“Deal?” I said. I didn't like the sound of the word. “What deal?”
“The price on your heads. The King can pay it. Or you can.”
“That's blackmail.”
“I'm an opportunist, Pocket.”
“Bastard!”
“I need the money. It's nothing personal. And it's not like you'd just be buying me off. That'd be extortion. You'd be buying my services. You know, help getcha out of the city safely.”
“And if we refuse, you'll go to the authorities?”
“That would be a last resort.”
“And what happened to pride?”
“Not a damn thing! You think I want to go to the police? To the stinking militia? But if I can't avoid it—”
“All right, I get the idea.”
“But...” Kitt said, sulking. “We can't afford protection. Especially if it means paying our own ransom.”
Gren surprised me by grinning. “We can work something out later. So are you in?”
“Work something out,’” I echoed, dropping my brow. “That’s reassuring.”
“Well, tough luck,” Gren spat. “You don’t really have time to decide if you trust me. Plus, come on, I’m blackmailing you! This really shouldn’t be a hard decision!”
I looked at the Doll. “What do you think?”
She carefully ran her eyes over Gren and put her hands on her hips.
“Mister Spader,” she said.
“Call me Gren. I hate that 'mister' garbage.”
“Gren-Gren...”
“Don't call me that eith—“
“Do you like cats?”
He cocked his head to the side and squeezed his eyes.
“What kind of question is that for a time like—“
“Do you?”
He snorted and looked at the curtains. “Hate them.”
The Doll hummed to herself and nodded.
“All right then. Let's do it.”
“Good!” He hurried to the window and stuck his head out, checking the surroundings.
“I don't get it,” I whispered to the Doll. “You don't like cats?”
“No,” she replied. “I love animals.”
“Then why are you going along with this guy?”
She smiled wide at me. “Because he's lying.”
“Hey Pocket.”
“Yeah?”
“What do you think that singer meant by 'repay you with a tune?'”
“You're just now asking that, Alan? I've long passed her in this story.”
“I just started thinking on it. Seems kind of an odd thing to promise.”
“Eh, who knows? Maybe her band would write me a song or something. Or you, actually. I did use your name.”
“Don't remind me.”
“You should thank me. It would be a great honor. The Ballad of Alan Dandy. Sounds prestigious, doesn't it?”
“I guess.”
“Eh, I wouldn't worry about what it meant. I doubt I'll ever see them again. As it is, I can't entirely remember the lady's face. It all happened so fast.”
“I guess...but I better not find carolers outside of my bedroom someday because you thought it'd be funny to call yourself me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Shall I continue?”
“If you must.”
I followed Gren out the window and carefully navigated my way down two stories of crates and piping that he had worked into a ladder. Once on the ground, I urged Kitt and the Doll, whose heads were poking out of the window frame, to follow.
“And be careful!” I said.
Kitt went first. Personally, I would've allowed the woman such an honor. You know, manners and all.
“But you went down before she did.”
“I went down, Alan, to make sure it was safe for her to traverse.”
“Didn't Gren do that? He went before you.”
“Fine. We both went first. No sin in double-checking.”
“Of course not.”
Kitt moved swiftly down the way and hopped from the last crate triumphantly to the ground.
“You're up, Dolly,” he said.
She frowned as she peeked out. “It's far,” she said.
“Not really,” Kitt said. “Not nearly as far as it seems.”
“Just go slowly,” Gren said. “And for God's sake, don't hurt yourself.”
The Doll's head retreated back inside the room and in a moment, a stockinged leg pointing out from the hole.
“Don't look up my dress, okay?” she shouted to us. Kitt and Gren obediently averted their eyes.
Carefully, she moved further outside. Her right foot swung around, feeling for the thick pipe that Gren had pressed up against the window. Her heel caught it, but a little too hard, regrettably. The pipe teetered and started to fall. The Doll squeaked and pulled her leg back into the window. The pipe crashed into the stack of crates, splitting them into boards and splinters. The ladder had been swiftly demolished.
Gren was frowning when I glanced at him.
“I spent some time putting that together,” he grumbled quietly.
The Doll popped her head back out at us. She was visibly upset.
“I want down.”
“Can you jump?” Kitt asked.
“From the second story?” Gren said. “She'll break a bone.”
Bones? Didn't he know?
“I don't want to jump!” she called out.
“Shhh! Keep your voice down!” Gren said. “We'll think of something.”
“Wait a minute…maybe…” I said. “Okay, Doll. Listen to me. Go to the door and put your ear to it. Tell me if you hear music.”
“Okay. Hold on.” She left and reappeared. “Yes. Someone's singing.”
“Good.”
“Good?!?” Gren snapped.
“Shut up. I've got this figured. Dolly, listen to me. I want you to leave the room and go down the stairs as quickly and as quietly as possible. Don't stop to talk to anyone. Don't even make eye contact. There's a performance going on down there. If you blend in well enough, no one will notice you. Come out the front door and meet us around the side here. And please hurry!”
“All right,” she said, a little unsure. “Here I go.”
In a moment, she was gone. The three of us rolled our heads and looked at the crowds.
“She's an interesting one, isn't she?” Gren asked.
“Very much so,” said Kitt.
Casually, my eyes drifted off down the street. A pair of black boots walked into my gaze and shook it up.
“Gentlemen,” I muttered. “I believe we have a bit of trouble approaching.”
“Eh?” Gren said, looking over. “Oh. Yes we do.”
The telltale insignia of a red crown marched our way and before we had a chance to hide, the Magnate had seen us.
“You there!” he barked at us. “Stay put!”
“What do we do?” Kitt whispered.
“Leave this to me,” Gren whispered back. He strode ahead and met the officer with a confident handshake.
“How are you, sir?” he said. “Gren Stanbrook.”
“Mmm...” the Magnate said, uninterested in pleasantries. “You boys want to tell me where this mess of wood and pipe came from?”
Gren shrugged and pulled out a cigarette.
“No idea. I was just out for a smoke.”
“Can't you smoke in the bar, Mister...”
“Stanbrook, I said. And, yes. I could. But it was getting a little loud in there. Music show or something. So I stepped out.”
“Mmm...” The Magnate looked over Gren's shoulder at me and Kitt, who were trying very hard to look nonchalant. No need to panic, I told myself. This exchange was going at least momentarily well.
“These your friends?” he asked Gren.
“Them?” he said, looking back at us.
“Them.”
“Nah,” Gren said, taking a drag on his cigarette. “That's Will Pocket and Kitt Sunner. The wanted ones. Couldn't you tell?”
; “What?!?” the Magnate snapped, turning red.
“That's right,” Gren said, leisurely flicking ash. “I think you've been looking for them, right?”
That utter bastard.
“St-stay where you are!” the Magnate yelled, scrambling for his weapon. “Don't move an inch!”
“I doubt they would,” Gren said. “They're pretty terrible criminals.”
I'll kill him. So help me God, if I got out of this alive, I swore I would kill him.
“Are they armed?” the man demanded of Gren.
“Just this,” Gren said, yanking the wrench from Kitt's hand. “Watch.” He smacked his elbow against the tool and watched the blade spring out. “Not bad, right?”
“Stay where you are!” the Magnate repeated, shaking his firearm at us.
“So about the reward—” Gren began.
“Are you sure they aren't concealing another weapon? That green stuff, it could be some liquid explosive.”
“Probably,” Gren said. “You should call for reinforcements.”
“Right!” He turned his back to us and shouted. “Men!”
Gren tossed the wrench about in his hand. “Oh, and by the way...” He swung and knocked the officer in the back of the skull with the blunt end of the tool. The Magnate grunted a goodbye to consciousness and hit the ground.
“That's better,” Gren said, taking the man's weapon, a hair-triggered pistol. “You two want anything off of him?”
We just stared at him.
“What?” he said. “I told you, I hate these guys. Complete pack of jackasses.”
“Is he dead?” Kitt asked.
“I doubt it. Let me check and...yeah. Definitely alive. You can see him breathing. You don't want anything? Here...”
He checked the man's uniform and found a few bills.
“Classsy,” I muttered.
“You're welcome,” he jeered back.
Someone else approached and fortunately for us it was the Doll.
“That lady singer was interesting,” she announced.
“I told you not to talk to anyone,” I said.
“She told me to get on stage. She said she liked my dress.”
“You went up there?!? In front of that entire crowd?!?”
“For a moment. I didn't like all the attention so I left as soon as the woman stopped cheering and hugging me.”
“Why was she doing that?”
“I told you. Because she liked my dress. What happened to him?”
“He was dangerous,” Gren said. “Now he's not.”
“Okay.”
Gren knelt down and wrapped his fingers around the collar of the Magnate's coat. “Give me a hand,” he said.
“What are you doing?” Kitt asked.
“I'm trying to get his clothes off, what do you think?”
“I think you should buy him a drink first,” I suggested. Gren scowled at me and kept pulling at the coat.
“Hilarious,” he said. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“I think you've lost us.”
“God, for so-called master criminals—”
“Master criminals?”
Gren stopped and stared at us. “Right. Master criminals.”
“We are?” Kitt asked.
“Yes...” Gren said slowly. “That's what the posters say. Master criminals working under the guise of guttersnipes. Deadly dangerous.”
“Deadly dangerous,” I repeated. “That's flashy.”
“Yeah, well, not that you've shown it yet, but it's nice to be working against the Crown with a set of professional anarchists. Why do you think I picked you out?”
I looked at Kitt and the Doll. He shrugged and she frowned.
“Sure. That's us,” I said to Gren, biting my cheek a little. “Uh, so, just between us anarchists, then. The undressing?”
“Don't you think getting out of the city might be a little easier if one of us was dressed as a Magnate, Pocket?” he said, returning to the coat.
“Oh. Huh. I suppose it would.”
“Yes! You suppose it would!” He grunted as he pulled at the lapels, very much in the same laborious fashion as he had earlier tugged at the lodged knife. “Damn, how thick is this man?”
I leaned down and helped, but we were ultimately unable to turn the heavy man onto his back.
“Now what?” Kitt asked.
“Do we take him with us?” the Doll asked.
“Are you joking?” Gren said. “We can't move this chump an inch. We have to leave him.”
The Doll frowned.
“He'll be fine,” Gren continued. “Probably wake up in an hour or so and stumble away, make a report to his superior or something. Go off for a drink.”
“Admire his concussion,” I suggested, a little sour.
“Well, think what you want, we need to leave,” Gren said. “It's a little secluded here, but not enough that we can sit around for long with an unconscious officer and go unnoticed.”
He was right. So we gathered some of the debris from Gren's makeshift ladder and carefully covered the sleeping man with boards and piping. Gren concealed the pistol he picked up and we took to the streets once again. We spent awhile winding our way through the crannies, sliding one way then hurrying the next. Kitt finally broached the question.
“Where are we heading, exactly?”
“My place,” Gren said. “It's not far. You three are staying with me until we come up with an escape plan.”
“You get into situations like this a lot?” Kitt continued, hopping a puddle.
“Nothing quite like this, but I keep on my toes. Doing what I do, you get into a few tight corners. Hence the boiler plating.”
“What exactly is it that you do?” the Doll asked.
“Cards, mostly.”
“You're a gambler?” I asked, a little surprised.
“Mostly,” he said. “A few odd jobs here and there, but nothing that pays like the cards.”
“Explains that ace of spades,” I said, referring to the card in his leather harness.
“Spades...” Kitt said to himself. “Hey, is that why you became a gambler? Because your name is—”
“No, that's not why I became a...Christ! What's with people in this world? How many times do I have to hear that question?”
“It's a neat coincidence.”
“Oh, and I suppose we all should do what our names tell us. What's yours? Sunner, right? Why don't you get a job warming the earth?”
“Fine,” Kitt replied. “Forget I said anything.”
“You boys play nice,” the Doll piped in.
“Eh...sorry,” Gren uttered. “It just...it gets old. I don't know who would be dumb enough to take up career gambling for such a reason. I mean, look at the dents in this metal.”
“Pretty rough,” Kitt agreed. “Where'd you get that bump on your arm piece?”
“That? Some ass threw a marble off of a zeppelin at me.”
Kitt's jaw sealed and he stopped in his tracks.
“Zeppelin?” I said with a laugh. “You don't say? All kinds of lunatics in this world. Right, Kitt?” I slapped the thief's shoulder, forcing him to continue on his way.
“Yeah...” he said quietly. “All kinds...”
We kept moving towards Gren's neck of London, but Fortune seemed dead set on making us sweat.
“Damn...” Gren whispered as we happened upon a particularly distressing scene. “The militia doesn't joke around.”
The street ahead was a sea of uniforms and ammunition. Tight squads patrolled up and down, inspecting carriages and sealing off routes.
“How do we get by?” I asked.
“We don't,” Gren said.
“Are you sure?”
He and Kitt looked at me as if I was touched in the head. In the distance, a squad of riflemen created a human barricade across one corner. “Yes,” Gren said. “Pretty sure.”
“We don't want to get shot, Pocket,” Kitt said, a little condescendingly. “If we ca
n avoid it.”
“But you two, isn't this your field of study? Sneaking and shadows and subterfuge and all of that?”
“Do you think you can shadow around that?” Gren said.
“We don't want to get shot, Pocket.” Kitt repeated.
I wanted to get angry, but it was a stupid question on my part, so I switched anger for humility and looked at the ground.
“We'll have to find somewhere else to hide,” Gren said. “No way we can get to my place from here. Come on.”
He shouldered past me and took off back the way we came. Kitt was quick on his heels behind him. The Doll smiled and took my hand.
“It's okay,” she said. “I don't think it was a stupid question.”
“You sure? When you say as many stupid things as me, you tend to lose awareness of what's not.”
“Are you always so hard on yourself?”
“Let's go!” Gren whisper-shouted from across the way. He and Kitt were soon distant shapes quickly dissolving on the horizon.
“No one's hard on themselves, Dolly. That's why this world's so boring.”
She had nothing to say to this.
“Come on,” I said, still clenching her hand in mine. “Let's move.”
The rest of the day was a tired scramble for shelter, for a place to rest. My muscles were tired and my nerves were frayed to the point of numbing. What I really wanted, I thought as the sky purpled and the moon began making its first appearance of the eve, was to wake up from this outlaw dream and start again. Open my eyes to a quieter world, get up, dress, and have a sensible, non-alarming breakfast. As much as I abhor boredom, I was, at that moment, much willing to take on the label if it meant rest from this maddening runaround, if only for a little while.
But then, I wasn't dreaming, or if I was, I was lousy at waking up. This I also thought as the moon came up and Gren brought us to the old woman.
We had retreated to a small region of the city not-so-dotted with vilified posters of me and Kitt, hoping that we would be lucky enough to blend in for a few hours. The old woman Gren found had terribly weak vision, a plus to our situation, and ran a small, unassuming inn. She regretted to inform us that she was all full up, not a vacancy to be found, but Gren somehow talked her into allowing us to sleep on the floors in the front room. He thanked her for the hospitality and paid with the clump of bills he had grabbed from the bludgeoned Magnate.
Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) Page 17