Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1)

by Lori Williams

  “That we are!” said her companion.

  “So then,” I mused, “the path to the afterlife, I'm guessing it's...that way?” I pointed behind me.

  “Yes!” the second faerie said.

  “I see,” I mulled it over and loudly clapped my hands together. “Well, I'm off to die, then! Take care of yourselves!”

  “Hey, hey, wait!” the first faerie stuttered.

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll just scurry off and meet my Maker. You two have a lovely afternoon or whatever it is that faeries have.”

  “Now, hold on! Don't be so hasty to—”

  “Ha!” I said, reaching through the mist and knocking my knuckles on a hard, wooden wall. “How unusual. The hereafter feels a lot like a wall.”

  “Oh,” the first said. “Well, that's because—“

  “Because it is a wall,” I said, wafting the fog away. “And this stale steam I've smelt. I'm still on the Lucidia, aren't I?”

  “Fine,” the second faerie grumbled, dropping the flowery tone. “Go ahead and turn it off.”

  “Sure,” said the first. She found a valve in the steam and twisted it until the mist faded and the surroundings came into view.

  I was in some sort of janitorial closet. It was small and amongst the various mops and buckets was a small, unfolded cot.

  “All right,” I said. “What's this all about?”

  The would-be faeries peeled off their robes. Madame B and Miss Quill were revealed.

  “I told you he wouldn't believe this,” B said.

  “Explain,” I bluntly commanded. “Now.”

  “You passed out during the crash,” Quill said to me. “We all did.”

  “That doesn't answer my question,” I said.

  “Well, some of us woke up before you did.”

  “That doesn't answer it either!”

  “Settle down,” B responded. “We brought you down here to rest until you woke up. Quill and I were just keeping watch and passing the time.”

  “And convincing me that I was half-dead, was that your idea of passing the time?”

  “Oh, learn to take a little joke and enjoy a little entertainment.”

  “Entertainment, madame?!? You threw water in my face! Water from...ack...don’t tell me it came from that filthy bucket?!?”

  “Water is water.”

  “I put my foot in that bucket!”

  “Well, you should watch where you step.”

  “I stepped in it because I was on fire!”

  “Then you should watch where you burn.”

  I drooped and squeezed my eyes.

  “Are you all right, Pocket-sensei?” Quill asked.

  “Head's pounding,” I said. “Again.”

  “Do you want something for it?”

  “Like a bullet?”

  “No, silly. How would that help?”

  “It’s a lasting solution,” I muttered from the corner of my mouth.

  “Here!” Quill said, cheerfully producing a small tin from her jacket. “Have one of these pills.”

  “Pills?” I took the tin. Doctor Marin and Doctor Marin's New-Fashioned Miracle Tablets. Cures pains, plagues, and missing legs. “I'll pass.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Sigh...so where did you two learn about the faeries?”

  “The fox told us,” B said. “He thought it'd be a good way to keep you occupied.”

  “Occupied? Why would you…” I stopped and observed their eyes. A terrible feeling turned in my stomach. “Wait a minute,” I slowly continued, piecing it together. “You’re not passing time. You're a distraction. What are you…”

  My mind caught up with me. The flight. The crash.

  The Doll.

  “Dolly!” I shouted.

  I tried to run through them but the two girls caught my arms and managed to hold me slightly back.

  “Easy now!” Quill said. “She's fine!”

  “Fine?!? She got a hook through her! Let me go! Where is she?”

  “The Priest is operating on her.”

  “Operating?!? So he's a surgeon now?!?”

  “Not as such, in the traditional manner, but he is a man of machines. Talented enough to move her parts about. Tinker around.”

  “Tinker around?!? No, no, I've got to get—oof!”

  They pushed me down onto the cot.

  “Calm yourself!” B said. “She's going to be fine! But the captain doesn't need you in there panicking and messing up his work!”

  “So he tucked me away to wake up in the Land of the Faeries, is that it?!? What is wrong with you people?!? And where'd you even get those wings?”

  “Jack fashioned them,” Quill said. “They're actually pretty easy to come by in a pinch. Just find some scrap wood or metal in the right sorta shape, and we had plenty, as you can imagine, after crashing down like—”

  “That does it!” I said, marching through them.

  I hurried out of the room and ran down a corridor until I found a set of open double doors. Inside the Red Priest was stooped over a long, steel workbench. Over his flamboyant pirate garb, he wore a thick apron and thicker gloves. The magnified glass eyepiece he wore was now pulled down over his pupil, and he was slowly moving small, thin tools in his hands.

  And there was the Doll.

  She was lying motionless on the table, the hole in her center half-filled with fresh gears. The Priest glanced at me and then back at his work, carefully shifting another piece of clockwork into its rightful place.

  I didn't say anything. I just sort of stopped and breathed. Kitt and Gren were standing on either side of the workbench and Jack was leering in the corner, ungloved and chewing on his fingernails. They all looked up at me.

  “Hey,” Gren said quietly. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Is she going to be all right?” I asked, ignoring the greeting.

  “I see you got past the faeries,” the Priest calmly said. “Kitt, can you hand me that other tool?”

  “This one?” Kitt replied.

  “No, the more curved one. Thank you.”

  “Yes!” I said, determined to drive the flow of conversation. “I did get past your little 'faeries.' Pretty sick joke to play! And what about this operation here?!? Are you quite sure you know what you're doing? I swear, if you've helped yourself to a peek under her clothes—”

  “He’s working through the hole left by that hook, idiot,” Gren explained. “There’s no need to undress her. It’s not like there’s gunna be any blood to stain the dress.”

  “See,” the Priest said, “this is why I didn't want you coming in here. Think for a second, Pocket. Would you rather me stop now and let her rust forever?”

  “Well...no...I mean, of course not,” I bumbled, lost somewhere between angry accusation and stupid confusion. “I just wanted to make sure that this was all going down in the proper way.”

  “You’re making this worse, Pocket,” Kitt stated.

  “Gren,” the Priest said, “why don't you take him out of here? Get him to cool down. I shouldn't be much longer.”

  “Sure. Just do a better job on the girl than you did on me,” replied the boiler-plated man.

  “Hush.”

  “All right,” Gren said to me. “Let's go.”

  “Thank you, I'll stay,” I argued.

  “Just do it, Pocket,” Kitt said. “You'll get more worked up if you stick around.”

  “Agreed,” Gren said. “We’re gone.”

  And with that, the bastard grabbed my shoulders and dragged me out of the room despite my aggressive protests. Gren took me into a small side room, where I was given the freedom to complain to my mouth’s content.

  Which I did.

  “You…traitor!” I accused, sucking air through my teeth. “How dare you—“

  “Save it!” Gren countered. “Yell and scream all you want, idiot, but like it or not, Dolly’s little more than scrap if we don’t let them at least try. And you know I’m right!”

  I crossed my a
rms and looked away. He was right. And I did know it. But I wasn’t about to admit it to him. So I kicked something on the floor instead.

  “It’s their fault that this happened,” I grumbled.

  “Maybe,” Gren said. “Or maybe it’s the Doll’s fault for not stepping out of the way of that hook.”

  “Shut your ugly mou—“

  “Maybe it’s my fault for bringing her onto this ship. Maybe it’s even yours, Pocket, for introducing her to this lousy world in the first place.”

  I sighed, folded down to the floor, and rested my palms on my knees.

  “It doesn’t matter why it happened,” Gren continued. “That’s all I’m trying to say.”

  “I understand,” I quietly responded. “Sorry.”

  “Damn right, you are! And for the record, if you ever call me traitor again after what we’ve been through, I’ll knock your teeth out!”

  “Yeah, yeah…”

  “I mean it. I will.”

  At that point, Madame B barged into the room, red-faced and glowering. She was absolutely volatile, a thundercloud squeezed into a corset and boots, and I think I would’ve found her rage slightly adorable if I had been in a better mood. But as she entered with a glare so sour that I could nearly taste it, my only response was to out-sour her. I immediately matched her face with one exceedingly tart and waited for her to pucker.

  “Try me,” her eyes said, which was a lot nicer than what her mouth said.

  I waited patiently while the thundercloud spat her lightning at me, and when she finished, I prepared to return fire.

  But I was bereft of ammunition.

  “What do you want me to say?” I muttered.

  “Oh, I think you’ve said enough!” she fired. “And I could hear it all from the other end of the hall! Do you know how much precision and concentration it takes to—“

  “I’ve already gotten this lecture from Gren. And amazingly, his was quieter.”

  The lady took a moment and sized me up, her eyes rocking like pendulums.

  “Fine,” she seethed, cold and quiet. “No lectures.” She then proceeded to retrieve a set of rusty keys on a metal ring from her coat pocket, which she stuffed into Gren’s hand. “Spader,” she commanded. “Take care of it.”

  Gren seemed to understand, at least more than I did. He shook his head and left the room, leaving me alone at the lady’s mercy. I raised my eyebrows dully at the sound of one of those keys turning with a click in the lock. B crossed her arms with a sneer and leaned her body against the door.

  “What are you doing?” I said flatly.

  “Playing nanny, apparently,” she shot back at me.

  “You’re serious?” I grumbled. “Lock me away? That’s your solution? No plank to walk?”

  “Is that what you’d prefer?” she challenged. “Because it can be arranged.”

  “Don’t bother,” I griped, folding down and sitting on the floor.

  B let out a very dissatisfied sigh and sat down opposite me. We kept our mouths closed for awhile.

  “She’s going to be fine,” the lady quietly said after some time had passed.

  I chewed on my tongue.

  “Hope so,” I replied.

  “She really is in skilled hands. I promise.”

  I nodded, not in agreement but in gratitude for the gesture.

  “The Priest,” I said, speaking the name aloud for, I believe, the first time. “The Red Priest. That’s what everyone was calling him, right?”

  “That’s right,” B said. “It’s…sort of a pseudonym.”

  “An alias.”

  “Right.”

  I removed my hat and played along the brim with my fingertips.

  “Gren didn’t tell me you were pirates,” I said, keeping my eyes down.

  “I was starting to suspect that.”

  “Did he tell you that Kitt and I were master criminals?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, we’re not.”

  “I suspected that too.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Okay, what?” she responded.

  “You can release me.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m calm. I won’t…you know…”

  “Act like an ass during a tense situation?”

  I chewed on my tongue again to keep my tone in check.

  “Yes,” I politely replied.

  “Well, good,” the lady said. She then stood, stretched her back, and knocked loudly on the door behind her. “All right, Gren!” she called out. “Open up!”

  We paused.

  And nothing happened.

  B knocked again with considerably more energy, but again was met with no reply. Gren, it seemed, had neglected to consider that after locking us in, the Madame would probably prefer that he didn’t wander away for a time.

  B responded as expected and the door received a fresh coating of bootprints. I groaned and tucked my hands behind my head.

  “Get comfortable, I suppose,” I said.

  “Lovely,” B added, rejoining me on the floor.

  We remained planted there for a good stretch of time, trading small talk while impatiently waiting for Gren to come back around. I was thankful for the conversation, if only because it preoccupied my thoughts on matters other than my great worry for the Doll.

  “So, the Red Priest,” I eventually spoke. “What’s the meaning there?”

  “Meaning?”

  “In the name.”

  “Not much. He’s redhaired and wears a priest’s collar.”

  “Well, clearly, but why?”

  “What do you care?”

  “It’s just unusual, is all. You don’t meet many men of the cloth amongst pirates.”

  “First of all,” B pointed out, “you don’t look like you’ve met many pirates in your life.”

  “Granted.”

  “And second, he’s not that kind of priest.”

  “So what, then? Is it just extravagance? A little flair to set him apart from the other bandits of the sky?”

  She scoffed. “Bandits of the sky,” she repeated. “That’s cute. Listen, Pocket. Put that storybook talk aside and remember something. We are criminals. Standing out isn’t really good for those in our profession.”

  “But you dress so…boldly.”

  “On our own ship, sure. But you don’t think we go marching through the King’s streets garbed like this, do you? We’d be dead in a heartbeat. Mind my words, Pocket. The only pirate who steps into public looking like a pirate is trying to be noticed.”

  I thought upon the logic of this.

  “So why the collar, then?” I asked.

  B smirked. “He traded a noose for it.”

  “What?”

  “A noose. He got caught once, a long time ago when we had first…entered our profession. We were sloppy. Fortunately, those who make the rules also make a fair share of helpful loopholes, one of which actually allows privateers the opportunity to forgo the executioner, provided that they swear a loyal oath to the Church.”

  “I see where you’re heading with this.”

  “The captain’s not so dense to miss an opportunity when it appears. As for the priestship, hell, I don’t even know it’s legal. The name just sort of stuck.”

  “So he wears it now, why? As a symbol of his escape from death or his life of deception?”

  “No, mostly just to be a smartaleck.”

  “Ah.”

  “Honestly, I still think it's a silly name, but I suppose a pirate can't just be known as Gene.”

  “Gene?”

  A dull thumping came from the other side of the locked door.

  “Spader!” B yelled. “I swear on my life, that had better be you banging out there!”

  And sure enough…

  “Uh, hey,” came Gren’s muffled voice, “are you ready for me to unlock you yet?”

  “Please!” B growled through clenched teeth.
/>
  Gren obliged and got properly kicked in return. With a grunt, he hobbled into the room, returned the Madame’s key ring, and muttered something about unthankful women.

  “Now, don’t you start ranting!” B ordered the scowling Gren. “I’ve only just now gotten this one to calm down.”

  “Hey!” Gren protested. “Don’t lump me in with Pocket. If I’m gunna make some noise, I’m gunna make it back here, not in front of the captain and the whole operating theater.”

  As if on cue, the Red Priest waltzed into the room, a proud look upon his bearded face.

  “All is finished,” he announced.

  I approached the man, hope stuck somewhere between my stomach and my throat.

  “The Doll,” I mustered, “she's...all...back together?”

  “She's fine,” he said with a modest smile. “Had to open up a half dozen clocks to get enough replacement guts, but she's in sound shape. Oh, and I took the liberty of sewing up the tears in both her clothing and skin, though not to each other, of course.”

  “Fantastic!” I breathed, exhaling in relief. “I can't believe...I mean, I was sure...”

  “Have a little faith in people,” the Priest said, wiping the oil from his hands with a cloth.

  I nodded, a little ashamed.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “I owe you.”

  “You owe me nothing,” he replied tartly. “It's partly my fault, anyhow.”

  “No, don't be ridiculous. It couldn't possibly—“

  “Any passenger on this ship is my responsibility during the voyage. Now, stop arguing with me, already.”

  I let myself smile. “Don't have to tell me twice. Oh, and I'm sorry for that 'don't look under her dress' talk. That was beyond obnoxious of me.”

  “Yes,” Madame B said, gently elbowing me in the back. “It was.”

  “It's forgotten,” the Priest said.

  We grinned and shook hands. As I clutched his, I noticed a dark mark running up his pale arm into his sleeve. A bruise.

  And instantly, I felt like an absolute cad.

  “You were injured in the crash, weren't you?”

  The Red Priest shrugged.

  “I'm sorry,” I mumbled. “I was so focused on the Doll. I didn't think to—“

  “We're all fine.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  I was embarrassed at myself.

  “Very good,” the Priest commented, “because I don't think I could fix anyone else with old clocks.”