Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (69 page)

I slouched down in
my seat.

 “Discreet.
I’ll remember that,” I said, well aware that the Red Priest’s cobbled-together
flying machine was about as discreet in the English sky as a cobbled-together
Arctic narwhal would be.

Those of you
unfamiliar with the Arctic narwhal or such a creature’s hypothetical airborne
discretion, simply put, there isn’t much.

We soon slid into
the low lights of New London, flying urgently toward our best guess as to what
“home to father” meant. The watch shop. The streets below were fairly vacant at
that hour, so by switching on the shuttle’s pair of front-mounted, miniature,
electrical floodlights, the sort commonly utilized by the theatre, we had a good
chance at picking out the Watchmaker’s Doll on the streets below. After a long,
fruitless search down the larger districts of the city, we found at last a lone
figure scuttling along in the dark.

“Over there!” Kitt
piped up. “Is that her?”

I squinted through
a cabin window at the distant shape.

“I can’t tell,” I
replied. “Looks like a woman, but…eh, I think her hair’s darker.”

“She’s in the
shadows. Of course it looks darker.”

“Can you get any
closer to her?”

“Not without
bringing attention to ourselves.”

“Damn.”

“We could land
nearby and approach her on foot. Looks like there’s enough space behind that
pair of buildings. Of course, I don’t have to tell you that it could be risky.”

“A risk that’d be
worth it if it
is
her.”

“But if not…”

“I know. A
gamble.”

We paused and
listened to the shuttle hum and chug for a moment.

“It’s your call,
Pocket,” Kitt then said. “Do we keep heading toward the watch shop or land
here?”

I took a long
breath. “Land.”

Kitt took us
awkwardly down into an unoccupied lot and parked. I removed myself instantly
from the shuttle before the engine had even stopped chugging, and looked around
the corner. Kitt began to climb out of the top hatch, but I intercepted him.

“No,” I said,
drawing my pistol. “You’re staying here. I don’t want you anywhere near the
Doll. I don’t trust you.”

The fox put on a
quizzical frown. “But you trust me to stay behind with the shuttle?” he asked.
“Aren’t you worried that I might take off with it?”

I sighed. “That’s
a good point,” I admitted. “All right. You’re coming with me.”

Kitt shrugged. “If
you say so. Lead the way.”

We rounded the
corner and moved quietly down the street.

“You might want to
put that away,” Kitt advised, referring to my gun. “You know…less conspicuous.”

I rolled my eyes
and reluctantly concealed my weapon. Sure, I thought. Fox Ears and Golden
Boots, masters of subtlety.

We carried on and
happily found that the woman we had spied from the stars had not vanished.
Sadly, we also found that she wasn’t the Doll, but a raven-haired woman in a
long wrap.

“Damn!” Kitt
whispered to me. “I guess you were right about her hair color.”

“Lousy luck,” I
said.

“Well, back to the
skies, then.”

“Yeah, let’s—wait,
hang on.”

“What is it?”

“I think…yeah, I
think I know that woman from somewhere.”

“Somewhere important?”

“I don’t know,” I
mumbled. “I can’t really see her face from back here. There’s just something
really familiar…”

“Well, let’s move
in a little.”

“Don’t be stupid,
Kitt. It’s a miracle she doesn’t already think we’re following her.”

“I say we take a
more direct and friendly route.”

“What,
talk
to
her? I don’t think—”

“Excuse me!” Kitt
shouted, cutting bluntly through the dead silence. “Hello there, Miss? Lady on
the pavement?”

The young woman
ahead of us stiffened her back. Slowly, cautiously, she turned her face upon
us. There was just enough light to see the look of disapproval about her.

“Can I help you?”
she asked, her thin eyebrows equally arched.

I grinded my teeth
in embarrassment, but tried to compose myself before her impression of us
worsened. I was determined not to appear the least bit sinister.

“Don’t worry!”
Kitt yelled out to her. “We’re not rapists!”

The lady took a
half-step back and reached inside her wrap.

“Listen,” she
announced, “I don't know what other girls usually say when you approach them on
the street at this hour, but so you know, I keep the cutest little revolver in
my handbag. Its handle is pink.”

“Nice work, Kitt,”
I muttered.

“So try anything
and I won't hesitate—”

“No, no!” Kitt
shouted, waving his arms frantically. “Easy! No trouble meant! Honest! My
friend here thinks he might know you, is all!”

The woman slowly
relaxed her posture and crossed her arms.

“If you two are
autograph collectors looking for a signature, this is
not
how you go
about getting one!”

“Autograph?” I
whispered. Kitt shrugged.

“Um…no, madame!”
he shouted back to her. “Look, um, can we just have a moment’s word? A little
more quietly?”

She dropped her
head and mumbled something I couldn’t hear. Then she nodded and signaled us
over. As we crossed to her, I became definitely sure that I had known that
face, that enthusiastic and strangely mischievous spark in her eyes, but from
where?

She however made
the connection in an instant, smiling knowingly as she got a closer look at my
visage.

“Ah, yes,” the lady
smirked. “Round of butter.”

“Butter?” I asked.

“That’s right,”
she nodded. “Butter. Don’t you remember?”

And then it felt
into place. Of course. The day I met Gren. The tavern and the knife in the
chest. A round of butter. That songbird at the bar.

“Yes!” I said,
quickly taking the lady’s hand. “Right! Miss…uh…Haw…Hawthorne, wasn’t—”

“Hatter.”

“—Hatter, wasn’t
it?”

“Please, Jessie
Mae will do fine.”

“Kitt, you
remember Miss Hatter, right?”

“No,” he said.

“That’s right, you
were upstairs. See, it’s because of her generosity that we were able to pull
your
knife out of
Gren’s
chest. You remember
that,
right?”

“I remember Gren
yelling.”

“We all do,” I
muttered before again addressing Miss Jessie Mae Hatter. “Forgive us. It’s been
an extremely trying night.”

“Don’t worry about
it,” she said. “It’s Mister…Dandy, yes?”

“Dandy, no. It’s
Pock—yes! Alan Dandy.”

I took a short
breath, a little jumpy after nearly forgetting that I had used an alias.

“Hmph. That’s
right. And I had nearly forgotten that you had used
my
name for that
alias. Thanks again, by the way.”

“Alan, let it go.”

“Well, what if I
meet this woman someday? Eh, Pocket? What then? What if she asks me my name
then tries to get me arrested?”

“For
what?
”

“I don’t
know…false impersonation!”

“Look, I’ve already
apologized for this, and I don’t really want to get into it again.”

“I wish I at least
had an image of her in my head, though. Give me something to look out for,
something to avoid.”

“If I could
remember her face, I would gladly—”

“If you could
remember?!? You mean the face with the ‘mischievous eyes,’ ‘thin brows,’ and
‘raven hair’ you just described to me?”

“Oh. Yeah…I
suppose I did. Peculiar.”

“Peculiar?!?”

“Well, it seems
that retelling my story has gone and reclaimed a few faded memories I’d thought
I’d lost. Funny.”

“Keep at it, then!
What else can remember about her?”

“Um…damn it all…”

Miss Hatter
smirked and posed her hands on her hips. Her tall frame began to shiver in the
cold, and in annoyance, the woman whistled.

“Wait! That’s it,
Alan!”

“What’s it?”

“The whistle!”

“Huh?”

“How did it go? A
bah-dee-bah…or maybe a dee-bum-dum…”

“What’s it
matter?”

“That woman, Alan.
The one who came knocking at the door earlier tonight.”

“Came knocking
here?”

“Yes, remember,
you were putting away some dirty glasses, and you told me, ‘Pocket, answer the
door, say that we’re closed.’ And there was a strange woman and she whistled in
my ear.”

“Oh…right. I think
I remember. I thought you figured her for a drunk.”

“I did! Because I
couldn’t recall her face exactly in this weather, but she was a tall woman,
Alan, and…and…wearing the same sort of long wrap…”

“Wait a minute!
Are you telling me that this Hatter woman—”

“Yes! She must’ve
asked around for an Alan Dandy and ended up here! Ha! What incredible chance
that I was here this night and met her at the door!”

“Jesus, Pocket!
See, this is just what I was afraid was going to happen! You start throwing
around my name, and now—”

“No wonder she
seemed so put off, so awkward when I told her we had closed! I stood right
there before her and didn’t recognize…oh, what an idiot I am! And the
whistling, that same song!”

“Didn’t you say
the first time you met her she promised to…what were her words?”

“Repay me with a
tune, yes! And so, naturally, when I stupidly failed to invite her in, she took
her only moment—“

“And whistled!”

“And whistled,
yes! Just leaned into my ear, put her hand to my coat, and…hold on!”

“What now?”

“I think…yes! When
she moved in close to whistle, I think…hold on! Yes! She slipped something in
my pocket! Look!”

“What, that? It’s
just a bit of scrap. Little bent bit of metal. She was probably using you for a
waste bin.”

“I…I don’t know.
There must be something else to it.”

“Well, all I need
to know is that she came and now she’s gone, and hopefully that means I don’t
have to worry anymore about being pegged as the wrong Alan Dandy.”

“Sure, Alan, but—“

“Why don’t you
just carry on with the story, Pocket? It’s more interesting that the meaning of
a little garbage.”

“But…well…I
suppose…”

“So what are you doing
out tonight?” Kitt asked Miss Hatter. “No offense meant, but it’s a little late
for a woman to be unaccompanied.”

She pursed her
lips and huffed. “Oh, is it?” she mocked. “And when’s your bedtime, little
boy?”

“She’d get along
well with Madame B,” Kitt mumbled to me.

“Madame B, as in
the Queen of the Pirates?” Miss Hatter said with interest, cocking her head
slightly and smiling wickedly. “I didn’t know you boys kept that kind of
company.”

“You know her?”

“Not personally.”

I sneered at Kitt
and his damned loose mouth. “It’s not important,” I then quickly said to the
lady, “but I’d appreciate it if you could keep that slice of hearsay to
yourself.”

She shrugged
nonchalantly. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t start playing parrot,” she said, to my
great relief. “In my work, I’m often bumping shoulders with the more shadowy
types.”

“In your work?”
Kitt questioned. “As a singer?”

“No,” she winked.
“A girl’s allowed more than just one hobby, isn’t she?”

“That depends.
What sort of hobbies are we talking abo—”

“I really don’t
see how that’s your business,” the lady cut in, shifting to a stern tone that
sent Kitt inching away. He glanced at me in confusion and I put my hands up.

“You’re absolutely
right,” I spoke to Miss Hatter, trying to resolve this sudden tension. “The
company you keep is your own affair.” The lady glared at me for a moment, and
then, as if by simply flipping a switch, she was all smiles and sunshine again.

“Oh, don’t worry
yourself about it,” she grinned. “Truth be told, most of them aren’t nearly as
scary as their shadows, but just enough to want around when things go sour,
though.”

“Ah,” I replied.
“Never hurts to keep good company, I suppose.”

Kitt nervously
nodded in agreement, no doubt unsure if the volatile songstress would
charmingly set her claws upon him again.

“Speaking of good
company,” Miss Hatter said, “whatever became of that darling, little redhead
that accompanied you when last we met?”

“Well,” I
half-frowned, “she’s…uh…keeping busy. Actually, we were just on our way to her,
um, father’s residence for a visit, so—”

“At this hour?”
she questioned. “Awfully odd time to call upon a lady.” She paused and giggled.
“Unless that lady is
me,
of course.”

“Uh, sure. Right,”
I replied. “In that case then, we’d best be on our—”

“Oh, hold on!”
Miss Hatter suddenly turned and shouted over my shoulder to something in the
distance. “Boys! Over here!”

I looked back and
saw a cluster of gentlemen approach from the opposite end of the street. In
their arms was an assortment of well-worn musical instruments.

“Boys, you
remember, Mister Dandy, yes?” the lady said. “Mister Dandy, the boys.”

“Hi,” I said.
“Look, Miss Hatter. We hate to be rude—”

“Do we?” Kitt
interjected.

“—hate to be rude,
but we really must be moving on before the hour becomes any later.”

Miss Hatter
grinned at me. “Don’t want to keep her waiting, eh?”

I sighed.
“Something like that.”

“So where are you
headed?”

“South end of the
city,” Kitt said.

“And all that way
on foot?” she frowned.

“Afraid so,” I
lied, not eager to bring any attention to the Priest’s shuttle.

“That won’t do!”
Miss Hatter fussed. “No, no! You’ll spend all night getting there! Here, I’ll
fetch you a ride.”

“That’s kind,”
Kitt said. “But at this time of night, I doubt you’ll—”