Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (30 page)

“That doesn't seem
like a healthy philosophy.”

“Well, it's
your
bloody image of yourself, you deal with it. Say, you want to see someone
else's?”

“I can see another
person's reflection?”

“Yes!”

“In my own dream?
How does that work?”

“Who knows? Maybe
Alexia really can boil magic out of leaves. But I don't think so, which means
you
don't think so, which means we should probably stop questioning the
mechanics of everything and just get on with it.”

“If you say so.
What do I have to do?”

“Over here.”
Tekcop jumped off of the table, landed on his legs, and led me down a row of
arches. Between each pillar was a large mirror in a warped frame.

“Go on,” Tekcop
said. “Try one out.”

“You mean...step
into the—”

“No, you can't
step into a mirror, Pocket! What are you, an idiot? It's glass! Solid! You'll
bang your head.”

“Huh. You know, as
I child, I sort of thought that the reason I could never pass through a mirror
was because my reflection was there on the other side, blocking me move for
move. If I put a finger to the glass, he'd put one up against mine to stop—“

“Yes, I was there.
And it doesn't work like that.”

“I know. Like I
said, I was a child—“

“Just walk in
front of a mirror, Pocket.”

“Fine.”

I walked to the
nearest looking glass and planted my feet before it. Sure enough, a reflection
matched my every move, but it wasn't mine. It was an image of Kitt Sunner.

“Kitt?” I said,
waving my hand and watching Kitt's reflection wave it back.

“Yeah,” said
Tekcop. “This is one of his. One of his more optimistic perceptions of himself.
Notice the beaming sunlight shining from within?”

“Is that what that
is? It's nearly blinding me.”

“Try another one,”
Tekcop said.

I hopped to the
mirror next to me. This time I was met with Gren's image. Perfectly normal,
mimicked every one of my movements. Only difference was that his back was
facing my front. There also seemed to be something...else...behind him,
something that his body was blocking.

“What's he hiding
there, Tekcop?” I asked.

“You've got me.
But whatever it is, this image seems to be rather focused on it.”

“Very much so.”

Tekcop scratched
his mimicked neck and yanked me over to the next. “Try this one, it's also
him,” he said. And he was right. Another Gren matched my pose.

Only this Gren was
covered completely from head to toe in riveted metal. Even his hairs were
little metal strands, miniature tubing that ran over his boiler-plated skull.

“Huh,” I said,
observing it like a modern painting. “Looks like he's a bit insecure about his
various surgeries.”

“A heavy shell,”
Tekcop said.

I noticed a mirror
that was propped against the corner, not framed and not standing on its own.
The naked glass leaned against a wall in which four letters had been carved
above.

LLOD

“Where are you
going?” Tekcop said as I moved towards it.

“Where do you
think?”

“Pocket, I don't
think you're going to want to see that one.”

“Tekcop, you
coward. Don't you represent any of my positive qualities?”

“I'm just being
cautious.”

“To a fault,” I
mocked, coming upon the Doll's mirror.

“I warned you!” he
shouted after me.

Come now, I
thought. I've already met the Doll once behind glass, what could I possibly
hope to find behind another?

I straightened the
unframed glass and wiped away a line of dust with my sleeve. I peered directly
into the mirror to find...

...nothing.

Nothing. No
reflection.

“What's the joke,
Tekcop?” I demanded. “What is this?”

“You know what it
is,” he calmly said, walking with his arms folded behind him. “The Doll's
mirror.”

“Then where's her
reflection?”

“Don't you get it,
Pocket? She has none.”

I spun my head
around at him and he was gone. As was the room and the museum of glass and the
tunneling dining area. Or perhaps I was the one who had disappeared, as I
recognized nothing around me apart from my own body. I looked down to find my
knees dipping into tall, green grass.

I was outside.

I looked and the
sky came into its rightful place, blue and vibrant. Clouds slid above my head
at speeds quite quicker than I had ever seen. It began to make me dizzy, so I
found a stump and sat down.

“Tea dream,” I
mumbled to myself.

I sat for awhile
and waited for something interesting to happen. It never did, so I started
tracing the horizon line, which stretched into a fuzzy blur in all directions.
There was nothing in the distance.  No standing tree, no rock, no house or
sign of human life. Just an endless stretch of tall grass, this single stump,
and myself.

“And me, of
course,” came a voice from below.

“What?” I said.

“Down.”

My shadow was
pulling out before me, extending its legs over the grass.

“Hello Pocket,” he
said.

“Hello Shadow,” I
replied. “Have you come to keep me company?”

“I don't have a
choice, now do I? I'm just an imprint, a mimic you leave behind. A you-shaped
bit of the world blocked from the sun.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, I wasn't
complaining, but I can see how you would think so.”

“Is there no one
else here, Shadow?”

“Doesn't appear to
be.”

I sighed. “I was
half-hoping to get directions back to the tea house. Lousy luck, then.”

“Lousy?!? You
should be happy to have me around!”

“And why's that?”

“With no other
human being or means of reflection, you'll soon lose your memory of appearance.
Of personal form.”

“So?”

“So, I'm a
reminder. A thin blotty shape to remind you that
you,
Mister Pocket,
have two arms and two legs and one head upon you.”

“I can look at my
own arms and I can feel my own legs, Shadow. What I'll lose first is detail.
And as you have none upon your blurry form, you're of no help.”

I picked myself
off of the stump and begin walking in a random direction.

“Where are we
going?” Shadow asked.

“I have to get
back to the tea house, somehow.”

“Fear you won't
wake up unless?”

“I don't know. But
I hate sitting still for so long.”

I walked foot over
foot across the grass. Before long, I came back upon the stump, having circled
this small, green globe.

“Now what?” Shadow
asked.

“We keep walking.”

“Isn't it
pointless?”

“Maybe.”

I walked and
passed the stump four times more. Then, on my fifth turn around the globe, a
woman's voice whispered softly into my ear.

“Right.”

I moved right.

“Left.”

I moved left.

“Left.”

I continued left.

“Righ—no, left!
No!”

I took a misstep
right and fell into a sinkhole. It was deep and my body rolled down the
hardened dirt for a long time.

“No!” spoke the
voice. “I'm sorry, I don't know. Why would you listen to me?”

And with that, the
voice left me. I continued to tumble until I at last got a grip on a turnip
root and hung on, draped against the nasty slope.

“Shadow?” I asked.
“You still there?”

But it was too
dark to see him. It was too dark to see anything. My arms, my legs. Anything.
Shadow was right. I was forgetting my very form. And I missed it.

The clank of
footsteps echoed in the distance. A familiar voice snapped at me.

“For God's sake,
Pocket, what are you doing back here?”

Mister Tekcop lit
a gas lantern and held it to my face. I was back in the storage closet and my
arms were wrapped around shelving. I was in a cabinet, clutching an old turnip
that was rotting with some other collected groceries, and I was stepping on a
fallen cluster of tea leaves. Slowly, I let go and climbed down the cabinet.

“Seriously…”
Tekcop said, shaking his head at me. “I can't leave you alone at all.”

“What happened?”

“Don't ask people
to spell things out for you, Pocket. It makes you look unintelligent.”

“I'm leaving.”

“By all means,
go.”

I shook the
reflection's hand and went on my way. This room of shelves and rotting produce
led back to the museum. I stopped for a moment at the Doll's empty mirror.

“No reflection of
yourself at all, huh?” I had a bit of rotted, mushy turnip on my thumb and I
smeared it across the glass into the shape of a smiley face with pigtails. The
image slid off of the glass and plopped onto the floor. “Sorry,” I said,
continuing on my way. “I tried.”

I found the long
dining table and followed it back to the exit. As I turned the knob and opened
the door, a great cloud of light and bubbling steam flooded into me. My
fingertips dissolved in the mist. I exhaled and knocked my head against
something hard.

It was the floor.
I lifted my head and was again surrounded by pillows. I was back in the fortune
reading room. The others sat silently around me, slumped over and breathing
softly. I sat up, got comfortable, and waited for the others to wake up.

“You know you're
still out, right?” said Tekcop, suddenly sitting across from me.

“Damn it!
No!”
I
bristled. “I didn’t.”

Tekcop just
laughed.

“Shut up,” I
muttered.

“Well, aren't you
touchy?”

“Ugh...” I stood
up and rubbed my head. “Look, if you're going to hang around, can you at least
help me wake up?”

“I can try,”
Tekcop said. “What did you have in mind?”

“I don't know.
Maybe some sort of—hey! Don't touch her!”

“What?” my very
forward reflection said, holding and stroking the gloved arm of the
Watchmaker's Doll. “She's soft. Pretty cute too, don't you think?”

“Just stop.”

“Fine, but—“

“Look, why don't
you just get out of here, Tekcop? You're only hindering me.”

“I'm a
part
of
you. Are you suggesting that you're hindering yourse—“

“If you aren't
going to leave, then I will.”

“Ha! And where
to?”

“Who cares?
Anywhere I see...” And with those words, I was suddenly standing under a black
sky upon a cracked, snaking staircase. “...fit.” Damn tea steam.

With nothing else
to do, I stuffed my hands into my pajama pockets...this is
my
dream,
can't I put myself in some more decent clothes...hands in my pockets and began
climbing the steps.

“Hi,” said a voice
behind me.

It was the Doll.

“Oh. Hi.” I chewed
on my lip as she followed up the stairs and met me face to face. “What, uh,
what are you doing here?”

“I'm not sure,”
she said. “What about you?”

“I'm not sure
about anything,” I replied. “But I'd like the company.”

We walked for an
eternity, step upon step upon step.

“So,” I said at
last. “What are you doing in my dream?”

“Your dream?” she
said. “I thought this was my dream.”

“What would I be
doing in your dream?”

“I don't know.
What would you?”

I shrugged and we
kept walking. A large shape rose at the top of the staircase. As we got closer,
the shape became a building. A very beaten building that was not only losing
bricks, but positively
spitting
them.

“Well, look at
that,” I said.

The Doll hurried
ahead and went inside. And once again, I had no choice but to follow.

“Mister Pocket!” I
heard as I slipped into what now appeared to be some sort of massive library
built out of wood, coated by dust, and eaten out by worms and termites. It was
as decadent as it was decrepit, if such a feat is possible.

“Mister Pocket!” I
heard again. The others appeared out of the dust-formed lines of sunlight that
came down from the cracked ceiling. They didn't walk or stroll or magically
appear into the space. They just...were there...at once.

“Well,” Alexia
said, sitting beneath a giant, stained-glass portrait of herself as a cat.
“Here we all are.”

“So it would
seem,” I replied, poking a dusty, bound book that promptly grew wings and
fluttered away.

“So what shall we
do first?” she added, bright-eyed.

“Hold on,” Gren
said, sitting down on a thick tree stump that was growing out from the tiled
floor. “What exactly is this?”

“We dream,” Alexia
stated.

“All of us?”

“Of course.”

“Then we're all
sharing a common dream?”

“Must be.”

“But that's
impossible.”

“Must not be.”

“How?”

She shrugged.
“Rather potent batch of tea, I suppose.”

“Potent tea?!?”
Gren growled. “
That's
your explanation? What'd you do, lace it with
some...
chemical?!?
”

“Never!” She
crossed her arms and scoffed at him.

“Might it be
possible…” I interjected. “Might it be possible that only one of us is actually
dreaming? That the rest are just figments appearing in the imagined scene?”

“Ah!” Kitt said,
sitting on the floor with ankles together. “That makes sense!”

The Watchmaker's
Doll observed a patch of colorful wallpaper running across one wall of the library.
She touched an illustration of hard candy that was printed into a repeating
pattern on the paper, broke the piece off, and popped the suddenly edible sweet
into her mouth.

“But if that's so,
then which of us is the dreamer, and who are just part of the dream?” she
asked, sucking on her candy.

“I'm real,” Gren
said immediately. “I can tell. I feel it.”

“Well, so do I!”
Kitt snapped. “Don't go writing us all off as phantoms yet!”