“A wise salesman does not peddle what he cannot sample,” Doctor D repeated.
I sighed and noticed that beside me the Doll was frowning again. Apparently she took this as some great insult to my person. I scratched my head and gave the pitch one last effort.
“Did I mention that it...supposedly...contains my eternal essence?”
“Big deal,” Doctor P said, opening a cabinet. “So do those.”
The shelves were stacked with rounded, capped jars. They were empty, or so, in the words of the Marins, they would appear.
“Phantasmal entrapment!” said Doctor D.
“Specters under glass!” said Doctor P.
“But these jars look empty,” Kitt said, taking one and unscrewing the lid.
“No!” the Marins both shouted. Kitt dropped the jar and the merchants began hopping across the stage, cupping their hands and swinging at thin air like a child trying to catch butterflies.
“You've done it now!” Doctor P shouted, climbing onto the roof of the caravan. “You've released the King!”
“The King?” Kitt said. “Which king?”
“His honor, Henry V!”
“Henry V?!?” Kitt repeated, exasperated.
“Back to your quarters, sire!” Doctor P shouted.
“Come Hal!” Doctor D shouted.
“I'm sorry,” Kitt said. “I always thought the dead were all around us.”
“They are now, thank you!” Doctor D grabbed the open jar and started swinging it. “Back, sire! Back!”
“I think we should go now,” the Doll said, gripping her balloons.
“I agree with Dolly,” Kitt said.
“All right, just one moment,” I said. I took a step and called out to the king catchers. “Gentlemen! Are you sure you might not reconsider—“
“Hang on, brother!” Doctor P shouted, hanging backward off of the roof. “Over here, I've got him cornered and pinned!”
“Yeah, let's go.” I said.
Turning on our heels, the three of us hurried from the spectacle. Leaving the park, I gripped the glass that was hanging by my side. Looking down, I could see the exaggerated reflection of my face in it. My mirrored nose bent and swelled above my closed mouth. I exhaled, fogging the glass.
“You say something, Pocket?” Kitt asked.
“No. Just thinking,” I said, rubbing away the fog. “Just thinking.”
And that is the story of how my unlucky bottle of goop became the first and only oddity, curio, or collectible not to be collected by the Marvelous Marins's Curiosity Shop and Cure-All Traveling Pharmacy.
Not to boast.
“Charming little day for you, wasn't it?”
“Almost, Alan.”
“Almost?”
“The day's end was a bit...sigh. Would you hate me if I asked you to open a barrel and fill a glass for me?”
“Come on. I'm trying to close here.”
“You could've done that an hour ago.”
“You've had enough, haven't you?”
“Well...”
“Sigh. I'll have to add it to your tab, Pocket.”
“Fair enough. I'll just add an extra chapter.”
“I don't know. Do you have an extra chapter?”
“Uh...let me think...yes! Sure, I can throw in this bit with me and Gren and a windmill. It's a little silly, but you'd like it.”
“Who's Gren?”
“Oh, right. I haven't mentioned...well, we'll get there, Alan. We'll get there. Now how about that drink?”
“Fine...just keep talking.”
The sun was dipping and shading the sky orange by the time we made our way through the back alleys that led to the abandoned watch shop. Kitt stretched his back and ran his fingers against the brick and stone on each side as he walked. The Doll followed behind him through the passage with me bringing up the rear.
“Not a bad picnic,” Kitt said, relaxed.
“Although we never actually picnicked,” I pointed out.
The Doll nodded and pulled from her basket a few cans of tinned fruit she had gathered from uninterested passengers on the zeppelin.
“Thanks,” Kitt said, sucking back preserved peaches. I joined them, chewing tabs of apple mush as we walked.
“Not a bad little meal,” I said. The Doll smiled back at me.
“I told you I could go outside,” she beamed.
“Yes, I stand completely corrected. Although I'm a little surprised it went so well.”
“I'm not,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone. “I took my key out, remember.”
“Sure, but you still have that spinning screw in your stomach.”
“Only one lady in the sky noticed. Asked me if it was some sort of new jewelry.”
“Oh? And what did you say?”
Another smile. “Broach!”
A little low to wear a broach, but I let it be and retrieved the turnkey from my coat.
“I suppose I should return this,” I said, popping the collapsed hinges back into shape.
“We're not there yet. Keep it a little longer.”
“Eh? All right.” I held it at my side like a sheathed sword and felt, and I realize this is a quite silly confession, momentarily knightly. A few more steps and I admired the engraving again.
“Two weeks,” I said out loud. The Doll turned her head back and gave me a startling look. It was a deep, somber look I was not yet accustomed to seeing from her and her eyes seemed almost to lose much of their color, the vibrant hues replaced with a dulled shine.
“Two weeks,” she said, barely above a whisper. Her voice was cold, deadened but not lifeless, pleading but not expectant. “Two weeks. Never forget.”
I stopped moving for a minute and then, propelled by the sincerity on her face, I nodded. She smiled a little, but the coldness was still there. I resumed my pace. We walked in silence for the remainder of the journey.
“There,” Kitt said, turning a corner. The large paper clock face revealed itself above the rooftops in the distance. “Almost home, Dolly.”
She didn't respond.
It was strange, but as we approached our destination I realized that I was a little sad that this whole little episode was coming to a close. These two had become more than a handful, but all and all no trouble came of it, and they weren't terrible traveling companions. Perhaps if that idiot Magnate had hesitated before chucking me into the night, I would've only spent it sitting alone in the dark. Ah well, I remember thinking as we approached the shop, more fodder for stories.
I closed my eyes and stretched my arms behind my head.
Ah well. All good things must come to an end.
Thud. I ran into the Doll who ran into Kitt who stumbled over his feet.
“Pocket...” he said quite quietly.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry,” I said, opening my eyes, “I'll watch where I'm...oh.”
The three picnickers stood on a mound before a shop. A shop once opened by a watchmaker, later closed, later broken into, and later abandoned by a turnkey girl and her escorts.
And currently surrounded, nay, swarmed with British officers. Each redfaced and bristled and clinging to quick-triggered rifles. And each muttering words like “villainy” and “grand theft.”
And “shoot on sight.”
By the next morning, the British monarchy had officially named Will Pocket and Kitt Sunner as enemies to the Crown, and released a price for our heads that contained more zeros than I thought existed.
All good things...
Chapter Six
Enemies to the Crown
“Pocket...”
“I know.”
“Pocket!”
“I know!”
“National enemies?!? Criminals!”
“I wasn't thrilled either, Alan!”
“Illegal criminals...”
“Yes, Alan. I'm aware that crime is generally illegal.”
“But to the Crown, Pocket!”
“If you'll shut up, I'll explain.�
�
“I don't know...I don't want to be incriminated.”
“I thought you weren't believing this as a true story.”
“Well, now it's risky.”
“Look, you are in absolutely no danger. I assure you.”
“Have you been cleared of the charges?”
“It's complicated.”
“Then goodnight.”
“Alan, trust me.”
“...sigh...I'm going to regret saying this, but continue.”
“Thank you.”
“So what was your crime?”
“In the beginning, we weren't really sure.”
Four decorated officers circled a patch of old snow trying to discern any solid shape that might pass for a footprint in the mush.
“Too sloppy,” I heard one say, smacking the ground with the butt of his rifle.
The officers talked amongst themselves and walked up and down the path leading to alleys. They reached the spot where Kitt, Dolly, and I had a moment ago stood and where at the current moment sat three completely inconspicuous, gas-powered burn bins.
Mine was the one with the peephole.
The four approached and I held my breath as I sat squatting inside the dark bin that Kitt, in a moment of ridiculous brilliance, had grabbed from the alley before we were spotted.
We had tried running back into the alley, but a second patrol unit had been heard moving in the distance. The next thing I knew we were hiding in bins as if part of some staged farce. It occurred to me as one of the four stomped his foot next to my bin that I wasn't sure why we were hiding. At that point we didn't know that were being accused of any wrongdoing. In fact, we really didn't know anything other than that the watch shop seemed to be under pretty heavy investigation. Still, Kitt's first words at this sight were “we need to go,” and I imagine if you're going to choose one person's advice on dealing with police, a street thief is probably a good choice.
Not that this was the police. Military officers stood rigidly, eyes scanning the dimming light. I couldn't understand it. Wasn't breaking and entering a bit little to call out the militia for? I was getting a sinking feeling in my stomach.
The four officers returned to the shop. Most of the men entered inside and sealed the doors while a few kept watch outside.
“Okay,” I whispered. “They're mostly gone.”
“Mostly?” Kitt's voice whispered to the left to me. “How many are left?”
“It's hard to see. Dusk's coming in. Two or three out front, I think. How are you holding up, Dolly?”
“It's dark in here,” her voice said, coming from my right.
“What did she say?” Kitt asked from my left.
“She said it's dark.”
“Tell her to hold tight.”
“Hold tight, Doll.”
“I'm trying,” she whispered.
“Thank you.”
“Pocket,” Kitt whispered.
“What?”
“What did she say?”
“She said she's trying.”
“Oh, tell her that keeping your nerves strong in the face of—“
“We've got to figure something out. We can't sit in these tin cans all night.”
“I agree,” the Doll said.
“What do we do?” Kitt asked.
“I don't know...wait...no, I don't know.” I groaned and punched the can, not at easy task given that my arms were bent in against my chest.
“Wait!” Kitt hissed. “I just heard something!”
“That was me punching the can.”
“Why did you punch your can?” the Doll said.
“Why not?”
“Seems moronic.”
“Thank you,” I muttered.
“My legs are getting stiff,” Kitt said.
“This was your idea.”
“Okay, okay. I think I know what you're getting at.”
I heard pushing and moving, then the plunk of a can falling over. Then scuffling.
Oh no.
With an angry eye to the peephole, I watched Kitt carelessly move closer to the watch shop, slinking behind trees and crouching into shadows.
“Oh no...”
“What is it?” the Doll asked.
“Uh...”
“Kitt-Kitt ran away, didn't he?”
Another groan, but not another “moronic” punch.
“Stay here, Dolly. I'll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
“I'm going to stop him from doing something stupid.”
“All right. Try not to do something stupid yourself.”
“Good idea. I'll be right back.”
“You mean it?” Her voice was heavy again. I took a breath.
“I promise.”
I pulled my long legs out of the can slowly, leaving my bottle and the turnkey behind for safety. Carefully, I tried to mimic Kitt's path, going from tree to shadow to tree. It dawned on me that he had already disappeared from sight, so I was now on my own. How does he vanish like that, I wondered. Then I caught an opportunity when the guards decided to inspect a broken box just enough to their right to keep me out of their line of vision. Moving fast, I sneaked out from my spot and moved against the side wall of the building, hoping to find Kitt pressed against the side in hiding. I did not.
I did however have the good fortune to be within earshot of the four officers, who, having completed an unfruitful interrogation of the box, returned to their post at the front door.
“So what do you think?” one said.
“Me?” another said. “Hell, if you ask me...”
“Which I did.”
“...which you did, the whole thing's a bloody waste of time. We've been at this for hours. I'd say if there was something to find, we'd have found it.”
“I think you're right. That place is a maze down there, but we've picked it pretty clean. The thing's gone.”
The thing?
“Yeah,” another added. “They nipped it good, all right.”
I listened as the front doors reopened and a particularly gruff-voiced man addressed the others.
“Good news.”
“Sir?”
“We can confirm that the device was stolen.”
“Oh. We've all sort of had that figured for a while now, sir.”
“Yes. But now it's confirmed.”
“I see. Ah, pardon me for asking, but why is that good news?”
“Because, man...” he said with a chortle. “Now we know who’ve taken it. You go fetch me a carriage, officer, and you do it damn fast.”
“Yes sir.”
A shuffle of footsteps. I dared myself to slide closer to the conversation.
“Sir,” another officer began. “What's our next move?”
“Isn't it obvious? We find the nabbers. You see this?”
“A wax cylinder, sir?”
“That's right. Found three of them beneath the floorboards.”
Uh-oh.
“And the recording devices we took them from were hardwired into the entire system down there. I'm betting whoever set up the things rigged them to start recording the moment someone tampered with the place or turned on a light or whatnot. Some kind of triggered disturbance. If whoever took the device opened their mouths down there, then there's a pretty damn good chance they've incriminated themselves.”
“Sir, it could be nearly impossible to discern an identity just from a voice recording, especially one muffled under floor planks.”
“Unless they come right out and reveal their names.”
“Well, yes. But isn't that a slim possibility?”
The man chuckled.
“You don't know much about this device we’re after, do you?”
“Not terribly.”
“If you met the man who built it, you'd understand. I'm guessing that if the thieves gave the thing a chance to talk at all, then it managed to pull out of their mouths a proper introduction. The thing's good when you use it to an advantage. And if you're dr
unk enough, heh, well, it's damn near womanly.”
The fiend. I could feel the blood moving in my arms, increasing its pace. I had a fairly good idea who this device was and the insinuations were quickly making me angry.
“Unfortunately,” the man continued. “Every playback device we could find in there is junk now. I'm guessing they went warped and wonky sitting around in that dead man's hole. No great problem, though. At least it won't be if Jones hurries the bloody hell up with my carriage!”
“Coming sir!” said a voice in the distance.
“Here, bag this up with the other cylinders. There we go. Jones! Get the lead out already!”
“Here, sir!”
“Good. You get me my carriage?”
“Yes sir. The driver's right here.”
“Good to know you, man. What's your name?”
“Winston. Henry Winston.”
Hold on...wait...
“Good to know you, Winston. Can you make a fast trip?”
“As fast as you need, sir.”
“Good. Here's what I need.”
Their voices dropped off. I assume they were whispering. But I was already dreading what I already feared was true. The voice of that driver.
“You got that, Winston?” the officer said at last.
“Yes sir,” the driver said. “No problem.”
“Good. Jones, you and Fletcher go along. And I want to see your hides back at this doorstep the second you get those names. We understood?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Move out.”
A door slammed and I could hear Jones and the driver shuffle off. I had to know. As slowly as I could humanly manage...
“Which for you is quite a lot.”
“Stop interrupting the narrative, Alan.”
...I stuck my head out around the corner and took a horrifying look at the carriage driver. He turned his head back in my direction and grinned.
Damn it, Kitt.
I wanted to go after them but another set of officers came out of the building and started milling around. Don't come over, don't come over, don't come over. The men dawdled for a few minutes then went back inside. The time to move was now. I shot out from my place and sprinted, zigzagging through the open air. Soon I was back at our perch of burn bins, coughing and wheezing.
“Dolly,” I said. “We've got to get out here.” I retrieved the turnkey and my bottle from my bin then the removed the lid from the girl’s. “Kitt's run off with a carriage. We need...oh, no.”
Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) Page 12