Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (40 page)

It was crashing.

What happened next
confused me. Admittedly, I am not remotely knowledgeable on the subject of
aerial combat strategy, but it still struck me as odd when the defeated ship,
instead of limping away from the victor, again steered toward us even as it was
sinking.

That’s when Kitt,
who had in the commotion gotten his hands on the spyglass, noticed that the men
on the naval ship were wheeling out some sizable device and pointing it our
way.

“I’m pretty sure
they're aiming it at us,” he announced.

“Probably another
cannon,” Quill said.

“I don’t think—“

“Ignore it,” B
interrupted. “They’re just scrambling in a panic. They won’t be able to—“

“Look out!” Kitt
shouted.

 As if
responding to the fox’s voice as signal, the soldiers launched something long
and slender toward us, something very unlike a cannonball.

“Is that...” the
Doll asked, peering at the approaching projectile, “…is that a rope?”

She was close. It
was a something on a rope. A very sharp something that dug into the
Lucidia
and
refused to let go.

“A grappling
hook?!?” the Priest shouted. “Are they serious?!?”

“Damn it!” B said.
“They want to take us down with them!”

The ship jerked
and we all tumbled about. The
Lucidia
dropped downward and started
sliding toward the other vessel in a rapid descent. Our opponents, intent that
we join the ranks of the doomed, launched three other hooks into us. The Red
Priest and Madame B fought to control the wheel, but it was clearly out of
their hands.

And then, the last
attack.

As the steamship
Lucidia
was dragged from the Heavens, a final hook and rope was fired.

Unlike the others,
this one came high and directly toward the deck.

There were
screams. There were movements.

I was on the
ground. Instinct must have made me fall.

I heard someone
gasp and gasp and gasp, sounding as if too frightened to cry.

And then, what
seemed like a million small, intricate, little pieces of gold, a sparkling
rainfall of tiny cogs and gears and screws, the kind one might find in the
world's most intricate, delicate clock, rolled past me across the deck of the
ship.

And I knew. And I
felt sick.

The Watchmaker's
Doll stood impaled against one of the ship's walls, the large hook piercing
directly into her torso. Her innards were spilling out of her, and while still
functional, she was scared.

I made it to my
feet long enough to see her point her eyes at me.

“Mister Pocket,”
she said, clutching the hook with shaking hands, “find a way to stop this.”

“I don't think I—“

And that was it.

I was thrown
forward into a blisteringly hard confetti of air and water and fire and wood
and metal and blood and life and death.

And then I went to
sleep again.

“Open your eyes,
Mister Pocket.”

A wave of white
vapor filled my vision. It was all I could see.

“Open your eyes
and stand before us.”

“Us?” I said,
getting up.

“Yes,” said a
second voice. The shapes of two figures in long, flowing robes appeared in the
mist.

“Is this another
dream?” I grumbled. “Because I'm getting a little tired—”

“How real does
this feel?”

A blast of water
shot forward and caught my face. It was wet and cold.

“Pretty real,” I
said.

The two forms
approached. They were female.

“Who are you?” I
asked.

Long shadows
extended from their backs. Wings?

“Am I...am I
dead?” I asked.

“Very nearly,” the
first form said. “Without us, you would have surely perished amongst the
crash.”

“We have shadowed
you,” the second said, “keeping our eyes hidden in the ether.”

I was confused.
“So...you're...”

“Faeries!” they
sang.

I frowned.
“You're...uh...faeries?”

“Yes, Will Pocket,
keeper of the juice!”

“Behold us, juice
keeper!”

I wafted the steam
from my face.

“Hold on,” I said.
“This...
ether
...it smells a little familiar.”

“Oh,” the first
faerie said. “Well, sure. It would, because...you know...”

“You have it in
your blood!” the second said.

“What?” I said.

“In your blood!”
the first said.

“My blood?”

“Yes! Much like
the green of the juice, it fills your veins!”

“So let me get
this straight,” I said, pacing. “You're saying that my body is filled with
green juice and foggy air?”

“Ether!”

“Oh. That’s
certainly…unexpected.”

“I’m sure it is,
I’m sure it is.”

“Hmmm...so...we're
what? On the cusp of life and death, the meeting point of the living world and
the next?”

“Uh...yes!
Absolutely!” said the first faerie.

“That we are!”
said her companion.

“So then,” I
mused, “the path to the afterlife, I'm guessing it's...
that
way?” I
pointed behind me.

“Yes!” the second
faerie said.

“I see,” I mulled
it over and loudly clapped my hands together. “Well, I'm off to die, then! Take
care of yourselves!”

“Hey, hey, wait!”
the first faerie stuttered.

“No, that’s fine.
I’ll just scurry off and meet my Maker. You two have a lovely afternoon or
whatever it is that faeries have.”

“Now, hold on!
Don't be so hasty to—”

“Ha!” I said,
reaching through the mist and knocking my knuckles on a hard, wooden wall. “How
unusual. The hereafter feels a lot like a wall.”

“Oh,” the first
said. “Well, that's because—“

“Because it is a
wall,” I said, wafting the fog away. “And this stale steam I've smelt. I'm
still on the
Lucidia
, aren't I?”

“Fine,” the second
faerie grumbled, dropping the flowery tone. “Go ahead and turn it off.”

“Sure,” said the
first. She found a valve in the steam and twisted it until the mist faded and
the surroundings came into view.

I was in some sort
of janitorial closet. It was small and amongst the various mops and buckets was
a small, unfolded cot.

“All right,” I
said. “What's this all about?”

The would-be
faeries peeled off their robes. Madame B and Miss Quill were revealed.

“I told you he
wouldn't believe this,” B said.

“Explain,” I bluntly
commanded. “Now.”

“You passed out
during the crash,” Quill said to me. “We all did.”

“That doesn't
answer my question,” I said.

“Well, some of us
woke up before you did.”

“That doesn't
answer it either!”

“Settle down,” B
responded. “We brought you down here to rest until you woke up. Quill and I
were just keeping watch and passing the time.”

“And convincing me
that I was half-dead, was that your idea of passing the time?”

“Oh, learn to take
a little joke and enjoy a little entertainment.”

“
Entertainment,
madame?!? You threw water in my face! Water from...ack...don’t tell me it
came from
that
filthy bucket?!?”

“Water is water.”

“I put my foot in
that bucket!”

“Well, you should
watch where you step.”

“I stepped in it
because I was on
fire!
”

“Then you should
watch where you burn.”

I drooped and
squeezed my eyes.

“Are you all
right, Pocket-sensei?” Quill asked.

“Head's pounding,”
I said. “Again.”

“Do you want
something for it?”

“Like a bullet?”

“No, silly. How
would that help?”

“It’s a lasting
solution,” I muttered from the corner of my mouth.

“Here!” Quill
said, cheerfully producing a small tin from her jacket. “Have one of these
pills.”

“Pills?” I took
the tin.
Doctor Marin and Doctor Marin's New-Fashioned Miracle Tablets.
Cures pains, plagues, and missing legs.
“I'll pass.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Sigh...so where
did you two learn about the faeries?”

“The fox told us,”
B said. “He thought it'd be a good way to keep you occupied.”

“Occupied? Why
would you…” I stopped and observed their eyes. A terrible feeling turned in my
stomach. “Wait a minute,” I slowly continued, piecing it together. “You’re not
passing time. You're a distraction. What are you…”

My mind caught up
with me. The flight. The crash.

The Doll.

“Dolly!” I
shouted.

I tried to run
through them but the two girls caught my arms and managed to hold me slightly
back.

“Easy now!” Quill
said. “She's fine!”

“Fine?!? She got a
hook through her! Let me go! Where is she?”

“The Priest is
operating on her.”

“Operating?!? So
he's a surgeon now?!?”

“Not as such, in
the traditional manner, but he is a man of machines. Talented enough to move
her parts about. Tinker around.”

“Tinker around?!?
No, no, I've got to get—oof!”

They pushed me
down onto the cot.

“Calm yourself!” B
said. “She's going to be fine! But the captain doesn't need you in there
panicking and messing up his work!”

“So he tucked me
away to wake up in the Land of the Faeries, is that it?!? What is wrong with
you people?!? And where'd you even get those wings?”

“Jack fashioned
them,” Quill said. “They're actually pretty easy to come by in a pinch. Just
find some scrap wood or metal in the right sorta shape, and we had plenty, as
you can imagine, after crashing down like—”

“That does it!” I
said, marching through them.

I hurried out of
the room and ran down a corridor until I found a set of open double doors.
Inside the Red Priest was stooped over a long, steel workbench. Over his
flamboyant pirate garb, he wore a thick apron and thicker gloves. The magnified
glass eyepiece he wore was now pulled down over his pupil, and he was slowly
moving small, thin tools in his hands.

And there was the
Doll.

She was lying
motionless on the table, the hole in her center half-filled with fresh gears.
The Priest glanced at me and then back at his work, carefully shifting another
piece of clockwork into its rightful place.

I didn't say
anything. I just sort of stopped and breathed. Kitt and Gren were standing on
either side of the workbench and Jack was leering in the corner, ungloved and
chewing on his fingernails. They all looked up at me.

“Hey,” Gren said
quietly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Is she going to
be all right?” I asked, ignoring the greeting.

“I see you got
past the faeries,” the Priest calmly said. “Kitt, can you hand me that other
tool?”

“This one?” Kitt
replied.

“No, the more
curved one. Thank you.”

“Yes!” I said,
determined to drive the flow of conversation. “I did get past your little
'faeries.' Pretty sick joke to play! And what about this operation here?!? Are
you quite sure you know what you're doing? I swear, if you've helped yourself
to a peek under her clothes—”

“He’s working
through the hole left by that hook, idiot,” Gren explained. “There’s no need to
undress her. It’s not like there’s gunna be any blood to stain the dress.”

“See,” the Priest
said, “
this
is why I didn't want you coming in here. Think for a second,
Pocket. Would you rather me stop now and let her rust forever?”

“Well...no...I
mean, of course not,” I bumbled, lost somewhere between angry accusation and
stupid confusion. “I just wanted to make sure that this was all going down in
the proper way.”

“You’re making
this worse, Pocket,” Kitt stated.

“Gren,” the Priest
said, “why don't you take him out of here? Get him to cool down. I shouldn't be
much longer.”

“Sure. Just do a
better job on the girl than you did on me,” replied the boiler-plated man.

“Hush.”

“All right,” Gren
said to me. “Let's go.”

“Thank you, I'll
stay,” I argued.

“Just do it,
Pocket,” Kitt said. “You'll get more worked up if you stick around.”

“Agreed,” Gren
said. “We’re gone.”

And with that, the
bastard grabbed my shoulders and dragged me out of the room despite my
aggressive protests. Gren took me into a small side room, where I was given the
freedom to complain to my mouth’s content.

Which I did.

“You…traitor!” I
accused, sucking air through my teeth. “How dare you—“

“Save it!” Gren
countered. “Yell and scream all you want, idiot, but like it or not, Dolly’s
little more than scrap if we don’t let them at least try. And you
know
I’m
right!”

I crossed my arms
and looked away. He
was
right. And I
did
know it. But I wasn’t
about to admit it to him. So I kicked something on the floor instead.

“It’s their fault
that this happened,” I grumbled.

“Maybe,” Gren
said. “Or maybe it’s the Doll’s fault for not stepping out of the way of that hook.”

“Shut your ugly
mou—“

“Maybe it’s my
fault for bringing her onto this ship. Maybe it’s even yours, Pocket, for
introducing her to this lousy world in the first place.”

I sighed, folded
down to the floor, and rested my palms on my knees.

“It doesn’t matter
why it happened,” Gren continued. “That’s all I’m trying to say.”

“I understand,” I
quietly responded. “Sorry.”

“Damn right, you
are! And for the record, if you ever call me traitor again after what we’ve
been through, I’ll knock your teeth out!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“I mean it. I
will.”

At that point,
Madame B barged into the room, red-faced and glowering. She was absolutely
volatile, a thundercloud squeezed into a corset and boots, and I think I
would’ve found her rage slightly adorable if I had been in a better mood. But
as she entered with a glare so sour that I could nearly taste it, my only
response was to out-sour her. I immediately matched her face with one
exceedingly tart and waited for her to pucker.

“Try me,” her eyes
said, which was a lot nicer than what her mouth said.

I waited patiently
while the thundercloud spat her lightning at me, and when she finished, I
prepared to return fire.

But I was bereft
of ammunition.

“What do you want
me to say?” I muttered.

“Oh, I think
you’ve said enough!” she fired. “And I could hear it all from the other end of
the hall! Do you know how much precision and concentration it takes to—“

“I’ve already
gotten this lecture from Gren. And amazingly, his was quieter.”

The lady took a
moment and sized me up, her eyes rocking like pendulums.

“Fine,” she
seethed, cold and quiet. “No lectures.” She then proceeded to retrieve a set of
rusty keys on a metal ring from her coat pocket, which she stuffed into Gren’s
hand. “Spader,” she commanded. “Take care of it.”

Gren seemed to
understand, at least more than I did. He shook his head and left the room,
leaving me alone at the lady’s mercy. I raised my eyebrows dully at the sound
of one of those keys turning with a click in the lock. B crossed her arms with
a sneer and leaned her body against the door.

“What are you
doing?” I said flatly.

“Playing nanny,
apparently,” she shot back at me.

“You’re serious?”
I grumbled. “Lock me away? That’s your solution? No plank to walk?”

“Is that what
you’d prefer?” she challenged. “Because it can be arranged.”

“Don’t bother,” I
griped, folding down and sitting on the floor.

B let out a very
dissatisfied sigh and sat down opposite me. We kept our mouths closed for
awhile.

“She’s going to be
fine,” the lady quietly said after some time had passed.

I chewed on my
tongue.

“Hope so,” I
replied.

“She really is in
skilled hands. I promise.”

I nodded, not in
agreement but in gratitude for the gesture.

“The Priest,” I
said, speaking the name aloud for, I believe, the first time. “The Red Priest.
That’s what everyone was calling him, right?”

“That’s right,” B
said. “It’s…sort of a pseudonym.”

“An alias.”

“Right.”

I removed my hat
and played along the brim with my fingertips.

“Gren didn’t tell
me you were pirates,” I said, keeping my eyes down.

“I was starting to
suspect that.”

“Did he tell you
that Kitt and I were master criminals?”

“Something like
that.”

“Well, we’re not.”

“I suspected that
too.”

I closed my eyes
and breathed deeply.

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay, what?” she
responded.