“Not to disturb you two,” he griped, “but the night ain’t gunna stick around forever.”
“Yeah,” Quill nodded, still noticeably uncomfortable.
“Right,” I sighed, thumbing again through the diary. “Just…just hold on. There must be something here that can help.”
“Did Miss Dolly write—”
“Damn it!” I swore, dropping my fist on the table. “Why is this so hard?!? Tall, damn room with tall, damn windows! That’s all I’ve got! Nuns and pews and stained glass bluebirds!”
There was a hush as I scraped my teeth together. It was Quill that ultimately spoke.
“Excuse me,” she cautiously murmured, “but did you say bluebirds?”
“Hmm?” I blinked. “Oh, that. Yeah, she writes of a bluebird shape in the colored glass. Not that it does me any good.”
Quill smiled and leaned forward on her elbows.
“Maybe it does,” she said.
The Bluebird Abbey. A stately place of worship built during the reconstruction of London some decades back, and named for the unusual fowl prominently featured in the front glass mural above the cathedral’s entrance. Or so Quill told me.
“I read about it in a paper once,” she explained.
“What’s so unusual about a bluebird?”
“Most churches put up doves,” she said. “Symbols of peace. But the benefactors of the church wanted something different to symbolize the changing of the times. So they chose a bluebird, the figure of happiness and—“
“Okay, so where is the place?”
Quill frowned. “I don’t know. That’s really all I can remember from what I've read.”
“You remember all of that, but you can't spot the place?!? I thought those sort of landmarks became quick, common knowledge to the locals!”
“Locals?!?” Jack jumped in. “Pocket, thanks to our current standing with the King, we haven't exactly frequented New London in some time.”
I was getting anxious. “Quill, what about your maps? B said that you have maps.”
“I do, but not ones for every inch of the city,” she replied, “and most of my collection are still locked up on the Lucidia.”
“Then what do you suggest?” I retorted. “Go door to door, wake up a few people, introduce ourselves as fugitives, and kindly ask if they could offer directions?”
Madame B stepped forward to the table, took the Doll’s diary, and fanned herself with it.
“I think I have an idea,” she proclaimed.
We were soon out of that unadorned, little space and huddling in a corner alley just down the way.
“Give me a hand with this,” B said, pulling litter and old sheets off of a sizable lump that turned out to be the sky pirates’ temporary mode of transport. It was an impressive ship for what it was, not the glamorous behemoth that the Lucidia was, but far bigger than the Red Priest’s personal steam shuttle.
“Won’t we attract attention in something like this?” I asked. “I mean, flying so low and at such an hour?”
“Of course we will,” B said, opening one of the ship’s greyed and bolt-lined doors. “Why do you think I was searching the streets for your silly self on foot? But we don’t have the luxury of time, so shut up and climb in.”
I did, followed by Quill.
“Happy flyin’,” Hack-Jack grinned, waving from the alley.
“Aren’t you coming?” I called out the open doorway.
“Can’t,” he replied. “I’ve got work to finish up here. But I’ll be seeing you.”
I sighed. “I’m sure you will, Jack.”
I settled into my seat as B dictated a message to the grease-spotted engineer, with orders to relay the words to the Priest at once.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jack smirked.
“I’m serious,” B sassed. “I don’t want him worrying about us running off.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he half-mocked. “Your word is law.”
“Damn straight,” she said, closing the door and gripping the controls. “The word of the queen, my babies.”
We flew away, coasted over a few blocks of square-tops, and landed again.
“Hurry up and get out,” B instructed.
I nodded, complied, and was soon eying a great building being held by twin stone pillars wrapped in brass. Lord, is there anything left on this land that isn't wrapped in brass?
I walked up to the steps with the two ladies shadowing me.
“Nice place,” I commented, eying the slab above the columns and the seven metal letters that were screwed into the rock.
L-I-B-R-A-R-Y
THE CITY LIBRARY OF NEW LONDON
“Very nice,” I added.
“Haven't you ever been to the city library before, Mister Pocket?” Quill asked.
“Of course,” I said. “I've just never seen it in this light.”
Madame B quietly slipped forward past me and Quill and pressed her body against the doors to the place. She squeezed the doorknob and sighed.
“It's locked,” she said to us.
“Locked?” I dryly grumbled. “A library? In the middle of the night? Who would dare, B?”
“Shut your mouth,” she hissed. “I'll get you inside.”
“Okay. So, what then? We find a window to break? Because there doesn't seem to be any out front or...what's so funny?”
B and Quill were laughing.
“Boys,” B smirked.
“Boys,” Quill nodded.
“You have a better idea?” I growled, crossing my arms.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” B smiled. “You see, ladies possess a certain something called finesse, Pocket. And I think a feminine touch would work a little better at this moment than just up and breaking things.”
And with that, B waved my objections away and proceeded to retrieve a small and concealed metal piece from her leather pants. Before I could ask what it was, she jammed the piece into the keyhole and started turning it.
“And lock picking’s more feminine, is it?” I muttered.
“Of course,” she retorted. “Manipulating pins and tumblers is a delicate skill.”
In a matter of moments, I heard a gentle click, and the pirate queen grinned in triumph. She tugged on the lock pick but failed to bring it out of the keyhole.
“Problem?” Quill asked.
Madame B responded by giving the door a swift kick until it smacked open and knocked her instrument free.
“No problem,” she gleefully answered, concealing the lock pick.
“Nice work,” I admitted, “but what happened to being delicate?”
“I was being delicate,” she argued, before giving the door another healthy kick for emphasis. “And now I’m not.”
“The art of femininity lends itself to a pretty liberal bending of the rules, doesn’t it, B?”
“Yeeeeeeees,” she childishly beamed, “but don’t ruin the secret for the rest of your gender.”
“I’m afraid he’s a little late for that, love!” a new voice shouted from behind the three of us, followed by an unpleasant chorus of sinister laughter.
Quill, the Madame, and I turned to the sound, and at the bottom of the steps, we were greeted by a smug-lipped squad of royal soldiers ready to make our acquaintances.
“Oh, come on,” I breathed angrily to myself. “This can’t keep happening. This just simply cannot keep happening!”
“I’m afraid you girls are a few hours past closing time,” one of the troops stated. “Best you come with us.”
“And what if we don’t feel like coming with you?” B spat.
“Then you’re in for a bit of disappointment,” he sneered before squeezing his eyes at me. “And look here! Will Pocket, right? Lot of people out for you, tonight.”
“That so?” I shouted, trying to mask the fear in my voice. “Good thing I love an audience!”
“Oh, you’ll get plenty for an audience, boyo. You know how many witnesses have been calling at our doorstep, feeding us leads? Gangly
-legged bloke running amuck in the absolute dead of night, hair in his face, waving a peashooter at the police. Getting right popular, you are. So how about you come down and have a talk with us and we won’t have to get ugly in front of your lady friends?”
“You want to see ugly?” B yelled, moving in front of me as if she thought she was made of steel. “Oh, we can make ugly to spare!”
Quill took a step backwards and inched slowly to my side.
“Mister Pocket,” she whispered, “you might want to go ahead and take a hold of what’s inside my bag.”
I glanced down at the ornately-decorated bag that hung at the girl’s hip, the same satchel, monogrammed with that same letter “Q,” that I’d seen her tote along the Lucidia. I was surprised that I hadn’t noticed it upon her, but even more surprised when I carefully reached inside and clutched onto the cold metal.
“A pistol?!?” I hissed. I mean, I knew the girl was an established privateer, a pirate of the skies, but it still struck me as innately strange, like reaching for an apple in an orchard and plucking a ticking grenade.
“A pistol?!?” I hissed again.
“Shhh!” she responded.
I shook my head and turned my focus back to B, who was doing a very commendable job of distracting the soldiers with her special blend of charm and poison.
“Would you like your mother to hear the things that are coming from your mouth?” one man barked.
“Better than what your mother does with hers!” Miss B charmingly retorted.
“All right,” another man commanded. “We’re done talking. Restrain them.”
They started marching up the front stairs. My heart pounded and my grip tightened on the pistol in Quill’s bag.
“Whatever happens,” B murmured, turning her head to me, “you find that address. You understand? Get it! Don’t worry about me!”
“What?!?” I said. “Wait. What you planni—”
“RAWR!” the lady pirate screamed, and in a blindingly quick, explosive instant, threw herself headfirst down the stairs, landing on the first row of marchers and sending them tumbling back.
“Get inside!” I ordered Quill as I quickly pulled out the pistol out and fired, striking…well…striking nothing in particular but contributing to the overall rebellious effort. I then bravely turned on my heels and scurried like a rodent into the darkened front room of the library. The doors slammed shut behind me and I continued charging forward into blackness until I was roughly stopped.
“Oof!” I grunted as I collided with something solid, smooth, and round in the dark. “Quill? Quill! Where are you? I can’t see a thing!”
I heard scratching and scuffling.
“Quill?” I called again. “What’s going on?”
“I’m barricading, Mister Pocket!” Quill called out from somewhere. “I think I’ve successfully jammed the lock, but I’m trying to do better to keep them out.”
“What about Miss B?”
“You heard her! Don’t worry! If there’s anyone who can fend for herself—“ Her words were cut off by the sound of nearby gunfire. “Well, at any rate,” she continued, “talking’s not going to do her any good, right?”
“Right! Yes!”
“All right then, sensei!” Quill spoke, trying to pass for enthusiastic. “Just hold tight! I think I may’ve found a lantern. How about you?”
“I’ve found something to hug. Half against my will, actually. Some kind of…they don’t make library boulders, do they?”
“What’s that?”
Quill struck a match and started a glow within a small, glass lantern that was elaborately affixed to the wall. In the weak orange haze, I could make out the grand decadence of the interior design. The walls were curved and sweeping and braced with some kind of rich wood. The space was decorated with lavish portraiture and shiny trimmings. The hard floor was so precisely maintained that its shine became a near-perfect mirror. All of this, and we were only standing in the vestibule.
“Fancy,” I said.
With my eyes adjusting to the light, my ears took the hint and followed suit, honing in on the growing rabble from outside.
“Are...are they getting in?”
“No,” Quill responded, “but they're trying.”
And try they did. Whatever diversion Madame B had provided was quickly dissolving, and I swear that I could almost see the silhouettes of the infuriated as they began beating their haunting fists against the hardwood.
“I don't want to say this,” Quill squeaked, “but I don't think this barricade with hold. Sooner or later, they'll—”
“Let's not consider that,” I instructed. “We just need bigger barriers. What else can we slide up there?”
Quill shrugged. I furrowed in response.
I needed, quite literally, some leverage on my side. And I seemed to have none.
None, that is, until I realized what I was hugging.
“Quill,” I said in a hush appropriate for my setting, “how about this?”
Her eyes got wide, and nervously and silently, she shook her head.
“No...” she said. “No, you couldn't. You simply couldn't!”
I exhaled and patted the cold stone that my weight was resting against.
“Quill, I'm afraid I must respectfully disagree.”
The world. Well...a mimic of the world.
A globe. A great, indulgent, captivating, and oh-so-massive stone globe spinning on what appeared to be a notably-expensive axis.
“Perfect,” I whispered.
“What?!?” Quill spouted.
Without response, I slid like a snake around the piece and mounted a position directly behind it.
“You can’t touch that!” the girl yelped. “That globe’s carved from pure white marble! There are gold insets in the frame!”
“Sorry Quill,” I said, roughly popping the framework away from the dense, stone orb.
“But…it’s just not right!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied, pressing my foot against the sphere. “Kinda feels like the perfect night for toppling the world.”
With a grunt, I knocked my lower body weight into it, and the Earth rolled away.
Crash! The spinning stone lodged itself against the tallish double doors. All right, perhaps not “lodged.” But it definitely rolled itself up against Quill's earlier, door-binding precautions, providing a useful service of...well...okay, so it didn't really accomplish anything helpful to our situation, but it made a great visual show and served as quite a weighty metaphor, pun somewhat intended. Anyhow, shouting throats and beating fists continued their orchestra outside, and wasting no time, I grabbed Quill by the arm and dragged her through the wooden archways of the vestibule and into the heart of the library. We hurried between large rows of texts and volumes. The shouting and beating seemed to follow, sliding like a wave across the walls of the library.
“Can…” Quill gasped as I pulled her along, “…c-can we slow down a little, sensei?”
“Quill, if there was ever a time I needed you not to ask me that—”
“Okay! I get it!”
We cut a quick left toward another wing. Its ceiling was dotted with skylights, allowing me much greater visibility as I galloped along. I kicked open the doors that led inside and heard a chilling creak, crack, and chorus that told me that the wedged marble globe wasn’t serving as successfully as a riot deterrent as I’d hoped.
I quickly closed the doors behind me and ran a slender flagpole through the handles to keep them shut.
“Mister Pocket!” Quill exclaimed. “I think they’re...they're...!”
“Guess the world’s not enough to keep those bastards out,” I grumbled.
“To be honest, I'm not entirely sure why you thought a globe would—”
“It was a visual expression! I—nevermind! Let’s hurry!”
“Let’s hurry and what?”
I put my hands on the biggest book I saw and handed it to her. Quill started shaking under the
heavy volume.
“Here’s an atlas,” I said, watching her quiver and inch over to a nearby table. “Get me an address!”
“But—”
“Just try, okay? I’ll do my best to keep them busy!”
“Okay, but—“
“Atta girl, Quill!”
Not keen to stand around and hear her objections, I used that sentence as my exit line and ran off down the bookshelves. The wing connected to another section of the library that curled around back toward the front lobby. As I jogged to the end of it, I caught a line of thin, short windows that traced the walls where they met the ceiling as a sort of glass border. I jumped upon a table that stood against one of said walls and steadied myself. Peering through the glass, I watched with dread as soldier after soldier seeped into the vestibule, barking and sniffing about like feral dogs. If I didn’t make a move, and fast, Quill and I would be dead where we stood.
I needed an idea.
A distraction.
Okay, Pocket, I thought. It’s a big library. Get them to another part of it and hurry out.
I pressed my index finger against the small rectangle of glass and noticed that it shifted slightly in its setting. Carefully, I hooked my fingernails around the edges of the piece and pulled out the glass, leaving quite a fortuitous hole in its place.
I looked around and palmed a small bust of some balding literary figure I’d never heard of. Clenching the fist-sized statue by its smooth forehead like a polished stone, I took aim.
One shot was all I had.
With a huff, I chucked the bust out the window and clenched my teeth as it zipped above the heads of the intruding Magnates. With a loud crash, it smacked into a door on the opposite side of the lobby.
As I had hoped, the hungry troops leapt upon the sound like it was an old bone with a bit of red meat still sticking to it. The Magnates galloped off into the distance, chasing the noise.
I exhaled, jumped back down to the floor, and jogged back to where Quill was waiting.
“Good news!” I announced.
“News?” she said.
“Good news!”
“Good news?”
“We’ve got a clean path out of here! Let’s take it!”
“What?”
“That’s right!” I did a quick, clanky pace to and fro. “I’ve shooed the troops off into some old, dusty corner of this bookery. We can make a run for it.”
Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) Page 67