Boots for the Gentleman

by Augusta Li

  “Remember how we used to touch?”

  “’Course, Reg.” Querry would never forget those moments of discovery and delight: the first time he reached for Reg’s hand in the dark, heart racing, terrified Reg would flinch, triumphant when he didn’t, the first time he’d dared let his hand infiltrate Reg’s shirt, his pants. The perfection of their first kiss returned to Querry as his eyes closed. They’d been lying in the dark, talking, fantasizing about freedom, when they’d rolled to face one another. Querry felt out Reg’s face and explored his brow, lashes, cheeks, jaw line, and mouth. Then, holding his chin, trembling with nerves and anticipation, he’d moved closer. Their noses touched, and Reg didn’t pull away. Still apprehensive, afraid to drive away his only friend but burning with desire, Querry closed the space. Their lips only just touched. Then Reg increased the pressure. His body curved against Querry, and his arm encircled Querry’s waist. Of the many kisses Querry experienced over the following years, none approached that glorious moment. He’d felt victory and relief, his feelings vindicated and reciprocated when he’d feared their violent rejection. His dripping hand squeezed Reg’s forearm.

  Still clutching Querry’s head tightly, Reg said, “I touched him like that. Like we touched, at first. Just with my hands. And he did the same to me. It was all very gentle and natural.”

  “Reg,” Querry said, an unpleasant thought coming unbidden to his mind, “has there been anyone else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Besides me. Have you… have you let anyone—”

  “No.”

  “All those ladies you see?”

  “I kiss their fingertips when I tell them good night.” Reg began to pet Querry’s hair. “You know, after I left the factory I spent a lot of time thinking about what you and I did while we were there, and why we did it. I tried to figure out if it was just desperation that drove us into each other’s arms. We were so young. We both still craved nurturing, care. Would all of that have happened under other circumstances? Did things progress as far as they did just because we were each other’s only comfort?”

  “I never even considered it!”

  “Querry. Of course not. You’re all passion and the moment. You let your heart take the reins while your brain runs along behind the cart.”

  “And what conclusions did you and your brain reach?”

  “None. I can’t say why I fell in love with you, or if I would have done at another place or time. But I can tell you that I didn’t want to hurt Frolic. I didn’t want to use him to comfort myself or assuage my worries. Before I could permit myself to enjoy him, I needed to know it wasn’t just desperation.”

  “And?”

  “I’m quite fond of him.”

  Elated, Querry bolted up, splashing water over the rim of the tub. He seized Reg’s shocked face and smashed his lips against Reg’s mouth. “Then, the three of us! We’ll go somewhere!”

  “Now I didn’t say that.”

  “What? But—”

  Just then Frolic flung open the dark, wooden door to announce that chicken soup, croissants from the bakery, and a kettle of strong tea waited in the dining room. With Mrs. Spaulding still away, Reg offered to help set out the dishes, and they left Querry alone. Hungry and eager to resume his conversation with Reg, Querry quickly shaved and washed. Seeing nothing else, he slipped into a red silk robe that hung on the back of the door and joined his friends at the table.

  “Feeling better?” Frolic asked as he passed Querry a steaming bowl of golden broth.

  The famished thief drank deeply, not bothering with the spoon. The soup warmed his insides and bolstered his strength right away. Frolic ladled him another helping, and he dipped a bit of bread before saying, “I think it’s time a few things get resolved.”

  “Namely?” Reg asked.

  “Namely our relationship. The three of us. We love each other. What are we going to do about it?”

  “I think your current predicament needs discussing first,” Reg said coolly. “Mrs. Spaulding will be back in three days.”

  “What happened while I was sick? Anything? Anything from Thimbleroy?”

  “He actually seems in high spirits,” Reg said. “It’s perplexing. Apparently his restoration of the clock tower could be complete as early as spring. He’s even let up a bit on the faeries.”

  “Haha!” Querry said, clapping his hands. “He’s given up! Decided he doesn’t need Frolic after all!”

  “I’m not so sure. Constables emptied out the boarding house. Searched every room. Patrolmen and detectives have been questioning your neighbors in Rushport, and your, um, friends around Lickwhistle Circle.”

  “About what?” Querry asked, looking down guiltily. He’d never thought Reg knew of his occasional trysts in the public houses.

  “I wondered too,” Reg said. “So, I spread some coins around the place. Honestly, Querry, those taverns are ghastly! They asked about a young man who looked like a faerie. Who he’d been seen with and where. They know your name, Querry.”

  Querry swore. “What could they want with him?”

  With a shrug, Reg said, “Not sure. Thimbleroy doesn’t seem in a great hurry, though. He’s much too involved in the renovation. Could be that he just wants Frolic because he’s rare. Probably thinks only an aristocrat worthy of owning something like him.”

  “That’s why Thimbleroy can’t get him,” Querry said angrily. “He’ll think of him like chattel.”

  “I’m more worried about you,” the doll said to Querry. “What will they do if they find you? The newspapers are saying you stole property from that cellar. They’ll put you in prison. Maybe worse.”

  “Property?” Querry mused. “Unspecified property? Then Thimbleroy doesn’t want the public to know about Frolic. Why?”

  “Could someone else try to claim me?”

  “What about the doll maker’s mysterious son?”

  “You’re mine!” Querry said, hitting the tabletop with his fists, jiggling the flames of the candles. “Mine.”

  “But, Querry,” Frolic said, “The doll maker’s son might know why I was made!”

  “I’ve told you it doesn’t matter. None of this matters. It’s time we put it all behind us.”

  “What do you mean?” Frolic asked.

  “It’s obvious that the time has come for us to say our farewells to this land. Time to set off. I have some gold hidden away just for a rainy day. Where will we go first? East to Prysia? Xiana? To the Spice Islands? The Caribique?”

  “Querry—”

  “You choose then, Reg! It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Come off it, Reg! You’ve admitted how you feel, finally. How else can we be together?”

  “We can’t.”

  “So getting at it with Frolic was just to pass the time?”

  “It just happened,” Reg said.

  “The hell it did,” Querry spat. “Reg, you enjoy the company of men. Do you deny it?”

  “No, but I can’t indulge it. I’ve chosen a wife, Querry. In six months time I’m to wed Emily Malvern, only daughter of Sir William Malvern, Earl of Ravenshire. It’s better than Mum could’ve hoped. An Earl.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still on about this, Reg! When are you going to admit that it won’t work?”

  “It will work. The girl is plain, but not unpleasant to look at. She’s quiet and well mannered. She visits the Archives regularly for Medieval Romances, and is apparently quite taken with me. Her father dotes on her, and that’s why she’s allowed to marry below her station. He’s giving us a country house.”

  “But you and me and Frolic!”

  “Damn it! This is fortune beyond my wildest dreams! Why can’t you be happy for me?”

  “Because you’re supposed to be mine! You want to, and you know it.”

  “You promised me, Querry.”

  “You honestly expect me to just give up? Well I won’t, Reg! I never will. You and me, the
three of us, belong together, and the rest of the world can just go rot if they don’t like it!”

  “No!” Reg stood and balled his fists. “You made me a promise, and you’ll honor it! You’ll get dressed and you and Frolic will leave this house and go far, far away if you’ve got any sense. I’ll give you something of mine to wear, and I’ll give you some money if you need it. I’ll even take care of your cats. But that’s the most I can do.”

  “I’m going to miss you, Reg,” Frolic said softly, causing the archivist to soften and sit back down. “There’s a lot about this I don’t understand, but I understand about purpose.”

  “Thank you,” Reg said. “I wish things could be otherwise. But going to battle against the entire world can only fail. I’m sorry, but I think it would be best if the two of you left tonight. Excuse me.” He got up and left the dining room, returning in a few minutes with clothes for Querry. He turned to leave again, reached the oak double doors that separated the room from the foyer and his stairs, and stopped. He stood in still silence for many moments. Only the crackle of the fireplace could be heard. Querry wished he could’ve seen Reg’s face, intuited his thoughts. When he finally turned, tears sparkled on his cheeks. For the first time Querry felt ashamed; maybe he was hurting Reg. He also felt confused. Should he take Reg in his arms and comfort him, or would doing so cause the archivist more pain?

  “I hope—” Reg began, but his voice broke, and he bit his knuckles, taking a few more minutes to compose himself. “I hope that one day you’ll be able to understand, Querry. I hope you can calm your rage at everything. And I hope, truly hope, with all my heart, that everything will work out for you, both of you, one day. I wish you all the happiness in the world. Frolic, I’m glad to have met you. Take care of yourselves.”

  “So this is it,” Querry said. “The last I’ll ever see you.”

  Frolic held his sides and rocked in his chair, looking like he might be sick. “The world is….” He frowned, thinking. “So complex. So unnecessarily sad. Why?” He looked back and forth from Querry to Reg. “Why?”

  “I’m sorry,” seemed the only conclusion Reg could reach before disappearing through the double doors.

  “Where will we go?” Frolic asked.

  Querry went to the window but didn’t move the velvet drape. He stood staring at the floral pattern embossed in the moss-green, staring at the thick gold cords hanging on either side, trying to digest the reality of Reg’s loss, trying to stamp down that inner voice that screamed to go after him, make him understand. Frolic touched his back, his hand warm through the thin silk of the robe. Frolic needed him now; his pain would have to wait. He cleared his throat and said, “Well, I’m going to need new gear. Clothes that fit me. And then we can go wherever you want. What do you say, the Aurient? Bravelstein or Belvais? One of the colonies?”

  “We have to get it back.”

  “Which?”

  “The book that tells about me,” Frolic said.

  “We won’t need it,” Querry told him with a wave of his hand. “We’ll go so far off that they’ll never find us. They won’t be able to use the information against you.”

  “That’s not why I need it.” Panic crept into Frolic’s voice as he forced himself into the small space between Querry and the window. “I need to know why I was made. You say it doesn’t matter, but it matters to me. I can’t go the rest of my time wondering. I need to know. Please, Querry.”

  “It’ll be dangerous, going right to the men who are trying to find us.”

  “But we’ll manage, won’t we? Won’t we, Querry?”

  “I can’t tell you no,” said the thief with a smile. “I’ll squeeze into these clothes, then, and we’ll be off. Go and fetch your sword. I’m afraid you might need it.”

  DINK’S shop was on the opposite end of the city, at the edge of the factory district, and getting there required the better part of the evening of dashing from one alley to the next, praying they wouldn’t be spotted. As they crested a hill, Querry glanced over at his companion. Frolic’s eyes grew wide. It was a common reaction; Dink’s place was pretty impressive. The tiny storefront itself looked like any other junk shop, although it extended several stories below ground. The yard that stretched around it for several blocks on three sides drew the attention. It was like a city unto itself: paths wound among heaps of rubble that looked like exotic towers and turrets beneath the glow of sporadic lampposts.

  “Oh my,” Frolic breathed.

  “Acres of raw materials,” Querry answered. “I spent a lot of time here as a kid when I needed a break from picking pockets. And in between being carted back off to the workhouse. Dink employs an army of orphans and urchins to salvage parts from all over the city. Has what you might call a mansion below that shop, does old Dink. Enough room to house and feed at least twenty kids, plus workshops, a shooting range and a couple of floors no one but Dink knows for sure what’s on them.”

  “And he’ll help us?” Frolic wondered aloud.

  “If anyone will help us, it’s old Dink. I never had parents, but Dink was pretty close. He taught me to read and all about clockwork. He taught me to shoot and to handle a sword. Come on. He’s going to love you.”

  “Me?”

  “Of course,” Querry said. “You’re the ultimate clockwork. But don’t let on. Let’s see if he figures it out.”

  Frolic’s face broke into a big smile. “A surprise? Sure, Querry! This will be fun!”

  QUERRY opened the door slowly, listening for the tinkle and rattle of pipes and gears bouncing on the string that warned Dink if anyone entered the store. Frolic followed, eyes wandering over walls covered with every manner of salvaged material, just as the grounds outside had been. The difference being the things inside the shop gleamed like jewels.

  “Dink only keeps the cream of the crop in here,” Querry informed his companion. “You can make some fantastic finds out in the yard as well, but in here Dink’s done the work for you.” There was a clattering from the back of the store behind the small counter. Frolic looked toward the small door, curtained with tiny copper rings. A raspy voice drifted from beyond. A gnarled, shaky hand emerged from one side of the curtain and slowly pushed it aside. Then a stooped figure in huge spectacles with many lenses almost completely obscured by bushy, white eyebrows shuffled out into the room. The old man held a cane with tiny mechanical legs that propelled it and the man’s hand forward. A sculpted tortoise head topped the cane. The man wore a smoking jacket over his humped back, giving him the impression of a large, paisley turtle. He pulled a number of gadgets on chains from various pockets of the smoking jacket.

  “Eh?” The sound ruffled the fluffy, white mustache on the old fellow’s upper lip. “Vas? What can I help you vith?” the old man managed to ask, through gasps of air.

  “Dink!” Querry threw open his arms. “What have you been up to, you old sod?” The man looked at Querry, his eyes opening with surprise, then disappearing into deep creases as the mouth beneath the mustache broke into a huge grin.

  “Querrilous Knotte!” Dink exclaimed, all traces of rasp and exertion gone. “I might ask you ze same thing! You’ve been stirring up a lot of trouble, ja?” In one deft movement the old man straightened up, slipped out of the smoking jacket, and to Frolic’s surprise, the hump as well. He fairly leapt the space between him and Querry to embrace the younger, taller man, while his stick dutifully walked itself over next to the counter and out of the way, its necessity over.

  Querry turned to Frolic, one arm still across the old man’s shoulders. “Frolic, this is Terrapin Dinklundsmiter, one of the foremost authorities on everything clockwork and purveyor of junk.” The old man walked toward Frolic with his hand out. When Frolic didn’t offer his own hand, Dink took it and pumped twice, warmly but firmly.

  “Dink, this is Frolic.”

  “Hello, Herr Dinklundsmiter. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Frolic said with a smile.

  “Ja. But all mein friends just call me Dink, and any
friend of Querry’s is a friend of mine so I will expect you to do the same. None of this ‘Herr Dinklundsmiter’, ja?” Dink said, taking Frolic’s measure over the top of his outlandish spectacles.

  Frolic considered for a moment, and then a big, beaming smile lit his face, and he exuberantly exclaimed, “Ja!”

  “Zer gut. Now, my boys.” Dink clapped his hands together, “I will close up shop, and we’ll go downstairs and get a bite to eat.” With that he bounded to the door, locked a series of intricate locks similar to those in Querry’s old apartment, flipped the sign, and dashed through the little room and behind the curtain. He slid open the door on a mechanized lift. “Schnell! Ve have much to discuss, I think!”

  Querry followed Dink into the lift. Frolic looked at the interior apprehensively, but was forced quickly inside by a nudge from the walking stick, which had decided to join them. With the little group safely in the car, Dink pulled a chain, cranked a gleaming brass lever, and punched a button. The lift zipped below ground.

  Chapter Seven

  QUERRY held his stomach as he shakily disembarked the lift. Dink strode out, unfazed and followed by his walking stick. Frolic leaned against the railing, before deciding it was safe to exit the lift. They found themselves on the cafeteria level: a large room filled with numerous mismatched tables, chairs and benches. The smell of freshly cooked food greeted their noses.

  “Mmmm.” Querry’s eyes closed as he sniffed the air, “Dink, is that your root vegetable stew?”

  “Ja.” Dink’s voice came from the kitchen, where clanging and clicking could be heard. Frolic wandered over to see what Dink was up to. Querry knew the little clockwork would be fascinated; Dink’s kitchen was almost completely automated. Gears and steam engines covered the walls, while mechanical arms chopped ingredients, stirred pots and washed dishes. Querry had seen it many times, therefore his attention was drawn to a small group of boys sitting in one corner of the room. He wandered over to assess Dink’s newest batch of scavengers.