Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1)

by Lori Williams

  “Well,” the Doll said quietly, “it's not that I'm not interested. It's just that I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do during a steam reading.”

  “Leave all of that to me,” the mystic said. “For now, don't even bother thinking on it.”

  “All right...”

  Eddie's stomach made a noise. “Anyone else hungry?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course!” Alexia said, quickly gathering the teacups. “Let's eat! The meal will be getting cold!”

  “That's what I came here to tell—“

  “To the kitchen, then! Hurry! Oh, and Mister Pocket, how are the pajamas?”

  “They're...really nice,” I half-heartedly replied. “Thanks.”

  I could hear the Doll snicker.

  “You are very welcome,” Alexia said, leading us to the hall. “I was quite distraught when a traveling patron left them behind.”

  “Hasty packer?”

  “No,” Alexia said, skipping out of my sight. “He died. They've been thoroughly washed.”

  I stood alone for a moment and looked at the cloth on my arm.

  “Fantastic.”

  I plucked my top hat from atop a nearby wardrobe and carried myself to breakfast.

  “You wore a dead man's clothes?!?”

  “Wouldn't be the last time, Mister Dandy.”

  “You jest.”

  “If only, friend. If only.”

  “That's just...unsanitary. Here.”

  “Gah! Pttt...what…what did you just throw at me?”

  “Disinfectant.”

  “Disinfectant?!? It smells like gin!”

  “Alcohol disinfects! I don’t know what you may’ve picked up off of those rags, but I know I don’t want it festering around in here!”

  “I did mention the words 'thoroughly washed.'”

  “Better to be safe.”

  “Well, next time you decide to 'be safe' with alcohol, give me a warning. I'll open my mouth.”

  The day passed and when night fell, we dutifully gathered in the front room to participate in Alexia's reading.

  “I can't believe we agreed to this,” Gren grumbled.

  “What's wrong?” I said back. “Scared of a little tea?”

  “I'm scared of the tea lady. Last time I sat in on a session, Alexia punched me in the face.”

  “Why?”

  “Hell if I know! I asked the next day and she blamed it on 'the trance.'”

  “Trance?”

  “She really gets into this whole thing.”

  “Hey Pocket,” Kitt said with a laugh. “Maybe she'll summon a dragon from the tea and it'll devour us all.”

  “And punch Gren in the face,” I joked.

  “And punch Gren in the face!”

  Gren sneered at Kitt, who laughed openly.

  “Ha-ha,” Gren said. “If you want to laugh, let's talk about those pajamas, Pocket.”

  “They're not that bad,” Kitt said, coming to my defense, or more likely, seizing a chance to gang up on Gren.

  “Yes, they are,” the Doll said, joining our discussion.

  “You can all rot,” I said casually. “They're surprisingly comfortable.”

  “But did you have to wear the hat and spectacle?”

  “Of course not. But I did.”

  And then, Alexia entered the room with Eddie and Iago trailing behind. She was clutching a watch on a long chain that ticked in measure with the clock faces she wore on her clothing. She was also wearing a look of unusual gravity.

  “Here we go,” Gren whispered.

  “Friends,” Alexia spoke, her tone proper and even. “Thank you greatly for your cooperation. Are you prepared?”

  “As we'll ever be,” Gren said.

  “Then I shall begin. Please follow me.”

  She took grand steps, a peacock in a blue dress, and unlocked a set of double doors in the back of the building.

  The reading room. It was quite large, stretching back from the doors in a diamond shape. Tarot cards and star charts were pinned to sections of the walls with long curtaining covering the rest. Additional cards were scattered about the floor. Candle flames lit the space. The floor was covered with giant, brightly-colored pillows, and the center of the room dipped down into a descending hole.

  “Sit where you please, but stay close to the circle,” Alexia commanded. I moved to the hole and plopped down on a fat, green pillow. I leaned forward, rolling out the lumps in the cushioning with my knees, and peered into the circular hole.

  I was surprised. It appeared that the flooring had been roughly cut out, lowered, and reattached. Two shiny, brass gas pipes stuck up out of the pit with worn valves at their ends. Between these pipes was a purple pillow, and around that, a number of pots on gas burners that seemed to be wired directly into the floor. Fantastic!

  Silently, Alexia walked to the center hole, sat gently in the pit, and draped the long-chained watch over her lap. She placed a hand on each valve, resting on them like they were the great arms of some throne. When we were all in place, Eddie closed the double doors and took a nearby seat. Silence.

  Iago was the first to make a sound, openly yawning. I remember that he was wearing Eddie's bowler and that the wide brim kept bobbing down over his eyes.

  Alexia wrinkled her nose at the boy as he yawned.

  “You aren't falling asleep on us, are you?” she asked.

  Iago shook his head “no.”

  “Because I asked you if you could manage if I let you stay up later, and you said 'yes,' didn't you?”

  Iago shook his head “yes.”

  “And you're still up for this?”

  He rubbed his eye and gave a slightly-dazed nod.

  “Come on, kid,” Eddie said, smirking. “Time to be a man.”

  Iago put on a fierce face and gave a more reassuring nod.

  “Good, good,” Alexia said, rattling her fingernails on the valves. “Then we can begin.”

  She took a breath.

  “Okay, before we do this, does anyone have any questions?”

  Kitt's hand shot up, an eager gleam in his eye.

  “I have one,” he said.

  Of course, you do.

  “Go ahead,” Alexia said.

  “All right,” Kitt said. “You aren't going to need us to chant, are you?”

  “Chant? No...why would I?”

  “I don't know, because it's...mystical?”

  “That's not really how this works.”

  “Okay, good. Because my throat's been a little scratchy today.”

  “Be quiet now, Kitt-Kitt,” Dolly said.

  “Sorry,” he responded. “I just didn't want to ruin the...enchantment.”

  Dolly laughed and threw an unused, yellow pillow at him.

  “Ignore him,” Dolly said to Alexia. “Boys are ridiculous things.”

  “Yeah, can't we get on with it?” Gren asked, snippy. A pink pillow hit the back of his head.

  Alexia made another one of her “tee-hee's” at the clowning and almost lost the serious air she had created.

  “But really,” she said at last, calmly, “we must start if we are to finish.”

  “So,” Kitt said, “if we don't begin, it will never end?”

  “Makes sense to me,” I said.

  Alexia nodded and closed her eyes. Her hands spun the valves in her grasp, and a low-pitched whine moved through the pipes.

  “The time has come to brew,” spoke the lady of the tea house.

  The pots began to boil. I watched the bubbles pop at the surface of the heating water and smelled gas in the air.

  “Wow. So she just started making tea, huh?”

  “Only way to get the steam.”

  “I've never heard of reading fortunes from steam, Pocket.”

  “Neither had I. Her processes were quite elaborate. I had asked Alexia a day or so before the session why she chose to specialize in such an obscure art. She admitted that the straightforward reading of dried tea leaves was a bit simpler and bett
er known, but the practice never fully satisfied her. Studying steam, she told me, produced visions, symbols, and even lettering on occasion, all popping out from the mist. Steam could also be inhaled, she pointed out to me. Get the right steam in you and you could taste or feel or otherwise be led to an otherworldly construct.”

  “What do you mean by 'the right steam,' then? Isn't it all the same?”

  “I asked her that as well, Alan. Why bother with the tea when you could just boil some water? She told me different blends, flavors, consistencies, and so on all create subtly different steam, which meant different visions, different patterns.”

  “Huh. Creative young woman, sounds like.”

  “That she is.”

  “You know, I keep a kettle myself at home, Pocket. Sends up a few puffs here and there. Maybe I should put a magnified lens to it sometime, see what I can make out.”

  “You'd only fog up the glass, Alan.”

  “Ah, good point. Aren't you the learned tea man?”

  “I should be. Considering what I went through.”

  We all watched as Alexia presented a small bagged tea, freshly snatched from her ceiling, we were told, and dropped it into a smallish, black pot to her immediate right.

  Plunk.

  The pot gurgled. Alexia slowly moved the valve beneath her right hand and it slowed to a simmer, as did a few of the other boils. She made a face at Eddie, a signal. He quietly got up and blew out about half of the candles in the room. Even in the now dimmer light, I could perfectly make out a line of soft vapor rise from the small pot and fill the air.

  The first tea.

  When the steam started to become thick, Alexia extended her arm and let her hand play through it. She swirled through the vapor, scanning it closely with her eyes.

  “Yes...” she quietly said after a few minutes of study.

  “See something there, Cat?” Eddie asked, just above a whisper.

  “Mmm-hmm...” she said, circling a bit of the steam with her index finger. I myself couldn't make anything out of it, though I've never claimed to be a medium.

  “Mister Kitt...” Alexia said softly, keeping her eyes on the mist.

  Kitt snapped to attention. “Huh? Yeah?”

  “This tea is fond of you.”

  “It...it is?” he said, bewildered.

  “Look at that bag.”

  “What bag?”

  “The shape in the steam. The beggar bag on a stick. The fool's bundle.”

  “I don't think you need to insult people.”

  “It's not an insult,” Dolly whispered.

  “Maybe not to you. But if you call me a fool, then—“

  “Shhh...” Alexia whispered. “You'll taint the mist. Let me see now...ah...”

  “What is it?” Kitt said.

  “The bag isn't dissipating into the moving steam. It's moving with it. How curious. What are you running from, Mister Kitt?”

  “The King's pack of maniacs. You know. Me, Pocket, shoot on sight. That whole bit.”

  “No, no. That isn't what I'm seeing...the bag...it's moving, but it's also...growing. What's going into the bag, Kitt?”

  “How should I know?”

  “The unseen fool at the end of this stick...he mustn't just be running...he's taking...What is he taking along, Kitt?”

  “I said, I don't know. Maybe you should try someone else.”

  I still couldn't see anything. Alexia tried to waft the cloud of mist into Kitt's direction. I glanced back and saw Kitt try to casually blow it back.

  “I am not yet satisfied,” Alexia announced. “Eddie! Bring the candle.”

  Eddie took down one of the sitting candles that was still lit and placed it at a pillowless spot of floor near Alexia's seat. Silently, little Iago got up and fumbled his way to the candle. He sat down and looked to the tea lady for assurance. She nodded, and he began his talents.

  “The kid's a mystic, too?”

  “Not quite. More of a convenient hobbyist. You did wonder why they called him 'lantern boy,' right?”

  “Not really. Just figured the kid liked lanterns or something. Children are always playing around with strange things.”

  “Very good, Alan. You're absolutely correct. Didn't figure that out myself until much later. Just so happens that Iago had a habit of playing with paper lanterns that were kept and displayed at the tea house. You know, decor. He'd put them up to lights, make shadow shapes with his hands and feet, and so on. Are you with me?”

  “With you.”

  “So apparently, Alexia started picking up on what she calls 'significant images' in his shadow play and worked him into the act.”

  “Ah. So what did the boy do?”

  A few paper lanterns were supplied from the back and Iago quickly went at them, a look of unrestrained glee as he held the paper to the light.

  “He's going to set one on fire,” Kitt whispered. His warning went ignored by the rest of our group.

  Iago dipped a large lantern up and down before the fire, the colored paper casting a changing tint over the room. He started moving his fingers into little animal shapes behind the lantern, creating little silhouettes. That's when we saw it. The shape.

  “Ha!” Gren said. “He's made a fox. That's Kitt, all right.”

  “Such friends you find in the shadows,” Alexia said to the boy. He grinned, proud of himself, and plopped the lantern aside. The steam began to thin out.

  “I still don't understand what that means,” Kitt said.

  “In due time,” Alexia responded. “Come! Let's try another tea!”

  We tried several different teas over the course of the evening. Strong teas, distilled teas, teas mixed with fruit, teas I couldn't identify. Yes, very strange and mysterious brews that produced color, actual color, in the mist, and strange flavors on my tongue as I tasted. Those were the batches that most strongly affected me, and as I inhaled the steam, I could feel it nearly seeping into my mind.

  Though if I or any other in the room was being affected by the tea, then that affection greatly paled in comparison to Alexia's growing intoxication.

  “Tea! Tie! Toe! Tum!” she began to call out, rolling her head backwards and clapping her hands. She spun a valve and a puff of thick orange shot up from a pot. Alexia giggled madly and inhaled, welcoming the concoction up her nostrils.

  “You say she was getting drunk...off the steam?”

  “Seemed like it. Could be just overzealous enthusiasm, but...I don't know...I've seen Alexia drunk, and…well, that looked pretty damn close.”

  “Drunk off steam...huh...I could be out of a job. Vapor's just air, right? Air's a lot cheaper than whiskey.”

  “I wouldn't sell the bar yet, Alan.”

  “Not mine to sell.”

  Within an hour, Alexia was a mad woman, raving and cheering and spinning her valves. At one point, she split open one of her cherished pomegranates and, after accidentally swallowing a seed, started moaning about the bush she believed she would grow in her belly. I could now understand Gren's reluctance to be within striking distance of her.

  “The ether is positively dancing tonight!” Alexia proclaimed. “Daaaaaancing!”

  I coughed and tried to waft the growing blanket of steam out of my face. It was beginning to create a fog in there and I was starting to get drowsy. The others seemed to be, too.

  Iago was the first to fall, tucking his arms and legs in and sleeping right there on the floor. This happened earlier in the evening, before Alexia had fallen into her, uh, trance. I think she was a little relieved to spare the kid of her inevitable...enthusiasm...at the head of reading. I watched the child, the way his lids squeezed close, and began to feel my own get heavy.

  “Hey...Alexia...” I muttered as the room started to spin.

  “Storyteller!” she shouted in her passion. “Speak!”

  “Maybe we should ease up a little on the brewing...I'm feeling a bit—”

  “Come! Move to the boiling pit to announce your epiphanies!”
/>
  “No...look, I was just saying, I think—“

  “Come up here!”

  “No, I...okay, fine.”

  Dizzy, I wobbled up and took a single step. A burst of green smoke caught me between the eyes and I fell face down into another pillow. Everything got very warm and slow and quiet.

  “And then what?”

  “And then, Alan, I picked up my head and…I was floating.”

  “Floating?”

  “Just an inch or so.”

  “Above the pillows and such?”

  “Right.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Well, the first thing I did was entertain the possibility that I had fallen asleep.”

  I looked around the room as my body hung in the air. The space looked different. It had a subtle but distinct glow. Rather charming, actually. The others were nowhere in sight and the once colorful pillows were now shades of black, white, and grey. That immediately bothered me. Damn it, Pocket, I told myself, you are a man of art. Push a little color around, for God's sake! Of course, that proved difficult as I was bobbing in the air without much of an idea of how to stop.

  I flailed and spun for a time, trying madly to hit the ground. At last, I resigned and accepted my fate as a man adrift, prepared for this new, airborne existence, and hit the ground like a stone.

  Figures, I thought to myself.

  The light around me seemed to pop and pulse with each step I took as I moved through the haze and out of the reading room. I coughed up a few colorful puffs of steam and wandered haphazardly through the tea house, eventually stumbling knees to chin into the thick white door from before.

  SHELVED REFLECTIONS AND TEA STORAGE

  Just a storage closet, right? That's what Eddie had said. Full of musty jars and old socks and kettle parts. You can't shelve reflections, can you? I yawned and leaned into the door. The knob clicked and turned in my hand.

  Unlocked? But I had watched Alexia turn and snap the key myself. Then how...

  Pocket, you're daft. Tense at an old closet in a tea house. Ridiculous.

  So why did I so greatly want inside?

  I reread the sign. Shelved reflections, huh? Well, why not? Alexia wanted us to chase after enlightenment, right? So what's the harm in taking a shortcut and plucking a little personal self-reflection from the closet? No harm at all, right?