A Clockwork Fairytale

by Helen Scott Taylor

  Finding no evidence of Vittorio’s men in the house, Turk went to Gwinnie’s room off the hall near the kitchen and knocked on the door. He jerked back as the door burst open and Gwinnie jumped out wielding a skillet. “Great Earth Jinn, Turk!” She clapped a hand to her chest. “You gave me a shock turning up in the middle of the night. I nearly knocked your block off, lad.” But her smile said she was pleased to see him.

  “Good to see you too, Gwinnie.”

  “I wondered if you’d find your way back ’ere now them bluejackets has all gone. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. That Royal Victualler is the worst of them all. I’ve heard said he can charm the salt from the sea but he don’t charm me.”

  “Gwinnie, nobody charms you,” Turk reminded her.

  She smiled with satisfaction as though he’d complimented her. “Soon as the Royal Vic were gone, I banished them other guards outside onto the steps. Weren’t having no bluejackets cluttering up me kitchen, even if they were the hoity-toity spit-and-polished variety. Oh, I nearly forgot.” She bustled back into her room and returned with a letter. “A runner brought this for you the night Melba ran away and everything got turned on its head.”

  Turk frowned and scanned his name, written in a flamboyant hand across the envelope. He didn’t recognize the writing. He tore open the envelope and unfolded the paper inside. The gamekeeper is on his way to take your pretty bird.

  Squinting, Turk reread the note and handed it to Gwinnie. “It looks as if someone tried to warn me that Vittorio was on his way here to take Melba. But the note isn’t signed.”

  “It were a trash tyke that brought the note, no question. I recognize that trash smell anywhere.”

  “A trash tyke!” Turk blinked down at the handwriting again. This must be a warning from Dante? How had he known that Vittorio was on his way to take Melba? “I’ll have to pay a visit to the Trash King. But first I must see Melba.”

  He touched the pocket of his bluejacket disguise where he’d hidden the letter from Melba. Her bitter words were seared on his memory. He hoped she would give him a chance to explain why he hadn’t been completely honest with her.

  “You going to see her in Sugar Street Market?” Gwinnie asked.

  Turk nodded. Everyone in the inner circles must have heard that the princess was to accompany the Royal Victualler to distribute alms to the poor. Meeting her secretly in the marketplace under the eyes of the Royal Guard and the crowd would be difficult, but not impossible.

  “’Tis nearly mornin’,” Gwinnie said. “I’ll get dressed and cook you up a decent breakfast to put some flesh on your bones. You look like a strong wind’ll blow you away, lad.”

  Turk returned to his bedchamber and changed into clean linens, black trousers, and a smart frock coat. He smiled at himself in the mirror as he tied his neck cloth. What a relief to don decent clothes again.

  On his way down to breakfast, he stopped in the doorway of Melba’s room. The blue dress lay across the bed. The evening he had helped her fasten that dress, everything had changed for him. She had touched his heart, shown him a different side of life. He just hadn’t realized at the time. Her starlight stone glinted among the tumble of crystal bottles on her dressing table. His heart ached to think he had hurt her so badly over the marriage proposal that she had run away without her pledge stone. Even if he only saw her once more to apologize, he wanted her to keep her starlight stone to remember him by. He popped it in his pocket and headed for the library.

  He winced at the ink stain Vittorio had left on his desk. Beside the ugly mark, a book lay in pieces on the blotter. Turk picked it up and cradled it in his hand like a wounded bird. A stab of pain caught him by surprise when he leafed through the loose pages and discovered the book was Melba’s favorite story, The Sorcerers of Arco, about the ritual battles between the sorcerers of the Golden Dragon and the Silver Serpent. He resolved to repair the book at the first opportunity. Setting it gently aside, he took his seat, dipped his pen in the small dribble of ink left in the inkwell, and composed a note to Melba.

  After a hearty breakfast, he took a pear from the fruit basket and went up to the roof garden. Although Vittorio’s guards would likely be on the lookout for him, he planned to go to the market dressed as a nob and hide in plain sight. His southern coloring marked him out, but with the help of a glamour of disguise, nobody would recognize him.

  Small Jinns with little personality formed the best glamour. The magical texts recommended apples, but Turk preferred pears. Apples were ideal if you simply wanted to give yourself an indistinct appearance or a gloss, but pears had slightly more character and were better at altering your features. He closed his eyes, mentally reached out to the tiny Star inside the pear, and drew it out in a long thin streak. He wrapped the Jinn around himself and imagined his skin and hair lighter like the natives of Royal Malverne Isle. Melba should see through his glamour as she knew him well, but to other people he would look different.

  Next, he raised a Flower Jinn from a pink rose in the form of a butterfly. As the little pink spirit fluttered around his head, his chest tightened with memories of Melba and her flutterbys. He hid the Flower Jinn up his sleeve and made his way down to the front hall. Collecting his top hat and his cane that concealed a sword, he went out to the private quay and hailed a punt.

  The market square thronged with people and his punt had to wait for fifteen minutes to reach the quay. It looked as though everyone in the inner circles had ventured out for a glimpse of the princess. He checked his pocket watch, but he still had plenty of time to take up position. He ignored the brightly colored market stalls loaded with produce and knick-knacks and the sweet smell of toffee apples. Instead, he surveyed the area on the eastern side of the marketplace by the shrine to the Great Earth Jinn where the road led up Nob Hill to the Royal Palace.

  He chose a position beside a statue of the Earth King dressed in his leaves and fruits, and leaned back against the wall with an eye on the road from the Palace. Some young ladies he had met at Court walked by and he tipped his hat to them. They briefly acknowledged him as if he were a stranger, and it confirmed his disguise was effective.

  After an hour, a company of Royal Guards marched into the market square and lined up between the crowd and the shrine where Vittorio normally handed out alms to the poor. Vittorio’s extraordinary mechanical sedan chair rolled into the market square and Turk squinted at the mechanism beneath the chair that drove the wheels, his curiosity for a moment eclipsing his thoughts of Melba. The mechanism was not clockwork nor steam driven so it must be powered by a Jinn. Turk would have loved to take a look at it, but almost immediately another more traditional sedan chair was carried into the market square by four bluejackets. They set it down near the wall where Turk stood. Vittorio climbed out of the first one, smiling. He acknowledged the crowd, looking very pleased with himself, then strode back to the second conveyance. The curtain concealing the interior drew back and Vittorio offered his hand.

  Melba stepped out and glanced around at the crowd of onlookers. Turk nearly dropped his cane. His heart thundered in his ears, blocking all other sound. “Melba, my Starbright friend,” he whispered in awe. She glowed with the ethereal beauty of a Flower Jinn. The pale skin of her cheeks shimmered with gliss, her curls shone with gold gloss. As she turned, overlapping layers of rose pink silk swirled around her, gleaming with tiny points of light like dew on flower petals. Set on the side of her head was a tiny fascinator decorated with jewels and pink feathers.

  Vittorio hovered around her possessively and Turk’s grip tightened on his cane. He prayed to the Great Earth Jinn that she had heeded his warning about the Royal Victualler’s poor character and not been dazzled by his good looks. She placed her hand on Vittorio’s proffered arm and he led her toward the shrine. Her eyes flicked up to Vittorio and away nervously. She was bound to be uneasy in front of the crowd, but she didn’t appear comfortable with Vittorio either. A little of Turk’s tension eased. Melba had sharp wits. He trusted he
r to see past Vittorio’s false front.

  Melba waited on the steps of the shrine while Vittorio made a theatrical performance of playing the chime to honor the Great Earth Jinn. Handcarts of fruit and vegetables were wheeled up and the pretend poor formed a line. Melba stood back, her gaze darting over the crowd self-consciously while Vittorio handed out baskets of produce. As Turk had hoped, the Royal Guards focused their attention on Melba and took no notice of him. He moved along the wall until he was within a few strides of her sedan chair. He released the pink butterfly Flower Jinn from his sleeve and directed it toward her.

  He held his breath as the tiny spirit fluttered over the heads of the guards to settle on the sleeve of her gown. She blinked at it; then her gaze rose and she scanned the faces of the crowd. Turk counted his breaths, one…two…three…each one an eternity of waiting as he sucked in air and pushed it out. Come on, look this way. When her gaze finally reached him, he touched the brim of his hat. Her hand went to her mouth in an instinctive feminine gesture she would not have made a few weeks ago. He angled the top of his cane toward her sedan chair and raised his eyebrows. After a quick glance around to ensure he wasn’t observed, he darted inside the conveyance and pulled the curtain closed. He crouched in the footwell with his back to the wall and the seat in front of him. He placed his top hat and cane on the floor beside him and pressed his forehead against his knees. “Please, Great Earth Jinn, birther of all life,” he prayed. “Please make her come to me. Please.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Here There Be Dragons!

  —Map notation signifying uncharted waters

  Pure joy pulsed through Melba at the sight of Turk. But doubts charged in hot on the heels of her pleasure. Although she wanted to see him, she was acutely aware he was not the man she had believed. He might not wear a golden robe but he was a monk, one of the strange unnatural men who did not like women or even think them worthy of worshiping the Great Earth Jinn.

  Turk had climbed into her sedan chair and obviously wanted her to join him. She still ached inside as if he had bruised her heart. She longed to be close to him and hear his voice. But did she want to give him another chance to hurt her? Even as she argued with herself, her feet were already edging away from the shrine to follow the tiny Flower Jinn toward Turk.

  As Vittorio was engrossed in his performance, handing out baskets of produce to the poor, she didn’t expect him to notice her retreat. But as she sidled away, he glanced at her with a frown. “I’m gonna sit down for a mo,” she mouthed. “Me feet are aching with all this standing around.”

  His frown only deepened. She turned away before he could call her back and hurried toward the sedan chair, aware of the eyes of the crowd following her every move. Her gaze fixed on the silver filigree hearts on her shoe’s toecaps. As they peeped out from beneath her skirt with each step, she chanted to herself he loves me; he loves me not.

  She approached the sedan chair from the wall side, out of sight of the guards. After a quick glance around, she pulled open the curtain, and slipped in.

  “Thank the Great Earth Jinn,” Turk whispered. She crushed her skirts down to fit in the tight space with him. The moment she was seated, he grasped her fingers and pressed his lips to the back of her gloved hands. “Forgive me, my little Star. Forgive me.”

  He looked up at her, his velvety brown eyes so earnest and sincere. His hair had grown and tiny rebellious tufts now stuck out all over his head. Turk wasn’t like the other golden robes. He just couldn’t be. She pulled off her gloves, stroked his hair, and trailed her fingertips across his cheek, drugging herself on the wonderful lemon-spice smell of him. A burning mix of pleasure and pain coursed around her body. She wanted to be with him so much, but if he was a monk, she could never ever have him. She closed her eyes but tears leaked between her lashes. “Why do you have to be a monk?”

  “I’m sorry, Melba. Don’t cry.” He held her face between his hands and brushed away her tears with his thumbs.

  “But I want to marry you.”

  He eased closer so her knees slid between his legs, and he kissed the tip of her nose. “I was honored you asked me.”

  She stared at the tiny silver Earth Blessing pin in his starched white neck cloth. Pain and anger swirled together. “You knew I were the princess from the start, didn’t you? You lied to me so you could turn me in for the coin.”

  “I never meant to hurt you, Melba. I wanted you to have the life you were born to. Aren’t you happy to have found your father and to be a princess?” He punctuated his words with little kisses to her fingers.

  “Yes, I suppose.” Her story was the fairytale that folks in the outer circles dreamed of. But she would give it all up to be with Turk. Melba closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his.

  At the sound of boots on the gravel outside, they both looked up. “You all right in there, ma’am?” a male voice asked. “His honor, the Royal Victualler, said to ask after your health, ma’am.”

  Melba glanced at Turk. He released her hands and gestured at the side curtain. She wiped away her tears and opened the drapes a crack to peer up at the frowning Royal Guard. “I’m just having a sit-down ’cause me legs was aching,” she said. “You can tell Vitto I’ll be getting out again in a minute.”

  His puzzled expression didn’t ease, but he nodded and stepped back. Melba repositioned the curtain, making sure there were no gaps and turned back to Turk. He placed a finger to his lips and leaned close to her ear. “We must speak more softly.”

  She placed her hands on his shoulders and wriggled even closer. His arms slid around her and she settled her cheek against the slight roughness of his jaw, a delicious shiver running through her. The dark waves of his hair tickled her temple and she burrowed her fingers in the soft strands. His warm reassuring presence cradled her. She didn’t want fancy dresses or the pretty stuff in her room. She just wanted to stay here with Turk’s arms around her forever.

  “Melba, are you all right in there?” At the sound of Vittorio’s voice right outside, she and Turk jerked apart, their gazes locked.

  “Just a mo, Vitto. I’ll come out.” The curtain twitched. Heart racing, she grabbed it and held it closed. “Wait. I ain’t ready yet.” She heard the hiss of Vittorio’s irritated sigh.

  A bubble of desperation rose inside her. She wasn’t ready to say good-bye to Turk yet. He dug in his pocket, gave her a starlight stone, and leaned close to her ear. “Your pledge stone,” he breathed. “If you hold it and think of me, I’ll be able to feel you.” She gripped it tightly, relieved to have it back. Then he pressed a folded piece of paper into her hand. “Read this.”

  She gave him a questioning look, but he shook his head and pointed at the curtain. They had run out of time. If she didn’t climb out soon, Vittorio would rip the curtain aside. Her chest tightened with frustration and sadness. Turk gripped her hands tightly and put his mouth close to her ear. “Do not marry him,” he breathed. “Promise me.” He pulled back and gazed at her, waiting for her reply.

  “I promise,” she mouthed. How could he think she would marry Vittorio? “When will I see you again?”

  “I’ll send a note.” He lifted her hands, closed his eyes, and pressed kisses to her knuckles.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong, ma’am?” Vittorio asked, his tone now formal and curt.

  Turk pressed back against the inside wall of the sedan chair. Melba grazed her fingertips across his cheek, her breath tight and achy. Then she pulled on her gloves and gathered her voluminous skirts in her arm before sliding the curtain open and closing it quickly as she scrambled out.

  “Are you well, Melba? Your eyes are red.” Vittorio frowned at her as she smoothed down her hopelessly crumpled dress, while her heart thundered with a wild mix of emotions. He glanced at the sedan chair and then back to her. If he found Turk inside, he would arrest him, and maybe even have him tossed down The Well. She must make him believe nothing was wrong.

  “I’m fine and dandy now I’
ve had me rest.” She linked her arm through Vittorio’s and turned him to face the marketplace. “I ain’t never had a toffee apple bought for me,” she said, deciding that the time she’d thieved one didn’t count. “Can you get me one?”

  He glanced back at the sedan chair again and Melba held her breath, praying Turk waited a few moments before making his escape. “Of course.” He gave her a perfunctory smile and beckoned a guard, giving instructions to purchase a toffee apple.

  While Vittorio was talking, Melba glanced over her shoulder in time to see Turk slip out of the opposite side of the sedan chair. Her heart leaped as he paused beside the wall to smile at her. Unfortunately, Vittorio chose that moment to look around.

  ***

  “Stop that man!” Vittorio shouted.

  Turk risked a quick glance over his shoulder as he sprinted toward the canal. Vittorio was pointing at him and some of the Royal Guards were already hot on his heels. Turk darted between the knots of people, leaping handcarts, sacks, and boxes. Luckily, he had planned for a hasty retreat and had worn his suede skyways boots, which also made excellent running footwear.

  Ahead of him, punts were still disgorging passengers onto the busy market quay. The waiting punts nearly spanned the width of the canal. Turk leaped from the quay and raced across the canal, using the crafts as stepping-stones. Punters cursed him, and ladies screamed, but his light tread and excellent balance meant he reached the far side of the waterway without missing his step or upsetting a craft.