A Clockwork Fairytale

by Helen Scott Taylor

  “Great Earth Jinn!” Gregorio’s sudden exclamation jolted Turk out of his pleasant haze. He opened his eyes in time to see his master’s hand draw back. Gregorio struck him across the face with a resounding smack, snapping his head aside with the force of the blow. Turk overbalanced, catching himself with a hand on the hearth. Ears ringing and cheek burning, he turned shocked eyes back to his master.

  “I trusted you!” Gregorio shouted. “I told you not to let the girl bend you to her will.”

  Turk’s chest constricted with mortification. In the fourteen years he’d been pledged, this was the first time Gregorio had hit him.

  “I did not break my vows, Master. I will never break my vows.” Turk thought of Gregorio more as a father than a master. He would not betray the man’s trust no matter what the provocation.

  Gregorio’s blue gaze sharpened with accusation. “I’ve read your memories, boy. I know what happened. You promised me you would not touch the girl.”

  “I didn’t touch her improperly. I only fastened her dress and engaged in a few moments of frivolity.”

  “Frivolity is the thin end of the wedge that a woman drives between a man and his good sense. Females appear harmless but they have the power to rouse the base instincts and tempt you into wrongdoing. It only takes a few minutes for a good man to fall, and the consequences can be out of all proportion to the crime. I’ll find a woman to finish teaching Princess Melbaline the finer points of gentle behavior. You stay away from her, boy, lest you jeopardize our plans.”

  “Yes, Master.” Turk hung his head, his heart aching to have disappointed his master so badly.

  “Now get out of my sight,” Gregorio snapped.

  Turk scrambled to his feet and grabbed his boots from the hearth before stumbling out the door. He walked to the end of the covered balcony and pressed his back to the wall. Now he had time to think, angry confusion burned in his chest. His face still stung from the slap he’d received—and for what. He’d been foolish to fasten Melba’s dress, but he hadn’t broken any vows or even come close to breaking them. He deserved a few words of reprimand, but surely not a slap. He had performed his duty to the best of his ability, and he had expected his master to be pleased with Melba’s progress. Why had Gregorio been so angry?

  Turk hauled in a catchy breath, wishing he could see inside his master’s head to understand his reasoning. Now he would have to distance himself from Melba so he did not upset Gregorio again.

  Gathering his wits, Turk leaped onto the adjoining roof and made his way back toward the inner circle, his spirits low.

  The fetid stink of burning wood mixed with rotten fish drifted to him. He stopped and glanced around. It was years since he’d smelled that odor during his lessons at the seminary, but he would recognize the stink of a Foul Jinn anywhere. It took him a few seconds to realize he was sensing the smell inside his head rather than with his nose. For him to sense it so strongly, it must be attacking someone who held one of his pledge stones. His thoughts jumped to Melba, but she would be safe because Waterberry House was warded against Foul Jinns.

  The most likely target was Maddox. The bluejacket who’d delivered Melba to the baker had threatened the man with a Foul Jinn. Was it possible the sailor had returned for the princess to find her gone?

  All thought of Gregorio left his mind. Turk sprinted to the bunkhouse in the second circle where his pledged boys lived. He needed another set of eyes and fists, and the most able he knew belonged to his head lad. Steptoe was the only other member of the Shining Brotherhood to work as a spy. He had been Turk’s best friend since his first day in the seminary and was pledged to Brother Carlos, Gregorio’s personal secretary.

  Turk ran down the sloping roof of the shop next to the bunkhouse, landed in the yard, and burst through the door. Steptoe sat at the head of a long table filled with boys practicing their letters and numbers. As Turk slid to a halt, Steptoe shot to his feet and all the boys followed suit. “Anyone unaccounted for?” Turk demanded, scanning the eager young faces of his pledges.

  “No, mate,” Steptoe replied with a frown. “We got trouble?”

  “I need your help,” Turk said to his friend.

  Steptoe paused only to kick off his clodhoppers and buckle up the soft suede boots he used for walking the skyways. At the door, Steptoe turned. “Finish your work, lads. Then lock the door and off to bed.” He pointed at a ginger-haired boy. “Scottie’s in charge while I’m gone.” The boy grinned crookedly, then Steptoe slammed the bunkhouse door, and Turk turned his attention back to the skyways.

  He leaped up to the roof next door and sprinted along the most direct route to the third circle. When he reached the final street they needed to leap across, he waited for Steptoe to catch up.

  His friend was a year younger and a few inches shorter than he and not as fleet of foot because he was broad and muscled like a bull. His unruly thatch of brown hair, broken nose, and scab-chewed ear meant he could not pass for a nob like Turk, but his looks were useful. The nobs wrongly assumed his coarse appearance meant he was stupid so they took no notice of him. Plus he had a way with the boys that made him an excellent head lad.

  Turk only wished Gregorio would allow him to confide in Steptoe about the princess, especially now he needed a friend’s advice on how to treat her.

  Steptoe ran up a few moments later, his teeth glinting white in the moonlight as he grinned. “What’s the deal, mate? Got yourself in some bother?”

  “I reckon one of my pledges has been attacked by a Foul Jinn.”

  The grin fell from Steptoe’s face. “Who?”

  “A baker and thief master called Maddox. Heard of him?”

  “Aye.” Steptoe rubbed a hand across his mouth. “You still sensing the Jinn?”

  Turk shook his head. “But we’ll go carefully when we arrive at his shop.”

  “Righty ho, then. Shall I take the back of the place?” Steptoe asked, eyebrows raised.

  Turk nodded. He and Steptoe had never exchanged pledges, but they knew each other so well they almost thought as one. Turk leaped the gap between the buildings and softened his tread across the final few roofs to the bakery. He hugged the shadows behind the chimney and scanned the street below. A few doors down on the opposite side of the lane something moved in the murk, and he caught the unmistakable glint of moonlight on the tarnished buttons of a bluejacket.

  To find Vittorio’s bluejacket spying on the bakery confirmed something dicey was going on with Maddox. He hoped the old man was still alive.

  Turk backtracked a street and dropped to the ground. He approached the bluejacket spy softly, pivoted around on one foot, and felled him with a single kick to the jaw. He checked that the man was still breathing, then concealed him in the shadows. Steptoe trotted up to his side. “I found a bluejacket standing watch at the back,” he said grinning. “He’s now taking an unplanned nap.”

  Turk glanced both ways to ensure they were alone, then crossed the street with Steptoe at his shoulder. “The bluejackets make me think Vittorio has a hand in whatever is going on here,” Steptoe said softly.

  “You’re probably right,” Turk replied, careful not to mention anything about Melba’s involvement with Vittorio and Maddox. He and Steptoe glanced at each other; then Turk kicked the bakery door. Unlocked, it slammed back on creaky hinges. An oil lamp burned low at the back of the room, spreading a pool of light across a moaning figure tied to a chair.

  “Is that Maddox?” Steptoe whispered.

  “Looks like it,” Turk replied. Neither of them entered until they had scanned the room for places where an assailant might be hiding. Bare of goods, the wooden slat shelves resembled sun-bleached bones in the eerie light. When Turk was sure no one lay in wait, he went to Maddox and crouched in front of him. The old man’s head strained back, the tendons in his neck taut with agony. Saliva dribbled from the corners of his mouth. The fetid stink of evil hung around him like a shroud.

  Steptoe inscribed an Earth Blessing in the air wit
h his finger as protection. His power wasn’t as strong as Turk’s and he had less ability to resist Foul Jinns. “Can the old man be saved?”

  Turk concentrated and saw the taint of the Foul Jinn as a dark stain around Maddox. “The Jinn that’s possessed him isn’t big, but it’s spread throughout his body. It will take weeks to cleanse him. We mustn’t touch him. Go to the monastery and fetch some Brothers to take him to the chapel infirmary.”

  A noise behind a door to the left drew Turk’s attention. He signaled for Steptoe to leave and fetch help for Maddox, then he crossed the room. A metal spoon pushed through the door handle acted as a lock. He slid the spoon free, stepped back, and kicked the door open, expecting someone to jump out at him.

  Nothing moved inside the warm, stuffy storeroom. Bread tins on shelves glinted dully in the light of a single candle. He surveyed the stacked boxes and empty bread trays and noticed three boys huddled together in a corner between some sacks of flour.

  A strange sense of awareness came over him as he realized he was getting a glimpse into the life Melba had lived until two months ago. These three boys looked younger than her, only thirteen or fourteen, and must be like family to her. It made him want to take care of them. “I’m a friend of your master’s,” he said gently. “What happened here?”

  One of the boys stood up and came forward barefoot, skinny, and dirty in his ripped breeches and jacket. Had Melba really been this filthy when he found her? An image of her in the blue silk dress with her golden hair a gleaming halo above her pretty face sneaked into his mind like a thief stealing his concentration. He made himself focus on the boy who had snatched off his cap and ducked his head deferentially. “A bluejacket was ’ere, sir. He locked us in.”

  Turk guessed the boys hadn’t seen the state of poor old Maddox or they’d be panicking. “What did the sailor want, lad?”

  The boy turned and cast an uncertain glance at his friends, but neither offered any help. “He was looking for Mel, sir.”

  Although Turk had expected this answer, it still sent a cold chill through him. “Did he say what he wanted with Mel?”

  “No, sir. Not to us, anyhow. Maybe Master Maddox…” It must have occurred to the boy that Maddox should be answering these questions because his startled gaze shot to the door. “Is me master all right?”

  Turk heaved a sigh, his heart going out to the scruffy tykes. He beckoned the other two and they warily came forward and lined up in front of him. “Give me your hands.”

  One by one, he held their grubby fingers and let his awareness slide into their minds. He sensed only a jumble of shadowy images and emotions—nothing to help him identify the man who’d released the Foul Jinn. The more confident boy had a tickle of latent power. He would send him to the Shining Brotherhood for training and the other two could pledge to Steptoe. His friend would clean them up and teach them to read and write, then maybe they could find paying work.

  “Master Maddox is sick,” Turk said. “The Shining Brotherhood will treat him, but don’t worry, you three will be found a new master. I want you to stay in this room until someone comes for you. Do you understand?” They all nodded.

  Turk went back to the main shop and stared down at Maddox, still rigid in his chair, unaware of anything except the fearful nightmares induced by the Foul Jinn. Turk couldn’t sense the pledge stone he’d given to Maddox. That meant the adept who’d released the evil Jinn had probably taken it and would try to extract information from the Earth Jinn in the stone. At least the poor little spirit wouldn’t be able to tell him much.

  A small metal box sat on the end of the bakery serving counter. A black stain hung in the air around it and it reeked of evil. Turk fetched the oil lamp and examined the box from all angles. Earth Magic adepts usually had a favorite sigil they used to trap the spirits they raised. Scratched into the top of the tin was a crude but effective symbol for containing a Foul Jinn—a reversed Earth Blessing known by the Brothers as a curse mark.

  Turk stepped back from the stink of the box and placed the lantern on the counter. This was the handiwork of a powerful Earth Magic adept. Vittorio was certainly capable of raising a Foul Jinn and using it in this way. All the other evidence pointed to him as well. If Vittorio had learned that Turk had Melba, they were both in serious trouble.

  Chapter Eight

  ’Tis unnatural for grown men to shut themselves away without a woman in sight.

  —Master Maddox

  Melba lay buried underneath the bedcovers, tears leaking from beneath her closed eyelids. She hadn’t set eyes on Master Turk for two weeks. Whatever she’d done to annoy him must be really bad because he’d even stopped teaching her himself and employed a grumpy old bag called Madam Quatro to teach her dancing and deportment. Melba reached down and rubbed her bruised shins. She hated the new teacher. Every time she made a mistake, the crabby cow thrashed her legs.

  She sucked in a jagged breath and pressed her face into the pillow. Master Turk had wanted her to be a girl; now she was a girl, he didn’t like her any more. To top it all she had a gutache so bad she felt like a Foul Jinn was eating her insides. She drew up her knees and pushed her hands between her thighs, gritting her teeth against another clench of pain. Her nightdress clung wetly to her fingers. With a cold shiver of foreboding, she raised her hands. An unmistakable trace of blood smeared her fingers and fear spiked through her. Master Maddox said blood belonged inside a body. Whenever it came out it was bad. She’d rather return to the Earth than tell Master Turk about the blood. But that meant she would have to ask Gwinnie for help.

  ***

  Turk sat at the breakfast table trying to read his newssheet. Thoughts of Melba battered his mind with a storm of doubt and confusion. The shame of Gregorio’s slap to his face still rang in his ears, yet how was he to finish Melba’s training if he followed his master’s command and distanced himself from her? He should have spoken with her sooner and insisted there was no repeat of the frivolity they’d indulged in. Unfortunately, someone had followed him from Maddox’s bakery and he’d had to hide in his emergency bolt-hole.

  He’d then spent two weeks spreading false information about his identity to confuse Vittorio. But with every bluejacket in the navy working as Vittorio’s ears and eyes, it was only a matter of time before he discovered that Master Turk, spymaster, and Mister Turquin, gentleman of Court, were the same person. When that came out it would compromise his undercover work for the Brotherhood and put Melba at risk. His only option was to deliver her safely to the king before Vittorio tracked him down.

  The clock on the mantel chimed the half hour and he frowned. Melba should have been down for breakfast thirty minutes ago. The tension in his belly coiled tighter. Where was she? He waited another ten minutes, attempting to read the same news article three times before giving up in disgust.

  At length, he stood and tossed his napkin on the table. He would not allow Melba to treat him disrespectfully. This was the root of the problem between them. Rather than treat her as a master should, he’d allowed her to become a friend. Things would have to change. He stomped out of the room and up the stairs to hammer on her bedchamber door. “You’re late for breakfast, Melba. Come down this instant. I have lessons planned for this morning and I will not be kept waiting.”

  A muffled sound came from the other side of the door and Turk frowned. “Melba, are you all right?”

  “Go away,” she shouted.

  He stared at the door in disbelief. “How dare you tell me to go away in my own house? You’ll do as I command.” He turned the door handle and pushed. The door bumped an obstacle. He shoved harder but it wouldn’t shift. “Great Earth Jinn, Melba! Open this door immediately.”

  “Let me alone,” she shouted, followed by a sob. The sound doused his anger with a cold splash of remorse.

  “Are you sick? Speak to me, Mel. Move the blasted chair or whatever it is you’ve wedged against the door and let me in.”

  “I want Gwinnie,” she responded.


  Turk stared at the door as though it had sprouted a mouth and spoken itself. “You want Gwinnie?”

  No answer except another muffled sob. What had happened in the two weeks he’d been absent? He ran downstairs and crashed through the kitchen door. “Melba is asking for you,” he burst out.

  Gwinnie looked up with an indignant scowl. “Don’t know what the little tyke wants, but she can get her lazy hide down ’ere. I ain’t at her beck and call.”

  Turk dismissed the slim hope that his housekeeper and Melba had made friends while he’d been away. “Please come to her room. I think it’s urgent.”

  Gwinnie slammed down a pan on the wooden drainer. “If you’re asking, sir, I’ll go. But I ain’t going ’cause that bobtail asked.”

  “I am asking, Gwinnie.” Sweet Earth Jinn, give me strength. He’d learned long ago that it was impossible to make Gwinnie do anything she didn’t want to do.

  He ran back up the stairs and waited impatiently at the top while Gwinnie clumped up, muttering profanities under her breath. When she reached Melba’s door, she hammered with her fist. “You better open up right now, you lazy tyke, or I’m going back to me kitchen.”

  Furniture scraped on the other side of the door; then it cracked open and Melba’s pale tear-streaked face appeared in the gap. “Only you, not him,” Melba gabbled out, averting her eyes. Gwinnie pushed through the door and slammed it shut behind her.

  Turk had been all set to distance himself from Melba to keep Gregorio happy, yet now Melba had turned the tables on him, he felt as though she had slapped him across the face.

  After staring at the door for a few seconds, he gave up any pretense at good manners and pressed his ear against the wood. All he could hear were muffled voices and soft sobs. “What’s the matter with her? Is she sick?” he shouted. “Gwinnie, talk to me.”

  The door wrenched open and he nearly fell into the room. Gwinnie shook her head and pushed past him.

  “What’s the matter with her?” He followed Gwinnie as she headed toward the stairs and experienced an unsettling flashback to when he was a frightened little boy on the trash barges clinging to her skirts. Gregorio had taken him in, given him a decent life and an education, but if Gwinnie hadn’t taken a shine to him and stopped the bigger boys from beating him, he wouldn’t even be alive.