Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1)

by Lori Williams

  Alexia was, from my very first impression of her, an animated woman. Her eyes were always bright and it seemed hard for her to sit still for longer than a few moments. Her steps were poised but indeed frequent, as if the very steam she harnessed for her craft was endlessly rising and burning the bottoms of her feet.

  “Her craft, Pocket?”

  “Yes, Alan. Remember, she presented herself to the world as a woman of visions.”

  “What sort of visions are we speaking of, then?”

  “Just you wait.”

  We stood there in the front room and politely waited for Alexia to finish curtsying, an act that should have concluded much sooner than it did. Seconds passed by as she bent herself lower and lower to the floor with grand exaggeration.

  “Well,” Gren began, “glad to see nothing's changed since—“

  “Shhh!” Alexia said with a nasty look. As punishment she further embellished her bow and held it for an additional ten seconds. I could easily understand Eddie's characterization of her as a cat. At long last, the performance was over and we made introductions. We all gave our true names, having no need to worry, Eddie assured us, of being handed over to the police whilst in their company. Miss Alexia took immediate interest in the Doll, setting her calculating eyes on her.

  “Hello,” Dolly said, slightly on edge.

  “Hello...” Alexia replied, batting the greeting back. Then, after finishing her visual inspection, she snapped her posture to an almost militaristic state and wrapped her fingers together.

  “So!” she said with proper inflection. “Have you traveled far?”

  “Years upon years,” I said. This got her attention, but I countered with a shake of my hat before she could begin inspecting me in the same manner as Dolly. “Just from the city,” I corrected. She brought her lips into a tight smile, and I suspect she may have been aware of my attempts at shifting the conversation.

  “You must be hungry,” she said.

  “Food would be nice,” Kitt said, “though your husband was kind enough to feed us sandwiches along the way.”

  “Husband?!?” she said, peering at Eddie. Both fell into a fit of laughter, and the slightest red blushing circles appeared on both of their cheeks.

  “He's the hired help, fox,” Gren muttered to Kitt.

  “How was I supposed to know?” Kitt whispered back.

  “Dinner then!” Alexia announced. “Come, Eddie! Miss Dolly and Mister Spader and Mister Sunner and Mister Pocket and I and you require a meal of upbringing and I will not serve them shabby entrees!”

  She popped the last word with flair as she began dragging the much larger Eddie into the adjoining kitchen as if he weighed less than paper.

  “You know, you don't have to wave your French words around to anyone who shows up,” he said as they went off and clanged some pots.

  The four of us waited and shuffled our feet in the foreign room.

  “She seems nice,” Kitt said.

  “Yeah,” Gren said. “The tea lady's a saint if you're on her good side.”

  “What if you aren't?”

  “Then keep a safe distance.”

  “How will I know if she likes me?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Oh. Then how will I know what distance is safe?”

  “No one knows.”

  Kitt sat down on the floor and rubbed his ankles. “I see.”

  The Gaslight Tea House was quite remarkably decorated. The wooden floors of the main room were covered in the most formerly dazzling rugs. I say formerly because the many twisting and captivating woven patterns were marked all over by wear, staining, and I what I dearly hoped were not burn marks. The walls were old and warped, but this served not to render the room decrepit to the human eye, but rather to give it a sense of flavor and lineage. One half of the wood-paneled walls was papered in mismatching prints, a quarter was bare, and a quarter was painted. Most peculiar though were the tea bags. There were dozens, fresh and untouched, hanging just above our heads. Each was tied to the end of a long string that dangled and was held in place under a fat nail that was half-lodged into the ceiling. It was a flying sea of tea, as ever present and lingering as the thick fog that continued to loom outside.

  “What do you think they are for?” Kitt asked, trying to reach up and flick one.

  “Couldn't tell you,” Gren said.

  “You've never asked?”

  “I could never find a casual way to bring about the subject. The two of them, they just...never look up.”

  “Unusual,” I said.

  “I like them,” the Doll said.

  It wasn't long before Alexia rejoined us wearing a moth-chewed white apron marked with some sort of red sauce.

  “I almost forgot,” she said. “My apologies. Accommodations!”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “Thank you, we—“

  “Excuse us!” she said, grabbing Dolly by the arm and pulling her up the nearby staircase.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “The lady's guest quarters!” Alexia shouted from up the stairs. “Gentlemen sleep on the ground floor!”

  They clamored off and I laughed to Kitt and Gren.

  “Women,” I said with a grin.

  “Yeah...” Kitt said, frowning and folding his arms. “Wouldn't want to be around them everyday.”

  “You wouldn't?” I said.

  “They make me itchy.”

  “Itchy?” Gren said.

  “Why itchy?” I asked.

  “I don't know,” Kitt murmured. “They're just....handfuls.”

  I laughed. “I will give you that, Kitt.”

  “So what do you think, Pocket?” he said. “Could you spend every waking moment in a woman's company?”

  Heavy stomping and scraping bounced about over our heads.

  “With the right woman, Kitt, I could spend eternity.”

  Eddie came out in a bit, elbow deep in the same red sauce that decorated Alexia's apron. I excused myself for a moment to the tea house's back porch for a breath of fresher air. Eddie nodded and made a salute with the large wooden spoon in his hand. The spoon was also dripping with red sauce, and so soon was his forehead.

  I filled my lungs with the good stuff as I stepped outside. Pressing my shoulders to a scratched-up porch beam, I exhaled and watched my breath mix into the fog. It was getting dark and I tried to spot the forthcoming moon through the wall of mist. I caught it only once, just for a brief moment, and then it disappeared into the dreamy ether, moving through pockets in the dusk.

  I closed my eyes, took another breath, and began to feel something sharp softly poking on my leg.

  “Good knight or bad knight?” spoke a quiet voice.

  “A good night, I hope,” I said without thinking. I was then poked harder. “Ouch!” I said, opening my eyes. There was no one with me. I felt another poke against my leg and I looked down.

  “Oh,” I said. “Hello there.”

  It was a child. A young boy no older than three. He wore a serious, albeit shy, expression and prepared to poke me again. Cute kid.

  “You good knight?” he said, wielding a sharp-edged sword twice his size, its pointy tip aimed at my right leg.

  “Where'd you get that thing, kid?” I asked, hoping he'd hand it over. Instead, he brought the blade up into a playacted defensive pose.

  “You good knight?” he repeated.

  “Knight...” I said, getting where he was going with this. “Sure, I'm a good knight. Best in the land.”

  He grinned like a hunter who had just snared a quick-footed hare. “From where?” he demanded, pointing the sword at me once more. “Blue or yellow?” I noticed, at his feet, that the boy had set up two upside-down teacups, one blue and one yellow, to stand as castles.

  Great. Not only was the kid playing war games with me, but I had to pick the proper allegiance or suffer the consequences. I had a feeling that if I swore an oath to the kingdom of yellow and this boy flew the blue flag over his manor t
hen I'd get more than a poke from that weapon in his knightly hands.

  “Blue or yellow?” he said, gripping the handle with excitement.

  Fortunately, no one ever taught the child that you can't trap a storyteller in the bonds of a preconceived narrative.

  “Good young sir!” I said, taking a knee. “Your name, I beg!”

  “Iggi-ago!” he said with a grin, raising his blade skyward into the fog. “I'm-a good knight!”

  “Of course!” I said, patting his shoulder. “Sir Iago, your exploits are famed from shore to shore! It is truly an honor. I am William, knight of the kingdom green!”

  “Green?” Sir Iago said, not expecting this. “Blue or yellow.”

  “Yes, of course, Sir Iago. But truth be told, I serve neither land. I am a wandering swordsman, far away from my home. I come from my land on the word of my lord, King...eh...Greenman, who wishes to make an oath of friendship between our two forces.”

  “Friend?” said a puzzled Sir Iago.

  “Friends,” I said with a warm smile, hoping to have overturned this little game.

  But no...

  “Sneaky knight!” Sir Iago said. “Enemy!”

  “No, no. No enemy here.”

  “In disguise!”

  “I am only myself, Sir William from the castle green.”

  “Green is sneaky! Prove you-a good knight!”

  Now what, I wondered, trying not to grumble.

  “What task must I perform to win your favor?” I asked. He just sort of stared at me. “What do I have to do, kid?” I said flatly.

  He looked around the backyard, trying to come up with something. He looked up at the sky, and then he had it. “Sky made the moon go away. Good knight can bring back.”

  “You want me to bring the moon out?”

  He nodded at me.

  It was worth a shot. Theatrically I rose and outstretched an arm to the heavens. I opened my palm and moved my fingers in the mist like it was running water. The yellow moon hung in the distance, watching my act with expected boredom, as if to say, well, go ahead, storyteller, pluck me like a grape if you've got it in you. And pluck away I did try, picking my fingers at the blurry little edges of the circle in the sky, sincerely trying to grab it. I wanted to laugh because it was an act I had once frequently attempted when I was young Iago's size. It made me remember how night used to look when I was a child, big and powerful and all-consuming. I would wander outside in my clunky brown shoes as the sun began to fall and find an apple crate to stand on. And then I'd simply reach, extend my scrawny arms, and try like mad to grab the moon. On some evenings, neighborhood girls would pass, giving me bothered and disapproving faces. I was an awkward youth, not particularly handsome and somewhat lacking in amorous charm, and to make matters worse, I was prone to clumsiness. As a result, I was usually covered in scrapes and dirt from falling off of the apple crate when the girls would pass and cautiously advise each other not to make direct conversation with the strange boy.

  I never cared. Well, that's a lie. I cared slightly. They were, after all, girls, a creature I was quite taken with, but I didn't let it deter me. The moon was always the prize, the great light in the sky, like a trophy waiting to be collected. Of course, I was never able to grasp it, I don't have to tell you that. But I dare another child of my day to try half as hard as I did in the fleeting moments before my father would come outside and lead me to bed.

  “Try harder!” Sir Iago commanded. When my straightforward grabbing at the sky failed, I dropped my fingers and instead focused my mental capacity at the orb, willing the moon to come out.

  “By the honor of the kingdom of the green,” I spoke, “I command you to come forward!”

  Iago and I watched. The fog only thickened.

  “I don't think it's coming, kid,” I said at last. Iago let out a discontented sigh and dropped the sword to the ground.

  “Done playing,” he muttered with a frown. We shared a moment of quiet reflection at the sky. The fog soon turned to rain. The boy swatted at it and reached for the door.

  “Wet,” he said to me, as if I didn't know. I nodded back in acknowledgment and he slid away into the tea house. I finally had the moment of solitary peace I had been searching for and I had to enjoy it under falling drops. I noticed a book of matches sitting out on the porch.

  “You really should've come out for the boy,” I said to the moon as I reached into my pocket. “What was it, too shy tonight?”

  I listened to the click and clack of raindrops hitting the roof and pulled out a perfumed, purple cigarette.

  “Watch this. Bet you my life I can't strike magic tonight.” I put the Frenchman's cigarette to my lips, cupped my hand, and struck a match. I somehow got a flame going long enough to put it to the purple, but as I inhaled, the paper went soggy and drooped to my chin. I let it go and it fell, a momentary spark of red jumping out as the cigarette hit the ground. The moon slid an inch out of the fog for a second then hurried back inside its protective blanket.

  “Told you so,” I said to the yellow orb, watching its glow darken in the rain.

  I let myself back into the tea house. There was nothing left for me out back but some growing puddles.

  “Do you see this?” Gren was saying to Eddie as I returned. “Do you see this?!?”

  The gambler stood half-unbuttoned, showing his skewered chest plate up for the other's inspection.

  “Pretty lousy,” Eddie said. “And how much did you pay for that?”

  “Too much!” Gren replied. “Piece of garbage!”

  “The Priest did this, right? Have you talked to him about it?”

  “Not yet, but he's in for it! First chance I get, Eddie! He's gunna have to answer for it! Stop laughing!”

  “What?” Eddie said, grinning in his typical, maniacal way. “It's funny.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Button up already, Goldilocks.”

  Gren snorted and closed up his shirt. Kitt came out of a side closet, crawling around on his hands and knees.

  “What are you doing?” Gren said.

  “Lost my wrench,” Kitt said, peeking under an old rug.

  “How'd you manage that?”

  “I wasn't planning on it, Gren.”

  Eddie kicked over a stuffed evening chair with his boot. Thud. He stuck his face down at it. “Not under here!”

  “Uh...thanks,” Kitt said.

  Dolly and Alexia appeared from the staircase, talking upon the subject of Victoria sponge cake.

  “Eddie!” Alexia said, putting fists on hips. “You've overturned my fourth favorite chair in this room!”

  “Sorry, Kitty Cat,” he replied, shrugging his wide shoulders. “The fox lost something.”

  “Here it is!” Kitt announced, spotting his toy’s wrench-end protruding from the worn skirt of a corner sofa. He tugged on it and to his great surprise, he found a wily young boy's fingers attached to the other end.

  “Rawr!” Iago shouted as Kitt pulled him from his hiding spot. Kitt stumbled backward and fell onto his back.

  “Iago!” Alexia said, marching over. “Manners!”

  “What just happened?” Kitt asked, sitting up.

  Alexia scooped up Iago with one arm and carried him to the stairs, little feet kicking the whole way. Eddie laughed as she took the little warrior up to bed.

  “Do you have any other children under the furniture?” Kitt asked, confused.

  “Nah, just the lantern boy,” Eddie said, snickering. “He got you good.”

  “He gets us all,” Gren griped. “Last time I was here, he jumped off of that railing and caught me around the throat. I could've been choked!”

  “Or,” the Doll said dryly, “the small child could have been seriously hurt.”

  “Yeah...” Gren said. “That too...but still—”

  “Oh, shut up about it, Spader,” Eddie said with a smile. “You waging wars on little kids now?”

  “When did this conversation become about me? I'm going out
for a smoke.”

  “I think it's raining,” Kitt said.

  “Then I'll just stop talking,” Gren said.

  Eddie and the Doll whispered something to each other, presumably about the touchy gambler, and both giggled.

  “So,” Kitt said, never one to dance around a question, “what's the story with the boy?”

  Eddie shrugged. “Not much of a story. He just showed up on the porch one day.”

  “Like you, Eddie?” Gren asked.

  “Nah,” Eddie snorted. “I wouldn't say that.”

  “They found Iago, that's the kid's name, Iago. It was pinned to his shirt,” Gren said. “They found Iago crawling around after cats on the porch one night. No one ever came after him, so Alexia just kept him around.”

  Kitt scratched his head. “So he's like your...pet?”

  “Nah,” Eddie said, again snorting. “If anyone's the pet of the tea house, it's yours truly. Woof.”

  “You live here?”

  “Yeah, I started crashing in the crawlspace between the floors. Cramped and cozy.”

  “So you just turned up too?” the curious Kitt asked. “Out of the blue?”

  “Not exactly,” Eddie said, much more seriously. “Alexia, she...well...she's tough as hell, but...she ran into a little trouble once. Something she couldn't handle herself.”