Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1)

by Lori Williams

  “Hmph,” Gren snorted. “Trust me. I'd never leave a child of mine with anything as mixed-up as this country.”

  “Careful how you speak. Your poor lover's spirit may be listening in. You wouldn’t want to evoke your Victoria’s wrath.”

  “You think you're pretty funny, don’t you? You wanna discuss your taste in women, Pocket? I'm pretty sure I've got a good idea of it.”

  “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Gentlemen!” Alexia said, stamping a foot onto the crate. “If you are about done squabbling like children, I do have an announcement to make!”

  “A thousand pardons,” I said, scratching my head and taking another welcomed gulp of cider. “The floor is yours, lady.”

  “Thank you,” Alexia said, a wide and sparkling grin appearing on her face. She extended her arms up and wide, palms open. “Lady and gentlemen, new friends and associates of this tea house, I propose...” Each hand lifted up and clasped around a hanging tea bag. With a snap, she pulled them from their strings and held them out to us, clutched in her fists. “...a reading!”

  The reaction to this proposition was about as I expected. Confusion. Uncertainty. And a patch of knowing laughter on Eddie's end. We all eventually agreed to the lady mystic's request, with Gren being the most stubborn skeptic.

  “I'll pass,” he had said.

  “It has to be everyone!” Alexia had said.

  “No thanks. I'll just watch.”

  Gren was eventually persuaded, so the matter was settled. And by persuaded, I mean that Alexia sicced Eddie on him, and another spot of wrestling began. Good times.

  And then...well...I must have passed out because the next thing I remember was waking up on the old sofa, face down, after midnight but before dawn. It always puts me off-balance when I sleep without dreaming. It feels like a sequence of my life has been skipped over, as if I have jumped directly from an earlier hour into the current one.

  I lifted my head in the dark and saw that my bottle of juice was wearing my top hat. A piece of my parchment had been taken from me and left next to the bottle. Written on it was a note, which I later learned was left by the Watchmaker's Doll in her whimsy. The parchment read: “MISTER BOTTLE SAYS TO GET A GOOD NIGHT'S SLEEP!”

  Cute.

  I groaned upon realizing that now that I was awake, I could not make myself fall back asleep. And apparently I wasn't the only one. I could hear a faint clacking coming from the front door. I lifted my body and dragged my long legs through the dark. Sure enough, when I opened the door I found Kitt sitting on the front steps, knocking his heels against the wood.

  “Oh. Hey, Pocket. Did I wake you?”

  “I don't think so.”

  “Oh. Good.” He was holding his fox-eared cap in his hands. His exposed hair, dark and curly, blended into the shadows.

  “Couldn't sleep either?” I asked, sitting beside him.

  “Yeah,” he said. “All week.”

  “All week?”

  “Yeah. Been pretty restless. So I've been coming out here. Didn't want to disturb anyone.”

  “Then you probably shouldn't knock your feet against the steps like that.”

  “Oh,” he said, looking down at his shoes. “I didn't realize—”

  “Don't worry about it. I'd probably do the same.”

  “You do worse. You snore.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No offense meant. Ignore me. Silly Kitt the street thief.”

  “The way I see it, you haven't exactly been a thief since we've arrived here.”

  “That's true. Alexia and Eddie, they've been such a help.”

  “I know. I can't remember the last time I've eaten so well. So how does it feel, Kitt? Not having to steal everyday?”

  He hugged his legs. “Feels lousy.”

  “Lousy?” I couldn't believe what I was hearing. “What are you talking about?”

  “If I'm stealing, I'm taking care of myself. No one else has to do it for me.”

  “Yeah...well...sure, I guess, but it’s not like these people are—”

  “What? Giving us food and shelter and risking their heads for us? I don't like being a burden. Or a charity. Makes me feel like a bum.”

  “Don't you think you're being a little hard on yourself?”

  “Just being honest.”

  “A first.”

  He snapped his cap at my face, a predictable move and one that I easily countered. I threw out my hand, grabbed the chin strap, and quickly pulled it away from him.

  “Nice job,” Kitt said. “Now give it back.”

  “Not as long as it's a weapon.”

  “Pocket...”

  “Where did you say you got this?”

  “It was a gift.”

  “That's right.”

  “So, come on. Hand it—“

  “You know, my bottle was a gift. You remember, I told you right before you ran off with it.”

  “Okay, I get it.”

  “I should keep this. We can call it a peace offering. What do you think? Hey, there's something written on the inside here.”

  Kitt took a swing at the cap, but could not match the reach of my stretched arm.

  “This is getting old,” he mumbled.

  I ignored him and peeked again at the inky words that were scribbled and scratched into the underside of the leather.

  “Le Petit Renard.” I chewed on my lip and tossed the cap back to Kitt. “Sounds French.”

  “Thanks,” he huffed, pulling it onto his head. “And it is.”

  “You're not French.”

  “Of course I’m not. But the men who gave it to me were.”

  “Oh.”

  “Or they knew French, at very least. I dunno. Said they were Parisians. Could’ve been an act. They were all a fat pack of liars.”

  “Fellow thieves?”

  “Not exactly.”

  The fog spun around the porch. I rubbed my hands and looked toward Kitt.

  “What?” he said, watching me watch him.

  “Go on.”

  “Go on and what?”

  “You’re going to tell the story, right?”

  “No.”

  “No?!? After a set-up like that, why not?”

  “Because I don’t do that.”

  “You don’t talk?”

  “I don’t tell stories. It’s too much pressure.”

  “Kitt, we’re not opening act at some opera house, it’s just you and me. I’m inquiring about your past.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t sleep.”

  “Wouldn’t storytelling just keep your attention and make you stay awake?”

  “I don’t care. I’m bored.”

  “It’s not that interesting.”

  “Really?”

  “No. It’s actually very interesting, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You know, when I ask you things like that, you can cut to the chase and tell me to mind my own business.”

  “I didn't think you would.”

  “Sigh…”

  “Sorry.”

  “You're a headache.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Forget it. I was dumb to—“

  “Pocket!”

  “What?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Where?”

  “In the distance.”

  “Oh, you mean that thing in the total darkness behind the screen of thick fog?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can’t see.”

  “Well, look harder. I think I see a rifleman!”

  “Where?”

  “See that pointy piece? I think it’s a bayonet.”

  “Kitt, that’s a twig.”

  “Then why does it have a trigger?”

  “Because it doesn’t.”

  “Oh yeah? Then how…oh, no, you’re right. It’s a twig. Lucky for us.”

  “Yeah. Real lucky.”

  Shadows played around in the distance, doing not
hing for my boredom.

  “Hey, Pocket.”

  “Mmm?”

  “What would you have done if it had been a bayonet?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we’re wanted men. That could’ve easily been a search team creeping through the mist.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m asking you. What would you have done if it had been?”

  “Get shot.”

  “Seriously.”

  “I am serious. I’m not armed, and even if I was, I’m pretty sure any supposed militiaman is a better shot than me.”

  “You could run.”

  “Is that what you’d do?”

  He shrugged. “First instinct. Hide in the bushes, run until I couldn’t. Maybe steal Eddie’s bike if I could get to it.”

  “Just run away?”

  “Why not?”

  “What about the others?”

  “It’s us they’re after.”

  “And the Doll.”

  “How do you know she wouldn’t run, wouldn't leave us? And anyway, what could they do to a tea house?”

  “Burn it, for one. Do you think the King’s army is just going to knock and give a ‘We’re sorry, but you aren’t harboring any fugitives inside here, are you? You aren’t? Well, thing is, we saw two chaps running away from here, and they did seem to be coming from this direct—‘”

  “I get it.”

  “And you'd still run?”

  “I’m not heartless. It’s just instinct. In a panic, you do unflattering things.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had to make such a choice.”

  “People are selfish. I learned that the hard way.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was in a sky circus when I was a kid.”

  “Seems fitting.”

  “It was fun for awhile, barnstorming with clown pilots. Learning a little about ships and skies. But they were bums. One of them got drunk once, crashed, nearly took out half of the audience. When the authorities came around to investigate, he pinned it on me, said I did something funny to the engine, and tried to beat me senseless.”

  “Lousy thing to do to a kid.”

  “Served me right for trusting them. I ran off, taking with me this stupid cap and some money I found stuffed in a ticket booth. Been on my own since.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged it off. “I don’t really care. I guess what I’m trying to say, Pocket, is that sometimes you just have to take what you have access to and run.”

  “Hmmm…hey, Kitt.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You do realize you just told me a story.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. You did.”

  “No, I…damn it, you tricked me.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Would you like me to pretend I didn't hear it?”

  “Don't bother. All you know, I could've made the whole thing up.”

  “It'd still be a story.”

  “Nope! It'd be a lie!”

  “Some of the best stories are well-told lies 'Fiction' is just a fancy word for it.”

  “Have you told any lies and called them stories, Pocket?”

  “All of them.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How come?”

  I could taste winter in my mouth.

  “Waking life has never provided me with anything worth writing down.”

  “Oh. Well, that's too bad.”

  “I'm content speaking of dragons to children and lovers to city wives.”

  “Well, hey. Maybe one of these days, something worth remembering will happen. Then you can pen the Great Tale of Will Pocket.”

  “Heh. A nice thought, but I think that story needs a better hero.”

  “You may be right.” Kitt got up and yawned. “Hey, I'm getting sleepy at last. I'm heading in. If you find a star in this fog, wish on it.”

  “Right. Someone worth remembering.”

  “Huh?”

  “I said, something worth remembering.”

  “Oh. Get some sleep, Pocket. I don't know what the tea lady expects from us tomorrow, but I have a feeling it will be exhausting.”

  “Me too. Oh, and Kitt?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you really spend your childhood in the circus?”

  “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

  I shrugged and he reached for the door.

  “For the sake of the Great Tale of Will Pocket,” Kitt said, “let's say I did.”

  “That's as close as I'm going to get to a straight answer?”

  “It's as close as anyone gets, friend.”

  With that he re-entered the tea house. I stayed outside and watched the fog until I got drowsy. Upon re-entry, I found Kitt passed out...on my couch.

  “You...lousy...thief!” I snarled under my breath.

  Night continued and I eventually regained sleep, sprawled out in the downstairs bathtub, with a stolen pillow stuffed between my head and the rim of the basin.

  Not my best sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Tea Dreams

  “GYAAH!”

  My arms shot into the air, swatting at the cold stream of water that was pummeling my face. I coughed, spitting out the stuff before I drowned in it. To my left, I heard victorious laughter and applause.

  “Wet!” shouted a young voice. “Got you!”

  “Iago!” yelled a horrified second. “What are you doing? This man is our guest! Mister Pocket, are you all right?”

  “Gr-grbt...off!” I spat under the shower.

  “I beg your—“

  “Off!”

  “Oh! Yes, of course!”

  And the water subsided.

  I was soaked, absolutely drenched in the bathtub I had fallen asleep in over the night. It was morning now and above me Alexia stood peering, and above her, the dripping showerhead that she had just turned off.

  “Thanks,” I said flatly.

  “Sorry. You okay?”

  “Hell of a way to wake a guy.”

  “I should've warned you about his games.”

  “It's fine,” I said, ringing out my hair. “I've been playing them since I got here. What was I today?”

  “Sea monster!” shouted Iago, unseen, from the hall.

  “Iago!” Alexia snapped. “Up to your room!”

  I heard the kid whine then take off up the stairs.

  “Sorry again,” the tea lady said.

  “My fault for sleeping in the bathtub.”

  “If you like, you can throw your clothes on the line to dry.”

  “Thanks, but it's not like I've brought anything else to wear.”

  “Well...” the woman said, tapping a finger to her smiling lips.

  The next thing I knew I was standing barefooted in a dressing room, wearing a set of powder blue men's satin pajamas, the pants of which ended a few inches above my ankle.

  “Don't,” I said sourly to the Watchmaker's Doll, who was looking me over with great amusement. “Just...don't.”

  She put her hands in front of her mouth and tried to stop herself from laughing.

  She didn't try very hard. And in a few moments, she had stop trying altogether.

  “Shut up,” I said, narrowing my eyes and scratching my disheveled hair.

  “That's not a nice thing to say to a lady.”

  “Hmph...” I scratched the back of my right leg with my left foot. “I wouldn't consider open ridicule to be very ladylike.”

  She stuck out her synthetic tongue at me.

  “That isn't ladylike either,” I added. She tossed her hair and continued to laugh. Women.

  “It's just that you're so tall!” she giggled. “Even without the boots.”

  I sighed and leaned against the nearest wall as Eddie entered.

  “Start moving!” he said. “Breakfast is getting...” He stopped and smiled. “Man, what are you wearing?”

/>   I endured a few more minutes of laughter as Mister Gearhead joined Dolly in this moment of great comedy.

  “All right,” I said at last. “Are you both about done?”

  “Pocket, hey,” Eddie replied. “If you needed clothes, why didn't you just borrow some of my rags?”

  “Alexia seemed to think that these would fit better. She, uh, misjudged.”

  “No kidding.”

  At that moment, the tea lady herself entered, marching in with a pewter serving tray bearing three small teacups upon it.

  “Here you people are!” she said, passing out teacups. “Come, come. I need your reactions to some new blends.”

  “What are these?” Eddie said, sticking his finger in the mysterious liquid.

  “Experiments,” Alexia stated.

  Eddie raised his eyes. “What are these?” he repeated.

  “Concentrated breakfast!” she proudly announced.

  We held our cups at a distance, inspecting them. Eddie's was tinted yellow and little squishy lumps floated at the surface. Dolly's was thick, like cream, and bright pink. It seemed more like a dessert than a tea. And as for mine, it was brownish-black and a little slimy to the touch.

  “Drink up!” Alexia said. No one moved. “Go on, go on. It's safe.”

  Eddie shrugged and tasted from his cup.

  “It's...uh...” he said, curling his upper lip a little. “It's...what is it?”

  “Poached egg,” Alexia said. “I've mixed it into the brew.”

  Eddie started to grimace but caught himself and managed a bit of a smile. “Tasty.”

  The Doll looked at her drink. “Concentrated...breakfast...”

  “Yours is a fruit tart,” Alexia told her. “And yours, Pocket, is infused with bacon.”

  We tasted, the Doll of course having the benefit of owning no actual taste buds...or as far as I knew.

  “It's...thick,” Dolly politely said.

  “Thank you,” Alexia replied.

  “I didn't know that tarts could be prepared in such a way.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “I suppose not. I enjoy curiosities.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Did you just take bacon grease and stir it into the tea?” I interjected.

  “This is a place of curiosities,” Alexia continued. “I sincerely hope you will enjoy this evening's reading.”

  “About that,” the Doll said, setting her teacup aside. Eddie and I seized the opportunity and did the same.

  “Yes?” Alexia said, looking slightly worried.