“It works pretty—“
“No! No! You know what? No!” I mashed my fist hard into a wall. Everyone stopped and watched with great interest as Mister Pocket finally, for lack of a better term, lost it.
“No! I've had it!” I shouted, my face heating up. “This is just...absurd! It's pathetic! You lot are a pack of complete loonies! This is eighteen-hundred-and-eighty-eight! This is the bloody modern age! And you people are throwing junk into your steam furnace and moving along by an abacus?!? Where's the pinnacle of technology?!? Where's the golden, gyroscopic, skyfaring, motor-and-magnet navigational gadgetry?!?”
Quill blinked like a child at me. “Um...this is what I use. The frame's imported cherry wood.”
“Look!” B fired back at me. “If you aren't satisfied with how we handle ourselves here, you are more than welcome to try hitching a lift with our attackers.”
“No, I'm fine,” I said as the other ship began to pull away from their point of collision. “I apologize. It's just, you know, messy business, this.”
“We are aware,” B said with fire, “and we are tending to the situation. Is that all right with you?”
“Proceed.”
“Thank you!” B began to grind her knuckles into her sides. “Quill! What's our status?”
“Hold on,” the other lady responded. “You two have gone and made me lose count.”
“Lovely,” I muttered, crossing my arms. B gave me a warning sneer.
Before long the attacking vessel had pulled back and, thanks to the Lucidia's copious armor-plating, they didn't leave so much as a dent. They were, however, straightening up for a second blow to the side. I noticed that their bow was reinforced with some sort of metal-structured tip. It might take them a few hits, but chances were they'd get through our armor sooner or later.
But why, I asked myself. Why resort to such a long-winded attack? Why did they stop firing directly upon us when it obvious to both sides that they had us outmanned, outgunned, and in my opinion, out-calculated? I didn't get it. Would the crash attract too much attention? No, that couldn't be it. We were now far enough outside of the city that if we went down, we'd hit open grassland...I think. Was there something we had aboard that they wanted to preserve? That didn't make any greater sense. Sky pirates of this age are notoriously unscrupulous and would not think twice about downing a ship for the convenience of collecting plunder amongst the wreckage and corpses.
Then what...
“Pocket!” Kitt hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me aside.
“What? What is it?” I replied.
“We're in trouble.”
“No kidding.”
“No, listen to me. That ship—“
“The pirates.”
“Pirates?!? Is that what you think is going on?”
“Well...”
“Didn't you see the Union Jack?”
“Well...yeah...but...pirates, they...I mean, I heard they'll sometimes raise—“
“Just think for a second. What if they're not pirates?”
“Then...it's a British Naval ship...right?”
“Aaaaand...”
“And what?”
“What could a British Naval ship possibly want with this ship, a ship that you and I and she are on?”
I looked back over my shoulder at the Doll. She was clasping her hands in front of her, those mechanical eyes watching the events unfold all around. I looked at the attacking ship, at the British flag.
“Dear God,” I said.
“Exactly,” Kitt said back.
Swallowing hard, I bumbled over myself and ran nervously to B and Quill.
“The Captain!” I stuttered. “I need to see him! At once!”
“Pocket,” Miss B said. “I told you. We have the situation—“
“Where is he?!?” I demanded, my tone cold and even.
B stopped and for a moment I think I saw her blush.
“In his cabin,” she quietly said. “Over that way.”
I nodded, half in appreciation, half in apology.
“Kitt,” I said to my colleague. “Come on. It's time I finally met this elusive captain.”
“What?” Quill said. “I'm confused. Didn't you already...”
I didn't stick around to hear the rest. Kitt and I jogged across the ship until we reached a pair of stained, polished, dark red doors accented with shining gold door knobs.
We tugged at them. No luck. They were locked.
“Captain, sir!” I yelled, banging my fist against the wood until my fingers were nearly purple. “We have a bit of a problem out here!”
“We need you!” Kitt joined in, pounding next to me.
“I'm busy!” shouted a voice from inside.
“Busy?!?” I yelled. “You're going to be busy being dead if you don't get out here!”
“Is that a threat on my life?” the voice yelled to me.
“No! Well...yes...but the threat doesn't come from us!”
“Your ship's losing a very serious fight!” Kitt chimed in.
“Did you talk to my lady?” the captain shouted back.
“Yes,” Kitt said. “She said it was under control.”
“Then what's the big, bloody problem?”
I couldn't believe this bloke. “Look,” I shouted, “with all due respect to yourself and your hospitable crew—“
“Most hospitable!” Kitt added.
“Yes, most hospitable! But with respect, sir, I think you're in a bad way, a real bad way, and if you don't reconsider your tactics, and soon, you're going to end up surrendering.”
“I never surrender!” the captain shouted.
“Then you'll end up dead!” Kitt responded.
“Bah!” the unseen man mocked. “I don't have time to die, gentlemen.”
“Oh really?” I said, trying my best to hold back my annoyance. “And what exactly do you have time to do?”
There was a momentary pause, and the red, polished doors flung open. Shuffling back, Kitt and I stood gape-mouthed. And then, the captain of the steamship Lucidia walked onto the bridge. He wore an elaborate, flowing coat of shiny leather dyed blood red, brimming with buckles and trim. Shining, skull-shaped cufflinks held his large sleeves.
“Skull-shaped?”
“Hang on, Alan.”
He wore a long, stately sword at his side, a bold saber encrusted with jewels down its hilt.
“Jewels?”
“Shhh!”
The lapels of his garment, outstanding as it seems, were even lined with small metal plates, sewn right to the leather! And most peculiar of all, underneath the whole thing, he wore...well, of all things, he wore...the shirt and collar of a priest.
“What?!? Now, hold on, Pocket. Metal lapels? A priest's collar? Come now.”
“I swear to you. Not a detail embellished.”
“Swear, do you?”
“On my life. This was the man that I met.”
“Hmmm...”
“What? What's that look for?”
“Pocket...what kind of man was this captain?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, it's a merchant ship, right? Awfully gaudy dress for—“
“Eh, I don't know. Sailors, this day and age. They're all for the panache.”
“Mmmm...seems to me that where you find the most, eh, panache, Pocket—“
“Not important. We're getting away from the story.”
“That naval ship. It wasn't after the Doll, was it?”
“Well, the thing is—“
“It was after the Lucidia, wasn’t it?”
“Look, if you'll be patient—“
“Because that crew that picked you up, they're just a bunch of—“
“Alan! Please! Allow me to speak!”
The captain stood tall between Kitt and myself. The breeze blew through his red beard. That's right. Red beard. How idiotic could I be? The peculiar, kindly man who had escorted us here, the odd gent flying the shuttle like a madman
onto a steamship during midflight. This was his ship.
And upon his head there sat a tall, seafaring hat. Wrapped around his crown on flaps and buckles was a round, magnified glass that hung over his brow like an eye patch.
And the hat featured that mark.
That odd emblem.
The one that Miss B and Mister Jack and Miss Quill all wore.
In that moment, I could finally absorb the entirety of the design. There was the black silhouette of a human head, detailed only with a pair of white circles resembling eye sockets, sitting above a pair of bent, open-mouthed wrenches. Altogether, the whole emblem looked quite similar to a...a...sigh...
A skull and crossbones.
“What exactly do you have time to do?” I demanded to know.
The captain of the Lucidia, the notorious Red Priest, grinned and produced a gleaming, scoped sniper rifle that stood as tall as he.
“Fight,” he said to me.
Casually, he tossed the rifle over his shoulder and strolled out into the fray. Kitt and I looked at each other.
“Oh,” Kitt said to me. “So we're the pirates.”
The color of fire lit up the clouds.
“Hey! Al-Alan! The hell are you—hey! Stop it! I mean it, hands off me! What are you thinking? Let me go. I'm seri—oof! What did you do that for?”
“Goodnight, Pocket.”
“This isn't funny! Let me back inside! Hey! I know you can hear me! Open this door! Come on, it's freezing out here! Alan! I see you in there! Hey, hey! Look at me!”
“Stop knocking on the glass.”
“What?”
“I said—oh, for God's sake. There. Stop knocking on the glass.”
“Then let me inside!”
“No, thank you. Go home. And hurry. You're letting the snow in this window.”
“Damn it, Alan. What's gotten into you?”
“What's gotten into me?!? Me, Pocket? What about you? Do you know how much trouble you can get into for associating yourself with...you know...those...”
“Pirates?”
“Shhh! You'll get thrown in the stocks just for naming names like you were.”
“I've spent the last few hours revealing my standing as a marked enemy to the Crown, and this, this is what gets me thrown out of the pub?!?”
“All of that wanted man talk only incriminates yourself. Bringing up piracy puts me in suspicion as an accomplice.”
“I fail to see the difference.”
“It's just...bad business. I don't like talking piracy. Rough subject ‘round these parts.”
“There's no out else around at this miserable hour on this miserable night except the stinkin' two of us! Stop making excuses!”
“All right! It's just...I know I said that I wasn't believing this little tale of yours, but...it's all starting to get a little too real. Look, I've got wanted posters! Artist’s drawings!”
“Alan…”
“They post them up in all of the taverns. Here, I've got them. Look! 'The Red Priest and Madame B: Gaslight Pirates. Larceny in the British skies. High treason. Of great interest. Large sum for any who can bring them to God and justice, preferably deceased.' Look of those drawings!”
“That looks ridiculously unlike them. Except for the beard.”
“The death ship Lucidia, it says. Knew I recognized that name! It's just too much!”
“Alan, relax yourself.”
“I can't. I'm...I'm getting worried. There, I said it. Ridicule me. I don't care. I'm getting my ears far too close to things I don't want to know about. So just take your stories and your danger and your shadowy companions and just go home, all right?”
“I thought you wanted a taste of adventure, Alan.”
“Well, I've had too much of a taste.”
“They're decent people. I ended up owing them a lot.”
“For what possibly could you be indebted to those snakes?!?”
“Trust me. The Doll had to—“
“No, no. That's enough. I'm done here. If you want to stick your head in my window and freeze yourself away for the rest of the night, you’re welcome to do so, but I'd like to think you have more sense than that.”
“I see. Mmm...well...can't be helped.”
“Eh? What are you doing out there?”
“Sitting.”
“You're just going to plant yourself out there in the ice?”
“I suppose so.”
“Come on. This is childish. Go home.”
“Can't be helped.”
“Can't be...sigh...all right, look. About your tab. We're even. You've talked enough for one night to pay off a few months of drinks.”
“Mmm...have I?”
“Sure. So come on. Get out of here. Go get yourself some sleep. I don't need to come back tomorrow to a dead poet on the step.”
“I don't know. A cold coat of ice might give me a nice shine.”
“A pretty death is still death.”
“Heh. So you have been listening. That's good, Alan. Maybe then, at the end of it all, it'll have been worth it.”
“Ug...so dramatic...”
“Sorry. It happens a lot.”
“Sigh...”
“You've been doing that quite a bit.”
“It happens a lot.”
“Heh. A joke. Good one.”
“Pocket…”
“A bit obvious, but I like it.”
“Pocket, listen to me. Will.”
“Do you know why no one uses my first name, Alan? Because it's far too common.”
“Jesus…what's happened to you?”
“I fell in love with the end of the world.”
“And?”
“The world started to end.”
“You and your damn lines.”
“Yeah. Hmph, maybe you're right about all of this cold. Ahhh...there. Stretch the legs.”
“You're leaving?”
“Guess so. I'll see you around, barkeep.”
“Pirates.”
“What?”
“They were returning fire, right? The captain's finally on the bridge?”
“Heh. Yeah, he was.”
“Well, go on. What are you waiting for?”
“You're serious?”
“Just don't track any snow in here.”
“I'll try my best.”
Madame B and Jack were trying to collect cannonballs as The Red Priest made his way to them. The Red Priest, a pseudonym taught to me later by the sky pirates. They all had one. Madame B. Quill. Hack-Jack, as I found out the boiler engineer went by. They were like something out of some marvelous children's storybook.
“I see we are getting a bit of the boom-boom,” the Red Priest casually said to his second-in-command.
“I'm glad you noticed,” B said back to him. “The tall one bring you out here?”
“Yes. He's all worked up about it.”
B laughed and lit the fuse on the cannon Jack had just loaded. “Well, as long as you're around, how about a little assistance?”
“That's what this is for,” the Priest said, patting the oversized rifle.
The lit cannon fired and knocked a few unfortunate soldiers into bits.
“That's a little gruesome,” Kitt said to Jack.
“Well, we we're aimin' for the ship,” the pirate engineer smirked. “But sometimes we miss. Just defendin' ourselves, you know. Sometimes you got to spill a little blood. Nasty luck. Besides, if we shot the ship straight down, they'd all die anyway, right? This is just a sort of...quicker release. Humane.”
“I guess.”
Quill jogged by and frowned.
“Yeck,” she said, pouting. “I hate to see it, myself. Ideally, we'd like to just pop enough holes in their ship that they'd get the idea and run off. Doesn't seem to be the case this time.”
“No, it doesn't,” Kitt said.
Meanwhile, the Red Priest had taken a position on the front railing of the deck and had pointed the long barrel of his rifle over the side to
ward the attacking vessel. He whistled as he extended a slender, conical scope.
“Take all day,” the lady B quipped to him.
“Hold on, hold on.” He twisted some sort of dial on the scope and began to smile with what looked like childlike anticipation. “In just a moment.”
The naval ship pulled back and straightened their point for another attempted ram into the Lucidia.
“There we are,” the Priest said, aiming his weapon. “There we are.”
Our opponents cut through the clouds towards us, and it stuck me as fascinating that these larger vessels, albeit limited in speed and maneuverability by their size and weight, could still achieve a velocity that was far from sluggish. Their bow became closer and closer within my scope of vision.
“Mister Pocket,” the Priest said with noted amusement, “come over here for a moment.”
“Uh...sure.” I cautiously went to the man's side. “What is it?”
“I want to show you something,” he said, keeping his eye trained on the scope.
“All right.”
“Wait...almost...yes. They're close enough now. Look. You see that man standing dead center?”
“The one at the wheel? Yes.”
“Watch his right hand.”
“What's so important about—“
“Just watch.”
So I did. They were still a bit away from us, but I could squint and make out the man at the wheel, steering his ship towards ours. Then, after a moment, he lifted his right hand and gripped the wheel at the two o'clock position. The Priest showed his teeth.
And then he pulled the trigger.
Crack! I nearly leapt out of my skin.
“You could give me a little warning!” I shouted.
“Wait,” he said with joy. “Look.”
One shot. That's all it had taken. The unlucky man at the wheel had just been given a very severe and messy haircut. His right hand was still on the controls and as the dead man dropped his weight, the wheel spun quickly.
And as the wheel went, so went the ship.
The crew shouted out in a panic as the vessel veered and shook, twisting itself into a hard right turn. The Priest giggled.
“What did that accomplish?” I cried out. “They're still barreling towards us! Only now they're doing it sideways!”
Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) Page 32