Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (55 page)

Madame B.

The pirate queen
must have planted it on my coat. I half-smiled, reading the words that had been
scribbled on the back of the card.

“WISH FOR LUCK TONIGHT! – R.P. and M.B.”

Wish, huh? I
flipped the card over, revealing the tarot symbol on its face.

The Moon.

I laughed and
flicked the card away. “Guess I waited too long to wish,” I whispered.

“You say
something, Pocket?” Gren asked.

“No. Nothing.”

The tarot card had
landed on Quill’s forehead, and she grumbled in her sleep as she shook it away.

“Uh…sorry,” I
said.

She responded only
with a slight crinkling of her nose. The image of the Moon came to a rest on
the bound book in her arms.

Wait.

My eyes went wide
as I glared at the book, gone unnoticed in the madness. That’s right, I told
myself. Quill had pulled it away from Helen Blue-Eyes and wielded it as a
weapon. And if this was Helen’s book…then…

Carefully, I eased
the volume out of the girl’s hand, my thumb pressing the tarot card against the
cover. I palmed the card, unbound the book, and held my breath.

And there, stuck
between various pages, were a selection of wrinkled, white, folded envelopes.

The
Prospero
made
its way to the shores of the oil sea as I laughed harder and harder into the
night, the Moon in my hands. 

“Quite a story,
Pocket.”

“It was an unusual
night, for certain.”

“That Moon card
though, the tarot…”

“What about it?”

“Didn’t it make
you a little nervous?”

“No. Why would
it?”

“You do know why
Madame B is called the Switchblade Tarot Queen?”

“You aren’t going
to pull out the wanted posters again, are you?”

“She leaves a card
on each victim. You know, on their corpses. Cocky move, if you ask me, leading
on the police like that.”

“Theatric.”

“Don’t you think
she may have been, you know, marking you?”

“Marking me? For
death?!?
A little harsh, don’t you think, Alan?”

“I don’t know.
Sure, you paint her up pretty nicely, but…eh, I’m probably wrong. Maybe it was
just a friendly warning.”

“A warning, huh?”

I stared at my fingers
as one by one they slid through the worn holes of my black gloves. I rolled up
the weathered, ink-stained sleeves that hung down my arms. I threw on my old
walking coat, pockets filled with scraps and parchment and a lunatic’s perfumed
cigarettes.

I smiled.

It felt good to be
back in my own clothes. It felt more…honest.

A knock came at
the door of my cabin on the
Lucidia.
It was morning and small threads of
sunlight were weaving into my room.

“Come in,” I said.

The door softly
opened. The Red Priest came inside.

“Good morning,” he
said to me.

“Morning.”

He looked me over
and smiled. “Rough night, eh?”

“Very.”

“My apologies. And
my thanks. According to Quill, you accomplished quite a lot.”

“It was a circus.
Don’t be impressed.”

“Modest.”

“Honest.”

“If you say.” He
watched me for a moment. “Got tired of the new suit?”

I shrugged. “A
bit. Didn’t seem like the thing to wear to breakfast.”

“Fair enough. I’ll
have it laundered and returned to you.”

“No thanks.”

“Pardon?”

“I was just
borrowing it. It’s yours.”

“Consider it a
gift.”

“Thanks, Priest,
but it doesn’t really suit me. Plus, I’m a little tired of borrowing dead men’s
rags.”

“Fine, fine. Suit
yourself.” The captain took a pause and then sat down beside me. “Pocket?”

“Yes?”

“You’re still
planning on leaving us, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“And I suppose
there’s nothing I could say to deter you?”

“No.”

The Priest nodded
solemnly and put on a grim smile. “Thought as much. I will remind you that you
have no shred of a clue as to where to search.”

“I know that.”

“You could end up
circling this globe for years, maybe for the rest of your life.”

“I know.”

“And that doesn’t
bother you?”

“Of course it
does. It absolutely terrifies me, right down to the very pit of my spirit. But
what choice do I have?”

“What choice?!? Why,
you have all the choice in the world! I don’t see any shackles on you yet.”

“The King will see
to that soon enough.”

“The hell, he
will! Pocket, you’re still a free man! Act as you please! Or stay with us. We
can hide you away.”

“I’m very sorry,
Captain, but I’m afraid you don’t understand. I am not a free man, no. Not
anymore.”

I pulled the
Doll’s turnkey from its place on the bed and revealed at last before the King
of the Pirates my true situation.

“Get on with it,
Pocket.”

“Excuse me, Alan?”

“I said, get on
with it. Say it already.”

“I…what do you
mean?”

“Oh, come on,
Pocket! You’ve been sitting here with me all night, dancing around this. Just
come right out and say it.”

“I…fine. You’ll
think me daft, absolutely, ridiculously mindless, but…but I…”

“You’ve fallen in
love with the Watchmaker’s Doll.”

“Yes. Yes I have.”

“Good. Was that so
hard?”

“Yes.”

“For God’s sake…”

“So it was that
apparent?”

“You kidding? I
saw it coming since the tea house.”

“How?”

“
How?
I
don’t know, Pocket. I can’t explain these things. When someone is in love, they
just…just
are.
There’s no how or why. It’s just written above their
heads. You can just see it.”

“Is it always like
that, Alan? Just spelled out so plainly?”

“In my opinion?
Yes.”

“And…what
about…heartbreak?”

“Heartbreak? Well,
that’s a kind of love, I suppose. Or love’s leftovers. I imagine it might hang
over a man similarly. Why do you ask?”

“Alan…do you think
me perverse?”

“Of course not.
Why would I?”

“Well, knowing
what you know, most would consider me absolutely mad to feel as I do toward…a
machine.”

“Machine? Pssh.
Pocket, I’ve met handfuls of women far more lifeless and mechanical than this
Doll of yours. I’m betting you have too.”

“True.”

“Pocket, look over
the bar. What do you see?”

“Shelves,
bottles.”

“No, above that.
The portrait.”

“Portrait? You
mean that old beer advert? With the tavern girl?”

“That one, yeah.
Do you know why I enjoy working at this pub?”

“It was my
impression that you didn’t.”

“I don’t. Place
smells and the tips are lousy. But the redeeming element of this bucket of
slop, the one, little piece of sweetness, is her.”

“Who, the beer
girl?”

“Look at her,
Pocket. The bright eyes, the flush cheeks, the flowing yellow hair.”

“She’s pretty,
sure.”

“No, no, look
beyond that. Look at that smile. It’s warm and sweet, you see. Caring,
reassured. Just hanging up there over the slop, as if saying, ‘It’s all fine.
Whatever happens in this world, I have faith that you’ll make it through the
night.’ I know it’s silly, but it feels kinda like the smile of some
kindhearted angel, keeping watch over the drunk and the forgotten. Over me.
I’ve worked this whole city over, Pocket. I’ve moved my feet back and forth
across London Town like a hermit in search of shelter. I’ve served countless
faces, and do you know what? I have never seen a woman smile, at me or any
other man, in any way close to the look of the lips hanging above us. Am I in
love with a painted shape? No. But I have found a love for something that I
wish I could find in my life. Hell, I may never find it. But you found yours,
Pocket. Look, the Watchmaker’s Doll may not be a conventional woman, but if
conventional worked for men like us, I wouldn’t have to spend my nights pining
over paper. If that makes us perverse, then I don’t care. I really don’t. Do
you understand?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then.
Now on with your damn story.”

“Alan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

The Red Priest
raised his rust-colored brows as I explained my affections for the turnkey
girl. When I had finished, he just stared at me, nodding.

“Well, say
something,” I said, feeling altogether on edge.

“You really kissed
her?” he finally spoke.

“Yeah.”

“What did it feel
like?”

I thought it over.
“Nice.”

He crossed his
arms. “Good.”

“Yeah…”

“I didn’t realize
you two were—”

“We aren’t. I
mean, not yet. I don’t know.”

“I see. Well, I
won’t try to stop you.”

“Thanks.”

“But…”

I was getting
tired of these snares. “But what? Another catch? Did Gren sign me up to steal
the crown jewels?”

“That’d be nice,”
the Priest laughed, “but what I was going to say was, the least I can do is
send you off with a few comforts.”

“Comforts?”

I couldn’t believe
my eyes as I was led by the smiling pirate into the ship’s galley.

“What do you
think?” he said smugly.

“I don’t believe
it,” I replied, astonished. “How? From where?”

The Priest
giggled. The galley before me, that barren, cobwebbed crypt where I had choked
down crackers and cooking sherry, was now completely lined with fresh, hot,
steaming breakfast pastries.

“I take it you
like it,” the Priest assumed, sitting down before a saucer of cream that stood
higher than a frog. “I sent Gren to shore with a cut of last night’s take. I
thought after those festivities, the four of you could use a good meal.
Besides, I was there for Alexia’s farewell breakfast. I’m not going to bid you
goodbye without topping that.”

“Thanks, sir. I
owe you.”

“Once again,
Pocket, you owe me nothing.”

And I understood.

We all sat down
and ate, sleepy and laughing and recalling the events of the last few days. I
felt momentarily sad to be leaving, but then I looked upon a plate of hot
scones, and the thought of the Doll brought my focus back to a cold resolve. It
was time to go.

I said my goodbyes
when the meal was finished. Quill gave me a sad smile and a matching hug.

“Be careful, sensei,”
she said.

Hack-Jack
expressed himself in a befitting manner, roughly grabbing my arm and slapping
me on the back.

“Give ‘em hell,
pal!” he cheered. “Whoever you need to give hell to, make sure that they get
it!”

I gave them my
sincere regards and exited to the surface of the
Lucidia.
The Red Priest
and Madame B had asked that I join them there before I departed. The foul
breeze of the oil sea still filled my senses, mixing with the saltiness of the
ocean air.

“Hi, hi,” B
playfully addressed me. The
Prospero
was parked upon the open deck, and
the lady pirate was leaning against it.

Solemnly, I
clutched the bottle of faerie juice that I once again wore at my side. The
typical, effervescent, emerald glow of the stuff appeared now dull and flat,
more akin to pea soup than to anything magical.

“Stop brooding,” B
teased. “It’s too dramatic.”

Rather than
answer, I turned my head to the sea. I heard the captain laugh.

“Something funny?”
I asked without emotion.

“You worry too
much,” the red beard gently replied. “Such a cold demeanor after such a warming
meal.”

“Sorry,” I said
evenly, and then forced myself to emote. “I mean, thank you. Really, for
everything. It’s just—“

“You’ll find them,
Pocket. I know it.”

“And what if I
don’t?”

He shrugged.
“Don’t think about that.”

I frowned. B
decided to lighten the mood and punched me in the arm.

“You really gotta
stop doing things like that, lady,” I half-smirked.

“Do I look like I
care?” she sassed.

“So I should start
trusting your looks now, or—“

“Hug!” she
proclaimed, suddenly throwing her arms around me. “You shut up and do this!”

I smiled. “Fine,
fine,” I said, hugging back. The Red Priest, peculiar as always, surprised me
by joining us. His arms wrapped around the both of us, and I started to slide
away. “Uh…okay…”

“Don’t get killed,
all right?” Miss B said softly, almost shyly to me. “Be safe.”

“I’ll try.”

“I worry.”

“I’ll be careful,
B.”

The Priest
furrowed his red brows at me. “You’d better.”

It was such a
tense moment, thicker than the cream that was smeared over my breakfast, but
for some reason, standing before that pair of outlaws, something sparked inside
of me, and I grinned.

“What are you two
looking so upset for?” I said, theatrically removing my hat and allowing the
sea breeze to blow my hair heroically about. “Haven’t you heard? I’m Will
Pocket. I don’t know how to die.”

The Priest clucked
his tongue in amusement.

“Oh?” he said. “So
you’re so invincible now?”

“I didn’t say
that. I just don’t know how to die.”

“You could learn
pretty quickly,” B warned.

“Let’s hope not,”
I replied.

“You’d prefer to
be dense?” the Priest asked.

“Why not?” I
jested. “A hero without flaws is too predictable. Give me a little room to
fail.”

“Yes, yes,” the
Priest said. “Now if you’re done being silly, there is the matter of your
remaining gifts.”

“There’s more?
Really, breakfast was enough of—“

“Hush.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

“So do you like
it?”

“Like what?”

The Priest nodded
at the
Prospero.

“Are you serious?”
I said. “I couldn't.”

“Do you know a
better way to get ashore?” he calmly asked. “Take it.”

“But you'll be
trapped here.”

The wily pirate
stroked his beard knowingly. “Not for long, my friend. Not. For. Long.”

“I don't follow.”

“You don't think
we sent Gren off just to grab breakfast, do you?” Miss B said.

I shrugged.

“Friends are on
the way,” the Priest said slyly. “Why don't we leave it at that?”

I nodded and
glanced at the steam car. “I'll take it as a loan, not a gift.”

“Sigh...if you
insist. Now look in the backseat.”

“More?”

“Just look.”

In the back of the
Prospero
I saw an object sitting under a velvet cloth, and next to it, a
familiar flash of gold.

“The boots?” I
inquired, picking up one of the copper-bolted pieces I had worn during my trek
through the oil.

“All cleaned,” the
Red Priest said with pride.

“But why?”

“Eh,” he postured,
“they fit you better than me. And let's face it, Pocket. Your old boots are
beaten to Hell.”

“Sure, but—“

“Plus, it never
hurts to have a little extra protection. These are sturdy, reinforced, and can
stop a stray bullet if need be.”