“Look at that portrait,” he would say to us, pointing to a painting of the old druggist. “What color is that great man's hair? The same as my own!”
“But sir,” one of the workers would point out. “He was a good thirty years your elder.”
“Matters not! Matters not!” And he would leave it at that.
But then came the day when he finally broke.
“You, boy,” he had said to me. “You're always telling stories. Write me something good to tell outside of the parlor.”
“Outside, sir?”
“Yes! Yes! People love a good story! Attracts business!”
“I suppose, but are you sure you're up for—“
“Don't you tell me what I am fit to do!” he snapped. “If you don't want to write for me, just say so!”
“No, no, I'll...sure...I can come up with something.”
“Ah, you're a good kid, William. You come early tomorrow, help me set up.”
I never showed up again. I'm still not sure why. I later learned that without my words, he had gotten angry, grabbed the nearest encyclopedia, marched out into pouring rain, and started shouting passages. He was eventually hospitalized, beaten down by sickness in the cold, and the shop closed its doors. I never found out whether his performance had attracted anyone, but I'd like to think that his collapse did. Posturing puts a great strain on a man.
But it is my first impression of the goateed man at the tea house door, polite and pronounced, that I consider the most interesting, as it has been both my most accurate and most grossly mistaken.
“You think we're safe with him?” Kitt asked.
“He looks safe enough to me,” I said.
The man didn't offer his name, a move which I couldn't decipher as either an act of seclusion or absentmindedness. The gent was a tough one to read, to predict, and I at once admired him for that quality. What true manner, I wondered, lay in hiding behind his calm demeanor?
We shared breakfast and introductions. The stranger would set his eyes upon each of us as we spoke, nodding and smiling with an air of withheld knowledge. I'd figured that he knew of the mark on my and Kitt's heads, so I eased into the subject.
“So, um,” I began, a pillar of clarity and confidence, “I don't know if you are aware, but, eh, Kitt and I are sort of in a bit of a bind...with, uh, the King and—”
“Yes, yes,” the man said, dabbing his lips with a napkin. “I am aware. Tis no problem.”
“Hmph,” Gren said, dropping his fork. “Well, I've got a problem you need to deal with.” He flicked a finger against his chest and I could hear the metallic clink of his boiler plating. “A construction problem.”
The stranger sighed. “What have you gone and done to my work this time?”
“Me?!?” Gren clucked his tongue. “I suppose it's my fault that I expect a piece of solid metal to be—“
“No fussing! Not at the breakfast table. Here, I found something for you. A gift. So, no fussing.”
“Gift? What is it?”
“A deck of cards,” he said, pulling a small box from his coat.
“I make a living as a gambler. What do I need with more playing cards?”
“Oh, these aren't for playing. Look.”
Gren opened the box and slid the top card off of the stack. Two of diamonds. And holding those two diamonds, rather strategically placed, was a shapely young woman in considerable danger of catching a cold.
“Naked lady cards?” Gren said flatly.
“Look at the aces.”
“Uh...thanks.” Gren crammed the card back into its case and slid the deck down the table toward me.
“You're welcome,” the stranger said, smiling. “And thank you for the warm meal, Miss Alexia.”
“Hmm?” the tea lady said, her mind elsewhere. “Oh, my pleasure. You know you're always welcome here.”
We finished the meal and knew the time had come.
“So!” our escort said, gently clapping his hands. “Shall we depart?”
“Yes...I suppose you'd better,” Alexia said, half-frowning.
“Hey!” the stranger said to Gren as we got up. “You didn't take your cards.”
“Oh, right,” Gren responded, searching for a line. “Almost forgot because...Pocket, he was holding onto them for me. Probably trying to get at my gift. Pocket, give me those cards back.”
“Mature,” I muttered under my breath. “Here you are, Spader.” I took out the deck, which I just so happened in the conversation to pick up and pocket anyhow, out of...out of...
“Courtesy?”
“Exactly! Courtesy, Alan.”
“Heh. Courtesy gets a man far these days.”
We gathered what little we had brought with us and moved out onto the front porch. Alexia and Eddie joined us, intent on giving a proper send-off.
“Thank you both so much,” the Doll said, accepting a parcel of muffins and pomegranates that Alexia had prepared for us. “For everything. We can't ever truly repay—”
“You've paid with entertainment!” Alexia said cheerfully before turning a bit sullen. “Still...a shame to see you go.”
“I'm sorry I wasn't able to provide any deep revelations for you. I mean, during the steam reading.”
The tea lady dipped into a long, catlike smile and responded with her usual feline curiosity and mischievousness. “Oh, ho, ho. Now I wouldn't go as far as to say that.”
“Tea makes steam and steam makes dreams,” she sang. “In dreams, I see. I find candy.”
“Candy?”
“Tasty bits of truth, dearie,” she whispered. “And of you...well...”
“What? What did you see?”
“A tourist.”
“Eh?”
“Alexander will be disappointed if he finds you, well, partially at least. Because your power is not what he thinks it is.”
A wind picked up and the great fog at last began to thin. Trees formed in the distance.
“Of course,” Alexia spoke, barely above a murmur, “you already know that, don't you?”
“Well!” Gren announced, not paying attention to the previous exchange. “It's been fun. Eddie, we owe you a lot.”
“Pfft, don't mention it,” the brawler said. “Kept us from getting bored, right?”
“Right.”
“Hey, storyteller. Come back around sometime. I'll give you another spin on my bike. Helmet and everything.”
I smiled. “You're on, Eddie.”
Our escort waited patiently while we said our goodbyes. He then led us through the front yard, where his vehicle took shape in the dissolving mist.
“Wha...what is that?” Kitt said, mouth agape.
“What do you think it is?” our escort said, stroking his goatee.
“Strange.”
And Kitt was correct.
The vehicle...eh...I'm not sure how best to describe it. It looked like a carriage, only bigger, about the size of a small fishing boat. The windows were all tinted and reinforced, and grid-patterned bumpers were screwed onto both ends. A canopy door, in addition to the four standard passenger doors, was attached to the roof of the machine, allowing its operator to enter the separated driving compartment from above. Thick, treaded tires held up the contraption, but most astounding were the propellers. Yes, propellers! Two small and splintered sets of wooden blades attached to each side, pointing skyward.
“This thing...flies?” Kitt asked.
“If it has to,” our escort said. “But I assure you that it’s safe. Very safe.”
“Is this...the Lucidia?”
“This?” The man laughed. “Of course not. Just my personal shuttle.”
“But it will take us there?”
The man nodded and swung open a passenger door. “All aboard.”
Cautiously, we all entered the cabin and found our seats. I was the last to enter and as I stepped into the frame, I felt someone tugging at my pant leg. I looked back and found Iago standing behind me, pouting.
“
Hey, can you give me a moment?” I asked, stepping back outside. The escort nodded, climbed down the canopy door, and got settled. I faced the child.
“Hiya, Ig. Come to see us off?” His face didn't change. I tried not to laugh. “Aw, don't make that face at me. It's too grim.” He crossed his arms. “I mean it, put it away. You'll see us again. I promise. But we have to go off for a bit now, and I'm afraid that you can't tag along.” He balled little fists and started to protest until I patted him on the head. “You're a good kid, Iago. Don't change that, and don't let anyone else change it for you.” The boy looked at his feet, unsure. “Look, I'll tell you what. I'll make you a deal. You keep strong while we're away, and look after those two,” I said, pointing to Eddie and Alexia as they walked over. “Do that, and when you're a little older, you can come and find me. I'll answer any questions you have. Well, as many as I can. Knight's oath.”
He looked at me and seemed to understand. Eddie's hand landed on the boy's shoulder. I looked at my gracious hosts. “You are in good hands.”
“Yeah?” Eddie said, chuckling to the boy. “You're going to take care of us, little guy? I'd like to see that.” He was laughing, but for a moment he let out a smile I would've missed had I not been watching for one.
“Bye-bye, Iago!” Dolly said, leaning out of the shuttle and waving. “We'll come visit soon.”
The lantern boy lit up like a candle and waved back to her.
“Bye-bye!” he shouted.
“Goodbye, Mister Pocket,” Alexia said, taking the child by the hand. “And good luck to you.”
“Thanks, tea lady,” I replied, climbing into the cabin. “I'll take all I can.”
I closed my door and we were off. The red-bearded man achieved ignition and we rolled quickly down the way.
The Gaslight Tea House was soon a colored spot in the distance, an odd, little daydream fast hidden by the rising clusters of trees.
“Alan...are you...are you crying?”
“What's that? Eh, no. Don't be silly. Must be the stink of this place.”
“Must be.”
“Makes the eyes water. Old beer and cheese.”
“That'll do it.”
“Still, you know. That's a romantic thought there.”
“Romantic, Alan?”
“The people and the places and the moments of our lives, I mean. Coming up and in and out of the mist. I'm not a poet, I can't really explain. It's sort of like, well, like the way a cloud'll make shapes and then thin out like a...eh, I don't know. Do you get my meaning at all?”
“Yeah. I think I do.”
“Thank God. So I can shut up now?”
“If you like.”
“Good. Romanticism is exhausting.”
“Is it ever.”
We zigged and zipped for awhile, bouncing through the English countryside. Wired to the floor beneath our seats was a smallish music box, and the seeping songs of Lady Jay—my God she was becoming popular—twisted and turned with us on the ride.
“Fly, birdie, fly,” came the sounds, rising up from our feet.
“Up the branch a little higher.
Taking to the sky,
my clever, little flier.”
Kitt sneezed, and I realized that it was the first sound offered amongst the cabin since our departure.
“Bless you,” Kitt said to himself.
We were pretty much crammed into each other, sliding back and forth on the cushioning.
“Did you just bless yourself?” Gren asked.
“Can't very well trust you lot to care for my wellbeing,” Kitt teased, making a funny face. He then started fidgeting in his seat and tapping his knuckles against the glass, the metal walls, Dolly's head, anything within reach.
“Something wrong?” Gren asked, clearly restraining himself.
“I'm bored,” Kitt responded.
“Oh, I'm sorry. Was it more fun when we were being shot at?”
“A little.”
Kitt turned to stretch, pushing Dolly into Gren into me, then bent forward, peering at the thick piece of red-tinted glass that separated us from our driver.
“Do you think he can hear us from there?” Kitt asked.
“Yes,” said our escort, his back to us.
We were quiet again for a time.
“So you liked it, Mister Pocket?” our driver suddenly said as our shuttle turned onto a cleared, dirt road lined by wooden planks.
“Eh?” I said, slightly startled. “Yes, yes I did.”
“I am glad.”
“Good. Ah...incidentally...what specifically are you glad I liked?”
“You know.”
“Do I?”
“The sweet rum.”
“Oh, right. Sure. Good batch.”
“It is.”
We drove through a clearing populated by a small community of merchants and so on. The presence of commerce told me that we must have travelled closer to the city, and I became anxious wondering how far the King’s hunt had reached.
“Don't worry,” the driver said, as if reading my mind. “This place is safe.”
He piloted the craft to a makeshift air dock and snorted when he found that his ship was not there.
“Impatient...” he said to us.
“What did you expect?” Gren laughed. “She said she'd leave us to rot in the dust if you took all day.”
“I did not take all day,” our escort objected, flipping some switches. “I was invited to breakfast. Didn't want to be rude. Besides, it was Mister Pocket who held us up, talking that child's ear off.”
“Hey, hey,” I said, firmly wedging myself into the argument. “You can't pin this on me because I put a bit of spice and sentiment into my goodbyes.”
“You took forever. 'Come find me when you are a man and I will answer...' You sounded like something out of a weak serial magazine.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, don't get so excited. Here, we're on our way.”
“What?”
The attached propellers kicked on, spinning quickly. The cabin began to shake as our driver straightened out the shuttle.
“I said, we're on our way,” he repeated, pulling back on the controls.
And then we were in the air. Somehow. All I really remember of our ascent was the shaking followed by my companions falling on top of me followed by the sudden appearance of clouds outside of the windows.
“We're...we're flying?” Kitt asked.
“I'm flying,” the goateed man said. “You people are just sitting around.”
“Exciting,” the Doll said, trying to remove her heel from my ear.
“But is it safe?” Kitt asked, pulling himself up.
“Usually,” our driver replied.
I managed my way back to my seat. I removed my hat and punched out the dent it received from the cabin's floor. I felt a hand moving through my hair. It wasn't mine.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“It got messy,” Dolly said, moving her slender fingers.
“Falling down will do that.”
“There...yes, that's better.”
I found my reflection in a window and inspected her work.
“It's still messy.”
“Yes, but now it's charmingly tossed, not eccentrically frazzled.”
“There's a difference, then?”
“Of course! I thought gentlemen of this age were fashionably conscious.”
“Not all of them.” Admittedly, I am far from the dandy type.
“Well, count yourself lucky to have a lady around who understands a bit about subtlety.”
“I can be subtle.”
“Not when you eat!” Kitt pointed out with a laugh.
“Eating's a matter of appetite.”
“So?”
“So there's no room for subtlety. Appetites define a man, how he is driven. I'm not the type to play that down. If I started suppressing my appetites, I'd come off as pretty dull, right? And if that's not gentlemanly enough, oh well.”
The Doll smiled and nodded. “I see.” She took my hat and plopped it on my head.
So we rode through the sky, moving over treetops, roofs, and chimneys. Sounds of violins played from the music box, and the arrangement so matched the rhythm of our flight that one would suspect our airborne machine of sliding on a set of tuned strings as it drifted through the clouds.
Speaking of clouds, one in particular soon loomed before us. It was quite large and, unlike all others in the air that day, very dark.
“A black cloud?” Kitt wondered. “Doesn't look like rainy weather.”
“That's because it's not black,” our driver said. “It's shadowed.”
“Shadowed? Up here? By what?”
Our escort tilted our shuttle toward the mass. The propellers started to blow away bits of cloud as we approached.
“By this.”
That's when we saw it. From behind the cloud emerged a massive steamship of British Naval design. Covered in wood, steel, and brass, it was quite the sight. It seemed to the observer to have undergone extensive reconstruction, as all military insignia has been removed and replaced with reinforced armor, additional mounted artillery, quite polished, and thick tubing that snaked everywhere. In the center of the railed deck stood a tall watchtower, and fashioned to the point of the ship was a gilded, longhaired siren. The vessel was as beautiful as it was unusual, and across the side was stamped a single word.
LUCIDIA
“Nice ship,” I said.
“Thank you,” said our driver, steering ahead.
As we got closer, we could see that in the watchtower stood a young lady with a crooked telescope. She saw us and immediately rang a connected bell. Responding to the sound, another young woman, a blonde, marched out onto the deck and peered at our shuttle.
“Is she...frowning at us?” I asked.
“She's impatient,” the driver said.
Ropes on wheels started moving on the Lucidia, lowering a small ramp from the bottom of the ship.
“Ah, perfect,” Kitt said. “Just signal them to land and we'll drive on board.”
Gren snickered.
“What?” Kitt said.
“Just wait,” Gren replied.
Without a word, our escort dropped our vehicle downward into a steep curve, barreling in on the ramp.
“Hey, hey!” I shouted. “What the hell are you doing?!?”
Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) Page 28