A Clockwork Fairytale

by Helen Scott Taylor

  Turk unfolded the note to find a brief message. Meet me outside The Cocky Parrot Tavern at ten. The missive was unsigned but only Dante would use a trash tyke to deliver a note. Turk wasn’t carrying his pocket watch so he swung around and squinted at the huge clock on the tower over the Royal Victualler’s office. It was past ten bells already. But he was lucky; the tavern where Dante wanted to meet was only a few minutes away at the southern end of the harbor.

  With a frustrated glance at the merchant brigs, Turk set off along the wharf, planning to return later to book his passage south. He strode between men carrying bolts of silk, barrels, and boxes on their shoulders, while squawking seagulls rode the salty breeze above their heads.

  The Cocky Parrot was quiet at this time of day. The door was barred, and the windows shuttered until later when the sailors and dockworkers would cram into the tumbledown building to drown their sorrows.

  At first Turk thought Dante wasn’t there, but as he drew closer, he saw him leaning against the wall in the shadow between the tavern and the warehouse next door. Dante beckoned him into the alley. “I tried to track you down yesterday afternoon,” he said, “but my runner returned with the message undelivered.”

  “I was at the monastery. The boy could have left it there for me.”

  Dante shook his head. “I told him to deliver it directly into your hands so I knew you would be here.”

  Turk had never seen Dante grim-faced and serious. It set his already taut nerves on edge. “What’s so important?”

  “Princess Melbaline visited me at the trash barges yesterday.”

  “She what?” Jealousy stabbed Turk. Why would Melba trudge all the way out to South Spit Marshes to see Dante? “Why is she interested in you?”

  “Much as I’d like to think the princess is interested in me, I think she came only to find out more about you.”

  Turk averted his face to hide his impulsive smile. Then he remembered how dangerous it was for a lady to travel through the outer circles. “Please tell me she was properly guarded.”

  Dante nodded. “She had a squad of the Royal Guard with her and Vittorio of course.” Bitterness rose in Turk at the thought of her being protected by that despicable man. “But I fear she is in greater peril from her friends than her enemies,” Dante finished.

  Turk’s gaze shot up to Dante’s face. “What do you mean?”

  Dante sucked in a breath and blew it out. “Someone is poisoning her.”

  “Melba? Someone is poisoning Melba? That’s impossible. I was only with her two days ago and I sensed nothing wrong.”

  “Then it’s only just started, thank the Great Earth Jinn.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I sensed the contamination when I kissed her hand. We need to act now before it gets worse.”

  The chill of the dank alley sank into Turk’s bones. Sensing his fear, his Silver Serpent stirred inside the medallion against his chest. “What type of poison?” he asked, praying that Dante was mistaken.

  “Emanations from a Foul Jinn.”

  “Great Earth Jinn, no,” Turk whispered. He pressed a hand to the wall to steady himself. This was his fault. He’d delivered Melba into Vittorio’s hands. But in truth, he had never thought the man would have the nerve to harm her right under the king’s nose. “This must be Vittorio’s doing. He wants to kill her so he can assume the throne.”

  “He doesn’t want to kill her, Turk. He wants to marry her.”

  “Then why poison her?” Turk narrowed his eyes on the Trash King suspiciously. “How is it you always seem to know what the Royal Victualler has planned?”

  Dante took a couple of steps back and held up his palms. “Before I answer, remember that I’m here now volunteering information to help the princess. And I also tried to warn you before Vittorio came to take her from your palace.”

  “You have a spy close to the Royal Victualler?” Turk guessed.

  Dante laughed wryly. “I have no spies, Turk. I just listen to the gossip of the trash men. No, the reason I know so much about Vittorio is because he’s my half brother.”

  Turk stared at Dante in disbelief. Yet now he could see the likeness despite the difference in their coloring. Dante had the same bright blue eyes as Vittorio and beneath the dirt, the Trash King was doubtless as handsome as the Royal Victualler.

  “If you’re Vittorio’s brother, why do you live on the trash barges?”

  “A long story, mate. One for another day. Right now we should decide how to help Melba.” Turk’s hackles rose at Dante’s easy use of Melba’s given name as though they were on familiar terms. He pushed the feeling aside, ashamed of himself when all that mattered was Melba’s safety. “You should go to the king,” Dante said. “Explain what’s happening.”

  Turk shook his head. He might be able to pass unnoticed in the melee on the quay, but he was certain if he went anywhere near the Royal Palace, then Vittorio would have him arrested. “I would not gain access to him.”

  “Well, he certainly isn’t going to invite me in for tea,” Dante said.

  “We need to get Melba away from Vittorio so he cannot poison her any more. I’ll have to take her to the monastery to cleanse her.” If she had only suffered brief exposure, the cleansing should be easy.

  “Just send her a note and ask her to meet you somewhere,” Dante suggested.

  “Even if she received the note, I doubt she’d be allowed out of the Palace unsupervised. Vittorio will be watching her even more closely than before.”

  “You’re right.” Dante scratched his stubbly cheek, then fished a square of vellum out of his pocket and held it up. “She sent me an invitation to the Great Earth Day celebration at the Palace. I joked I would attend. Perhaps I really should. There will be crowds of people. We won’t get a better chance to smuggle her out.

  “I can disguise myself and slip in,” Turk said. “The first task is to clean you up. We should be able to sneak into Waterberry House via the skyways. You can wash up there and I’ll lend you some togs.”

  “I’m not removing my clothes and baring delicate body parts anywhere near Gwinnie. She’s never forgiven me for usurping her place as Trash Queen. We’ll have to think of somewhere else I can bathe.”

  Mention of Gwinnie gave Turk an idea. As a rule, he avoided brothels, but he made an exception for the Red House, owned by Gwinnie’s sister, Madam Regina. Unlike other madams, she had scruples. Instead of exploiting the desperate young girls who turned up on her doorstep, if they were under sixteen she tried to find them work elsewhere. Turk and Gwinnie had helped a number of girls find positions in domestic service in the inner circles.

  Doubtless the Trash King would have no qualms about using the facilities of a brothel. “I think I have an alternative for you,” Turk said with a lift of his brows.

  “Where?”

  “Follow me.” Turk set off down the lane with Dante on his heels. The two men threaded their way through the maze of shadowy alleys where the sun didn’t penetrate. As they neared the third circle, they came upon a tall house with red walls. Built around a private courtyard, the property had wooden benches set against the walls where patrons sat outside in the warm weather. This early in the day, the place was shuttered and silent. Turk knocked and waited. Eventually the shutters on the window nearest the door cracked apart. A few moments later the door opened.

  Madam Regina stood nearly as tall as Turk. She was younger and slimmer than Gwinnie with only a touch of silver at her temples, but her eyes held the same world-weary look that said she had seen too much suffering. They must have woken her, as she came to the door wearing a scarlet silk wrap and delicate heeled slippers trimmed with feathery flowers. “Master Turk, what brings you to me door at this uncivil hour?” She wrinkled her nose, glancing past him at Dante with a frown.

  “I would ask a favor, Madam.” Turk inclined his head, but she was already stepping aside and motioning them in. The stale smell of cheap perfume, alcohol, and lust hung inside the dark receivin
g room. Madam Regina threw open the shutters on two windows and the sun streamed in, cutting through the dusty darkness. Worn red velvet divans trimmed with frayed gold tassels ringed the walls, looking tawdry in the harsh sunlight. “My friend here needs a bath to make him presentable. I shall have clean clothes sent over for him.”

  Madam Regina looked Dante up and down, apparently impervious to his flirtatious grin. “It’ll take more than a dash of soap an’ water to make this one smell sweet. But the girls will like his pretty face.” She strode out into the corridor and Turk heard muffled voices and doors banging.

  Dante leaned toward Turk and asked under his breath, “Will this be a simple bath, or are other services included?”

  “My only concern is to get you cleaned up,” Turk said, stepping back as Madam Regina reappeared in the doorway. A slender dark-haired woman who looked to be in her late twenties followed her. She wore a gold silk wrap and was obviously naked underneath. With practiced allure, she peered at Turk and Dante from beneath her lashes.

  “Go with Cybal,” Madam Regina said to Dante. “She’ll take you to the bathhouse and scrub you clean, lad.”

  Dante raised a fist and knocked knuckles with Turk. “Thanks, mate.” Grinning broadly, he turned to follow Cybal.

  “I’ll send you over smart togs. Meet me at the shrine in Sugar Street Market tomorrow afternoon around five.”

  “I will—if I’ve finished my bath by then,” Dante shouted from the corridor.

  Turk returned his gaze to Madam Regina to find her watching him, her expression softer than before. “There ain’t no reason why I can’t wake another girl for you, Master Turk. You know I would never tell a soul.”

  “No, I…” He was about to say he would never break his vows, but when Gregorio released him from his pledge, all his vows were discharged. Yet he couldn’t even imagine going into one of these tawdry rooms with a tart. Even though he could never be with Melba, it would be a long time before he wanted any other woman.

  Madam Regina placed a hand on his arm. “Another time, perhaps. Remember, if you ever need my help, you only have to ask.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Beware of the smiling shark.

  —Bluejackets’ saying

  Vittorio knocked and entered the king’s bedchamber, immediately catching the faint bad-fish stink of Foul Jinn. His step faltered, momentarily shocked at the deterioration in King Santo. After the apparent improvement in the king’s health once Melba returned, Vittorio had increased the dose of poison he put in his food. But maybe he had overdone it.

  King Santo’s gray, papery skin stretched tight over the sharp angles of his face. Bruised smudges ringed his eyes. His lowered eyelids fluttered and his white scalp shone through his thin hair as if he were in his seventies, not his fifties. The nurse sitting at his bedside looked up at Vittorio with a frown and put a finger to her lips. She rose and came to him. “His Royal Highness had a restless night and has just fallen asleep,” she whispered. “Please come back later.”

  “He requested my presence,” Vittorio retorted, irritated by her lack of respect for his position. She hadn’t even acknowledged him by name.

  “That’s as may be,” she said. “But I will not allow the king to be disturbed. Whatever he wanted to speak with you about can wait until later.”

  Vittorio blinked at the small dark-haired woman, almost speechless with outrage at her insolence. “I am the Royal Victualler,” he snapped. “You will address me properly, madam.”

  The king drew in a thin wheezing breath and his eyes cracked open. “Vittorio,” he croaked weakly. “Is that you?”

  The nurse frowned at him. “Now see what y—”

  “Get out!” Vittorio jabbed a finger at the door. He would not be reprimanded by a blasted servant, even if she was a nurse. By the end of the day, she would be searching for alternative employment. Once the woman left the room, he went to the king’s side and bowed. “You wanted to see me, sir.”

  “Sit.” King Santo raised a trembling finger from where it lay on the coverlet to indicate the chair. “I shall not be well enough to host the Great Earth Day Celebration this evening. I require you to stand in for me and introduce Melbaline to my guests.” He gasped and closed his eyes as if the effort of speaking had exhausted him. After a few moments, he turned his head to stare at the shaded windows. “I had so hoped to have the strength to introduce my daughter at Court, but I fear the next time I leave my sickbed I will be taken out feet first.”

  Guilt crept through Vittorio. He tried to ignore it. “I’m sure you will get stronger again, sir.” Even to his own ears, his words sounded unconvincing.

  King Santo looked at him. Although the king’s body had sickened, up until now, his mind had remained sharp, but finally his eyes were dimming. “I have tried to discharge my responsibilities, Vittorio, even when I have been so weary I wanted nothing more than to lay down my head to rest and never wake up again. Melbaline will soon be required to cope alone. It pains me to burden her with such a daunting task. You must make haste and find her a young prince from the mainland to marry, a man with enough experience to guide her in her duties.”

  Impulsively, Vittorio reached out and clasped the king’s hand. “I’ll watch over her, sir. She will not be without friends and advisors.”

  “Thank you, Vittorio. Knowing you will guide her eases my mind. You understand I’m sure that there are complex political ramifications in choosing one prince over another. She must listen to her advisors and not be impulsive in her choice.”

  “If I may make a suggestion, sir…” Vittorio swallowed, the enormity of what he was about to say nearly stealing his voice. “You trust me, don’t you, sir?”

  “I do.”

  “Would you consider the possibility…might I suggest…?” Now, when he needed his confidence the most, he could not waver. “I believe I would make a suitable husband for your daughter. I have enough experience to guide her decisions, and she already has a firm place in my affections.” He held his breath as the king stared at him.

  “I had not considered…” King Santo started, his words trailing off as he frowned.

  “If you approve my suit we could announce the match tonight. It would end any speculation and ensure stability when the princess has to take over the royal duties. If you think it prudent, sir.”

  King Santo lifted a hand to cover his eyes, and the cold sweat of uncertainty prickled Vittorio’s skin. Had he pushed too hard? He wanted to continue explaining how he could help Melba, but he kept his lips clamped shut. He had said enough.

  Long minutes passed. A sick sense of gloom settled over Vittorio. He was sure he had made a terrible mistake revealing his interest in the princess. If King Santo rejected his suit, he would have no choice but to step down as head of Melba’s security. He had gambled everything on the king’s desperation.

  Finally, the king dropped his hand to the coverlet and turned his face to Vittorio. “I intend no disrespect, but you are not the man I had hoped my daughter would take for her husband.” Everything inside Vittorio shriveled into a cold hard lump of frustration and despair. Why had he been stupid enough to gamble years of carefully laid plans on a hasty proposal?

  “But,” the king continued, “your solution does have merit.” Vittorio’s desolation was blasted away by a flare of hope. He felt giddy with the wildly fluctuating emotions. “Matching my daughter with you removes the potential political backlash of choosing the wrong prince. You have the experience to offer informed advice and the wedding can be organized quickly. Lastly, but also of importance to me, I gather my daughter enjoys your company.” The king reached for Vittorio’s hand and squeezed it. “I think you may have hit upon the ideal solution in the circumstances. So yes, Vittorio, I give you permission to marry my daughter as soon as possible. I want to see her happily settled before I return to the Earth.”

  ***

  In the distance, Melba heard the clock far below in Sugar Street Market start to strike. Sh
e counted the chimes, but couldn’t believe it was eleven bells already. She opened her eyes and peered at the ornate gold clock on her dresser to confirm. With a groan, she pulled the covers back over her face.

  She had woken earlier that morning, but after her uncomfortable, restless night, she didn’t possess the energy to get out of bed. Even now, she still felt listless and achy.

  A knock sounded on the door and the latch clicked open. “Are you awake, ma’am?” Madam Borrelli asked.

  Melba uncovered her head and blinked at the woman. “Sorta.”

  Madam Borrelli came in, closing the door behind her, and walked to the bed. “Are you unwell, ma’am?” she asked frowning.

  “Just had a rotten night.” Melba sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong with her like she could when she had a cold. She just felt weary, achy, and a little sick.

  “The Royal Victualler is here to see you, ma’am.”

  Melba groaned again and pressed the heels of her hands over her tired eyes. Vittorio probably wanted to discuss that evening’s Great Earth Day Celebration, but Melba’s enthusiasm had waned now that her father wouldn’t be attending. He had been too ill to see her yesterday morning. Then last night he had sent a message to say he would have to miss the celebration. That meant she must go with Vittorio. He had started to get on her nerves, telling her what to do all the time.

  “You are perfectly at liberty to send him away if you do not wish to see him, ma’am. You don’t even need to give him a reason.”

  Melba dropped her hands and stared at Madam Borrelli through bleary eyes. “He always makes it seem like everything he has to say is urgent and important.”

  “To him, maybe.” Madam Borrelli laced her fingers tightly before her. “May I speak frankly, ma’am?” At Melba’s nod she continued. “In my opinion, and that of many others in the Palace might I add, the Royal Victualler takes too many liberties. He should obey your commands, ma’am. Not the other way round.”

  It was true that Vittorio had started out polite and understanding and gradually become dictatorial, expecting her to do what he told her. But he was responsible for her security, and if she ever questioned his instructions, he always had a sensible explanation. “I will need to see him about security and stuff before we go to the Great Earth Day Celebration.”