Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (45 page)

“Inadvisable,” the
Priest interjected. “Not only is this petrol puddle highly toxic, it’s fair to
assume that it's a long way to the bottom of the crash. Mister Pocket here
would risk drowning if he took a dive to collect.”

“Good point,” I
said, nodding in appreciation at the captain.

“Fortunately for
him, he will not have to swim,” the Priest said, producing a small cannonball
from his coat. “Watch.”

He tossed the
projectile lightly over the side, directly into the oil. Rather than sink, the
small ball bounced off of the surface with a metallic clank.

“You see?” the
Priest said gleefully. “Metal beam, just under the surface there. If you look
closely, you can see it when the water sways. See? Understand?”

“So you can just
wade your way through the oil!” Dolly said enthusiastically to me.

“Thanks,” I
muttered to the Priest.

“None needed,” he
responded with a smile as my obvious sarcasm whizzed right over his shoulder.

The Doll took my
arm and started pushing me to the railing.

“Hold on a
moment,” I said, clutching the rails and pushing back. “We’re talking about a
single, rusty line of metal, supported beneath by what, we don’t know. Don't
you think we should discuss this plan in a little more detail before—“

“No!” Dolly said
in a huff. “You have to get them before they sink down again.”

“I'm still not
sure that—”

“Go! I need them!”

“Why?”

Exasperated, she
waved her hands by her ears, shaking off my question.

“I don’t need a
reason!” she waved. “I just…just go!”

“Dolly—“

“Fine! I hate
you!”

“Whoa! Hold on
now!”
“Do you want me to hate you?”

“Of course not,
but—“

“Then go bring
them to me!” She settled her frantic face into a pitiful one. “Please,” she
said in a murmur.

I took a breath
and weighed my options. She pouted.

“I’ll ruin my
boots,” I muttered, grasping at any feasible excuse.

“You won’t ruin
mine,” the Priest said, dropping something to the deck behind me with a smile
and a clang.

The sound came
from a set of...footwear. They were footwear. But they weren't.

“You’re…” I said,
looking at the boiler-plated pair of knee-high, jointed, bronzed, casual
walking boots, “…kidding.”

“No, sir,” the
pirate tinkerer said with glee. “Give them a try.”

“They’re
pretty…tall.”

“You’re pretty
tall.”

“Hurry!” Dolly spouted.
“The sinking!”

I grunted and
began undoing my worn-down bootlaces, feeling ridiculous.

“Hurry!” the Doll
repeated. “Don’t be slow!”

I gave her a sour
look, but silently complied, kicking off my shoes and plunging toe-first into
the shiny, cobbled pair. They were surprisingly comfortable, the insides lined
with soft padding that I later learned came from old, cut-up cabin pillows. I
stood up, found my balance. Carefully, I lifted a leg and bent it at the knee.
The shiny metal moved smoothly with my limb and I felt, if only for a second,
a    bit of a modern man.

“I'm not sure
modern men walk around with their feet in little furnaces.”

“Perhaps not the
ones you keep company with, Alan.”

“Mmm...perhaps...”

I admired the
sun's reflection in the metal and cheerfully knocked the heel of one boot
against the toe of the other.

“Well?” the Priest
asked. Madame B had joined us on deck and was walking toward the scene with a
hand over her chuckling mouth.

“Oh, no,” she
laughed. “You’re putting him in the boots.”

“Hush,” the Priest
said to her. “Mister Pocket?”

“Uh…nice.”

“Fit well, do
they?”

“Yes. Surprisingly
well. And very…flashy.”

“Well, that’s
copper for you. Did you notice the pattern work on the side, where the plating
overlaps? Makes a nice wing motif, yes? Another gift from your infamous
faeries, looks like.”

“Eh?”

“They must be
hiding secret affections from you, Pocket,” Madame B teased. “Little swooning,
heartbroken sprites sending you sweet tokens.”

“I, uh, don’t
think that’s how it works.”

“Just get in the
damn oil.”

And that was that.
Out of excuses, I simply did it. Removing my hat and eyeglass, I did it. Foot
after armored foot, I climbed over the railing of the steamship
Lucidia.

And so I went.

Alone and dipped
to my knees in bronze, I went.

Into the sea.

I took two slow
steps down the submerged metal beam. It immediately drooped deeper. I swung my
arms to keep balance as I sunk deeper into the oil, until the blackness rose
just up to my knees. I clenched my teeth and looked down. A greasy bubble popped
against the side of the boots. I sighed, eying the muck dribble down the
so-called “faerie wing” pattern with a foul gurgle.

“Hmph,” I
muttered. “They’re pining for me, all right.”

I took another
plodding step and heard Miss B laughing from the
Lucidia.

“Do you mind?” I
called out over my shoulder.

“The tower sinks!”
she shouted back, drowning as much in her own amusement as I was in this
nightmarish bath.

“Go on!” the
Watchmaker's Doll said.

“Go?!?” I replied.
“I'm sinking!”

“Barely.”

“Barely?!?” I managed
to twist around enough to glare at the girl. “And what would you consider
'greatly sinking?' Up to the nose?”

Not to be
out-glared, she marched to the railing and leaned far over the side to wriggle
her mechanical nose at me.

“At least then I
wouldn't hear so much complaining!” she taunted to me.

“Is that so?” I
shot back, balling fists. “Perhaps the Queen of the Oil Sea would prefer to
wade out herself for her precious trinkets!”

“They're not
trinkets!” she spouted, tilting her small body further over the side of the
ship. “They're—”

And that's when it
happened. A more skeptical audience to this tale may accuse your humble
narrator of inventing the following turn of events to break up the incessant
arguing or to sprinkle in a bit of humor. Unfortunately, this isn't the case.

“They're—eek!” the
Doll cried as she fell over the side of the ship, her little feet kicking in
protest as she slid. And there I was, and though the slip was over and done all
in a half-moment, I somehow had time to swear and spot an overhead cloud make
the likeness of a hysterically-laughing face.

And then she
landed on top of me. Thick velvet collided with my face, stinging my cheeks and
thoroughly suffocating me. All and all, the experience was like being punched
out by an upscale tailor. The girl's high-pitched screams filled my ears,
ensuring that I would not have any of my senses at command to help keep
balance. I sloshed about in place, slinging oil everywhere. Or so I imagine,
being momentarily blind, deaf, dumb, and altogether unbalanced.

The fact that
neither of us tumbled down into the sea is nothing short of miraculous.

Eventually my
sight returned and her screams ceased. I soon came to realize that the
Watchmaker's Doll was clinging to my back for very dear life. I still can feel
how her false fingernails dug into my neck.

“Well,” she said
at last.

“Well,” I said
back, “so here we are.”

“Yes,” she said
quietly.

“So, um, what do
we do?”

“I'm not sure,”
she said into my ear. “Perhaps we should ask our hosts.”

“Good idea,” I
replied. “But let's wait until they finish laughing.”

And so we did. Not
patiently, but we did. And to their credit, the crew calmed down and offered
their help. Eventually.

Very eventually.

I hate them.

“All right,”
Madame B shouted from the deck. “You two just remain calm.”

“No problem,” I
shouted back.

“If you're going
to remain sarcastic, Pocket, we can just leave you out there.”

“Don't be
difficult!” Dolly said with a kick to my back before shouting to the pirates.
“He won't be difficult anymore! Come help us!”

“Fine,” the Red
Priest said. “Shuffle back to the ship and we'll help the young lady off of
your shoulders.”

I looked down at
the portion of my legs not hidden beneath the muck and tried to steady them.

“Sure,” I said,
slowly twisting my torso. “Dolly, hang on.”

And then, slowly,
carefully, gracefully, I nearly fell over.

“Eek! Careful!”
the Doll shouted, sliding and clinging to me.

“Is there a
problem?” the Priest asked.

“I can't turn
around,” I said.

“Sure you can.”

“No, he can't!”
the Doll yelped.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Miss Doll,” the
Priest giggled, “you might want to adjust your skirts.”

“Don't look!” the
girl on my back screamed.

“Come on, this is
serious!” I snarled to the pirates. “For God's sake, find a way to solve this!”

The Priest's solution,
therefore, was to produce a rather large butterfly net.

“Catch,” he said.

“I can't,” I said.

“I wasn't talking
to you,” he said.

The next thing I
heard was the sound of something cutting through the breeze. The Doll gasped.

“I've got it!” she
said.

“Got
what?
”
I inquired, my back to the scene.

“This.” She
delicately dangled the netting over my face.

“Wait...so you
expect—”

“Onward!” the Doll
demanded in glee, kicking her heels into my back. “Safari!”

I grimaced and
blew the net away from my nose.

“Fun day,” I said,
carefully taking a sloppy step ahead.

Plop, plop, plop.
My body pushed through the oil, wobbling and shaking and toting the clockwork
lady upon me.

“Don't drop me,
okay?” she said.

“I don't believe
this,” I grunted, feeling my fingers start to slip.

“Gah! I said,
don't drop me!” The Doll bounced on my shoulders. I squeezed my arms tighter
around her thighs.

“I'm trying!” I
shouted back, trying to keep my very unsteady balance. “This isn't exactly
easy, by the way.”

“Are you trying to
say that I'm too
heavy?
”

Sigh...well,
certainly a woman filled with steel and brass is going to...it wasn't worth
arguing.

“You're fine,” I
muttered. “I'm just not used to walking in metal boots through a slop of oil
with a clockwork girl on my back. Imagine that.”

She kicked me in
the back with one foot. “Be nice!”

Instead I groaned
and snorted. “You know, that's a quick way to get thrown into the muck.”

“You wouldn't
dare!” she said with sweetness and conviction. “I am too cute!”

“Ug...”

We slopped along
the sunken beam until finally spotting a shiny half-circle of gears sitting on
the surface like little, metal lily pads.

“There!” Dolly
said, releasing her fingernails from my skin to point. “You see?”

“I see them.”

“Hurry.”

I moved cautiously
into position, the swaying of my knees creating little waves that made the
gears slide away from us.

“Stay still,” the
Doll whispered to me, aiming her net with her little arms. “I think I can reach
from here.”

And there I was,
sunk to my knees in the lifeblood of new industry, as the girl on my back
reached for the lost parts of herself. Now if that's not a metaphor, I don't
know what is.

“Bend down a
little,” she said. “I'm too high to hit the surface.”

I clenched my
back, lowered my shoulders, and forgot to breathe. Fumes instead of air began
filling my lungs, and my eyes began to water over. The entire world at once
appeared to be a giant oil painting that was drying unevenly. I felt dizzy and
would have shortly lost control of the situation had I not heard Dolly cheer.

“Success!” she
announced. I blinked hard and saw the butterfly net hanging before my eyes. It
was stained black now, dripping and jingling as the Doll shook around her
captured bounty.

Exhausted, sore,
and indescribably foul-smelling, your humble narrator, realizing he could do
nothing else, broke down in laughter.

“Success,” I
repeated.

“Are
you...crying?” the Doll asked.

“No,” I said,
laughing hard. “I'm definitely not. So are you happy now, Doll?”

“I suppose. Are
you sure you're not crying?”

And I laughed harder
than I had in days. “Who can tell, Doll? Who can tell?”

I heard her make a
quiet sigh. “Boys are quite strange.”

And that was that.
I somehow managed to twist around enough to see my way back to the
Lucidia,
where
the Priest and B made good on their promise and helped pull the Doll from my
shoulders. I didn't even care when she kicked me in the jaw on the way up. I
was just glad for the dry boards of the ship.

I soon found
myself resting on the floor of the deck, breathing as deeply as I could manage while
bearing the stink. I considered suggesting that we move ourselves downstairs,
but didn't feel like moving my tired legs just yet. The Doll was standing next
to me, but a world away, her eyes trained on the small pile of retrieved gears
in her hands. They had been cleaned, polished, and returned to her in a small
silken cloth. I yawned and stared at my toes through my dirty socks.

“I'm afraid I may
have ruined your boots,” I said to the Red Priest. He was sitting crosslegged
across from me, observing the large, brass footwear I had borrowed. The sea did
not want to let them go when I attempted to climb aboard the
Lucidia,
so
I had abandoned them on my way over the rail. The Priest quickly retrieved them
and smiled as I offered my apology.

“They'll be fine,”
he assured me. “They can take a little oil.”

“That's a
little
oil, is it?”