Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (11 page)

He pulled out…a
wrench.

“A wrench?” I
asked, dully.

“That’s right.”

“You pulled me out
here for a wrench?”

“Look closer.”

“Sure.” The wrench
was a little large and not at all peculiar, other than the fact that one of its
ends extended past the rubber-grip handle into a blunt edge with a thin slot.

“So…what am I
looking at here?”

“This!” Kitt said.
He squeezed a small button hidden into the rubber grip and swung the wrench up
at me. A thin, razor-edged blade, the size of a knife, no, more like a smaller
dagger, shot out of the open end of the wrench, extending millimeters away from
my face. I leapt backward, smacking my back against the ship’s railing.

“For God’s sake!”
I shouted. “You nearly stabbed me in the face! What did you do that for?!?”

“Pretty unusual,
isn’t it?”

“You could’ve
taken my eye out!”

“Sorry, sorry. But
it’s pretty nice, right?”

I calmed down and
inspected the weapon. It was actually pretty impressive.

“It’s
spring-loaded,” he said with pride.

“So…” I said,
carefully holding the thing. “You rigged a knife into a mechanic’s wrench.”

“I’ll show you.
Hold this bag of marbles.”

“Where do you
get—“

“Won them off of a
kid inside. He plays for keeps.”

“So do you,
right?”

“Hold the marbles.
Pretend that it’s money or something.”
“Fine,” I agreed, taking the bag. “I am holding the marbles.”

“All right.” With
a delicate push of his finger, Kitt retracted the wrench-blade back into its
hideaway slot and spun the weapon with gusto in his palm. “Now pretend to be
walking.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” he
eagerly insisted. “Walk in place.”

I started walking
in place as I clung onto a bag of marbles and felt like the world’s greatest
idiot. Kitt strolled up beside me and matched my pantomime.

“Good afternoon,
sir!” he said in a false tone. “Lovely weather we are having!”

“Uh…right. Lovely
weather. Perfect for...loitering on a viewing deck.”

“Yes, yes! It is!
Good day to you!”

“And to you.” I
took a step forward. Kitt seized this opportunity to duck to my side and swing
his wrench toward the bag. The blade popped out and sliced it clean. The bulk
of the sack plopped and fell onto the floor as I moved ahead.

“I hate to
continue interrupting this story, Pocket.”

“Go ahead, Alan.”

“I mean, that’s
pretty clever. The hideaway blade.”

“I agree.”

“ Sneakier way for
a cutpurse to cut a purse. They never see the knife coming.”

“Right.”

“But why build it
into a wrench of all things?”

“I’ll get to
that.”

“Still, as I said,
pretty clever.”

“Sure.
Impressive.”

“You don’t seem
that impressed.”

“Oh, I was, when
it happened. Somewhat. I probably would’ve been more so if Kitt hadn’t just cut
open a bag full of marbles.”

“Ohhhhh…”

The bag fell to
the floor with a clack and a hundred colorful balls of glass started rolling in
every direction across the deck.

“Kitt!” I barked,
pivoting my foot to keep from tripping on them.

“It’s okay,” he
responded. “I’ll pick them up.”

“No! I mean...” I
stopped myself. Too late. Dozens of marbles slipped beneath the railing and
rolled right off of the ship. Kitt and I ran to the rails and watched as they
fell. Marbles raining from the sky.

“Wow, look at
that,” Kitt said. “Marbles from the sky.”

“Yeah,” I said.
“Kind of beautiful in a way.”

We watched in
quiet appreciation as the little things fell to Earth. How they glistened in
the sun like little pieces of hard candy. How they cut through the clouds and
slid through the sky. How they violently punctured the ground, causing people
to run and drop and hide and cover to keep from having their skulls cracked.

Ah.

 “Watch your
heads!” Kitt yelled. “Renegade marbles!”

“I don't think
they can hear you from there.”

We watched, frozen
to our spot, as people ran for cover under the fast-falling glass rain.
Citizens ducked and dodged. A man extended his umbrella moments before he
would’ve been popped in the forehead. A frantic baker began swinging a thick
loaf to the sky, swatting them away.

Finally, the coast
seemed clear, and apart from a few angry fists pointed in our direction, the
danger seemed to be over. Kitt slowly relaxed and let his heel rest on a larger
shooter marble.

“That could have
been bad,” he said, and with a breath and, I suspect, hardly half a thought,
eased his foot and let the shooter roll out over the edge.

“Kitt!” I
immediately piped.

“What?” he
momentarily wondered before gasping. “Oh, Hell!”

Fortunately, by
that point our zeppelin was passing over an empty backstreet behind, eh, I
think it was a billiard hall.
Un
fortunately, the back door of said
parlor swung open and, in an act of rotten timing, a blond man exited into the
street and stepped directly into the marble’s path.

There was a faint
crash. We couldn’t get a clear view of what had happened.

“Did that hit
him?” Kitt asked, panicking.

“I don’t know.”

“If he’s hurt,
then we’re in deep trouble! Really, really—“

“Wait a minute, I
see him! I think he’s okay!”

“Really?”

“He’s standing. I
can’t imagine I would be if I got hit like that.”

“Binoculars,” Kitt
decreed.

“Right!”

We both picked an
eyehole and focused. Our view was magnified, but we couldn’t see much more than
the basic shape of the blond man pacing. And yelling. Pacing and yelling. We
couldn't hear the gentleman, but his expressions were exaggerated enough that
we had no problem reading the words, mostly cursing, from his lips.

“Damn it!” he
shouted from below.

“We’re sorry!”
Kitt shouted back.

“He can't hear
you,” I said.

With almost
magical timing, the blond looked directly up to the sky. He must've caught our
ship, because he raised an angry fist in our direction.

“That could’ve
killed me!” he shouted.

“We know! And we
apologize!” Kitt needlessly responded.

“Who throws a
marble off of a ship?!? Seriously!”

“It was an
accident!”

“Damn it! I…just,
damn it!”

“I said, we’re
sorry! We did try to warn you!”

I tried once more
to interject. “Kitt, he can't—“

“We would've
warned you if we could've!”

I gave up trying
and sat down. Eventually, the zeppelin floated away from the irritated
gentleman's alley and Kitt was forced to let the matter be. He turned his
attention to the remaining marbles rolling around the deck. He quickly gathered
them up, and tied off the torn bag.

“That was an
ordeal,” he said, sitting down.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think…do
you think that guy wants to punch us?”
I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “I couldn’t say.”

Kitt started
laughing too.

And then, as if
Lady Fate had noticed that we were feeling relaxed again, a siren moaned loudly
throughout the ship. The clamor of flustered passengers banging around inside
made Kitt and I shut our eyes, ignoring for a moment the inevitable.

“Should we go in
now?” Kitt asked.

“Hang on. A second
more,” I said, briefly inhaling the sky. “All right. Let’s go.”

The aisles were
crowded. People pushed and jerked back and forth in a bit of a frenzy while the
evening gown matron tried her best to soothe the mob with a bit of enunciated
assurance that they we all were in no great danger. When we had finally gotten
back to our seats, we found the Doll sitting with a small golden tube.

“Where have you
been?” she asked as the matron hurried down the aisle, pushing against our
backs.

“In your seats!”
the matron demanded.

“What's going on
here?” I asked.

“Small engine
issue. We request that all passengers remain in the proper seating until the
issue is resolved.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Into your seats,
sirs!”

We were soon
belted into our cushions as the siren continued its song.

“Is there a
problem?” the Doll asked.

“Eh...” I mumbled.
“Possibly.”

“I wouldn't worry
about it,” Kitt said. “Probably nothing.”

“What makes you so
sure?” I asked.

“I don't know.
Hopeful thinking.”

“Great.”

“She said it was a
small problem.”

“This is noisy,”
the Doll said. “Make it stop!”

“I
don't...wait...”

The siren stopped.
The mobs hushed.

“Thank you,” the
Doll said to no one in particular.

“See,” Kitt added.
“Nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah...” I looked
around the cabin with cautious relief. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Across the path, a
honey blonde mother with tightly-pulled hair dragged her young son into a pair
of seats and promptly scolded him for losing all of his shiny new marbles.

Ug. I wasn't sure
what I needed, but I fairly sure it came in a tall glass, sun still up or not.
I pulled an old watch and chain from my pocket and checked the time. 3:33. It
was going to be a long day.

Hours later, I
found myself in a different seat under a different patch of sky with the same
watch and chain in my hand. I scraped up some dirt with my heels and looked at
the clock face.

3:33.

Right. It had
broken months ago. Why do I always forget little significances like that?

I rolled my head
backward and popped my neck. I was sitting on a bench in the middle of a
clearing where once stood a rather elegant park, a place of golden autumns and
bicycling. Apparently more time had passed than I thought since I’d last
visited, because the place was now little more than a half-wet dirt hole, the
golds and reds of the trees replaced by chocolate browns. Mud. Kitt and the
Doll made strings of footprints as they ran through it, fanciful, looping,
little designs. There was a little snow on the ground, sure, but not enough to
cover the dirt. The meeting of the seasons in England is an interesting thing.
I've learned to keep a trained eye to it. There is a moment where the grand
final crash of autumn meets with the subtle oncoming of winter. About this
time, when snow begins falling in the dead of night, blanketing the ground and
keeping the ribs of unlucky bastards from cracking when they are thrown out of
bars into bottle-seizing fox men. Every so many years or so, I actually catch
snow frosting on top of a few toughened autumn leaves before they drop from
their branches. I tell you, if you want a sight that really sticks to you,
forgo the theaters and the brothels and find yourself a frosted leaf. Find the reddened
fire boiling under the smooth and crispy white skin. Find the transition of
time captured in a piece of lovely Miss Nature and tell me there's no meaning
in this world. And hey, let's see the King's industry replicate a feeling as
satisfying as that.

Anyhow, I'm off
track. There was nothing like that around because the clearing was mud. Kitt
led the Doll around, pointing out trees and squirrels to her. I took in some
air.

“What's got you
down down, my boy boy?”

A man in rags had
appeared from God knows where next to me on the bench, his legs squeezed
together and his forehead wrapped in bandages.

“Eh?” I said,
addressing him. “Who said I was down?”

“Your face did,
boy boy!”

I smiled at the
odd beggar. He started sniffing in the air.

“Double trouble, boy
boy,” he said, smelling...I don't know...life?

“Trouble?”

I wasn't in the
mood for this.

“Be thou now an
adventurer?” he asked.

“I wouldn't know.”

“One should always
know what one is, yo, ho!”

“Mmm...” My
thoughts drifted for the moment to the Frenchman. I ought to introduce this
kook...

“Hey hoo!” he
said. “I know what you need! Direction!”

“Direction?”

“Direction of the
spirit! The spirit!”

“Oh. So
you're...what? A member of the clergy?”

“Ha and ha, boy
boy! I'm a seer extraordinaire!”

“Are you?”

“Indeed, I am, I
am! An old hand in the ethereal arts! For a small fee, I can find in any lost
soul a path forward to fruition! Would you care to be shown the way?”

Small fee. I get
it now. Fortune teller.

“Sure, I could use
a few wise words.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You've got
money?”

“I've got this.”

I handed over the
only coinage I had, the imitation silver token I had received as a proof of
purchase for the zeppelin tour. He held it close to his eye, inspected the
etched image of a rosy-cheeked, smiling airship, and then flipped it on his
thumb.

“That works.”

He pressed his
hand against my forehead, closed his eyes, and started humming some unknown
song. This went on for about a minute, then he promptly stopped, nodded, handed
me a slip of paper from his pocket, and scurried away without another word.

Stupefied, I
remained on the bench, alone and slowly playing with the slip of paper in my
hand. Finally I got bored enough and unfolded the scrap.

TRUST THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN BEARD.

Golden beard?

It seemed a rather
vague and altogether pointless way to pinpoint one's path to a glorious
tomorrow. I balled it up.

Across the way, I
watched the Doll slowly inch herself closer to a fat-faced squirrel on a rock.
She was within reaching distance when Kitt clamored up behind her and scared it
away. I checked my watch. 3:33. This day was moving slow.

“You okay?” Kitt
asked, the two returning to the bench for a breather. Well, for him a breather
and for the Doll, uh, whatever she does to rest.