Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1)

by Lori Williams

  The can was empty. I completely lost all motivation and dropped to my knees.

  “No, no, no, no, no...” I said, feeling dizzy. “No, no, no, no.”

  They were gone. I was alone again. And unless Kitt could perform miracles, the king's militia was about to pick our names off of three spinning wax informants.

  And I was getting hungry again.

  Night was falling. Lights glowed from within the watch shop. It was getting colder.

  I slunk back into the alley and sat pressed against a wall far enough out of the way of any patrol. I closed my eyes and felt tired. My consciousness was going fuzzy and my body felt like it was swaying upon rolling water.

  I was falling asleep.

  “No,” said a house cat in a waistcoat. “You're falling awake.”

  I stared at the feline and crossed my arms at him.

  “You sure?” I said. “It feels a lot like sleep to me.”

  “Shows what you know!” he said, swiping a dark paw at me. “You probably mistake life for death and excitement for boredom and hunger for satisfaction!”

  “I'm always hungry.” I slid my back further down against the wall, shifting the color of the decadent wallpaper from gold to red. I was indoors, sitting in the center of a very long corridor with needlessly tall doors. The scene suggested a dream, and I would've entertained such a theory, had this very excited cat not denied it.

  He paced back and forth on his four paws, his grey fur fluffing out from his coat.

  “I'm hungry too,” he said. “Come, walk.”

  The walls kept getting higher. Long doors stretched up to the top, but there was no ceiling, just a black, blurry void that everything blended into at the top. The cat eyed me staring around and promptly scratched me.

  “What was that for?” I asked.

  “I said, walk. I need food!”

  “Must I come?”

  “I can't reach those doorknobs. I've tried!”

  I got up, feeling my feet dip into the purple carpet like shallow water. The fierce, young cat took off ahead, crying a sour meow.

  Sweet music started flowing. I'd hum a piece but all I can hear in my head is the whistle from the woman at your door, Alan. Bah-dee-bah-bum-dum. Anyhow, the music. I can't quite explain it but it seemed to be witnessed rather than heard. I could almost see it dripping down the walls in a stream. I didn't know behind which door the cat's meal was waiting, so I picked one at random. Instead of dinner, I found two more cats sitting on fat, stuffed evening chairs.

  “Hello!” cried the large, orange one on the right, vested and bow-tied.

  “Good eve!” said the brown-black female on the right, dressed in pearls and lady's theater gloves.

  “He's taking us to dinner!” announced the grey.

  “Does he know where it is?” the lady cat asked, sounding quite skeptical. “Isn't this the one who doesn't know if he's awake?”

  I stamped my foot to interject, but instead fell through the floor, falling like a brick into a padded room.

  There were no doors or windows, and the space was empty except for four golden-framed portraits, one hanging on each padded wall.

  The portraits were blank canvases, bare nothings. Empty spaces framed by gold.

  “Wouldn't even know if he's awake...” I walked the perimeter of the room. “What a silly claim.”

  Two times I walked the room.

  Three times I walked the room.

  Ten times I walked the room.

  Three and a half times I walked the room.

  “Do you need help?” the Watchmaker's Doll asked, surprising me by existing in the corner.

  “Have you been there since I've been here?” I responded.

  “Almost. The cats put me here.”

  “How do we get out?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Oh.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Looking at these portraits.”

  “But they are all the same.”

  “I know. But each time I pass one, I pretend there's something different about each one, some quality to make the walk interesting.”

  “Very clever,” she said. “Are you enjoying your journey?”

  “Not especially. I'm actually pretty afraid that I'll run out of things to imagine before the walk's over. Then I'd just be strolling with blank white until it ends. Wouldn't that be horrible?”

  “I suppose. When will the walk end?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Maybe it won't.”

  “I doubt that I'm that lucky and I doubt that I'm that cursed.”

  She pressed herself against the corner. I took another turn around.

  “Hey,” I said to the Doll. “Let me borrow that brush.”

  She looked down at the blue-tipped paintbrush that she was suddenly holding. “You don't need it.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Why?”

  “I'm going to paint something on them.”

  “You don't need to. You see the pictures in your mind.”

  “You don't.”

  “So?”

  “So you can't see what I make.”

  “Is that important?”

  “Of course it's important! How else would anybody know I put something there? How would they know I was here? How—“

  I fell through the floor again and landed on my feet back in the long hallway. I thought I saw myself in the back, sitting with the grey cat, but I ignored it before the scene became repetitive.

  “...mistake life for death and excitement for boredom and hunger for satisfaction!”

  “I'm always bored,” the other me said. I ignored him.

  When I got to the door with the other two cats, I paused and ran a mile to another random door. The floor inside was constructed of reflective glass and walls were striped. Very becoming. Very...modern, I suppose. The room was packed with tall stacks of saucers, each filled with milk, warmed, I somehow knew. Great piles of food neatly cut into mouth-sized bites were everywhere, and I was careful not to step on the slightest morsel as I moved. The door closed behind me and it was fairly dark until I reached the center of the room. Once I had, a sharp spotlight from above snapped on, creating a smooth ring of light on the floor. In the center of this lighted circle sat the Watchmaker's Doll upon a lofty throne. She was petting the grey cat, now bereft of his clothing. The others, similarly unattired, were sleeping on the armrests.

  “It's okay,” she said. “I fed them.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I want to help you out.”

  “Why?”

  She ran her fingers along the scruff on the back of the cat's neck.

  “Because you turned my key,” she said with a smile. “You did hang on to it, right?”

  “Yeah...yeah, I did.” I held up the turnkey, which had manifested in my right hand. “I fished it out of the bin.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Where did you go off to, little doll?”

  “I went to help.”

  “Will you come back?”

  She smiled and gently placed the cat on the floor.

  “Very—“

  Thud! A dirty boot hit my ribs in the alley. I woke up tumbling over, and a mean-spirited man in a low-brimmed cap yanked me to my feet.

  “All right! Where is he?”

  “What?”

  He threw me against the wall.

  “The unwashed bastard who swiped my carriage! I saw you with him earlier, gallivanting and roaming around! Now where is he?”

  “I don't know! He took off without me!”

  He threw a punch at my stomach. I blocked it, but caught a stinging shot in the arm in exchange.

  “I'm not fooling, friend,” he threatened.

  “And I'm not lying!”

  He threw another punch. I ducked it and pushed him to the opposite wall.

  “You bum!” he spat, scrambling to his feet. I took off through the dark, weaving my way through the backstre
ets. The irate merchant was following close and I was too tired to keep up the pace for much longer.

  “Help!” I started shouting. “This idiot's going to kill me!”

  “I'm definitely going to try!” he barked.

  I flew around another corner and hopped a back railing. I realized I was back behind the Happy Machinist Tavern, which meant there were people around. I grabbed at the back door only to find it locked. I swore and started to bang my fist on it. I was soon rushed by the thug, who knocked me straight to the ground.

  “No carriage, no business, friend!” he snarled. “That prospect doesn't make me very happy.”

  “Really? How does this make you feel?” I kicked my boot up and knocked a cloud of black dust into his eyes. I rounded the side of the building as he swore and scrubbed his face with his sleeve.

  “Help!” I shouted. “Anybody!”

  Anybody turned out to be a large-framed man in a bowler, drunk, who was leaning over a side rail, the only body outside.

  “Wha...” he muttered in a fairly strong stupor. “You need something?”

  The thug rounded the corner. He had found a piece of chain and was spinning it in his hands.

  “Him!” I shouted. “Trouble!”

  “Oh...” the drunk in the bowler said with a laugh. “Sure. No problem.”

  He slid his hands into his pants pockets and brought them back out coated in a pair of copper-plated false knuckles, which I wasn't sure were legal to tote about town, but didn't feel like asking.

  “Okay...” he said, tipsy. “Where was the trouble again?”

  “Him!” I shouted as the thug swung the chain at our heads. My new and very, very good friend with the big arms and the knuckles threw a solid punch, the copper knocking the chain away. The thug began to retreat.

  “No, no, wait, man! Where ya goin'?” the brawler said, merrily grabbing the guy by his collar.

  I'll kindly omit the following encounter out of courtesy to the younger or more tender-stomached readers, but anyone interested in how the copper-knuckle punk dealt with my attacker should visit a corner pretzelmaker and pay specific attention to the bending and twisting of the dough.

  “Now say you're sorry,” the brawler said to the would-be assailant, now on the ground.

  “I don't think he can,” I pointed out. “His shoe is really wedged in there.”

  “Ah, don't be soft on him.” The brawler pointed a cheerful finger to his victim. “Say you're sorry.”

  “Mmm...ffrry...” said the man on the ground. I felt a little bad. He did lose a carriage and all. The brawler laughed and nudged me on my shoulder.

  “You gunna be okay?”

  “Yeah. I'll be fine. Thanks.”

  “No problem. No problem. Was fun.” He wobbled over to the front of the building. “I'm gunna go vomit some more.”

  “Godspeed.”

  I wandered a bit more in the dark, got lost, and must've passed out. Next thing I remember, I was waking up to Kitt and Dolly arguing about the fox's driving. I was staring at the cloth topper of an electric carriage and I could hear ticking. My head was resting on the turnkey girl's lap.

  “I am too allowed to go this way down this street!” Kitt argued. “Hey! Look who's up!”

  The Doll hung her head down over my mine.

  “Good morning.”

  “...morning…” I uttered. “What's going on?”

  “We came back and you were gone!” Kitt said. “You know how worried that made us? Why didn't you sleep in the trash bin?”

  “I didn't want to spoil myself,” I grumbled.

  “He's cranky,” the Doll said to Kitt from the backseat.

  “Don't be cranky,” Kitt said.

  '“I'm not,” I muttered, trying to sit up. “I had a rough night.”

  I stretched my neck and looked around. My familiar bottle of faerie juice was sitting politely in the corner next to the girl's feet.

  “Us too,” said Kitt, more seriously. “I'm afraid I have some news.”

  “No news,” I said. “I don't want news.”

  “I'm sorry, but you need to hear this.” He took a long breath.

  “Just spit it out, Kitt.”

  “We've been named as enemies to Britain.”

  “To Britain?!? All of it?!?”

  “Yeah...”

  “What the hell did we do?!?”

  “We took her.”

  I turned and stared at the Doll.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Okay...” I said, trying not to get overwhelmed. “First things first. What happened yesterday?”

  “Yesterday,” Kitt said. “All right. Well, first of all, it turns out there were these cylinders—”

  “Right. Wax cylinders. I overheard that part. What did they say? What do the authorities know?”

  “Hang on, I'll get there. So I hear that the soldiers are going to take a listen to what they found, so I panic and I follow this guy as he goes out to call for a carriage. I grab him and give him a fake name, tell him I've got a carriage and hang tight while I go fetch it.”

  “So you stole a carriage.”

  “I'll bring it back. Anyway, I figure I've got to stop or at least stall them from hearing what was on that wax.”

  “You know, I met the man you stole the carriage from.”

  “Really? That guy's insane.”

  “I noticed.”

  “So I get the carriage and drive it up—“

  “He tried to kill me.”

  “I'm glad he failed. So I drive it up and the officer says 'let's go,' and I can't think of a good excuse, so I drive him to the station.”

  “Thanks. Big help.”

  “He made a stop first,” said the Doll, defending Kitt.

  “And where were you?” I asked her.

  “Hiding under the blanket back here.”

  “You thought that was safer than the bins?”

  “The bins smelled!”

  “I tried to talk her out of it,” Kitt said. “She walks right up when I'm returning with the carriage and almost got seen. I start to complain but she just climbs in, says she's bored. Hides seconds before Jonesy comes back out.”

  “Jonesy?”

  “The officer. We...bonded a little.”

  “Kitt—“

  “Like I said, we stop. I tell him it's a routine mechanical check. I let Dolly out the back and send her into a department store to retrieve a novelty musical cylinder. You follow?”

  “Quick switch?”

  “Pretty clever, right? The bag was in the back with her, so easy swap.”

  “Wait. Where'd you get money for this? And weren't the shops all closed at that time of night?”

  “Yes,” Dolly said. “Kitt showed me how to break an old door.”

  My head hurt.

  “Still!” Kitt said. “You must admit that's pretty clever.”

  “Clever, maybe, but you only, eh, 'retrieved' one hunk of replacement wax? There were three cylinders.”

  “Yeah...I sorta...didn't realize that...until after I sent Jonesy off...and Dolly told me.”

  “We still have this one,” the Doll said, holding up the pilfered cylinder with hope.

  “So the police have two pieces of incriminating evidence,” I flatly stated. “And one piece of novelty music.”

  “It was really guarded!” Kitt argued, defending himself.

  “What was?”

  “Wherever Jonesy had us take him. We couldn't get another chance to swipe the bag.”

  “All right,” I said, trying not to panic. “So this is bad.”

  “No kidding.”

  “But we can still get lucky if the—”

  “Recordings can't identify us? Yeah, about that...”

  “Don't tell me.”

  “I'm afraid so. According to Jonesy, our introductions were pretty crystal clear. 'Nice to meet you. The name's Kitt Sunner. The name's Will Pocket. What's that object in your back? Sure, we'll join you for breakfast.' All of tha
t.”

  “H-how do you know this?”

  “Had to drive Jonesy back to the watch shop to report, now didn't I? Some other soldiers too. Boy, were they mad!”

  “Wonderful,” I said.

  “The good news is that they don't know what we look like.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Right, not yet. But, mad! Absolutely furious, these blokes were! You shoulda heard them ranting on. 'Pocket and Sunner! Pocket and Sunner!' They just kept repeating it on the drive back. I tried some subtle mind trickery to make them forget, kept saying 'Paulson and Sulliver' to mix them up, but to no avail. Minds like steel traps, these men have. That is today's militia! A thinking man's army! Anyhow, I dropped them back at the watch shop and we took off. Could barely get away from Jonesy and his talk-talk-talk-talk, but finally we were able to start perusing the alleys for your sleeping self.”

  “Kill me.”

  “At least we're not caught. It's something.”

  “It's something bad.”

  “I can go back,” the Doll said, sullen. “That's what will happen. I'll go back to them so you won't get in trouble.”

  “Forget that,” I said. “I heard those grunts talking. I'm not about to trust you in their hands.”

  “Yeah!” Kitt agreed. “I don't know what they have on you, Dolly, but you're staying with us.”

  “Us?” I said to Kitt.

  “That's right, Pocket,” Kitt said with a laugh. “We're all in this together, I'm afraid. Dolly, you wanted some traveling companions. Well, you're stuck with some now.”

  The Doll thought this over, smiled widely, and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. I felt like death but somehow my face managed to smile back. I reached out and petted her on the head, then remembered that I had a present for the pretty girl.

  “Here,” I said, taking out the collapsed turnkey. “I believe this is yours.”

  “Ah!” the Doll said. “Thank you for holding onto it.”

  I went limp and for a moment pretended that I didn't know I was a wanted man.

  “Thank you for feeding the cats,” I murmured.

  We rode the backstreets for a few hours, trying to lay as low as possible. I argued that zipping around in an electric carriage was a poor way to achieve this, but Kitt seemed resistant to give up our ride. Eventually, however, the ride gave up on him and came puttering to a slow death.