Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) Read online

  The Doll hopped and clapped her little fingers together.

  “Then we are off!” she spun and skipped ahead, moving back toward the ticket kiosk. Kitt followed, but I caught him by his shoulder.

  “Kitt.”

  “What is it, Pocket?”

  “That shipman.”

  “Yeah?”

  “How much did he offer to pay you?”

  “Oh...well...he wasn't that enthusiastic at first...”

  “Kitt.”

  “He told me to blow off. Unfortunately for him, he tripped over something unseen in his path. Went falling headfirst over his cargo down a set of sidesteps. I naturally came to his aid.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Helped the poor man up, dusted him off, adjusted his coat.”

  “I see. Changed his tone, did he?”

  “Must've. Lumbered away and left me with a nice stack of bills in my basket.”

  Another sigh escaped my lips. “Some luck.”

  “Exactly what I thought, Pocket,” he said, clucking his cheeks. “Exactly what I thought.”

  I grunted, rejected an opportunity to complain, and followed the dancing Doll down the docks.

  We walked and paid and walked some more and the next thing I knew we were boarded and sitting in our seats, peeking out of portholes. Kitt and Dolly both took to wandering around the cabins shortly into our flight, leaving me alone to take in New London from the sky.

  It was nothing but a scrambled mess of children's building blocks.

  Before long, Kitt jogged down the aisle and jumped into the seat next to mine.

  “Enjoying yourself?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the window.

  “Sure am!” he said, quite loudly. “This is exciting!”

  “Exciting?”

  “Yeah! Up in the sky and all! Aren’t you having fun?”

  “Sure. It’s a pretty decent time.”

  “Just decent? I kinda feel spoiled. Like I’m having a vacation.”

  I sighed to myself, thinking that “spoiled” was a little too enthusiastic for a circle around the city. Then again, I bore obscenely easily, so who knows?

  “A beggar’s vacation, maybe,” I said.

  “Hmm…” Kitt responded. “Well, that’s still something.”

  I let his comment pass without thought.

  “Where’s the Doll?” I asked instead.

  “I don’t know. Somewhere.”

  “We’re all somewhere, Kitt.”

  He stared at me like he didn’t understand the implication.

  “I know.”

  “Forget it,” I replied. “I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

  A fat cloud passed. It looked like a painting of a king I’d once seen. One of those Richards. A finger tapped my shoulder.

  “Hey Pocket,” Kitt whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you want to see something unusual?”

  “I think I’ve seen enough strange things for this week, Kitt. Nothing personal.”

  “Come on,” he said, hushing his voice, for what reason I shall never know or seek out, even quieter. “It’s pretty impressive.”

  “Fine. What is it?”

  “Not here. Might cause a ruckus.”

  “Why?”

  “Meet me on the back deck in seven minutes.”

  “Why seven?”

  He was up and out of his seat. And since the following six and a half minutes offered no deviation from the mild boredom that was starting to set in, I told you, I bore very easily, I wandered out to the back deck as requested.

  The No. 21 Zeppelin had a small outdoor deck built onto the back of its tourist cabins that allowed eager travelers to take in a wider view through a pair of large binoculars on a stand that was welded to the floor. Kitt had his face planted into the eyeholes when I entered the scene. He seemed to be peeking in the general direction of a mattress factory. None of the other passengers were present.

  “All right, I’m here,” I announced, crossing my arms. “What’s so important?”

  Kitt promptly left the viewing stand and reached into his jacket.

  “You’ll like this, Pocket.”

  He pulled out…a wrench.

  “A wrench?” I asked, dully.

  “That’s right.”

  “You pulled me out here for a wrench?”

  “Look closer.”

  “Sure.” The wrench was a little large and not at all peculiar, other than the fact that one of its ends extended past the rubber-grip handle into a blunt edge with a thin slot.

  “So…what am I looking at here?”

  “This!” Kitt said. He squeezed a small button hidden into the rubber grip and swung the wrench up at me. A thin, razor-edged blade, the size of a knife, no, more like a smaller dagger, shot out of the open end of the wrench, extending millimeters away from my face. I leapt backward, smacking my back against the ship’s railing.

  “For God’s sake!” I shouted. “You nearly stabbed me in the face! What did you do that for?!?”

  “Pretty unusual, isn’t it?”

  “You could’ve taken my eye out!”

  “Sorry, sorry. But it’s pretty nice, right?”

  I calmed down and inspected the weapon. It was actually pretty impressive.

  “It’s spring-loaded,” he said with pride.

  “So…” I said, carefully holding the thing. “You rigged a knife into a mechanic’s wrench.”

  “I’ll show you. Hold this bag of marbles.”

  “Where do you get—“

  “Won them off of a kid inside. He plays for keeps.”

  “So do you, right?”

  “Hold the marbles. Pretend that it’s money or something.”

  “Fine,” I agreed, taking the bag. “I am holding the marbles.”

  “All right.” With a delicate push of his finger, Kitt retracted the wrench-blade back into its hideaway slot and spun the weapon with gusto in his palm. “Now pretend to be walking.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it,” he eagerly insisted. “Walk in place.”

  I started walking in place as I clung onto a bag of marbles and felt like the world’s greatest idiot. Kitt strolled up beside me and matched my pantomime.

  “Good afternoon, sir!” he said in a false tone. “Lovely weather we are having!”

  “Uh…right. Lovely weather. Perfect for...loitering on a viewing deck.”

  “Yes, yes! It is! Good day to you!”

  “And to you.” I took a step forward. Kitt seized this opportunity to duck to my side and swing his wrench toward the bag. The blade popped out and sliced it clean. The bulk of the sack plopped and fell onto the floor as I moved ahead.

  “I hate to continue interrupting this story, Pocket.”

  “Go ahead, Alan.”

  “I mean, that’s pretty clever. The hideaway blade.”

  “I agree.”

  “ Sneakier way for a cutpurse to cut a purse. They never see the knife coming.”

  “Right.”

  “But why build it into a wrench of all things?”

  “I’ll get to that.”

  “Still, as I said, pretty clever.”

  “Sure. Impressive.”

  “You don’t seem that impressed.”

  “Oh, I was, when it happened. Somewhat. I probably would’ve been more so if Kitt hadn’t just cut open a bag full of marbles.”

  “Ohhhhh…”

  The bag fell to the floor with a clack and a hundred colorful balls of glass started rolling in every direction across the deck.

  “Kitt!” I barked, pivoting my foot to keep from tripping on them.

  “It’s okay,” he responded. “I’ll pick them up.”

  “No! I mean...” I stopped myself. Too late. Dozens of marbles slipped beneath the railing and rolled right off of the ship. Kitt and I ran to the rails and watched as they fell. Marbles raining from the sky.

  “Wow, look at that,” Kitt said. “Marbles from the sky.”


  “Yeah,” I said. “Kind of beautiful in a way.”

  We watched in quiet appreciation as the little things fell to Earth. How they glistened in the sun like little pieces of hard candy. How they cut through the clouds and slid through the sky. How they violently punctured the ground, causing people to run and drop and hide and cover to keep from having their skulls cracked.

  Ah.

  “Watch your heads!” Kitt yelled. “Renegade marbles!”

  “I don't think they can hear you from there.”

  We watched, frozen to our spot, as people ran for cover under the fast-falling glass rain. Citizens ducked and dodged. A man extended his umbrella moments before he would’ve been popped in the forehead. A frantic baker began swinging a thick loaf to the sky, swatting them away.

  Finally, the coast seemed clear, and apart from a few angry fists pointed in our direction, the danger seemed to be over. Kitt slowly relaxed and let his heel rest on a larger shooter marble.

  “That could have been bad,” he said, and with a breath and, I suspect, hardly half a thought, eased his foot and let the shooter roll out over the edge.

  “Kitt!” I immediately piped.

  “What?” he momentarily wondered before gasping. “Oh, Hell!”

  Fortunately, by that point our zeppelin was passing over an empty backstreet behind, eh, I think it was a billiard hall. Unfortunately, the back door of said parlor swung open and, in an act of rotten timing, a blond man exited into the street and stepped directly into the marble’s path.

  There was a faint crash. We couldn’t get a clear view of what had happened.

  “Did that hit him?” Kitt asked, panicking.

  “I don’t know.”

  “If he’s hurt, then we’re in deep trouble! Really, really—“

  “Wait a minute, I see him! I think he’s okay!”

  “Really?”

  “He’s standing. I can’t imagine I would be if I got hit like that.”

  “Binoculars,” Kitt decreed.

  “Right!”

  We both picked an eyehole and focused. Our view was magnified, but we couldn’t see much more than the basic shape of the blond man pacing. And yelling. Pacing and yelling. We couldn't hear the gentleman, but his expressions were exaggerated enough that we had no problem reading the words, mostly cursing, from his lips.

  “Damn it!” he shouted from below.

  “We’re sorry!” Kitt shouted back.

  “He can't hear you,” I said.

  With almost magical timing, the blond looked directly up to the sky. He must've caught our ship, because he raised an angry fist in our direction.

  “That could’ve killed me!” he shouted.

  “We know! And we apologize!” Kitt needlessly responded.

  “Who throws a marble off of a ship?!? Seriously!”

  “It was an accident!”

  “Damn it! I…just, damn it!”

  “I said, we’re sorry! We did try to warn you!”

  I tried once more to interject. “Kitt, he can't—“

  “We would've warned you if we could've!”

  I gave up trying and sat down. Eventually, the zeppelin floated away from the irritated gentleman's alley and Kitt was forced to let the matter be. He turned his attention to the remaining marbles rolling around the deck. He quickly gathered them up, and tied off the torn bag.

  “That was an ordeal,” he said, sitting down.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you think…do you think that guy wants to punch us?”

  I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “I couldn’t say.”

  Kitt started laughing too.

  And then, as if Lady Fate had noticed that we were feeling relaxed again, a siren moaned loudly throughout the ship. The clamor of flustered passengers banging around inside made Kitt and I shut our eyes, ignoring for a moment the inevitable.

  “Should we go in now?” Kitt asked.

  “Hang on. A second more,” I said, briefly inhaling the sky. “All right. Let’s go.”

  The aisles were crowded. People pushed and jerked back and forth in a bit of a frenzy while the evening gown matron tried her best to soothe the mob with a bit of enunciated assurance that they we all were in no great danger. When we had finally gotten back to our seats, we found the Doll sitting with a small golden tube.

  “Where have you been?” she asked as the matron hurried down the aisle, pushing against our backs.

  “In your seats!” the matron demanded.

  “What's going on here?” I asked.

  “Small engine issue. We request that all passengers remain in the proper seating until the issue is resolved.”

  “Yeah, but—“

  “Into your seats, sirs!”

  We were soon belted into our cushions as the siren continued its song.

  “Is there a problem?” the Doll asked.

  “Eh...” I mumbled. “Possibly.”

  “I wouldn't worry about it,” Kitt said. “Probably nothing.”

  “What makes you so sure?” I asked.

  “I don't know. Hopeful thinking.”

  “Great.”

  “She said it was a small problem.”

  “This is noisy,” the Doll said. “Make it stop!”

  “I don't...wait...”

  The siren stopped. The mobs hushed.

  “Thank you,” the Doll said to no one in particular.

  “See,” Kitt added. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah...” I looked around the cabin with cautious relief. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Across the path, a honey blonde mother with tightly-pulled hair dragged her young son into a pair of seats and promptly scolded him for losing all of his shiny new marbles.

  Ug. I wasn't sure what I needed, but I fairly sure it came in a tall glass, sun still up or not. I pulled an old watch and chain from my pocket and checked the time. 3:33. It was going to be a long day.

  Hours later, I found myself in a different seat under a different patch of sky with the same watch and chain in my hand. I scraped up some dirt with my heels and looked at the clock face.

  3:33.

  Right. It had broken months ago. Why do I always forget little significances like that?

  I rolled my head backward and popped my neck. I was sitting on a bench in the middle of a clearing where once stood a rather elegant park, a place of golden autumns and bicycling. Apparently more time had passed than I thought since I’d last visited, because the place was now little more than a half-wet dirt hole, the golds and reds of the trees replaced by chocolate browns. Mud. Kitt and the Doll made strings of footprints as they ran through it, fanciful, looping, little designs. There was a little snow on the ground, sure, but not enough to cover the dirt. The meeting of the seasons in England is an interesting thing. I've learned to keep a trained eye to it. There is a moment where the grand final crash of autumn meets with the subtle oncoming of winter. About this time, when snow begins falling in the dead of night, blanketing the ground and keeping the ribs of unlucky bastards from cracking when they are thrown out of bars into bottle-seizing fox men. Every so many years or so, I actually catch snow frosting on top of a few toughened autumn leaves before they drop from their branches. I tell you, if you want a sight that really sticks to you, forgo the theaters and the brothels and find yourself a frosted leaf. Find the reddened fire boiling under the smooth and crispy white skin. Find the transition of time captured in a piece of lovely Miss Nature and tell me there's no meaning in this world. And hey, let's see the King's industry replicate a feeling as satisfying as that.

  Anyhow, I'm off track. There was nothing like that around because the clearing was mud. Kitt led the Doll around, pointing out trees and squirrels to her. I took in some air.

  “What's got you down down, my boy boy?”

  A man in rags had appeared from God knows where next to me on the bench, his legs squeezed together and his forehead wrapped in bandages.

  “Eh?” I said, addressing him.
“Who said I was down?”

  “Your face did, boy boy!”

  I smiled at the odd beggar. He started sniffing in the air.

  “Double trouble, boy boy,” he said, smelling...I don't know...life?

  “Trouble?”

  I wasn't in the mood for this.

  “Be thou now an adventurer?” he asked.

  “I wouldn't know.”

  “One should always know what one is, yo, ho!”

  “Mmm...” My thoughts drifted for the moment to the Frenchman. I ought to introduce this kook...

  “Hey hoo!” he said. “I know what you need! Direction!”

  “Direction?”

  “Direction of the spirit! The spirit!”

  “Oh. So you're...what? A member of the clergy?”

  “Ha and ha, boy boy! I'm a seer extraordinaire!”

  “Are you?”

  “Indeed, I am, I am! An old hand in the ethereal arts! For a small fee, I can find in any lost soul a path forward to fruition! Would you care to be shown the way?”

  Small fee. I get it now. Fortune teller.

  “Sure, I could use a few wise words.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “You've got money?”

  “I've got this.”

  I handed over the only coinage I had, the imitation silver token I had received as a proof of purchase for the zeppelin tour. He held it close to his eye, inspected the etched image of a rosy-cheeked, smiling airship, and then flipped it on his thumb.

  “That works.”

  He pressed his hand against my forehead, closed his eyes, and started humming some unknown song. This went on for about a minute, then he promptly stopped, nodded, handed me a slip of paper from his pocket, and scurried away without another word.

  Stupefied, I remained on the bench, alone and slowly playing with the slip of paper in my hand. Finally I got bored enough and unfolded the scrap.

  TRUST THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN BEARD.

  Golden beard?

  It seemed a rather vague and altogether pointless way to pinpoint one's path to a glorious tomorrow. I balled it up.

  Across the way, I watched the Doll slowly inch herself closer to a fat-faced squirrel on a rock. She was within reaching distance when Kitt clamored up behind her and scared it away. I checked my watch. 3:33. This day was moving slow.

  “You okay?” Kitt asked, the two returning to the bench for a breather. Well, for him a breather and for the Doll, uh, whatever she does to rest.