Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (13 page)

“And it works?”

“Of course it
works! Think I'd sell it if it didn't?”

“Well...”

“And it's legal,
sure, just new. Society always scoffs at the new at first. That's why you don't
read about these in the papers. Innovation is always controversial, am I right?
Right. But only a matter of time, days, I'd wager, until you see these things
in every hospital and asylum and birthing room in London. Best to snag one now
while the price is cheap!”

“But...” Kitt
continued, determined to take this seriously. “If it releases a pheromone,
couldn't someone nearby the...crazy person...risk sniffing and injecting the
wrong chemical calculation?”

“Agh! Questions,
questions! That's all progress ever gets! Look, that's why you don't stand by
people with devices and go sniffing at them! Poor manners as well!”

“Very poor,” I
added with a laugh.

“Thank you, yes.
See, your friend with the spoon in his hat understands sensibilities.”

“I don't know,”
Kitt said.

“Then put it down
and try another. Watch. Do you see this?”

He was clinching a
long, metal, pump and nozzle device.

“Now,” he said.
“What do you suppose this is?”

The Doll looked up
and began running her eyes over the piece.

“No idea,” Kitt
said.

“Well!” the doctor
said, tossing it in his hands. “What if I was to tell you that this component,
when attached to the underside of any standard electric carriage,
any
standard one, creates a scientific field of human energy...”

“Human energy...”

“...that's right,
a powerful field of science that allows the vehicle and its passengers to
travel forwards and backwards across the whole of time itself? What if I was to
tell you that?”

“It's a steam
injector,” the Doll said, returning her interest to her balloons. We all stared
at her. She noticed and said, “You know. Like from a steam engine. It
coverts...um...fluid pressure. Some of these balloons are bigger than the
others. I enjoy that.”

How could...

Kitt and I shared
an unspoken conversation on this odd girl, and then, desperate not to lose the
moment, Doctor P grabbed the fox boy and continued.

“Well, yes, sure,
you can use it for that too, I suppose. If you want to be mundane. You know
what? Forget it. I've got better. How about this? This one chews your food for
you. Save precious minutes and years of cheek decay.”

I sat down with
the Doll and watched Kitt play with “progress” for a bit. Then an idea struck
me.

“Mister Marin?” I
called.

“Doctor.”

“Right, sure. Why
not? Doctor D then, was it?” I asked, as the man’s brother talked Kitt's head
off.

“Yes.”

“I understand you
gather these oddities from across the globe.”

“I do,” he proudly
replied. “And I have never found an oddity or curio that I have refused to
sell.”

“Really?” I began
to smile. “Then perhaps I can interest you in another acquisition.”

I'll skip the
oncoming disaster. The Marins refused to purchase my bottle of faerie juice,
despite much banter and begging on my part, on Doctor D's rule that “a wise man
does not peddle what he cannot sample.”

“So why not let
him taste the stuff?”

“Because...ug...I
couldn't.”

“Why?”

“Because
I've...eh...never been able to remove the cork.”

“What?”

“From the bottle.”

“Ever?!?”

“I've tried. A
lot. Nearly broke my thumb once.”

“And that's why
you've never—”

“Never tried it.
That's correct. And stop laughing.”

After trying in
vain for a good twenty minutes to remove the cork from my bottle, I gave up and
asked once more if the gentlemen would reconsider buying it on good word.

“A wise salesman
does not peddle what he cannot sample,” Doctor D repeated.

I sighed and
noticed that beside me the Doll was frowning again. Apparently she took this as
some great insult to my person. I scratched my head and gave the pitch one last
effort.

“Did I mention
that it...supposedly...contains my eternal essence?”

“Big deal,” Doctor
P said, opening a cabinet. “So do those.”

The shelves were
stacked with rounded, capped jars. They were empty, or so, in the words of the
Marins, they would appear.

“Phantasmal
entrapment!” said Doctor D.

“Specters under
glass!” said Doctor P.

“But these jars
look empty,” Kitt said, taking one and unscrewing the lid.

“No!” the Marins
both shouted. Kitt dropped the jar and the merchants began hopping across the
stage, cupping their hands and swinging at thin air like a child trying to
catch butterflies.

“You've done it
now!” Doctor P shouted, climbing onto the roof of the caravan. “You've released
the King!”

“The King?” Kitt
said. “Which king?”

“His honor, Henry
V!”

“Henry V?!?” Kitt
repeated, exasperated.

“Back to your
quarters, sire!” Doctor P shouted.

“Come Hal!” Doctor
D shouted.

“I'm sorry,” Kitt
said. “I always thought the dead were all around us.”

“They are
now,
thank
you!” Doctor D grabbed the open jar and started swinging it. “Back, sire! Back!”

“I think we should
go now,” the Doll said, gripping her balloons.

“I agree with
Dolly,” Kitt said.

“All right, just
one moment,” I said. I took a step and called out to the king catchers.
“Gentlemen! Are you sure you might not reconsider—“

“Hang on, brother!”
Doctor P shouted, hanging backward off of the roof. “Over here, I've got him
cornered and pinned!”

“Yeah, let's go.”
I said.

Turning on our
heels, the three of us hurried from the spectacle. Leaving the park, I gripped
the glass that was hanging by my side. Looking down, I could see the
exaggerated reflection of my face in it. My mirrored nose bent and swelled
above my closed mouth. I exhaled, fogging the glass.

“You say
something, Pocket?” Kitt asked.

“No. Just
thinking,” I said, rubbing away the fog. “Just thinking.”

And that is the
story of how my unlucky bottle of goop became the first and only oddity, curio,
or collectible not to be collected by the Marvelous Marins's Curiosity Shop and
Cure-All Traveling Pharmacy.

Not to boast.

“Charming little
day for you, wasn't it?”

“Almost, Alan.”

“Almost?”

“The day's end was
a bit...sigh. Would you hate me if I asked you to open a barrel and fill a
glass for me?”

“Come on. I'm
trying to close here.”

“You could've done
that an hour ago.”

“You've had
enough, haven't you?”

“Well...”

“Sigh. I'll have
to add it to your tab, Pocket.”

“Fair enough. I'll
just add an extra chapter.”

“I don't know. Do
you
have
an extra chapter?”

“Uh...let me
think...yes! Sure, I can throw in this bit with me and Gren and a windmill. It's
a little silly, but you'd like it.”

“Who's Gren?”

“Oh, right. I
haven't mentioned...well, we'll get there, Alan. We'll get there. Now how about
that drink?”

“Fine...just keep
talking.”

The sun was
dipping and shading the sky orange by the time we made our way through the back
alleys that led to the abandoned watch shop. Kitt stretched his back and ran
his fingers against the brick and stone on each side as he walked. The Doll
followed behind him through the passage with me bringing up the rear.

“Not a bad
picnic,” Kitt said, relaxed.

“Although we never
actually picnicked,” I pointed out.

The Doll nodded
and pulled from her basket a few cans of tinned fruit she had gathered from
uninterested passengers on the zeppelin.

“Thanks,” Kitt
said, sucking back preserved peaches. I joined them, chewing tabs of apple mush
as we walked.

“Not a bad little
meal,” I said. The Doll smiled back at me.

“I told you I
could go outside,” she beamed.

“Yes, I stand
completely corrected. Although I'm a little surprised it went so well.”

“I'm not,” she
said with a matter-of-fact tone. “I took my key out, remember.”

“Sure, but you
still have that spinning screw in your stomach.”

“Only one lady in
the sky noticed. Asked me if it was some sort of new jewelry.”

“Oh? And what did
you say?”

Another smile.
“Broach!”

A little low to
wear a broach, but I let it be and retrieved the turnkey from my coat.

“I suppose I
should return this,” I said, popping the collapsed hinges back into shape.

“We're not there
yet. Keep it a little longer.”

“Eh? All right.” I
held it at my side like a sheathed sword and felt, and I realize this is a
quite silly confession, momentarily knightly. A few more steps and I admired
the engraving again.

“Two weeks,” I
said out loud. The Doll turned her head back and gave me a startling look. It
was a deep, somber look I was not yet accustomed to seeing from her and her
eyes seemed almost to lose much of their color, the vibrant hues replaced with
a dulled shine.

“Two weeks,” she
said, barely above a whisper. Her voice was cold, deadened but not lifeless,
pleading but not expectant. “Two weeks. Never forget.”

I stopped moving
for a minute and then, propelled by the sincerity on her face, I nodded. She
smiled a little, but the coldness was still there. I resumed my pace. We walked
in silence for the remainder of the journey.

“There,” Kitt
said, turning a corner. The large paper clock face revealed itself above the
rooftops in the distance. “Almost home, Dolly.”

She didn't
respond.

It was strange,
but as we approached our destination I realized that I was a little sad that
this whole little episode was coming to a close. These two had become more than
a handful, but all and all no trouble came of it, and they weren't terrible
traveling companions. Perhaps if that idiot Magnate had hesitated before
chucking me into the night, I would've only spent it sitting alone in the dark.
Ah well, I remember thinking as we approached the shop, more fodder for
stories.

I closed my eyes
and stretched my arms behind my head.

Ah well. All good
things must come to an end.

Thud. I ran into
the Doll who ran into Kitt who stumbled over his feet.

“Pocket...” he
said quite quietly.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm
sorry,” I said, opening my eyes, “I'll watch where I'm...oh.”

The three
picnickers stood on a mound before a shop. A shop once opened by a watchmaker,
later closed, later broken into, and later abandoned by a turnkey girl and her
escorts.

And currently
surrounded, nay, swarmed with British officers. Each redfaced and bristled and
clinging to quick-triggered rifles. And each muttering words like “villainy”
and “grand theft.”

And “shoot on
sight.”

By the next
morning, the British monarchy had officially named Will Pocket and Kitt Sunner
as enemies to the Crown, and released a price for our heads that contained more
zeros than I thought existed.

All good things...

“Pocket...”

“I know.”

“Pocket!”

“I know!”

“National
enemies?!? Criminals!”

“I wasn't thrilled
either, Alan!”

“Illegal
criminals...”

“Yes, Alan. I'm
aware that crime is generally illegal.”

“But to the
Crown,
Pocket!”

“If you'll shut
up, I'll explain.”

“I don't know...I
don't want to be incriminated.”

“I thought you
weren't believing this as a true story.”

“Well, now it's
risky.”

“Look, you are in
absolutely no danger. I assure you.”

“Have you been
cleared of the charges?”

“It's
complicated.”

“Then goodnight.”

“Alan, trust me.”

“...sigh...I'm
going to regret saying this, but continue.”

“Thank you.”

“So what was your
crime?”

“In the beginning,
we weren't really sure.”

Four decorated
officers circled a patch of old snow trying to discern any solid shape that
might pass for a footprint in the mush.

“Too sloppy,” I
heard one say, smacking the ground with the butt of his rifle.

The officers
talked amongst themselves and walked up and down the path leading to alleys.
They reached the spot where Kitt, Dolly, and I had a moment ago stood and where
at the current moment sat three completely inconspicuous, gas-powered burn
bins.

Mine was the one
with the peephole.

The four approached
and I held my breath as I sat squatting inside the dark bin that Kitt, in a
moment of ridiculous brilliance, had grabbed from the alley before we were
spotted.

We had tried
running back into the alley, but a second patrol unit had been heard moving in
the distance. The next thing I knew we were hiding in bins as if part of some
staged farce. It occurred to me as one of the four stomped his foot next to my
bin that I wasn't sure why we were hiding. At that point we didn't know that
were being accused of any wrongdoing. In fact, we really didn't know anything
other than that the watch shop seemed to be under pretty heavy investigation.
Still, Kitt's first words at this sight were “we need to go,” and I imagine if
you're going to choose one person's advice on dealing with police, a street
thief is probably a good choice.

Not that this
was
the police. Military officers stood rigidly, eyes scanning the dimming
light. I couldn't understand it. Wasn't breaking and entering a bit little to
call out the militia for? I was getting a sinking feeling in my stomach.

The four officers
returned to the shop. Most of the men entered inside and sealed the doors while
a few kept watch outside.

“Okay,” I
whispered. “They're mostly gone.”

“Mostly?” Kitt's
voice whispered to the left to me. “How many are left?”

“It's hard to see.
Dusk's coming in. Two or three out front, I think. How are you holding up,
Dolly?”

“It's dark in
here,” her voice said, coming from my right.

“What did she
say?” Kitt asked from my left.

“She said it's
dark.”

“Tell her to hold
tight.”

“Hold tight,
Doll.”

“I'm trying,” she
whispered.

“Thank you.”

“Pocket,” Kitt
whispered.

“What?”

“What did she
say?”

“She said she's
trying.”

“Oh, tell her that
keeping your nerves strong in the face of—“

“We've got to figure
something out. We can't sit in these tin cans all night.”

“I agree,” the
Doll said.

“What do we do?”
Kitt asked.

“I don't
know...wait...no, I don't know.” I groaned and punched the can, not at easy
task given that my arms were bent in against my chest.

“Wait!” Kitt
hissed. “I just heard something!”

“That was me
punching the can.”

“Why did you punch
your can?” the Doll said.

“Why not?”

“Seems moronic.”

“Thank you,” I
muttered.

“My legs are
getting stiff,” Kitt said.

“This was your
idea.”

“Okay, okay. I think
I know what you're getting at.”

I heard pushing
and moving, then the plunk of a can falling over. Then scuffling.

Oh no.

With an angry eye
to the peephole, I watched Kitt carelessly move closer to the watch shop,
slinking behind trees and crouching into shadows.

“Oh no...”

“What is it?” the
Doll asked.

“Uh...”

“Kitt-Kitt ran
away, didn't he?”

Another groan, but
not another “moronic” punch.

“Stay here, Dolly.
I'll be back.”

“Where are you
going?”

“I'm going to stop
him from doing something stupid.”

“All right. Try
not to do something stupid yourself.”

“Good idea. I'll
be right back.”

“You mean it?” Her
voice was heavy again. I took a breath.

“I promise.”

I pulled my long
legs out of the can slowly, leaving my bottle and the turnkey behind for
safety. Carefully, I tried to mimic Kitt's path, going from tree to shadow to
tree. It dawned on me that he had already disappeared from sight, so I was now
on my own. How does he vanish like that, I wondered. Then I caught an
opportunity when the guards decided to inspect a broken box just enough to
their right to keep me out of their line of vision. Moving fast, I sneaked out
from my spot and moved against the side wall of the building, hoping to find
Kitt pressed against the side in hiding. I did not.

I did however have
the good fortune to be within earshot of the four officers, who, having
completed an unfruitful interrogation of the box, returned to their post at the
front door.

“So what do you
think?” one said.

“Me?” another
said. “Hell, if you ask me...”

“Which I did.”

“...which you did,
the whole thing's a bloody waste of time. We've been at this for hours. I'd say
if there was something to find, we'd have found it.”

“I think you're
right. That place is a maze down there, but we've picked it pretty clean. The
thing's gone.”

The thing?

“Yeah,” another
added. “They nipped it good, all right.”

I listened as the
front doors reopened and a particularly gruff-voiced man addressed the others.

“Good news.”

“Sir?”

“We can confirm
that the device was stolen.”

“Oh. We've all
sort of had that figured for a while now, sir.”

“Yes. But now it's
confirmed.
”

“I see. Ah, pardon
me for asking, but why is that good news?”

“Because, man...”
he said with a chortle. “Now we know who’ve taken it. You go fetch me a
carriage, officer, and you do it damn fast.”

“Yes sir.”

A shuffle of
footsteps. I dared myself to slide closer to the conversation.

“Sir,” another
officer began. “What's our next move?”

“Isn't it obvious?
We find the nabbers. You see this?”

“A wax cylinder,
sir?”

“That's right. Found
three of them beneath the floorboards.”

Uh-oh.

“And the recording
devices we took them from were hardwired into the entire system down there. I'm
betting whoever set up the things rigged them to start recording the moment
someone tampered with the place or turned on a light or whatnot. Some kind of
triggered disturbance. If whoever took the device opened their mouths down
there, then there's a pretty damn good chance they've incriminated themselves.”

“Sir, it could be
nearly impossible to discern an identity just from a voice recording,
especially one muffled under floor planks.”

“Unless they come
right out and reveal their names.”

“Well, yes. But
isn't that a slim possibility?”

The man chuckled.

“You don't know
much about this device we’re after, do you?”

“Not terribly.”

“If you met the
man who built it, you'd understand. I'm guessing that if the thieves gave the
thing a chance to talk at all, then it managed to pull out of their mouths a
proper introduction. The thing's good when you use it to an advantage. And if
you're drunk enough, heh, well, it's damn near womanly.”

The fiend. I could
feel the blood moving in my arms, increasing its pace. I had a fairly good idea
who this
device
was and the insinuations were quickly making me angry.

“Unfortunately,”
the man continued. “Every playback device we could find in there is junk now.
I'm guessing they went warped and wonky sitting around in that dead man's hole.
No great problem, though. At least it won't be if Jones hurries the bloody hell
up with my carriage!”

“Coming sir!” said
a voice in the distance.

“Here, bag this up
with the other cylinders. There we go. Jones! Get the lead out already!”

“Here, sir!”

“Good. You get me
my carriage?”

“Yes sir. The
driver's right here.”

“Good to know you,
man. What's your name?”

“Winston. Henry
Winston.”

Hold on...wait...

“Good to know you,
Winston. Can you make a fast trip?”

“As fast as you
need, sir.”

“Good. Here's what
I need.”

Their voices
dropped off. I assume they were whispering. But I was already dreading what I already
feared was true. The voice of that driver.

“You got that,
Winston?” the officer said at last.

“Yes sir,” the
driver said. “No problem.”

“Good. Jones, you
and Fletcher go along. And I want to see your hides back at this doorstep the
second you get those names. We understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Move out.”

A door slammed and
I could hear Jones and the driver shuffle off. I had to know. As slowly as I
could humanly manage...

“Which for you is
quite a lot.”

“Stop interrupting
the narrative, Alan.”

...I stuck my head
out around the corner and took a horrifying look at the carriage driver. He
turned his head back in my direction and grinned.

Damn it, Kitt.

I wanted to go
after them but another set of officers came out of the building and started
milling around. Don't come over, don't come over, don't come over. The men
dawdled for a few minutes then went back inside. The time to move was now. I
shot out from my place and sprinted, zigzagging through the open air. Soon I
was back at our perch of burn bins, coughing and wheezing.

“Dolly,” I said.
“We've got to get out here.” I retrieved the turnkey and my bottle from my bin
then the removed the lid from the girl’s. “Kitt's run off with a carriage. We
need...oh, no.”

The can was empty.
I completely lost all motivation and dropped to my knees.

“No, no, no, no,
no...” I said, feeling dizzy. “No, no, no, no.”

They were gone. I
was alone again. And unless Kitt could perform miracles, the king's militia was
about to pick our names off of three spinning wax informants.

And I was getting
hungry again.

Night was falling.
Lights glowed from within the watch shop. It was getting colder.

I slunk back into
the alley and sat pressed against a wall far enough out of the way of any
patrol. I closed my eyes and felt tired. My consciousness was going fuzzy and
my body felt like it was swaying upon rolling water.

I was falling
asleep.

“No,” said a house
cat in a waistcoat. “You're falling awake.”

I stared at the
feline and crossed my arms at him.

“You sure?” I
said. “It feels a lot like sleep to me.”

“Shows what you
know!” he said, swiping a dark paw at me. “You probably mistake life for death
and excitement for boredom and hunger for satisfaction!”

“I'm always
hungry.” I slid my back further down against the wall, shifting the color of
the decadent wallpaper from gold to red. I was indoors, sitting in the center
of a very long corridor with needlessly tall doors. The scene suggested a
dream, and I would've entertained such a theory, had this very excited cat not
denied it.

He paced back and
forth on his four paws, his grey fur fluffing out from his coat.

“I'm hungry too,”
he said. “Come, walk.”

The walls kept
getting higher. Long doors stretched up to the top, but there was no ceiling,
just a black, blurry void that everything blended into at the top. The cat eyed
me staring around and promptly scratched me.

“What was that
for?” I asked.

“I said, walk. I
need food!”

“Must I come?”

“I can't reach
those doorknobs. I've tried!”

I got up, feeling
my feet dip into the purple carpet like shallow water. The fierce, young cat
took off ahead, crying a sour meow.

Sweet music
started flowing. I'd hum a piece but all I can hear in my head is the whistle
from the woman at your door, Alan. Bah-dee-bah-bum-dum. Anyhow, the music. I
can't quite explain it but it seemed to be witnessed rather than heard. I could
almost see it dripping down the walls in a stream. I didn't know behind which
door the cat's meal was waiting, so I picked one at random. Instead of dinner,
I found two more cats sitting on fat, stuffed evening chairs.

“Hello!” cried the
large, orange one on the right, vested and bow-tied.

“Good eve!” said
the brown-black female on the right, dressed in pearls and lady's theater
gloves.

“He's taking us to
dinner!” announced the grey.

“Does he know
where it is?” the lady cat asked, sounding quite skeptical. “Isn't this the one
who doesn't know if he's awake?”

I stamped my foot
to interject, but instead fell through the floor, falling like a brick into a
padded room.

There were no
doors or windows, and the space was empty except for four golden-framed
portraits, one hanging on each padded wall.