” He owed Gregorio so much he could not begin to voice his thanks.

Gregorio released Turk and turned to the small stone altar in the corner of the room. Turk stepped forward and offered the support of his arm while Gregorio went down on his knees. His master lit the two altar candles before lowering his forehead to the edge of the stone. He whispered his prayer beneath his breath, then opened a small metal box at the back of the altar. He withdrew a round silver medallion on a chain and clasped it in his hand while he whispered the end of his prayer.

He glanced over his shoulder and Turk moved closer to offer his arm again. “Come and sit with me, Turk.” The old man settled himself in one of the chairs in front of the cold fireplace. Turk seated himself in the chair opposite as he had hundreds of times in the past.

Gregorio opened his hand and dangled the silver medallion on the end of its chain. It rotated slowly, the gaslight glinting off its slightly tarnished surface. “Do you recognize this?” Gregorio asked. Turk angled his head and squinted. “Take it.” At his master’s bidding, Turk held out a hand to receive the medallion.

One side of the silver disk bore an inscription in a foreign tongue he couldn’t understand. When he flipped it over, he found an embossed image of a serpent on the back. He had handled silver and gold occasionally but it had always been dead. This medallion hummed against his skin with inner life. “Great Earth Jinn, this metal still contains its Star.”

“Not just a Star,” Gregorio said. “The Silver Serpent Jinn has been summoned already and sleeps in the metal.”

Turk’s gaze shot up to Gregorio. “You summoned it?”

“Not I. The medallion belongs to you.”

Turk narrowed his eyes on the silver disc, searching his memory, but failed to recognize it. “Are you sure?”

“It was your pledge to me, boy.” Gregorio smiled at him sadly. “When I rescued you from the trash barges it was the only thing of value you had to pledge to me to form the bond, or I would never have taken it from you.”

“Then why don’t I remember it?”

“The Jinns from precious metals have far more personality and presence than the simple Jinns we raise from fruit and flowers. They form a close bond with their masters. I removed the memory of the Silver Serpent from your mind so you didn’t grieve over its loss.” Gregorio leaned forward. “Call the Jinn out. I would love to see it again.”

Turk cradled the medallion in his palm while he pushed his senses into the metal and felt for the Jinn. The spirit’s presence flared awake with a sharp, bright burst of energy and awareness. The image of the Silver Serpent on the medallion bulged and extended onto Turk’s wrist. A long silver snake emerged from the metallic disk, myriad tiny silver scales unfolding as it telescoped out from what had appeared to be solid metal.

Gregorio’s breath hissed out in admiration. “Great Earth Jinn, that is something to behold. The workmanship of the southern silversmiths is a magic in itself. I can’t imagine how any man can create such detailed metalwork.”

The serpent’s head grew broad and flat as it reached Turk’s shoulder, a spiky crest rising from its head to partway along its back. Common sense told Turk he should be wary, but he felt a strange affinity with the Jinn. He smiled with remembered affection when it raised its head in front of his face and a tongue of fine silver rope flicked out from its mouth to touch his cheek.

“Gül.” As soon as he whispered the Jinn’s name, memories crashed back as if they had been dammed behind a wall in his mind. He gasped in shock as images of his home and family flooded into his mind with the recollections of his Silver Serpent. By hiding knowledge of Gül from him, Gregorio had unintentionally robbed him of memories of his home and family.

In response to Turk’s distress, the Silver Serpent reared up, hissing, mouth wide, threatening Gregorio with wicked curved fangs. “Sweet Earth Jinn, protect me.” The old man pressed back into his chair.

“Gül, no!” Turk placed a calming hand on the creature’s slender, cool body, and the serpent settled back against him.

Gregorio slowly relaxed, but his gaze remained fixed on the Jinn’s mouth. “I now understand what the southerners mean when they say that silver bites. That also explains how you held on to the medallion on the trash barges. I imagine the Silver Serpent frightened off anyone who tried to steal it from you.”

Turk mentally ordered the Jinn to return to its medallion form, and the tiny scales telescoped back inside each other as it returned to its disk shape. He stared at the medallion on his palm in awe. Then the reality of what this meant hit him. “I am no longer pledged to you, master. I am free.”

Gregorio shook his head sadly. “You are your own master now, Turk. I let you spread your wings when I sent you out to spy. It is past time I released you fully to fly where you will. You should leave Malverne Isle as soon as we can book you passage on a ship.”

Turk looped the medallion’s chain around his neck, then rose and went to the window. He could see just the corner of the Royal Palace. Grief at the thought of leaving Melba pressed on his chest like a boulder. But what good would he do her if he stayed? They could never be together. If he really loved her, he should leave her to enjoy her new life.

Chapter Twenty

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure
.

—Dante, the Trash King

Vittorio walked beside Melba’s sedan chair as they went along the trash man’s track through South Spit Marshes. Already the smell of trash soured the air, but it didn’t seem to put the princess off. She traveled with both curtains on the conveyance open. In her enthusiasm to see the barges, she hung out of the side trying to get a view of where they were heading.

Having failed to talk her out of this madness, Vittorio had even appealed to the king to put a stop to the trip. But Melba had claimed she wanted to learn more about the Island, and the king had agreed. At least the king had backed Vittorio when he recommended she ride in the sedan chair. She had wanted to walk and even suggested she could wear a disguise—no doubt the influence of the blasted spymaster Turk. The sooner the jumped-up trash tyke was out of the way, the better.

“How far now?” she asked for the umpteenth time.

Vittorio ungritted his teeth and forced a smile that felt like a grimace. “We’re nearly there.” He had sent a note to Dante to warn him of the visit and threaten him with dire consequences if he did or said anything embarrassing. Not that Vittorio held out much hope that Dante would behave himself. Threats had never worked on him in the past.

Curious trash men pulled their handcarts aside and doffed their caps as the royal sedan chair passed them. “Hey there, mate,” Melba said, giving a mock salute to a trash man who executed a parody of a courtly bow.

Vittorio rubbed at the tension in his neck. It unnerved him that he had no idea what Melba would say or do next. Her foibles were amusing when they were alone in the Palace but she must learn to behave with more decorum in public.

When they reached Dante’s barge, the four guards carrying the sedan chair set it down on the path while the other six guards accompanying them took up positions around the conveyance. In her haste, Melba half tumbled out of the chair before Vittorio had time to extend a hand to help her.