Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (16 page)

“I'm telling you,
we were in absolutely
no
danger! It's a needless part. The ship just
went a little frantic for a moment, switched on the sirens. It's...well, it's
what I do for money.”

“Now I get it,” I
said. “A knife to cut bags. A wrench to cannibalize ships.”

“Needless parts!”
Kitt kept saying, “Needless! Fine, yes. You've revealed me. You think I really
make enough as a pickpocket to stay
alive?
Do you know how little people
actually carry down the street on a given day? And with our beloved King's
paranoia in full force...'Self! Country! Security! Protection!'...everyone's
thinking twice before walking around with their coats full.”

“Seems like the
right idea,” I said bitterly.

“Leave me alone,
Pocket! It's not like I do it for fun! We can't all get Christmas hams for a
day's work!”

The wind slapped
me again.

“Hang on. Hang
on.”

“Now what?”

“How did Kitt know
about your ham story?”

“Oh. Yeah...I
guess he couldn't have. Ignore that, then.”

“You making this
up, Pocket?”

“Of course not.
Just pieces of talk. Sounded like something Kitt would say. Let me recheck my
memory...”

“Oh, you
temperamental writers...”

The wind slapped
me again.

“It's not like I
do it for fun!” Kitt snapped. “But ship parts bring in money. What am I
supposed to do, starve?”

I sighed. “No...I
guess not.”

“I swear, I've
never put anyone at risk doing this. You've gotta believe me.”

“Fine. Sure. So
what are you, one of these men of future industry? A regular mechanist?”

“Not really. I
memorize the parts with funny shapes and cut them out.”

“Ah. And is that
why you wear the pilot get-up? Blend in?”

“Sort of. It
helps.”

“Surely that
fox-eared cap can't help. Not exactly subtle.”
“That...” Kitt said, squeezing his eyes in defense. “...was a gift.”

He seemed
bristled, so I didn't push it further.

“Fair enough,” I
said. “Can we eat now?”

The Doll nodded in
agreement. Kitt finally let himself grin again.

“Thought you'd
never ask.”

Now that we had
available money once more, we wanted to get as far from the main streets of the
city as possible. We crawled around for awhile and were fortunately able to
find a corner breakfast  shoppe in the depths of New London that served us
some poached eggs on toast. They were a little rubbery, but I wasn't about to
criticize the meal. It just felt good to be eating again.

“I could've cooked
them better,” the Doll said, rolling the food around on her synthetic tongue.

We finished and
spotted a Magnate snooping around. Careful to stay out of his path, we waited
in the alley behind the shoppe. When the way was again clear, we discussed our
options.

“Disguises,” I
said.

“How?” the Doll
inquired. “We don't have any money left.”

“Three eggs and
toasts,” Kitt said, shaking his head. “Swipe a perfectly shiny engine part and
it only gets you three eggs and toasts.”

“Okay. So we can't
buy clothes. What then?” I said.

“Can't exactly
steal any,” Kitt added.

“Why not?”

“Think about it.
Are we just going to walk into a store, toss some coats and hats over our
shoulders—”

“And a proper
dress,” the Doll added.

“...and a proper
dress, and just walk out?”

“You're right,” I
said. “Let me think...okay! Forget the disguises! We just need to lie low!”

“Lie low?” Kitt
repeated.

“Yeah! Somewhere
where we wouldn't be expected to be hiding.”

“Like at a
friend's place?”

“Too obvious. But
perhaps a reoccurring acquaintance...”

I laughed and
snapped my fingers. I had it. With great gusto, I leapt upon a pile of stones
and then, sun over my shoulder, wind through my bangs, I raised a liberated
fist to my companions.

“My fellow
outcasts,” I announced. “I know what we're going to do!”

Kitt looked at
Dolly. Dolly looked at Kitt. They both looked at me and blinked.

“That's fine,”
Dolly said. “But you don't have to be so intense about it.”

The sun dipped
behind a cloud and the wind died down. I spat and climbed down from the rubble.

“Alan? Hey! Alan!”

“Hold on. Sorry.
I'm back. Dropped something back here. What'd I miss?”

“I just made a
great stand and took the momentarily fearless helm of leader.”

“Oh. Is that all?
I've seen you try to do that.”

“But it's
important.”

“Nah, I doubt it.
Just skip on.”

“You bartenders
have no passion for panache.”

“I have no passion
for repetition.”

It took a few
hours, but we moved by foot down to a building that stood near the banks of the
Thames. Nice little place, built just a few years ago and covered in brass,
even on the outside. The Gilded Goose, it was called.

“Another bar?”
Kitt said, peering from where we hid. “Don't you do anything besides drink,
Pocket?”

“When have you
ever seen me at a bar? Except now. And that other time. When we first met.
Anyway, shut up. I know a gent here.”

“Who is he?”

“He works at the
bar.”

“Course he does,”
Kitt said with a laugh.

“Shut up. Now,
listen. We have to play it easy to get inside. I've seen a few Magnates hang
around here after their patrols.”

“But it's the
middle of the day,” Dolly said.

“Or
during
their
patrols.”

“Hey,” Kitt said
to Dolly. “Did he ever tell you what a Magnate did to him the first night we
met?”

“Shut it,” I
interrupted. “All right. The place should be empty this early, but watch
yourselves when we get in there. If someone gives us too much attention, slowly
head for the door. We don't want to create any leads for the militia. Got it?”

“Got it,” Kitt
said.

“Yes sir!” Dolly
said. Cute.

“All right. On my
signal, we...”

Apparently the
signal was me
not
giving them the signal because, as usual, Kitt and
Dolly started wandering away without me.

“Keep it together,
Pocket,” I muttered. “Keep it together.”

A cluster of
businessman moved through the street, splitting me off from my cohorts. When
the path cleared, Kitt and Dolly were already inside. The front door swung back
and forth, its brassy handle shining like gold in the light. I chewed on my lip
and headed cautiously for that gold. I stood there for a moment, clutching the
door handle as if I feared falling off of the face of the world.

Keep it together.

I entered the
place and slid through a front room filled only with smoke and a few bored
hang-abouts pretending to be interested in their round of billiards. Kitt and
the Doll were nowhere to be seen, a revelation that filled me not with panic or
suspicion but passive annoyance. I was beginning to grow tired of rounding them
up. Or being rounded up by them in a runaway carriage. I wiped the nearest
patch of smoke out of my face and took in the flicker of an electric sign that
shaped glass tubing into the words “WELCOME TO THE GOOSE.” As if waiting for my
audience, the sign made a particularly bright spark at one end, dimming a few
letters dark. It now appeared to read: “COME TO THE GOOSE.”

The writing on the
wall, heh.

At least this
Goose didn't fly, so I didn't have to worry about Kitt knocking it out of the
sky. Still, I wasn't stupid enough to think that letting them out of my sight
was ever a wise move. Reconvene, I decided, and soon. But first things first.
The aproned man working the counter was hunched over a case of rye. I smiled
and took a step toward the bar. I never made it.

“You,” a man with
a broom said, stepping into my path.

“Me?” I responded
with a casual grin.

The man was
clearly the tavern's potboy, a grunt worker sent to refill mugs and clean up
peanut shells. The poor sap must've been bored out of his mind, working the
room at this uneventful hour.

“You,” he
repeated. “You're wanted.”

This got my
attention. And the look in the filmy glass that passed for his left eye told me
he meant business.

“Am I?” I said,
keeping my tone even.

“Upstairs,” he
said, pointing his broom in the direction. The Gilded Goose was originally
built to be a bed and breakfast. I don't know all of the details, but apparently
the owner became quite indecisive in the weeks leading up to its opening and at
the last minute turned the whole thing into this. So the Goose has a pretty
solid second floor with a few cheap bedrooms. No one keeps residence up there,
so the rooms are usually locked. Once in awhile some drunken slob will attempt
to ram one of the doors open, looking for a place of intimate quiet to take
some woman he's talked up. The only other time a room was ever opened was if
there was a matter to be discussed that required a level of privacy that the
main bar floor could not accommodate.

“I see,” I said,
keeping fixed on his eyes. “And what's waiting up there?”

He shrugged and
punched an arrow into the smoke with his broom handle.

“Up,” he spat.

“You sure you've
got the right gentle—”

“Up.”

All right, I
decided. Keep yourself loose. Don't let him see you sweat. This invitation
wasn't sitting right with me, but to refuse would bring dangerous attention to
myself. Plus, I wasn't keen on the way this gent was wielding his broom.

“Whatever you
say,” I said. I stretched my back and moved toward the stairs.

“Second room!” the
potboy shouted once I reached the top.

“Thanks,” I
halfheartedly tossed back.

I put my weight
against the door and tightened my limbs. I didn't know what was waiting on the
other side for me, but I was fairly sure that it was something, and if that
something turned out to be a lynch mob, I was going to be damn ready on my
toes.

Silently I
counted. Four...three...two...

I barged through
the door, knocking it hard open, and thrusted shoulder-first into the bedroom.
The door flew back against me and, pivoting out of its path, caught it with my
heel and kicked it shut.

“What are you
doing?” Kitt said, sitting on an old bed.

“I said that you
don't have to be so intense,” the Doll said, sitting beside him.

The three of us
were alone inside. I let my arms relax, but just for a moment.

“The loon with the
broom send you up?” Kitt asked.

“Yeah.”

“Us too,” the Doll
said.

I walked the room
and peered out of its sole window.

“I don't get it,”
I said.

“Get what?” Kitt
responded.

“This. What's it
all about?”

“You don't know?
We assumed this had to do with your friend.”

“I haven't found
him yet. Even if I did, he wouldn't have known we were coming. I don't like
this.”

Kitt and Dolly
looked at each other. Concern started to set in.

“Then why are we
up here?” she asked me.

“I don't know.”

“Who are we
waiting for?”

“I don't know!”

“Should we stay or
leave?”

“Damn it, I don't
know!”

She balled little
fists and stood up.

“Where are you
going?” I asked as she stomped to the door.

“You yelled at me.
I'm leaving.”

Gently but firmly,
I took her arm.

“Have you lost
your mind? You can't leave!”

“You yelled at
me.”

“We could be shot
on sight!”

“You...
yelled...
at
me.”

“Look, I'm sorry.
But things are a little tense here.”

“No excuse!”

“Will you just...”
I took a breath and slowed down. “All right. I apologize, but—”

“You already did.”

“...but right now,
we need to stay together and try to figure our way out of this.”

“Maybe you should
figure a way not to yell at people!”

“You haven't heard
yelling yet, lady,” I muttered.

“I heard that!”

Kitt groaned
excessively and fell backward upon the bed.

“Headaches,” he
whined. “Nothing but headaches.”

“You're not
helping!” I snapped at him.

“Whoa!” he said,
snapping upright. “Why are you turning on me now?”

“I'm not turning
on anybody!”

He pulled his
wrench and slid out its concealed blade in a mock act of self-protection. “It
sounds like you are!”

“Put that away!”

“Why?”

“You're going to
hurt somebody!”

“Stop yelling!”

“See?” the Doll
said. “He yells!”

The three of us
took up our ammunition and continued unloading it into each other. We became so
absorbed in our bickering, in fact, that not one of us heard the back window
slowly slide open. We also failed to see the hand that appeared on the inside
of the glass, or the leg that hooked into the hole, or the rest of the body
that was pulled quickly and quietly inside.

As a matter of
fact, we were so consumed with ourselves that we failed to notice the
stranger's presence altogether until he voiced the following sentence.

“You seem to be
having a good day.”

We jumped, the
would-be invisible man suddenly all too present among us. Kitt unfortunately
jumped the quickest. His instincts took over and he threw, without thought, his
blade at the interloper, who swore and fell backward against the wall. His head
connected with a “clonk” and he was soon lying prostrate on the floor.

A very quiet
minute ticked passed us on a witnessing clock near the ceiling. Delicately,
Kitt, Dolly, and I circled the unmoving man.

The switchblade
wrench was staring straight back at us, its knifepoint sticking down, deep into
the stranger's chest.