Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (10 page)

“I shouldn't. I—“

“Come on, Pocket,”
Kitt said, taking up sides with the Doll. “She looks so sad.”

“Since when do you
care?”

“I care about
happy people!”

“You have to come
too,” she said to me. “You turned my key.”

“What?”

“Look, we both
slept here last night,” Kitt said. “We owe her for the hospitality. Plus, we
did put a hole in her window up there.”

“We?”

I was going to
argue further, but...sigh...I never could stand such a look of disappointment
in a woman's eyes.

“You win,” I said.
“One day outside.”

She lit up and
started hunting down things to put in the basket, which she gave Kitt to hold,
while chattering away about various customs and facts from the outside that she
was determined to confirm with her own eyes.

When she was
finished, she took me by the hand and headed for the stairs.

“Hold on,” I said.
“What about that?”

“What?”

“
That.
” I
pointed to the key in her back.

“What about it?”

“Don't you think
you might stand out a little with that thing?”

“Maybe. I don't
mind if people stare.”

“Right. Of course
not. Nor should you. Me neither.”

“Then let's go.”

“Just the same,” I
said, holding her momentarily back. “It probably wouldn't hurt to use a little
subtlety.”

“How?”

“Oh...I don't
know. If you had a drape or an umbrella or something that might draw attention
away...”

“Wouldn't this be
easier?” She reached behind her and, with a pop, pulled the turnkey out of her
back. Kitt and I froze. She blinked three times then cocked her head to the
side again.

“What's wrong?”
she asked.

“You can take that
out?” I said.

“Of course. I only
really need it turned once, and you did that for me.”

“Oh. That works.”

She dropped the
turnkey into my hands. I took a few steps back, feeling the weight of it. Kitt
shrugged and followed her up the stairs, basket in his arms.

I stood alone at
the bottom, holding the shaped metal. I caught something. Etched into the key
in an elaborate script were the words: “TWO WEEKS.” I rubbed my thumb over the
W.

“Come on up!”
shouted the Doll from upstairs. I felt my feet start to climb.

Yeah, I'm no
follower, all right.

The city of New
London was nothing but a scrambled mess of children's building blocks.
Multicolored models reaching not far enough into the heavens. London was a
faraway toy on the other side of my glass. I pressed my fingers against the
cool pane and listened to the hug-chug sound of the engines aboard the British
Airway Grand Zeppelin No. 21. I sighed and pushed my shoulders back into the
worn seat in the zeppelin's guest cabin where I was residing.

The zeppelin
chugged its motors and bounced casually through the smoggy-black clouds over
the far end of the city. A matron in an evening gown walked the aisles,
welcoming us, her “valued guests,” to
her
London, as she so put it, her
“city from the sky.” Poetic, I suppose.

The No. 21
Zeppelin was a tourist ship specializing in quarter-hour tours around the
circumference of the city. It was a tour I'd never taken. Never had any
interest. But now that I was aboard, hanging in the sky on this big, bloated
bird, I found myself quite taken with the view.

I let my head rest
in surrender in my hand. I stared out of my porthole and counted the white
clouds that would rise and reveal themselves every so often amongst the smog.
The clean amongst the brown-black tones of industry.

I reflected on my
day thus far.

It began with
Kitt, the Doll, and myself stepping out into the autumn air and leaving the
stilted quiet of the watch shop behind. We were fortunately able to exit the
building without attracting any attention and within moments blended into to
the bustle of the city. Nothing suspicious about three young Londoners walking
the town. The long ends of the Doll's key, I discovered, were hinged and folded
inward, rendering the entire piece small enough for me to hide in my coat. For
once, a bit of convenience in my life.

“So what do you
want to do first?” I had asked the Doll.

“See the outside.”

“I meant, more
specifically.”

“Specifically?”

“Right. See, we're
already outside.”

“Oh.”

She really hadn't
seemed to give the endeavor much thought, other than “outside” and “picnic.”
She tapped a finger to her lips.

“You pick
something,” she said at last.

Wonderful. I
glanced up and down the street, looking for inspiration. I glanced at Kitt. He
raised his shoulders in apology. I glanced at the Doll, who was waiting
impatiently for my undeniably brilliant proposal. She would have to wait a
minute longer.

“Well...” I said
to break the silence and assure my companions that I was deeply probing my mind
and exploring every fathomable option at our disposal. “I guess we could
always...”

The Doll frowned
and poked at the picnic basket Kitt was still holding.

“All right...” I
continued, determined to conquer this. “We could start out by...well...the
weather is pretty crisp today, a lot of sunshine...”

“Yes,” the Doll
said, her eyes picking up a bit more shine.

“A lot of
sunshine,” I repeated. “And if I think if I've got my bearing straight...Kitt,
we're just a few blocks from the trade district, aren't we?”

“One of them,
yeah,” he replied. “It's a little over to the left.”

“Good, good. I've
got it. If memory serves, just a bit away is this little combination butcher
and barber shop owned by this enthusiastic young businessman. Nice man. Far too
taken with cutting things. Just beyond that is a little path that empties out
into this beautiful little park. Perfect time of the year too. Autumn's in
decline, but there’s still a fair amount of gold in the trees. We can go and
sit and watch the bicyclists ride over each other. You'd love it.”

“Sounds fine to
me,” Kitt said. “What do you think abo—“

“Look!” The Doll
said, pointing to the sky. A few zeppelins were launching out of the city air
docks, passing an incoming commercial steamship. “We should do that!”

“Oh.” Why, I
wondered, did she bother assigning me the task of...no, it wasn't important.
Best humor the girl then be on my way. “Sure,” I said. “That works too.”

The obvious
problem with taking a zeppelin tour was the question of how the three of us,
not a ha’penny between us, practically vagabonds in the eyes of common society,
were going to afford such a luxury. I'm a fairly skilled storyteller, but I
doubted that I could find an interested party and rattle off anything epic or
long-winded enough to warrant the kind of coinage that I knew the shiplines
would be asking. Plus my...fuller...stories tend to either cast people away or
put them to sleep, despite being absolutely loaded in entertainment. You are a
rare connoisseur, Alan, to appreciate the unique quality, the “flammable intensity,”
of a Will Pocket tale.

But once again, I
veer from my path.

We walked to the
docks, where a needlessly stern man with too many buttons snuffed at us and
pointed out the fees for such a trip in a vernacular of such high breeding that
I could nearly hear syllables in his words. He left us with a smug little grin
and then, calmly and rationally, I debated to myself whether or not it would be
in my best interest to punch his teeth down his flabby throat.

Rest assured,
dearest reader, that your narrator is by no means a violent man. I am
passionate, as is any artist, but I would never take a swing at someone who
didn't deserve it. Cruelty is for barbarians. A thinking man reserves his
emotions and only strikes at those who would truly harm or insult this great
existence.

“And if they're
not bigger than you.”

“No one is bigger
than the side of justice, Alan.”

“Mmm...and how
many fights have you been in?”

“More to the
point...”

We scuffled away,
Kitt and Dolly looking particularly sullen. I bit my lip and wondered what was
coming next. I guessed that, reminded of our poverty, the girl would return to
my suggestion of a nice, inexpensive day in the park.

“We need money,”
she said.

“There are many
things around us that don't cost a thing.”

“But...the balloons...”

I looked up at the
low-floating zeppelins above our heads. They really were quite striking.

“I see your
point.”

Now was Kitt's
turn to chime in.

“Come on, come on.
Pocket's right. Plenty of other things in the city.”

“But...” I said,
looking up. “The balloons...”

“They...are nice,”
Kitt replied.

I pulled my eyes
away and tried to strike a more positive tone.

“Oh well. Cannot
be helped. Let's be on our way.”

The fox furrowed,
and I swear I saw the tips of the ear-shapes upon his hat twitch.

“Excuse me for a
moment,” he said.

“Kitt...” I
answered, a tone of suspicion overtaking my voice.

“Just for a
moment.”

And he was off. I
was beginning to get tired of that tendency. I was never really certain if he
intentionally ran off in situations like that to avoid questions and
complaints, but I've never ruled it out.

Dolly and I sat
down one of the larger shipping crates that occupied the long, painted platform
leading back from the ticket kiosk. She seemed elsewhere.

“You all right?” I
asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” she
nodded.

“He should be
right back. Maybe. I don't know. I don't know what he'll do next.”

The small,
polished cogs beneath her white cheeks pulled her mouth into that child's
smile.

“He's very
unusual,” she said, swinging her legs.

“Heh.”

“What?”

“Oh, sorry. It's
just a little funny to hear a mechanical person call someone unusual.”

She surprised me
by frowning again.

“Am I that odd?”
she asked, more surprised than unhappy.

I slid closer to
her.

“Trust me,” I
said. “You'd have to put a lot of work in to catch up with Kitt.”

We laughed. As I
reflect, I now realize that I never wondered, sitting there, how fascinating
someone else might see the act of her laughter, of the complicated twisting and
warping of bands and gears to create the unique sound. Such a person, I
imagine, would consider me terribly backward and obsolete, as I relaxed and
caught myself admiring her face and parts below.

“How long have you
known the unusual fox?” she asked.

“Would you believe
me if I told you only since last night?”

“Yes.”

“Last night.”

“My, my.”

She watched as
another steamship pulled itself through the sky, the words “END BRITISH PIRACY,
FOR KING AND COUNTRY” painted in dripping letters down the port side. I came to
the horrifying realization that I was actually having a nice time. A wave of
relaxation replaced the normal feeling of pestered longing that I so often
felt.

We sat there for
awhile and watched the ships launch before Kitt came jogging back up.

“Hey ho!” he
shouted from the other end of the walkway.

“The creature returns?”
queried the Doll.

“Looks like it,” I
smiled.

“Good neeeeeews!”
Kitt sang, presenting the picnic basket left in his care by the Doll.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Look inside.”

The Doll hopped
off of her seat and took a peak.

“Is that money?”
she asked.

“You don't know
what money looks like?” Kitt countered.

“I'm not sure.”

“Me either,” I
said. “It's been awhile since I've seen the stuff.”

“Yes, it's money!”
Kitt said. “I've gotten us some money!” He seemed to be expecting accolades.

“Accolades, Kitt,”
I said.

“Thank you,
Pocket.”

“So we can go into
the sky now?” Dolly asked, bright-eyed.

“Wait,” I said.
“Kitt, you—“

“I saw a lot of
shipmen running cargo when we first got here. I asked one if I could help carry
a load for a few pounds.”

The Doll hopped
and clapped her little fingers together.

“Then we are off!”
she spun and skipped ahead, moving back toward the ticket kiosk. Kitt followed,
but I caught him by his shoulder.

“Kitt.”

“What is it,
Pocket?”

“That shipman.”

“Yeah?”

“How much did he
offer to pay you?”

“Oh...well...he
wasn't that enthusiastic at first...”

“Kitt.”

“He told me to
blow off. Unfortunately for him, he tripped over something unseen in his path.
Went falling headfirst over his cargo down a set of sidesteps. I naturally came
to his aid.”

“Naturally.”

“Helped the poor
man up, dusted him off, adjusted his coat.”

“I see. Changed
his tone, did he?”

“Must've. Lumbered
away and left me with a nice stack of bills in my basket.”

Another sigh
escaped my lips. “Some luck.”

“Exactly what I
thought, Pocket,” he said, clucking his cheeks. “Exactly what I thought.”

I grunted,
rejected an opportunity to complain, and followed the dancing Doll down the
docks.

We walked and paid
and walked some more and the next thing I knew we were boarded and sitting in
our seats, peeking out of portholes. Kitt and Dolly both took to wandering
around the cabins shortly into our flight, leaving me alone to take in New
London from the sky.

It was nothing but
a scrambled mess of children's building blocks.

Before long, Kitt
jogged down the aisle and jumped into the seat next to mine.

“Enjoying
yourself?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the window.

“Sure am!” he
said, quite loudly. “This is exciting!”

“Exciting?”

“Yeah! Up in the
sky and all! Aren’t you having fun?”

“Sure. It’s a
pretty decent time.”
“Just decent? I kinda feel spoiled. Like I’m having a vacation.”

I sighed to
myself, thinking that “spoiled” was a little too enthusiastic for a circle
around the city. Then again, I bore obscenely easily, so who knows?

“A beggar’s
vacation, maybe,” I said.

“Hmm…” Kitt
responded. “Well, that’s still something.”

I let his comment
pass without thought.

“Where’s the
Doll?” I asked instead.

“I don’t know.
Somewhere.”

“We’re all
somewhere, Kitt.”

He stared at me
like he didn’t understand the implication.

“I know.”

“Forget it,” I
replied. “I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

A fat cloud
passed. It looked like a painting of a king I’d once seen. One of those
Richards. A finger tapped my shoulder.

“Hey Pocket,” Kitt
whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to
see something unusual?”

“I think I’ve seen
enough strange things for this week, Kitt. Nothing personal.”

“Come on,” he
said, hushing his voice, for what reason I shall never know or seek out, even
quieter. “It’s pretty impressive.”

“Fine. What is
it?”

“Not here. Might
cause a ruckus.”

“Why?”

“Meet me on the
back deck in seven minutes.”

“Why seven?”

He was up and out
of his seat. And since the following six and a half minutes offered no
deviation from the mild boredom that was starting to set in, I told you, I bore
very easily, I wandered out to the back deck as requested.

The No. 21
Zeppelin had a small outdoor deck built onto the back of its tourist cabins
that allowed eager travelers to take in a wider view through a pair of large
binoculars on a stand that was welded to the floor. Kitt had his face planted
into the eyeholes when I entered the scene. He seemed to be peeking in the
general direction of a mattress factory. None of the other passengers were
present.

“All right, I’m
here,” I announced, crossing my arms. “What’s so important?”

Kitt promptly left
the viewing stand and reached into his jacket.

“You’ll like this,
Pocket.”