Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (70 page)

“See, there’s a
man right there! Sir!”

She had singled
out a poor soul who was skulking in the dark across the way. The man, who was
lurking next to a longish, wagon-sort of vehicle, grimaced as Miss Hatter
brought him over to us.

“Something, eh, I
can do for you?” the wiry gentleman inquired, more than slightly irritated.

“These two are in
dire need of a ride!” Miss Hatter explained, gesturing to Kitt and me.

“And?” the man
unenthusiastically questioned.

“
And,
as I
can plainly see, you happen to have a set of wheels at your disposal.”

“So?”

“
So,
mister, sir, you shall do your good deed for the night and happily offer these
fellows transportation!”

“Oh,” the man
said, understanding. “No, I won’t.”

“Are you a
Christian, sir?”

“Yes, of course,
but—“

“Then you believe
in the importance of good deeds?”

“I suppose, but—“

“Then you
acknowledge that by denying these poor, wayward souls, these unfortunate
gentlemen, by denying them in their time of need, you are refusing to perform
the simplest charitable act?”

The man snorted.
“I’ve got work to get to.”

“Now?!? In the
dead of night?!?”

“I dig graves.”

“Fitting,” I
uttered to myself.

“All right, look,”
Miss Hatter said, “how’s two pound sound?”

“Not enough like
five,” the stranger said.

“Fine,
five,
”
the lady replied. “Mister Dandy, pay the gentleman.”

I frowned and reluctantly
dug into my coat, only to find nothing. I searched again, hoping that there
remained some small remainder of the money bestowed upon me by the gaslight
pirates. But it seemed that my funds, as well as my luck, had at last run out.

“Sorry,” I sheepishly
admitted. “I’m penniless.”

Miss Hatter then
looked to Kitt.

“So am I,” he
said. I’ll never know if he was speaking truthfully.

Miss Hatter sighed
and began rifling through her handbag. I gritted my teeth in annoyance and
pulled a breath through them. Utterly ridiculous, I remember thinking as I
watched the woman fight so very hard to secure a ride I truly didn’t need.

“Look, you’ve been
very considerate,” I said to her, “but we don’t expect you to spend your own,
hard-earned—”

“Oh, enough of
this!” Miss Hatter complained, fiercely snapping her handbag shut. “Boys!”

Without a word,
Miss Hatter’s company of accompanying musicians, all-purpose movers, and, as it
turned out to be in that awkward moment, rock-fisted heavies leapt upon the
unsuspecting man. They hoisted him from the ground, held him clutched by all
limbs, and jabbed their instruments threateningly close to bludgeoning range.
The man paled, eyeing the trombone at his throat, the violin over his knee, and
the newfangled, portable, miniature harpsichord angled menacingly into his
ribcage.

“Stop that!” I
shouted at the ruckus. “Put him down!”

“There’s no need
for this!” Kitt added.

“Boys,” Miss
Hatter said, ignoring our protests, “would you kindly persuade this man to
reconsider our request?”

“For the record, I
wouldn’t consider this sort of approach persuasive!” the poor man yelped.

“Just wait,” the
lady devilishly said. “It’s about to be.”

“No, it’s not!” I
declared, marching between Miss Hatter and the others. I was beginning to worry
that if this carried on for much longer, the lady’s pink pistol might make an
ugly little appearance. “Let’s all just settle down here!”

Miss Hatter
sighed, clucked her tongue, and signaled to her army to reunite their captive
with the ground. I nodded in tired appreciation.

“Forgive that,” I
spoke to the man, looking nearly as weary as he did. “We’ll be on our way now.
Very sorry.”

The man looked me
over and surprised me by loosening his face into a smile.

“You’re having a
long night, aren’t you?” he asked.

“The longest.”

“I’ll tell you
what,” the gravedigger said with a tone of amusement. “I’m beginning to feel a
bit generous.”

Generous?!? After
being assaulted?!? The musicians must’ve shifted all the blood in his head to
whatever corner sparks sympathy. Either that, or I looked even more beaten that
I thought.

“Is that so?” I
cautiously replied.

“I’ll make you a
deal,” the man said. “I’ll let you boys tag along if you can provide me with an
answer.”

“Answer?” Kitt
repeated. “To what?”

The man chortled
to himself. “My riddle.”

“You’re…you’re
serious?” I asked, blinking.

“Sure.”

“Very well!” Miss
Hatter answered on our behalf. “Ask this riddle of yours!”

Wonderful.

“All right,” the
gravedigger said, clearing his throat and thumbing his pockets. “What do the
dead have but do not need that the living need but cannot have?”

Kitt and I both
pondered this question, but it was I who ultimately wagered a guess.

“Peace?” I
suggested.

The thin man
absorbed the word, and I could see his eyes roll back and forth as he thought upon
it.

“Yes,” he said at
last. “Yes, I like that.”

“Is that correct?”
I cautiously asked. “The right answer?”

“Oh, I don’t
know,” the gravedigger replied. “I never had an answer myself. But I quite like
yours, boy. Might spread it around, if-in’ ya don’t object.”

“Sure,” I said, a
touch baffled. “Go right ahead.”

He moved to the
back of his vehicle and motioned for us to follow.

“Strange one,”
Kitt said to me.

“No more than you
and I.”

“True.”

I started after
the gravedigger and Kitt pulled me back.

“What are you
doing?” he said aside. “We can’t take a ride from this man!”

“Would you rather
tell everyone about the Priest’s shuttle?” I whispered.

Kitt made a
childish pout. “Fine.”

When we approached
the digger, he opened a set of double doors at the rear of the machine. Inside
was a long, near-empty compartment with a few shovels and other tools littered
about.

“Hope you don’t
mind a little cemetery dirt,” the man said to us, patting the dusty floor of
the cabin.

“Not at all,” I
wearily stated. “It’s starting to feel like home.”

Kitt went inside.
I stood for a moment and smirked.

“Something funny?”
the digger asked.

“Yeah, a little,”
I admitted. “See, in all of the old stories I’ve heard, the hero answers a
riddle to
avoid
riding away with Death.”

“Maybe you’re not
the hero.”

I laughed and
nodded. “I’ve been considering that myself for awhile, actually. And each day
seems a little further from—”

“Just get in the
back,” the gravedigger grunted.

I shut myself up
and climbed in. Footsteps hurried behind me and Jessie Mae Hatter quickly
appeared between the open doors.

“One more thing,”
she said, softly tugging at my sleeve.

She took from her
handbag a small, metal trinket and placed it in my palm. “Have this.”

I looked down at
the token in my hand.

“A music box?” I
asked.

“Play it when you
need a little luck. Or at least a little cheer.”

I examined it.

“It’s broken.”

“Oh!” she said,
peering into my hand. “So it is. The little windup lever’s missing. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry abo—“

“Well, it’s a
small piece, but I must have it around somewhere. If it turns up, I’ll remember
to send it your way.”

“That’s not
necess—“

“Have a good
night, you two. Or what’s left of it. And don’t forget to give your lady friend
my regards.”

“I’ll try to—“

“Farewell!” she
sang, swinging the doors shut almost ceremoniously. Kitt and I were left alone
in the dreary dimness of the dirty compartment. I frowned. He frowned.

And then we rode
away.

“Pocket…”

“What, Alan?”

“You wouldn’t have
that music box on you now, would you?”

“I don’t know. Probably.
I haven’t emptied out this coat in ever.”

“Could you check?”

“Why? What good’s
a broken music box?”

“But it’s not
really
broken
, now is it?”

“Might as well be,
without its windup piece.”

“And what do you
suppose that’d look like? Eh? Little bent piece of metal?”

“Sure, but that
doesn’t…no…”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t
think?!?”

“Check your coat,
mate.”

“All right, just
give me…hold on…yeah, I’ve got it! It’s right here!”

“That bit of
metal, stick it in.”

“I am, I am! I…it
works! Listen, that…that’s the song she was whistling. It’s—”

“It’s Lady Jay.”

“What? You mean
the song? You recognize—”

“Lady Jay. I’d
know it anywhere. Little ballad called ‘Sweet Nonsensical Love.’ Pretty song.”

“Oh. Peculiar.”

“No, it isn’t.
I’ve told you. Lady Jay’s a hit right now. Lots of fans out there.”

“I know. I’ve come
across those songs quite a bit. What I mean is, it’s peculiar that Miss Hatter
would give it to me. For luck. What’s so lucky about some love song?”

“Well, music’s a
distraction, Pocket. And I’ve heard enough of this tale of yours to know that
you probably needed a good distraction at that point. Nothing luckier than
being able to forget for a short while.”

“That’s your
theory? Pfff…”

“Oh, stop
glowering at me, Pocket. Here, spin the lever once more, and I’ll sing you the
lyrics.”

“Why bother? I’m
far past the point for needing luck.”

“Go on, go on.
It’ll put a nice tune to your story.”

“If you insist,
Alan.”

I watched the
black-brown soil bounce and slide across the cabin floor as we were driven
along through the city. Kitt and I sat opposite from each other, saying
nothing. I thought of the Doll and my stomach started to turn in nervous
anticipation of the possible reunion. I thought of her eyes.

“They say fate
is just a word for those who’re lucky.

They say curse
is just a word for those who fail.

They say words
are just an easy fill for silence.

They won’t keep
you warm when you are cold and pale.”

“Pocket?” Kitt
asked, squeezing his hands around a dirty shovel.

“Yeah?”

“I have a
question.”

“I told you
before. I don’t need your questions right now, so—”

“When we were on
the
Lucidia
, you kissed the Doll.”

I groaned under my
breath. “That right,” I said, giving into his queries with great, sarcastic
exhaustion. “I did. Really glad you saw that.”

“But I think
all of that talk’s a little mucky.

I’d rather live
a more enchanting tale.”

“Forgive me, but
why?” Kitt said.

I shrugged. “I
don’t know. Felt like it. It just sort of happened.”

“So, that means
you, um, have some sort of feelings for her, right?”

“Maybe,” I gruffly
responded, sharply pulling my defenses back up. “Why? Do
you?
”

“No!” Kitt
blurted, quite sincerely. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with her! I
just…I don’t really feel that way about any girl. About anyone, I guess.”

“Oh,” I blinked.
“Fair enough.”

“The waking
world’s too prone to dreary violence.

It makes this
young one feel so old and frail.”

Kitt thought for a
moment and added, “As a sister, Dolly, maybe.”

I rolled my eyes
to the side, and the moment of civility washed away as my memory re-established
itself.

“A sister you’d
sell, right?” I muttered. Even without looking, I could feel Kitt wilt down
across the way.

“So it didn’t
bother you at all?” he then quietly asked. “Kissing the Doll? I mean, you know,
with her, uh, special pieces?”

“I used to know a
man with a tin filling in one of his teeth. His wife kissed him all the time.”

“All the time?”

“As far as I could
tell when I watched.”

“Why’d you watch
so much?”

I looked at Kitt
and again momentarily forgot that he was a traitor and I was a pauper and we
were sitting on lumps of dirt tracked up from the dead.

“She was a pretty
wife,” I smirked.

“Give me sweet,
sweet,

sweet,
nonsensical love.

Oh, give me the
one that makes the smallest sense.

Darling,
please, please,

please, just
sonnets and doves.

All other loves
are just so dull and dense.”

“You were right,
Alan. It’s a nice song.”

“Thank you,
Pocket.”

Eventually, we
came to a slow halt. Without explanation, the gravedigger opened the door and
led us outside.

“I don’t get it,”
Kitt said. “Why are we stopping here?”

We were standing
at the side of an old city plot inhabited only by large slices of broken,
seemingly burnt debris frosted with tiny shards of broken glass that sparked
like a cruel mockery of diamonds. The debris filled the space, making the
shapes of large anthills.

“It’s as far as I
can take ya,” the gravedigger said. “Rest of the block’s sealed off by the
King. Has been all week.”

“All right,” I
said, rubbing my brow. “To tell you the truth, we’re looking for an abandoned
building in the area. Nevermind the reason. But maybe you know it. Used to be a
watch shop.”

“Of course,” the
digger said. “Laid the old man to rest myself.”

“The watchmaker?”

“That’s right.
Such a pity when he passed. I remember the body. Emptied of the spirit, but
still seemed so sad. You know the type, son? A gent so lonesome you can just
see the ache and yearning in his eyes, even when they’re closed?”