Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (23 page)

There, in the
center of the circle, I saw it. The Marins' steamer trunk.

The Doll.

The lid was still
sealed, but the box was now dotted with bumps, scrapes, and half-drilled
pinholes. A clump of Motorists sat on top, with a line beginning behind them.
Each had a different tool or weapon in hand. The scene almost revealed a
carnival game. Try your luck. Win big and receive the grand prize.

“Well, well!” said
a Motorist with a broken-toothed hacksaw. “Lookie here, boys. The other one
showed up. We were wondering about you.”

They turned their
hammers and hand-cranks on me, giggling. I looked around for Eddie, but he was
preoccupied with two attackers on each of his arms. I balled my fists.

“Oh!” said another
Motorist, sliding off of the trunk. “Brave man. You realize we
will
kill
you, right?”

And they came very
close to doing so. I was stupid, got caught up in a moment of fictional
valiance. In that ridiculous instant, I placed the silly mantle of hero upon my
shoulders and took to that old and admired logic that since I was fighting on
behalf of honor and beauty and dedication that I would no doubt be triumphant.

The rats beat the
pulp out of me.

I was able to
block a few of the more potentially fatal blows, but I would have been dead in
the streets if Eddie hadn't ran up and knocked them hard to the ground.

“You all right?”
he said, helping me up. I spit out a little blood.

“Just sore.”

“Don't do that
again, okay?”

“I won't.”

With Eddie
standing guard, I knelt beside the trunk and rapped my fingers against the
side.

“Dolly...” I
whispered. “It's me.”

It was quiet but
she eventually spoke.

“Why did you let
them beat on you?”

“I wasn't planning
to lose. Are you all right in there?”

“No. I want out.”

“Then open up and
I'll get you out of here.”

“I can't.”

“It's okay. I'll
get you safely away.”

“I...I can't!”

“Pocket!” Eddie
shouted. “Look out!”

I looked up just
as a Motorist came up behind me and swung a wooden plank at my head. I rolled
out of the way just in time and the plank split against the trunk. Eddie's plan
of drawing all attention away from me and the trunk were failing.

“Help!” I shouted.

“On my way!” Eddie
shouted.

We made a dash for
each other, when something sharp and long whizzed between our heads.

It was an arrow.

Looking back in
the direction it came, we found a Motorist in a mechanic's uniform aiming a loaded
crossbow at our heads.

“Don't move now,”
he said smugly.

Eddie and I lifted
our arms in surrender. The crossbowman instructed another Motorist to go round
up some reinforcements as well as “the others.” A few minutes later, another
squad of them slimed out of the scenery, leading “the others,” who were, as I
expected, Kitt and Gren.

“Eddie?” Gren
said, staring at us gape-mouthed.

“Gren!” Eddie said
with a laugh. “I didn't know you were a part of this.”

“What's going on?”

“Apparently this
bastard with the arrows wants to kill us.”

“You know each
other?” I asked Eddie.

“It's not so big a
city,” he said.

The thugs leading
Kitt and Gren shoved them over next to us. The crossbowman smiled, walked over,
and pressed the tip of the arrowhead against the side of my head.

“You in the
trunk,” he called out. “I've got a proposition for you.”

“I don't want to
come out,” Dolly answered.

“Oh, I think you
do. See, what I've got here is a nice, clean shot. One shot, all I need. I've
got a nice, sharp arrow up against this boy's head and just the right shooting
angle to send it in and out of his head and straight through, now this is the
best part, straight through the heads of these other louses you've been palling
around with. So here's your choice. I can take this nice, tasty shot, have a
little fun, or you can come out of that silly little box. How about it?”

And of course,
after a moment of quiet resignation, the key to the trunk was pushed out of an
air hole. A laughing Motorist grabbed it and swung open the lid.

The Doll, sullen
but not cowering, was pulled out of the box and restrained by two men.

“All right, boys,”
the crossbowman said. “Prep.”

“On it,” another
said.

The Doll frowned
and tugged at the arms that held her as five men carried out a spread of
mechanical tools.

“Hey!” I said.
“What the hell are you doing with those?!?”

“Diagnostics,” one
sneered, pulling out a hand torch.

“Here,” the one
next to him said. “Help me get this casing off. I don't want to start knocking
around the gearwork until I get a good look at the layout.

“Stop it!” Kitt
yelled. “What are you going to do to her?”

“Try not to tear
the synthetic too much either,” a Motorist said.

“Good idea,” his
partner replied. “If we get a nice coin-sized hole, we could probably just pull
and stretch it off of the frame.”

“You bastards!”
Gren yelled.

“I swear to
God...” I threatened.

“Don't hurt her!”

They ignored us.

“Hey,” one said to
another. “Do you still have that little bag of screws and bolts? I don't wanna
lose the ones we take off.”

“What's it matter?
We don't have to screw it back together.”

“I'll kill you!” I
shouted. “I swear to God Himself if you do not stop talking to her that way I
will take your worthless lives!”

They stopped. The
one with the crossbow looked me over, complexed. More curious than angry, he
lowered his weapon slightly and approached me.

“Mister...Pocket,
right?” he said to me.

“That's right.”

“I have to ask.
What's the damage here?”

“What?”

“Honestly, all of
this rage. Is it really worth getting worked up for? Over a tin machine?”

I spat in his
face. That brought the crossbow hard against my chest. Eddie took a swing at
him, but another Motorist caught his arm in a piece of chain.

“Listen,
Pocket...” the man in my face oozed, “I think you've been having a little too
much fun playing make believe. You need to start seeing things for what they
are. The sooner you do, the easier it will be to keep arrows out of your
chest.”

“Why are you doing
this?” I grumbled through the anger.

“Because we were
hired.”

I spat in his face
again. He hit me across the jaw with the butt of the crossbow and I hit the
ground.

“You do not spit,”
he said just above a whisper. “You do not spit in the work of the King.”

What?

“You...Alexander
hired you?” I said, rubbing my face.

“Don't listen to
him,” Gren barked. “The Motorists are a pack of liars. Nothing but a band
of  chop-shop gang-bangers.”

“And who better to
hire for such a project?” the thug jeered.

“I thought you
were mechanics, not murderers.”

“Damn, you people
are thick!” He stuck a grubby finger in Gren's face. “Get it through your head,
Spader! That
girl,
if you insist on using the word, is a machine!”

All of the color
drained from Gren's face as his eyes moved from the Motorist to the Doll.

“No...” he
whispered. “She's a...”

“That's right.”

“Please,” I said
at last. “Don't take her apart. Don't do that to her.”

“We have our
assignment, kiddo. Take her down. Piece by piece.”

“Why?”

“'Cause that's the
job. Now, get up.”

I made it up to my
feet. He stepped back, kept the crossbow at eye level. A few rifle-carrying
Motorists had finally managed to reload their weapons and huddled up, their
sights trained on us.

“Now,” the man
with the crossbow said to us. “If you have anything else to say on your behalf,
now's the time, gents.”

And that's when a
maniac strapped to a lit Chinese firecracker and a pair of roller skates
exploded onto the scene.

“FOR VICTORY!”
shouted Doctor P, colliding into the crossbow man. The weapon went off, firing
a speeding arrow straight into the sky that then plummeted back down to earth.

“Run for cover!”
shouted a rifleman. They all dropped their guns and hit the ground. The arrow
zipped down and bounced off Doctor P's monogrammed war helmet.

“VICTORY!”
repeated the doctor, flying about the scene, unable to stop rolling about. Sparks
sprayed out from behind him.

We ran to the
Doll. The men holding her at bay tried to run as we charged, but Eddie wouldn't
have that. And while he twisted a few pretzels, we took her away.

“Thank you!” she
said, running as fast as she could.

“Don't thank us
yet!” Gren said, huffing.

Eddie's crashed
motorbike suddenly came into view, speeding in grand circles around us.

“Hey!” Eddie said.
“That's mine!”

Doctor D waved
cheerfully to us as he brought the bike to a stop.

“All aboard!” he
announced, stepping off.

“We're out of
here,” Eddie said, getting on.

I hopped into the
sidecar then offered the Doll my hand. She smiled shyly and stepped inside. It
was a tight fit, so she folded and sat on my lap.

“Go on!” Kitt
said. “We can catch up!”

“You sure?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” Gren
called out, picking up one of the Motorist's overturned bikes.

“How well can you
drive?” I asked.

“Are you kidding?”
he said, sitting down. “I'm amazing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kitt
said, hopping on behind Gren. “Get going, Amazing.”

We took off. A few
Motorists tried to run after us, throwing hammers and wrenches, but we were too
fast. I looked back to see the Marin boys waving us goodbye. An angry Motorist
began to creep up behind them, but Doctor P threw something from his coat that
created a quick puff of orange smoke. They were instantly gone.

“You two, hang
on,” Eddie said, squeezing the throttle.

“Look,” the Doll
said. “Kitt-Kitt's wrench.”

It was in the
bottom of the sidecar, along with Dolly's wax cylinder. Huh. Those Marin boys
are certainly thorough.

We drove through a
tight alley. Gren and Kitt appeared behind us, arguing over directions and
driving techniques.

And then I felt
the Doll squeeze my hand.

“Thank you for
coming back,” she said.

I half-smiled and
nodded. Then I heard Kitt yelp.

“Behind us!” he
shouted.

Oh, no. I looked
backward and sure enough, the man whose face I had spit into was barreling down
upon us in the alley. He was swinging a chain with one hand and closing in
quickly on Kitt and Gren.

“Drive faster!”
Kitt shouted.

“I can't!” Gren
said back.

“Then get away
from him!”

“I can't! The
road's too narrow!”

The Motorist
pushed his bike up to Gren's and bumped against its back tire.

“He's trying to
trip us!” Kitt said.

“I can't get
away!” Gren said.

Dolly frowned at
me and squeezed my hand harder. “Fix it!” she said.

Fix it?!? How was
I supposed to...wait.

“Okay!” I said.
“I've got it!”

I grabbed Kitt's
wrench and leaned as far back as I could out of the back of the sidecar. To
help, the Doll took my other arm and held it tight, keeping me from falling.

“Gren!” I shouted.

“What?” he said.

“Put your head
down!”

“I can't put my
head down! I'm driving!”

“Just for a
second!”

“You're crazy!”

“Just trust me! If
you do, I'll buy you a round of butter later!”

“I hate you,
Pocket!” he said, then promptly dropped his head. I had a clear view of Kitt.

“Hi Kitt,” I said.
“How's things?”

“Hi Pocket,” he
said. “About to die.”

“Here! Catch
this!”

I chucked the
wrench at Kitt. He caught it between his fingers and grinned widely.

“Pocket!” Gren
said, bringing his head back up. “Did you just throw a wrench at my head?”

“I threw it
past
your head,” I said.

“Get back in
here,” Dolly said, pulling at my arm. I slid back in, her folded body still
upon my lap.

“Thanks, miss,” I
said with a smile.

The Motorist
bumped his bike against Gren's again, causing him to swerve.

“Gren-Gren!” Dolly
said. “Kitt-Kitt!”

Gren steadied the
bike and tried to speed up. Kitt, however, had plans of his own. Bending
backward, he took a quick swipe and stuck his wrench in the front spokes of the
motorbike behind him. The Motorist spun into the air and collided with the
alley wall. So did his bike, barely missing Gren's back tire. The thug landed
on the ground under his vehicle, cursing at us as we sped away.

“Woo!” Kitt shouted,
dropping the wrench on his lap and slapping Gren on the back. “Did you see
that?”

“Of course I
didn't!” Gren barked. “I'm driving!”

“Don't be fussy!”

“I'll show you
fussy!”

We zipped through
the alleys and the streets to the very edge of the city. Eddie found a path
into the neighboring forests outside of New London and we continued into the
wilderness.

After about an
hour of riding amongst the trees, I let out a sigh of relief.

We were finally
out of the city.

However, the
thought soon occurred that I had no idea where we were going.

“Eddie,” I said.
“Where are you taking us?”

“You need a solid
hiding place, right?” he said. “Somewhere to get lost at for a while?”

“Yes,” the Doll
nodded.

He laughed once
more. “Well, I'm taking you to the most lost place to be found in this world.”

Dolly and I
exchanged glances.

“And what exactly
does that mean?” I asked.