Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1)

by Lori Williams

  “Exactly,” the red-bearded captain said. “Here, step back a little. Give them some crashing room.”

  “Crashing room?!?”

  “Yes. Oh, and can you hold this for me? Thank you. And you may want to brace yourself.”

  I was left speechless with the man's long-nosed rifle in my shaking arms. He left my company and took up with Hack-Jack and Madame B. The naval ship slid through sky, getting dangerously close.

  Kitt and Dolly approached me.

  “Are we all right?” the Doll asked.

  “Not very,” I said.

  “Well, what should we do?” Kitt asked.

  “He said to brace ourselves.”

  “For what?”

  “Oh...I don't know. I'd wager for that.”

  And then the ships collided. The three of us were thrown backward as the deck quaked. I’m not sure where the weapon in my hands ended up, but I remember as I fell that the sky pirates somehow managed to keep their footing. Gren stumbled over to us and dusted off his trousers.

  “Yeah, you all are going to want to find something solid to hide behind. Don't want a catch a few stray bullets during the show.”

  “Show?” Kitt asked.

  A large cluster of soldiers on the deck of the opposing ship, all lying either nose or belly up, hurried to reclaim their jostled weaponry and scuttle into formation. We didn’t wait for them to get there. As bullets clattered against the trappings of the Lucidia like deadly, horizontal rain, we squeezed ourselves behind barrels and ship posts for protection. Dolly was huddled next to me behind one of the more sturdy-looking barrels, while Kitt, Gren, and Jack hid to our left. I couldn’t see the others.

  “I’m scared,” Dolly whispered.

  “Me too,” I whispered back. “Seems to be the predominant reaction at the moment. Watch your head.”

  Another round of that nasty rain pelted the barrel, and we slid down closer to the floor. The Doll was clinging to my arm.

  After a moment, the gunfire ceased, and a voice from the naval ship called out to us.

  “Surviving crewmen and passengers of the criminal ship Lucidia!” the voice spoke. “Come forward in surrender and prepare to be boarded!”

  No one moved. Then, I heard a series of boot-plops against wood that told me the men had most likely just embarked onto the Lucidia. Dolly squeezed my arm tighter.

  “I repeat,” the opposing shout rang, “step forward and surrender! Any refusal to do so shall result in your execution!”

  The Doll looked at me with large eyes.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, answering her unasked question. “I think we should probably comply.”

  I was about to lift myself when I heard the Red Priest speak.

  “All right,” I heard him say. “There’s no need for all of that.”

  I wanted to peek at the scene, but was too afraid to move an inch from my place of hiding. What I did notice, however, was Jack making mocking faces behind his cover. I stared at him, confused. He saw me, gave a grin, then silently pried open a hinged, wooden door directly behind him on the floor. Comically, he put a finger to his lips, mouthed a “hush” or something to that effect, and then slipped away down the open hole. I found the action less than comforting.

  Meanwhile, the shouting officer was barking orders to the Priest.

  “On your knees!” he shouted. “That’s right, hands behind the head! Yes, like that! Now then, tell me, are you the captain of this vessel?”

  “Yes,” the Priest said.

  “We are to take it that you are the one known commonly as the Red Priest?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are aware of the existing charges placed against you by his majesty, God save him, the King of England?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are aware that—“

  “Yes, he’s aware of everything!” Madame B, who apparently was also before the soldiers, snapped out. “So enough with the damn squawking!”

  I heard a few men snicker in the distance, presumably other soldiers.

  “Woman,” the man said, “if you were wise, you would hold your tongue before I teach you how!”

  There was a moment of silence on B’s end of the conversation. I gritted my teeth. Just then, Jack reappeared from his hole, mischievously petting a plump, little bag in his hands.

  “Excuse me,” I heard the Madame say, “I don’t think I heard you right.”

  “Woman, I don’t have to time to waste on your empty words or your shrewish tone! Now, the both of you, hand over whatever weapons are on your person and call forth any passengers who may be—“

  “I hate to interrupt,” B cut in. “I really do. But I do not think you realize who you are speaking to. And what more, I think you are going to regret your words very soon.”

  “I said, put down your weapons.”

  Hack-Jack startled me, for at that moment he shrieked out loudly in the imitation of a bird, making an obnoxious “caw-caw!”

  “What the hell was that?” the soldier demanded.

  “Just a parrot,” the Priest casually said. “Pretty pet parrot. Don’t you read the storybooks? Swashbucklers always have pet parrots, right?”

  “Just do as you’re told. Disarm immediately or I—“

  “Sure!” Madame B mockingly said. “We do this, we do this. Here.”

  Something metal smacked the ground. I’m guessing her knife.

  “And I have nothing,” the Priest said. “Gentleman’s honor.”

  “You think I’m going to believe—”

  “Hey, you want to see something interesting?” B asked. “Here, I’ll show you. Look at this. You know what this is?”

  “It’s a card.”

  “That’s right. Smart one, aren’t you? You study tarot?”

  “Hmph. Don’t start with that antiquated gypsy nonsense. I have better—“

  “See, this card is called the Empress. You like it? Came from a nice deck a tea lady once gave me. Pity though. I’ve lost so many of them. Every time I take one out, it ends up stuck to a dead man.”

  “Madame, I will not stand for your threats.”

  A warning chorus of rifle-cocking filled the air.

  “See, the Empress is a lady to watch out for,” B continued. “You’d know that if you studied the cards. Look at the picture here. You see that shiny scepter she’s waving in her hand? Symbol of the lady’s power. Power over life, growth. See, that’s why she’s sitting in such tall grass. Earthly gifts. Life.”

  “Enough of this idle babbling! You are no position to—“

  “No, no, hold on now. I haven’t gotten to the important part. What you must learn to understand is to keep an eye on a lady’s ability. The manner she’s dealt to you. If you’re lucky, the Empress will smile on you, give and nurture life. But if you’re not lucky, oh, if you catch her eye in the wrong way…well, sailor boys…you’ll soon learn that the lady’s not only a giver of life. She can just as easily steal it away.”

  An ugly stillness swept over the sky. I was too absorbed in it to notice what Jack was doing in the meantime.

  Not at least until he caw-cawed to gain my attention.

  “Will someone,” ordered one of the unseen soldiers, “go find that damned, shrieking bird and plug its blasted beak shut?!?”

  The look on Jack’s face told me that he hadn’t planned for that possibility. He clenched his teeth in apparent apprehension and clung to his bag.

  “What’s wrong?” B challenged, stalling, I imagine, for time. “Are you boys as afraid of a little parrot as you are of a little girl? The Empress won’t like that.”

  “Woman,” one of the men threatened, “you can rest assured that it takes more than a ratty bird or your silly mystic twaddle to put a scare into us.”

  “Oh, does it now?”

  Jack meanwhile was reaching into his bag with unbridled excitement. He withdrew from the sack a dirty handful of what appeared to be small, tin, children’s toys. Little tin mice with li
ttle wheels in place of feet and wind-up keys in their backsides.

  “Caw-caw!” Jack shouted again.

  “Maybe you’re right!” B mock-conceded to her adversary. “Maybe the whole dirty lot of us are just no match for you great men and your great power!”

  “Silence!” her opponent yelled. “Another word and—“

  “No, no!” B continued, dripping her words in a patronizing syrup so thick that you could choke on them. “No, we understand. We are nothing but your brainless little prisoners, your corrupt little captives, and you’ve got us good and pinned beneath your big, shining, superior thumb. Would you like us to bow before you? Is that your wish? Here, look. We’re getting on our knees.”

  Jack was wildly winding the tin mice.

  “How’s that?” I heard B say. “We lie here before you, faces to the floor. Are you not pleased?”

  And that’s when Jack released his minions. The toy rodents spun on their tiny wheels and zippedaway toward the open deck.

  “Sir!” someone said. “Across the floor!”

  “Bah!” another scoffed. “Haven’t you ever seen a rat before? This damned ship’s probably infested with—“

  Kaboom!

  The sudden eruption shook me with a fierce jolt, nearly squeezing my soul out of my body. I barely stifled a gasp, and the girl on my arm buried her mouth into my shoulder to prevent the same.

  A series of small but nonetheless noisy explosions popped up all across the deck, followed by fits of coughing and gunfire.

  And then, most frightening of all, came the quiet.

  I sat rigid, my limbs stone and linked onto the Doll’s nervous embrace. Only my eyes moved, sliding to Jack for instruction on what to do next. He signaled for me to hold position, then slowly took a long breath.

  “Caw-caw!”

  We waited and were met only with silence.

  “Caw-caw?”

  Silence.

  “Ca—“

  “You can stop doing that, Jack,” came the muffled voice of the Red Priest. “They’re all down.”

  “Ah!” Jack cheered, standing up and jogging out of my sight. “Another victory in—“

  “You idiot! Get down!” I heard B shout. “The air’s still thick with those nasty vapors!”

  “Eh, you worry too…too much…” Hack-Jack stated, sounding noticeably woozier with each syllable. “I’ve…mixed and breathed s-so much…of this…in my life…doesn’t even…doesn’t affect…”

  He then stopped talking. I heard a solid thud followed by raucous snoring.

  “Idiot,” B repeated before calling out to us. “Anyone else over there wanna come out and take an unscheduled nap?”

  “No…no, thank you,” Dolly meekly replied.

  “Then I suggest you keep your heads low until we say otherwise.”

  “Sounds reasonable to me,” Gren called out.

  “Good boy.”

  Moments and fumes drifted by, and we were at last instructed to carefully slide out of hiding. Madame B and the Red Priest were lying on their bellies with their faces planted to the deck. Around them lay a mass of fallen bodies in neatly-pressed uniforms, the soldiers, not dead but dead asleep, and joined in their rest by a peaceful-looking Jack.

  “Do you feel drowsy at all?” B mumbled from the floor.

  “No,” I said, wafting the breeze away from face anyhow. “Air seems, uh, pretty clear.”

  “Good.”

  The lady and her captain arose and began collecting the bodies while Quill fetched some rope.

  “Hold on,” I said, watching the pirates intricately bind the unconscious. “Can someone explain to me what’s happened here?”

  The Red Priest giggled and made a rope loop in his hands.

  “A little this, a little that,” he smiled. “A little magic.”

  “Yeah, and a little bloody luck keeping us from getting shot by those apes in the process,” Madame B grumbled.

  “They certainly tried,” Kitt commented.

  “But what exactly,” I persevered, squeezing down on the brim of my hat, “was in those…those mouse-looking contraptions Jack was—“

  “Tell me, Mister Pocket,” the Priest cut in, “have you ever heard of an ACE?”

  “A what, sir?”

  “ACE. A-C-E.”

  “If you want to discuss cards, you should probably talk to Gren—“

  “No, no, not cards. ACE. It’s a mixture, a sort of…cocktail.”

  “Cocktail?”

  “Not a cocktail that one drinks down,” he explained while knotting a length around a soldier’s wrists, “but a cocktail that one inhales. As our new friends here have learned.”

  I held out my palms, squeezed my eyes, and took a moment to translate the red beard’s cryptic manner of speaking. It would be some time before I became fully fluent. I’ll spare you the mental battle I was forced to wage and give you the information directly. An ACE mixture, as I was later educated by my hosts, is a medical anesthetic, a new sort of breathable concoction, you know, for administering numbness and sleep prior to surgery. As least that’s what I was told. It’s named for its components: alcohol, ether, and something called “chloroform,” which sounds like a word someone just made up. I was told that it’s actually a newish tool of the scientific community studied and recommended by something called the “Chloroform Committee” initiated by something called the “Royal Medical and Chirurgical Society of London,” which again, for my money, sounds like something these scoundrels made up on the fly to sate me.

  “So what you’re saying,” I eventually ascertained, “is that you’ve packed the air with knockout gas?”

  “No,” the Priest smiled. “The rats packed the air with knockout gas. Jack just packed the gas into the toys first.”

  “Why toy rats?” I asked.

  The captain shrugged. “Ask Jack…eh…when he wakes up, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  The naval ship started to slowly rock, having no pilot at the helm.

  “Take the wheel, Quill,” the captain instructed his navigator. “Keep that thing steady.”

  “Yes sir!” Quill responded with a nod to the command and shuffled to the edge of the deck. The Lucidia's railing, having sustained a direct collision, was now mashed into the splintered edge of its attacker, and the two ships sat huddled there in the sky. And just as the soldiers had easily boarded our ship, little Quill was just as easily able to hop the railing onto theirs.

  “Ewwww…it’s all sticky!” she announced, trying to find a spot on the enemy wheel not dotted with the former pilot’s blood. Madame B clucked her tongue and sauntered over to the rails herself. The Priest followed in tow.

  “And Gren,” B ordered as she swung a leg over the side, “keep an eye on our controls as well.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he responded, drudging over to the appointed spot.

  “Um,” Kitt asked, “is there anything you need us to do?”

  “You see that rope?” the Priest asked, pointing to a coil behind where we stood. “Tie it around Jack’s ankle.”

  “Why?”

  “Safety precaution.”

  Kitt didn’t seem to understand, but did as he was told. Meanwhile, Madame B impatiently stood guard on the enemy vessel while the Red Priest shuffled around on the Lucidia, gathering weapons from the unconscious men.

  “Take your time,” B grumbled. “It’s not like there could be others below deck over here. You know, with more guns.”

  “I’m going, I’m going,” the captain casually replied, shooing her complaints away. He found some kind of long-nosed firearm that he fancied. Forgive me, my memory fails a bit there. But he took it, checked to confirm that it was loaded, and casually hopped over the railing to join his second-in-command.

  “Very nice,” B dryly said, glancing at the weapon, “but can we get to business, please?”

  The Priest soured at having his fun ruined, turned, and strutted down a set of steps that led below deck. The lady clu
cked again.

  “Hey, tower,” Madame B shouted over to me, “you want to assist a lady in need?”

  Dolly poked me in the side with a tiny finger. I suppressed a grunt, but not enough to keep it from the clockwork girl’s ears. She poked me harder.

  “Glad to help,” I replied to B, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  “Then move your damn feet!”

  Following the lady’s instructions, I scavenged the Lucidia for some wide, sturdy planks and together we fashioned a makeshift ramp. Then, and I swear I’m not making this up for the sake of entertainment, Miss B had me roll the bound, unconscious sailors up the ramp like beer barrels, shoving them one by one until they plopped with a grunt back over onto their own ship. Many half-woke for a second, exclaimed something angry, and then fell immediately back to sleep. That knockout gas did one hell of a job.

  “Nice work,” B said, crossing her arms, as I finished the task.

  I wheezed and wiped a line of sweat away. “Heavy,” I muttered.

  “Well, they’re dead weight. What did you expect?”

  “Maybe next time I can help with a slightly lighter task?”

  “And leave the heavy lifting to the small women?” she grinned. “That’s not very gentlemanly.”

  I started to say something extremely ungentlemanly, but Dolly interrupted with a clearing of her throat, so I dropped the fight. The Madame giggled and moved around the pile of sleeping bodies at her feet to check on the red beard.

  “You all right down there?” she shouted, sending her voice loudly down the stairwell that the captain had descended.

  “Yes, yes,” came the Priest’s voice from below, casual as ever. “One moment, please.”

  A sharp, blasting sound popped suddenly up from below, followed a mad medley of scratching and thumping. Once the clamor had passed, the Priest again spoke to us.

  “All right, now,” he said, completely calm and unruffled, “is there anything particular you’d like?”

  “I don’t know,” the lady pirate said back with a shrug. “These military airships never have anything interesting aboard.”

  “Quill, what about you?”

  “Eh…whatever, I suppose,” Quill replied.

  “Well, you two are no fun.” He searched quietly for a time. “I’ve found weapons,” he eventually called up.