Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (41 page)

“You can release
me.”

“Oh?”

“I’m calm. I
won’t…you know…”

“Act like an ass
during a tense situation?”

I chewed on my
tongue again to keep my tone in check.

“Yes,” I politely
replied.

“Well, good,” the
lady said. She then stood, stretched her back, and knocked loudly on the door
behind her. “All right, Gren!” she called out. “Open up!”

We paused.

And nothing
happened.

B knocked again
with considerably more energy, but again was met with no reply. Gren, it
seemed, had neglected to consider that after locking us in, the Madame would
probably prefer that he didn’t wander away for a time.

B responded as
expected and the door received a fresh coating of bootprints. I groaned and
tucked my hands behind my head.

“Get comfortable,
I suppose,” I said.

“Lovely,” B added,
rejoining me on the floor.

We remained
planted there for a good stretch of time, trading small talk while impatiently
waiting for Gren to come back around. I was thankful for the conversation, if
only because it preoccupied my thoughts on matters other than my great worry
for the Doll.

“So, the Red
Priest,” I eventually spoke. “What’s the meaning there?”

“Meaning?”

“In the name.”

“Not much. He’s
redhaired and wears a priest’s collar.”

“Well, clearly,
but why?”

“What do you
care?”

“It’s just
unusual, is all. You don’t meet many men of the cloth amongst pirates.”

“First of all,” B
pointed out, “you don’t look like you’ve met many pirates in your life.”

“Granted.”

“And second, he’s
not that kind of priest.”

“So what, then? Is
it just extravagance? A little flair to set him apart from the other bandits of
the sky?”

She scoffed.
“Bandits of the sky,” she repeated. “That’s cute. Listen, Pocket. Put that
storybook talk aside and remember something. We are
criminals.
Standing
out isn’t really good for those in our profession.”

“But you dress so…boldly.”

“On our own ship,
sure. But you don’t think we go marching through the King’s streets garbed like
this, do you? We’d be dead in a heartbeat. Mind my words, Pocket. The only
pirate who steps into public looking like a pirate is trying to be noticed.”

I thought upon the
logic of this.

“So why the
collar, then?” I asked.

B smirked. “He
traded a noose for it.”

“What?”

“A noose. He got
caught once, a long time ago when we had first…entered our profession. We were
sloppy. Fortunately, those who make the rules also make a fair share of helpful
loopholes, one of which actually allows privateers the opportunity to forgo the
executioner, provided that they swear a loyal oath to the Church.”

“I see where
you’re heading with this.”

“The captain’s not
so dense to miss an opportunity when it appears. As for the priestship, hell, I
don’t even know it’s legal. The name just sort of stuck.” 

“So he wears it
now, why? As a symbol of his escape from death or his life of deception?”

“No, mostly just
to be a smartaleck.”

“Ah.”

“Honestly, I still
think it's a silly name, but I suppose a pirate can't just be known as Gene.”

“Gene?”

A dull thumping
came from the other side of the locked door.

“Spader!” B
yelled. “I swear on my life, that had
better
be you banging out there!”

And sure enough…

“Uh, hey,” came
Gren’s muffled voice, “are you ready for me to unlock you yet?”

“
Please!
” B
growled through clenched teeth.

Gren obliged and
got properly kicked in return. With a grunt, he hobbled into the room, returned
the Madame’s key ring, and muttered something about unthankful women.

“Now, don’t
you
start ranting!” B ordered the scowling Gren. “I’ve only just now gotten
this
one to calm down.”

“Hey!” Gren
protested. “Don’t lump me in with Pocket. If I’m gunna make some noise, I’m gunna
make it back here, not in front of the captain and the whole operating
theater.”

As if on cue, the
Red Priest waltzed into the room, a proud look upon his bearded face.

“All is finished,”
he announced.

I approached the
man, hope stuck somewhere between my stomach and my throat.

“The Doll,” I
mustered, “she's...all...back together?”

“She's fine,” he
said with a modest smile. “Had to open up a half dozen clocks to get enough
replacement guts, but she's in sound shape. Oh, and I took the liberty of
sewing up the tears in both her clothing and skin, though not to each other, of
course.”

“Fantastic!” I
breathed, exhaling in relief. “I can't believe...I mean, I was sure...”

“Have a little
faith in people,” the Priest said, wiping the oil from his hands with a cloth.

I nodded, a little
ashamed.

“Thank you, sir,”
I said. “I owe you.”

“You owe me
nothing,” he replied tartly. “It's partly my fault, anyhow.”

“No, don't be
ridiculous. It couldn't possibly—“

“Any passenger on
this ship is my responsibility during the voyage. Now, stop arguing with me,
already.”

I let myself
smile. “Don't have to tell me twice. Oh, and I'm sorry for that 'don't look
under her dress' talk. That was beyond obnoxious of me.”

“Yes,” Madame B
said, gently elbowing me in the back. “It was.”

“It's forgotten,”
the Priest said.

We grinned and
shook hands. As I clutched his, I noticed a dark mark running up his pale arm
into his sleeve. A bruise.

And instantly, I
felt like an absolute cad.

“You were injured
in the crash, weren't you?”

The Red Priest
shrugged.

“I'm sorry,” I
mumbled. “I was so focused on the Doll. I didn't think to—“

“We're all fine.”

“Oh. Good.”

I was embarrassed
at myself.

“Very good,” the
Priest commented, “because I don't think I could fix anyone else with old
clocks.”

“Mmm...I suppose
not. And how's the ship?”

The captain looked
away from me and tightened his nostrils. “Well...that...is a bit more
complicated.”

“That's one way of
putting it,” Gren chimed in.

“I...see...” I
uttered.

“We'll talk about
it later,” the Priest said. “The girl is going to think we're ignoring her.”

Dolly. Right.

We followed the
captain to a guest room, where the Doll was lying down on a small bed, eyes
closed, arms folded, and face without expression. Her torso was wrapped in
bandages.

“Is she…” I asked
in a whisper, “…is she...unconscious?”

“No,” said Kitt,
who was sitting on a stool next to the bed. “She's just ignoring me.”

“Hmph,” came from
the Doll's lips.

A smile crept
across my face. Should've known.

I laughed.

“And don't
you
start!” Dolly said, quickly sitting up at me. “I am angry at him!”

“Glad to see that
you’re back to normal.”

“Hmph!”

“So what did you
do, Kitt?” I asked, more than a little amused.

“Nothing!” he
replied. “I just sat here and kept her company, like the captain asked me!”

“What you did was
lecture me!” the Doll complained, crossing her arms. “Here I am, fresh and
composed after a completely horrible encounter, and all I get is criticism!”

“I didn't
criticize!” Kitt said. “I just suggested that maybe in times to come she should
consider the situations she puts herself into. That's all I said.”

“Well, excuse me
for not considering the possibility of getting a hook through me!”

“All right, all
right,” the Priest said, settling them both down. “Let's all be calm. The
important this is that the young lady is back in one, working piece. Miss
Dolly, why don't you try standing up and taking a step or two?”

“Of course,” she
responded.

The girl got out
of bed, moving carefully, holding her tiny hand against her belly, and pushing
against the wrappings.

“I don't
understand,” I said. “What are the bandages for?”

“Just a
precaution,” the Priest said. “I want to make sure that I've gotten every piece
good and tight and in place. Wouldn't want her to twist the wrong way and pop a
seam or roll a gear out of rotation.”

“I'm sure it'll be
fine,” Dolly said with a smile. “I can just tell. I feel...nicely in place.”

“Still,” the
Priest said, “to be safe, leave the bandages.”

“They're somewhat
tight.”

“For a few hours,
at least.”

“Oh, fine.”

Kitt let out a
lengthy sigh.

“What?” I said to
him.

“Oh, he's just mad
because I yelled at him,” the Doll said, waving her hand at him.

“Hmph,” Kitt said,
heading for the door. “I'm going to get some air.”

“I wouldn't do
that,” the Priest said. But he was already gone. Dolly scrunched her nose at
the doorway.

“He's just worried
about you,” I said to the Doll.

“Then I'm tired of
being worried about,” she tossed back. “That goes for you and Gren as well, you
know. Floating around me like shadows, as if I cannot...what?”

“Nothing.”

“You're smiling.”

“Am I?”

“Don't be coy with
me.”

“Sorry.”

“Grr...you’d
better not be mocking me.”

“Heh. Do that
again.”

“Do what?”

“Growl like that.”

“Why?”

“It's cute.”

She reddened at
me. Whether she was annoyed or blushing, I leave to you, dear Reader. Those of
an analytical mind will probably offer up the theory that she was doing
neither, having no traditional blood to push to her synthetic skin, and
attribute any assumed coloration to the effect of lighting in the room. And
those of a more romanticized heart may counter such a theory with a belief that
one's emotions can and shall always overcome such physical limitations.

But as I've said,
I leave it to you.

“I am not your
parrot to command, Mister Pocket,” the Doll stated.

“That's right.
I'll remember that. Hold on, I'm committing it to memory. You are not a parrot.
You have neither wings nor feathers, unless you're hiding them under your
skirts and stockings.”
“Mean boy! You
are
mocking me!”

“No, Dolly. Not at
all. It's just...it's good to have you back.”

She gave me a shy
smile then covered it with her “proud and independent” face.

“Well, I don't
know what you were so worried about. It's not like I
went
anywhere, so
you couldn't exactly have me
back.
And, sir, I will have you know that I
am the only one aboard this shiny sky boat that did
not
go to sleep when
we made the crash! Now what's so humorous?”

I was chuckling at
her charming terminology, particularly her reference of being knocked
unconscious as “going to sleep.” Still, I didn't feel driven to reveal this to
her at the moment, so I waved off the question. “Nothing. Please continue.”

“I was perfectly
awake during the entire crash, which is more than I can say of you! Why, you
nested like a hen or a hound the second the ship bounced against the land. It
should have been
me
to worry about having
you
back. Not that I
was.”

I slid my pupils
to the corners of my sockets and sent her a look to melt away her girlish mask
of indifference.

“Had that much
faith in me, eh?”

“You are
exhausting, Mister.”

“You think I'm
tiring
now.
You're just familiar with my mouth, my clumsy voice. You
should spend some time knocking about in my head, trying to keep afloat amongst
those
rapids. See how exhausting I am then.”

She twisted a
finger around one of the red, curled strands that stood sharply out from her
otherwise straightened hair.

“How sure are you
that I haven't?” she said with a wink.

“Heh. You're
something else, Miss Dolly.”

“How do you
figure?”

“Just when a man
thinks he's got a grip on you, you add another chapter to the mystery.”

“I'm not trying to
do so.”

“That's fine.
Makes the read more interesting. Don't you think, Gren?”
I looked over my shoulder and realized that we were alone.

“Ah...what?” I
mumbled, looking around. “Where'd they all go?”

“I believe they
left while we were arguing. The red-bearded one said something about catching
Kitt Kitt before he got on deck.”

“Why?” I said.
“What's on deck?”

“Oh,” she said in
surprise. “You don't know? Haven't you been topside since we've crashed?”

“No...why?”

She sighed and
took my hand. “Come with me. But I don't think you're going to like this.”

“Of course, I
won't,” I said, following the clockwork girl out.

We moved through
the deep halls of the
Lucidia
.

“This way,” Dolly
said, pulling me around a corner.

“Since when can
you navigate through this ship?” I asked, trying to keep her pace. “It's like a
maze.”

“I know enough to
get back up top. I paid attention while the crew was carrying me off the deck.”

“So you were
really awake and functional that entire time?”

“I don't know
about
functional,
but yes, I never slept. Couldn't really move my legs.
I'm just glad that stupid hook didn't hit me somewhere slightly higher.”

“You were very
lucky. Who knows what may have happened if it had struck...uh...the...primary
device.”

“What?”

“Well...I imagine
if you can lose that many working pieces and remain alert, then you must have
some manner of...you know...perpetually-moving, um, clockwork device at your
core to...eh...regulate...”