A Clockwork Fairytale

by Helen Scott Taylor

  She put down her lamp and sorted through keys on a huge ring, then inserted a small key in the manacles and opened them. His arms dropped and he sagged against the wall, his legs barely taking his weight.

  “I ain’t got the strength to carry you, Turk, so you’re gonna have to stand up properly.” She pulled the arm on his uninjured side across her shoulders and he staggered forward a step. He cried out as agony speared through his chest.

  Half leaning on Melba, Turk managed to make it out of the cell and along the corridor. Every muscle and bone in his body hurt and he could hardly see for the throbbing in his head. For the first time in his life he wanted to lie down and let the Earth take him back into its embrace—but he didn’t want to leave Melba.

  When they reached the steps that led up to quay level, he rested his shoulder against the wall and closed his eyes. He had struggled to walk on the flat, steps would be impossible. “I cannot,” he whispered.

  Melba took his hand and held it against her heart, staring up into his face. “We got to get out of here, Turk, or Vitto will kill you.” She stepped over a guard sprawled on the ground and went into the guardroom. After a crash and some hammering sounds, she emerged with a length of wood from the side of a chair in her hand. “You can lean on this.”

  With the support of the makeshift crutch on one side and Melba on the other, he made his way up the steps and out into the cool night air. The salty, fishy air of the harbor smelled as sweet and pure as honey compared with the putrid air in the dungeon.

  In the early hours of the morning, lanterns illuminated one of the berths near the Royal Victualler’s office. Dockers and bluejackets prepared the royal barge anchored there to set sail. Turk and Melba kept to the shadows in front of the warehouses to avoid catching the sailor’s attention.

  “There’s the Primate and some monks,” Melba said. Turk blinked his good eye at a flash of gold under a lantern ahead. He released a sigh of relief as Gregorio, Steptoe, and four Brothers hurried toward him.

  “Great Earth Jinn, Turk!” Gregorio spread his hands in disbelief. “What happened to you?”

  “Vittorio did this to him,” Melba said.

  At her words, the fog in Turk’s brain cleared enough for him to remember what Vittorio had told him before he released the Foul Jinn. “Vittorio,” he said, and had to lick his dry swollen lips before he could continue, “he’s your son.”

  Gregorio stilled and Steptoe and the four monks at his back looked startled. Melba’s breath hissed in.

  His master’s gaze flicked from him to Melba and back again. “That man is no son of mine,” he bit out.

  “Will you deny me until the day you return to the Earth, old man?” Vittorio asked as he stepped out of an alley between two warehouses. A few steps behind him, Dante walked between two Royal Guards, his hands bound.

  “Gregorio is Vitto’s father,” Dante said his voice unnaturally loud in the stunned silence. “I know because he’s my father as well.”

  ***

  Melba’s heart thudded in her ears. She had hoped to get Turk safely away from the harbor before Vittorio discovered he had escaped. She dipped and grabbed the knife from her boot, pleased to see that her loyal Palace Guard, Antonio, had accompanied the monks, because she would need his help.

  “Gregorio should have admitted years ago that we’re his sons,” Dante continued. “But that still does not justify what Vitto has done.”

  “Shut your mouth.” Vittorio rounded on Dante. He jabbed a finger at him, then turned and pointed toward Melba, angry frustration tight on his face. “You two are out of the same mold. You both always think you’re right.”

  With a lethal whisper of metal, he drew his sword from its scabbard and pointed it at Turk. “Arrest the escaped prisoner,” he commanded the two guards. They immediately let go of Dante and drew their swords.

  Dante ducked into the shadows while Steptoe and four monks moved to protect Turk. Antonio stepped up to Melba’s side and drew his sword.

  Arms spread, Steptoe and the monks started chanting, calling on help from the Great Earth Jinn. Five vortexes of Earth energy rose from the rocks of the quay and merged into one swirling dark column, forming a barrier in front of Vittorio and his men.

  “Would you look at that,” Antonio whispered. Melba stared in awed fascination as Vittorio’s men hacked at the diaphanous wall with their swords. It appeared to have no substance, but they couldn’t get through.

  Dante crept out of the shadows at her side and she jumped in surprise. “Get your guard to cut my ropes, Mel.” He held out his tied wrists. Antonio glanced at her. When she nodded, he sliced through Dante’s bindings. “Great Earth Jinn,” Dante said staring at Turk’s face in shock. “Vitto saw to you good and proper. He didn’t tell me.”

  “This display of defensive Earth Magic is pointless,” Vittorio shouted. “I have a force you can never defeat.”

  At a signal from Vittorio, six men emerged from the shadows of the warehouses. A murmur of dismay passed through the group defending Turk, but the murmur soon changed to shouts of horror. Melba had assumed that Vittorio’s men were bluejackets, but as they came into the light and started to surround the group she saw they wore ordinary togs like dockers and folks from the outer circles. But there was something wrong with them. They stumbled forward drunkenly, their eyes white and unseeing, their skin gray. As they came closer she could see they were covered with the smoky ooze she now associated with Foul Jinn poisoning.

  “In the name of the Great Earth Jinn, what foul magic is this?” Gregorio said.

  Steptoe and the four monks spread out to protect Turk, and the diaphanous wall of Jinns broke up into five separate vortexes of energy. Steptoe sent one spinning toward an attacker and the foul man fell over under its force. The other monks followed his example, but as soon as they knocked the attackers down they scrambled up again.

  “What are you doing, Vitto?” Dante shouted. “Call them off. This is madness.”

  “None of you have any idea what I’m capable of,” Vittorio crowed. “Gregorio’s too hamstrung by what is right and wrong to experiment with Jinns and discover what’s possible.”

  Melba stood by Turk, knife in hand to protect him if one of the foul men got too close. “Antonio,” she commanded, “try cutting them with your sword.”

  The young guard gave her a wide-eyed glance but advanced and hacked at the nearest attacker, cleaving the man’s arm from his body. Yet still the man advanced as if nothing had happened. Antonio cut and thrust until the man was so damaged he fell down, unable to walk, yet he still tried to rise.

  “They’re already dead,” Turk mumbled through his swollen lips. “Walking dead.”

  “Great Earth Jinn,” Dante whispered. “Vitto’s animated dead bodies with Foul Jinns.”

  Gregorio’s fierce gaze swept from Turk to Dante and back to the attackers. “If Vittorio controls the Foul Jinns animating these abominations, none of us can influence them. But we can send them back to the Earth.” Gregorio raised his arms and started to chant, “Great Earth Jinn, birther of all life…” the other monks, Turk and Dante joined in the sound of their voices rising as Antonio valiantly fought back the foul men, while Vittorio’s two bluejackets backed away from the fray in horror and scarpered.

  The ground began to shake and a rent opened in the stone quay. The attackers fell toward it as if being sucked down, strangely silent, not a scream or cry coming from them. Melba hugged Turk’s good side, watching as the five Earth Jinns raised by the monks herded the foul men back into the Earth. When the last one toppled out of sight, the black gap closed again and a strange eerie silence filled the air.

  Vittorio stared at the place where his walking dead had disappeared into the ground, his face a tense mask of outrage. “You shouldn’t be able to do that. They’re meant to be invincible.” He brandished his sword, seemingly unaware that his two bluejackets had abandoned him and he now stood alone.

  Antonio moved forward to meet him, his rai
sed sword contaminated with the gray ooze from the foul men.

  “Kill Vittorio,” Gregorio snarled.

  “No!” Dante burst out. “Vitto was going to put me on a royal barge and ship me off to the mainland.” He jabbed a finger toward the barge that was being prepared. “Deport him instead.”

  “If you let Vittorio live he will only return to cause trouble,” Gregorio said striding toward Melba, his blue eyes as hard and merciless as a cutthroat’s. “You must execute him, ma’am.”

  A wave of mixed emotions swept through Melba. She hated Vittorio for what he had done to Turk and her father, but if she gave the command to execute him, Dante would be heartbroken. If Vittorio was sent away from Malverne Isle, he could not cause them any more trouble. “Deport him,” she said firmly.

  “You do not have the experience to make this judgment,” Gregorio said to her in a harsh whisper.

  Dante squared up to his father. “She is the royal representative. She has made her decision. Respect it.”

  “Turk,” Gregorio said with a hint of reprimand. “Speak up, boy. You understand what must be done. Talk some sense into her.”

  Turk gently squeezed her upper arm with the hand he had over her shoulder. “I support Melba’s decision.”

  Gregorio threw up his arms in frustration. “You are all making a mistake,” he snapped.

  Dante strode closer to his brother. “Vitto, give up the fight and go peacefully.”

  Melba handed her dagger to Turk for protection, then slipped out from under his arm, leaving him with Gregorio. With Antonio at her side holding his sword, she joined Dante.

  “I ain’t gonna have you executed, Vitto,” Melba said. “I just want you off the island so me pa and me can sort everything out.”

  Vittorio forced a laugh. “Listen to her,” he said, glancing around at the gathering. “She doesn’t have the first idea how to rule the island.”

  She wasn’t going to let him bait her. After years of traversing the waterways, she knew that a cornered rat always jumps at your face. “I’ll let you go to the mainland if you promise you won’t come back.”

  Vittorio rolled his eyes. “She’s nothing but a foolish girl.”

  “Be sensible and show some respect, Vitto,” Dante said.

  “You are a traitor, Dante!” Vittorio lunged at them with his sword, but Antonio darted across and blocked his attack. Steptoe charged forward and kicked Vittorio in the leg, bringing him down to his knees. The four monks moved behind Vittorio. Realizing he was on his own, he raised a palm. “Stop!” He winced in pain and clutched his injured leg. “Deport me then, but I will be back.” He sheathed his sword, staring at the royal barge readying to leave port.

  Antonio and Steptoe moved aside to let Vittorio past. Melba backed up toward Turk and left Dante to say farewell to his brother. The two men faced each other, Vittorio glaring. “If you hadn’t walked out on me, we could have had everything.”

  “At the cost of killing our uncle and cousin?”

  Vittorio scowled at Dante for a moment longer then shouldered past him and limped toward the edge of the quay. The tension running through Melba eased. Was this nightmare finally over? She was ten feet from where Gregorio supported Turk. She turned and smiled at them. Gregorio’s eyes widened and Turk shouted, “Melba!”

  A hand clamped around Melba’s throat. She choked as she was dragged back, her heels scrabbling on the ground. She should have known Vittorio had backed down too easily. As she was jerked against his body, her Flower Jinns streamed out of her sleeve and flew at him. The hand released her throat. She gasped in a breath, thinking the Flower Jinns had put him off, but the cold edge of a knife pressed against her windpipe. “If I’m to be banished, my betrothed comes with me. Try to stop me and I will slit her throat.”

  As Vittorio pulled her toward the barge, Turk staggered after her on the crutch. Inside her head she screamed his name, but she dared not speak with the blade against her throat.

  “Release her,” Turk called. “Do not make me kill you.”

  Vittorio paused and laughed, the movement making the blade slide painfully against her skin. “Perhaps that Foul Jinn I set on you did drive you mad after all, Master Turk.”

  Hot trickles of blood seeped down Melba’s neck and she whimpered. Then Vittorio started dragging her backward again. Turk’s Silver Jinn shot out of his medallion like a streak of lightning against the dawn sky. The serpent took shape, its pointed scales glinting like millions of tiny blades, a crest of lethal spikes topping its head. Round silver eyes fixed on Vittorio. Two curved fangs appeared in its open mouth. With a hiss that made every hair on her body stand up, it shot through the air toward them.

  Instinctively Melba tensed and closed her eyes as it hit. Vittorio screamed. The blade fell away from her throat. She jabbed her elbow back into his gut and wrenched from his grasp. Throwing herself onto the ground, she scrambled clear.

  A strange gurgling sound made her stop and glance back. Vittorio had fallen to his knees with the Silver Serpent clamped by its fangs to his neck; his panicked blue eyes glossed over with silver. Then the Jinn released him and slithered back across the dock to Turk. A network of metallic lines crept across Vittorio’s face; then he crumpled to the ground.

  Melba’s skin crawled at the sight. She sprang to her feet, dashed to Turk, and snuggled under his arm.

  “Vitto!” Dante ran to Vittorio and fell to his knees at his brother’s side. Gregorio strode over to him and gripped his shoulder.

  “Do not touch him, boy. You might become infected with the Jinn’s venom.”

  “Get away from me.” Dante shook Gregorio’s hand off his shoulder and jumped up. “If you had acknowledged him as your son and let him assume royal status he wouldn’t have been driven to this.” With tears running down his cheeks, Dante sprinted away toward the south.

  Melba pressed her cheek against Turk’s chest. Tears filled her eyes, mainly tears of relief that the threat to Turk was over but also tears of sympathy for Dante.

  ***

  Four weeks later, Melba’s punt drew up at the quay outside Waterberry House and she jumped out without waiting for Antonio’s help. In recognition of the young Royal Guard’s bravery in protecting her, the king had made him her personal guard. She liked Antonio because he was loyal, skillful with his sword, and he did what she told him. He clambered out of the punt after her as she ran up the steps and knocked on the front door.

  After what felt like forever, the door opened and Gwinnie scowled down at her. “Not you again. Poor Turk ain’t getting a minute to himself to recover.”

  Melba ducked past her and unfastened her cloak before throwing it over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. As Antonio followed her in, Gwinnie knocked his cap off his head. “Ain’t you got no manners, boy? I don’t like bluejackets, even hoity-toity bluejackets who guard the princess. I especially don’t like ’em when they got bad manners.”

  Poor Antonio picked up his cap and twisted it nervously in his hands. He was terrified of Gwinnie and she knew it. “Don’t be such a grumpy old bag, Gwinnie,” Melba said. “Take me guard to the kitchen and give him some ice cream.”

  “Got a smart mouth on you now,” Gwinnie grumbled. “Getting stuck up like your ma were.”

  “I ain’t stuck up and you know it. I just ain’t gonna take no cheek from you no more.” Melba grinned to herself as she jumped aside, avoiding the swipe Gwinnie aimed at her backside.

  “You’re the cheeky one, more like. Don’t you go waking Turk. He’s had a lot of visitors this morning and he’s tired.”

  Antonio cast her a pleading glance as she turned toward the staircase, but she knew he would be all right. Gwinnie was all bark and no bite. She hiked up her skirts and ran up the stairs, her heart thumping at the prospect of seeing Turk again. She visited him every day and when she wasn’t with him she thought about him.

  She opened Turk’s bedroom door softly so as not to disturb him. The breeze played a tune on the sacred tu
bular bells hanging in his window as she tiptoed to the bed and stared down at him. The bandages wrapped around his broken ribs peeped above his covers. A mottled pattern of bruising ran along one cheekbone. His black eye was healing and only a few scars were left where his lip had been damaged. His nose was still a little swollen and crooked from the break and it looked cute.

  She brushed her fingers lightly over his forehead, smoothing away his shaggy black hair. She loved him so much she felt as though it would burst out of her chest.

  Leaning over, she kissed him light as a flutterby’s wing on his lips. Then she slipped off her shoes and stretched out on top of the bedcover beside him.

  He stirred and turned his head. “Melba?”

  “Well it ain’t Gwinnie just gave you a kiss.”

  He laughed and winced. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts my ribs.” He gave her a sideways glance beneath his long dark lashes and a tingle of pleasure passed through her. “You can kiss me again to make up for it,” he said.

  Melba turned on her front and propped herself up on her elbows. “Mayhap I will.” She tried not to grin as she leaned over and kissed all the sore places on his face, giving extra attention to his lips. Then she dropped a trail of kisses from his jaw to his shoulder before resting her head there. She lay dreamily for a few minutes enjoying the brush of his presence across her mind like silk over her skin.

  “So who you had visiting this morning?” she whispered.

  “Dante and Steptoe came to discuss the refuge for the trash tykes. Steptoe’s getting started on it and Dante’s helping him before he leaves.”

  She raised her head to see his face. “Where’s Dante going?”

  “He doesn’t want to stay here after what happened with Vittorio.”

  Melba settled her head back on Turk’s shoulder and released a breath tight with sorrow. She could understand Dante wanting a fresh start somewhere else, but he was her cousin, the nearest thing she would ever have to a brother. She would miss him. “He ain’t been to visit me at the Palace.”