Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (53 page)

“And if it’s
locked?”

She gave me a
mocking look. “Kick it.”

With a hesitant
grunt, I removed the lid, unlocked, from the donation box. She quickly scooped
up two fistfuls of envelopes.

“Not going to
count it?” I asked.

“Don’t have the
time. But you know. Half the money, half the box. About the same. I’ll try my
luck.”

“Your call.”

“And give me that
book you have.”

“Sure.” I handed
it over, and watched as she hid the thin envelopes between the pages of the
volume.

“Clever,” I
commented.

“Thank you,” she
said, closing the book and tucking it under her arm. “It seems your poet Pocket
was of good use after all.”

I sighed. “As much
as he ever is.”

The triumphant
Helen Blue-Eyes gave me at last a warm smile, patted my shoulder, and turned
for the door.

“Good evening to
you, Mister Falston, or whoever you are,” she said as she left. “Best of luck
finding your beauty amongst the ugliness.”

The door closed
again and I was alone.

But not for long.

Hardly a minute
had passed when my would-be partners in crime barged their way inside, loudly
cavorting. I rolled my eyes and sat down on top of a billiard table.

“Oh, ho!”
Hack-Jack announced in a loud and pronounced tone. “Look, brothers! We arrive
again at the study! Let us partake in a round of cards!”

“Just shut the
door,” I muttered, my long face resting in my palm.

They complied and
immediately started inspecting the opened box.

“What’s the matter
with
you?
” Gren asked me. “Didn’t enjoy your date?”

I scowled at him.
As if answering for me, Jack flipped up his head in alarm, his hair flying out
into its typical, unruly form.

“Hey!” he barked.
“What happened to the money?”

“What?!?” Gren
exclaimed, moving his focus back to the box.

“There was way
more,
way
more of it filled up in here! This is…this is just pathetic!”

“What the hell?!?”
Gren yelled. “Where did it go?”

“Tutoring,” I
grumbled.

The other three
stopped and slowly turned their eyes on me.

“What?” Gren
quietly, angrily asked. “What do you mean, ‘tutoring?’”

“I mean, the girl
with the skeleton key decided to help herself to the box.”

“And you
let
her?!?”

“Yup,” I dryly
replied.

“What in the name
of God is wrong with you?!?”

“Mister Pocket!”
Quill chimed in. “I can understand the urge to woo a young woman—”

“Quill, please,” I
started.

“But this neither
the place nor the appropriate gift to be showering upon your—”

“Okay, first of
all, let me make it clear that I had
no
desire to shower that girl with
anything,
let alone the money! And furthermore, the only reason she walked of here
with half is—”

“Half?!?” Gren
yelled. “You gave her half?!?”

“She figured us
out!”

“What?”

“That’s right. She
saw us coming from the start. Threatened to turn us all in if I didn’t give her
what she wanted.”

“And you fell for
that?”

“What was I
supposed to do?”

“Call her bluff.
She had no proof on us.”

“Apart from me with
the box in a locked room.”

“Yeah, but still…I
mean, you could’ve…eh…” Gren sighed and gave up the argument. “So it’s over.”

“Oh, come on,” I
said. “It’s not like we’re leaving empty-handed.”

“That’s true, I
guess,” Quill reluctantly agreed.

“Yeah,” Gren
mumbled. “But once it’s split four ways…”

“Feh,” Jack
grunted.

I couldn’t believe
this lot. Here they were, standing around their own little treasure chest of
free money, the amount of which they didn’t even
know
yet, and they were
just sulking and moping around like paupers.

“I’ll be back,”
Gren said, downtrodden. “I need another drink.”

“Hey, hey!” I
interjected, stepping into his path. “You can’t leave now! We’re almost out of
here!”

“I’ll be right
back!” he promised, hurrying out.

He was gone before
I could continue arguing, and I returned to the billiard table for some reason.
I just lied down there, completely flat and stiff, as if I expected the green,
fuzzy carpet of the playing space to serve as some earthly grave.

“You spend a lot
of your time in pretend gravesites, Pocket.”

“Yeah…I need to
work on that habit.”

I sat up after a
time and saw Jack and Quill staring at me.

“You all right?”
Jack asked.

“Me?” I said.
“Sure. Just a little tired.”

“You look it.”

“Thanks.”

“We’ll be
departing before much longer,” Quill added. “Try to endure.”

“I will,” I
responded with a yawn. “But it would help if Spader didn’t run off in a fit
every five minutes.”

“He’s
just…concerned.”

“Then he’s in good
company.”

“I know. But
it’s…well…Gren’s in a hard way with money.”

“Well, he just got
a hold of some. You’d think he’d be in slightly higher spirits.”

“But his share
will be smaller.”

“At least he gets
a share, right? One less odd job or lucky hand of poker he’ll need before
earning his dinner, right?”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right! You
really, truly are! Because I can’t see why you so-called pirates are frowning
over a free bounty!”

“T’wasn’t free,”
Jack retorted. “We worked hard for this!”

“Fine, granted.
But enough of the pessimism.”

“But Gren will—”
Quill started.

“Gren will survive
with what he’s gotten. He’s stubborn, but I can see that he’s tough. Besides,
apart from a little boiler-plating, he seems to be in decent enough shape.
Where’s his money going, anyway? Bad luck at the tables?”

“No…”

“What then? Debts?
Addictions? Expensive taste in his skin-grafted metalwork?”

“No, no.”

“Then where’s it
going?”

“Kari,” Jack said
in almost a whisper.

“Shhh!” Quill
said, kicking Jack in the knee. “That’s none of his business!”

“Kari?” I said,
sending the name back. “Who’s that? Some pub waitress or lady card dealer?”

“Nevermind,” she
said, looking sincerely uncomfortable with the subject. “Just please trust me
when I say it’s a very good reason.”

They both gave me
a very serious set of eyes, and I was worried that I may have crossed a line.

“Yeah…” I said to
them. “I’m sorry. I…uh…didn’t mean to make light out of something personal.”

“It’s okay,
sensei,” Quill said, smiling gently.

I humbly nodded.
Jack grinned and grabbed me by the shoulder.

“It’s like this,
Pocket,” he said. “Sometimes some people have more than just their own problems
to tend to. Sometimes some people make other problems their own problems. And
sometimes,
sometimes,
some problems of some people can become some
problems for other people if some people aren’t responsible for those problems.
You understand?”

I laughed and
smiled at the two. “Sure, Jack. I understand.”

Quill pursed his
lips and cocked her head to the side. “I’m glad someone does.”

I laughed again.
“You two aren’t exactly the classic, ruthless, pirate types, are you?”

“Nah,” Quill
giggled. “Not hardly. And you aren’t a hardened criminal, are you, Pocket?”

“Not even close.”

“Then why the
price on your head?”

“It’s a long
story, but to sum up…well…I just found the wrong pretty girl in the wrong
sleepy building.”

“Heh. I see. Well,
who wants to be ruthless, anyway?”

“Hey,” Jack
interjected. “I can be kinda ruthless.”

“No, you can’t,”
Quill said.

“No, you can’t,” I
also said.

“Aw, to Hell with
ya both,” Jack retorted with a mock sneer.

“Listen,” I said,
“in case I forget to say it later, thanks for everything. I mean, the lift and
the bed and all.”

Quill grinned and
extended her hand in a nice mimic of stately posture.

“Mister Pocket,”
she said.

“Miss Quill,” I
replied, taking her hand. “Mister…Hack-Jack.”

Quill’s eyes
rolled about for a moment, contemplating, and then the young girl shook her
head.

“No,” she politely
said. “Miss Celeste, if you please.”

I blinked.
“Celeste?”

“It’s too late in
the evening for stage names. So let’s start anew. Elle Celeste. It’s a pleasure
to meet you.”

Was she serious?
Unless I was mistaken, a possibility that’s sadly never very farfetched, the
Celestes were a very notable, very wealthy family from one of New London’s
more…comfortable living districts. I could hardly imagine any branch of such a
family’s tree living such a sordid life as the girl before me has done.

“Maybe she was
lying. Another fake name.”

“I considered
that, Alan, I did. But…I don’t know…there was something altogether different
about the way she wore that name. Something…proud. Almost shining, you know?”

“Almost
celestial?”

“Heh. I suppose
so, barkeep.”

I nodded as
eloquently as I could manage. “Miss Celeste, then,” I said. “Charmed.”

Hack-Jack was
next, gripping my hand and roughly shaking it about.

“Jack Domino,” he
said. “A pleasure.”

“A pleasure,
Mister Domino.”

The three of us
took a moment more to enjoy our exchange of pleasantries, bowing and nodding
and shaking and curtsying and honestly enjoying each other’s company. Sure, we
were silly mock-ups of high society, playing around in borrowed clothes, but
our gestures were sincere. And hell, if that isn’t humanity cultured, then no
such thing exists.

“Do us a favor
though, Pocket,” Jack then said. “Keep those names under your hat once you get
one back on your head. If our real identities were to get around…well, you can
imagine.”

I smirked. “Pretty
big risk, confiding in a stranger. Do I look that trustworthy?”

He shrugged.
“Guess we’ll find out.”

“I guess we will,”
Quill added. “But I suppose at the end of it all, I’d rather you remember us as
two-named people than as one-named characters.”

“I doubt that’ll
be a problem,” I gently replied.

My eyes slid
across the room and stopped on the donation box. I thought it over, hopped down
from the billiards table, and went to our bounty.

“What’re ya
doing?” Jack asked, watching me place the lid back onto the box.

“I was thinking,”
I replied. “How about we go ahead and get this thing out the window while we’re
waiting for Gren? Save ourselves a little time.”

“Ahhh!” he
cackled. “
Now
you’re thinking like a pirate!”

“Good to know.
Okay, Jack. Climb out that window.”

“Aye-aye.” Moving
quickly, he cast open the swinging frames and pulled his skinny legs over the
sill. “All set!” he announced once he was standing out on the tailored grass.

“All right,” I
said, “let’s do this. Quill, can you give me a hand?”

“Sure can,” she
said, moving over and assisting me.

Carefully, we
lifted the box, carried it over to the window, and began sliding it at a tilt
out to Jack.

“There you go,” he
said. “Easy.”

There was a knock
at the door. Keeping eyes and fingers on my work, I called out to the sound.

“Come on in,
Gren.”

The door clicked
open. Glancing down and out the window, I saw Jack’s hands clench onto the
sides of the box.

And that’s when I
heard it.

“Thievery!”
someone screamed behind me.

Someone who wasn’t
Gren.

Someone who was
about as far away from being Gren as was humanly possible.

And he wasn’t
alone.

Twisting our heads
over our shoulders, we found a furious and gaping mob of gentlemen and ladies
stuffing the doorway and grinding their teeth.

“Oh,” Quill
whimpered to the group. “Hi.”

“Villainy!”
someone else shouted.

My mind raced.

“All right!” I
spoke. “Hang on now! Before we all get mistaken and hotheaded, let me explain!”

A figure pushed
her way from the back of the crowd, gasping. As she broke through into the
room, I realized that it was Helen Blue-Eyes, followed by her father.

“There!” she
shouted in her panic, voice ringing of innocence and fear. “There he is,
Father! Just as I told you! That…that…ghoul of a man! He tricked me with
promises of education and marriage! He has manipulated me, no, us all, for his
own devices!”

“Deceit!” the
father shouted out.

I stared at Helen
in disbelief. For a quick moment her face changed, addressing me with a
knowing, wily smile before switching back to her mimicked astonishment. The
book was still tucked under her arm.

“Unbelievable,” I
grumbled.

“William!” Helen’s
father bellowed. “I pray to God that you have a reason for these actions!”

I glanced at
Quill, who seemed to be looking at me for direction.

“Hey,” I heard
Jack say from outside, “is something happening in there?”

Still holding a
box of money halfway out of an open window, I cleared my throat and formally
addressed the group.

“Esteemed guests,
new friends, I am not a man of very many words, so please believe me when I
say, sincerely, on behalf of myself and my brothers, the following. Ahem…run!”

We moved in a
panic, the three of us dropping the box at the same time and taking off in
different directions. The donation box quickly tilted and slid back into the
room. It hit the floor hard, knocking the lid open and spilling its contents
into the air.

The mob erupted,
grabbing at Quill and me as we raced around chairs and leapt corner tables.
Fortunately for us, most of our attackers chose first to tend to the storm of
scattered money, giving me enough leeway to get back to the window.