Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) (7 page)

Kitt laughed and
got up. “You're a strange one, Pocket.”

I took in a
mouthful of stale air and made a show of moving to the front door. Kitt got the
idea.

“Leaving?”

“I suppose so.
Nothing personal. Breaking and entering isn't really my kind of sport.”

“Yeah. I
understand.”

I pushed the door.
Still raining.

“Don't you want to
wait for that to clear up?” Kitt asked. I counted drops on a windowpane, which
turned out to be much like counting beer foam bubbles, except without the
entertainment of making the bubbles disappear.

“Maybe,” I said.

“It's your call.”

Eleven window
drops. Twelve window drops.

I pulled an old
wooden chair from behind a corner desk and sat down. Kitt returned to the
floor.

“So...” I said.

“So.”

Twenty-three
window drops. I let myself laugh.

“Pretty awkward,
isn't this?”

“Yeah,” Kitt
agreed. “Why is that?”

“I really don't
know.” I leaned forward, took off my hat, and scratched the mess of dark hair
beneath. “It's been a rather strange night for me.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I wasn't blaming
you.”

“Oh.”

Thirty-nine drops.
Kitt's mouth remained shut.

“I've got to ask,
Kitt. The outfit.”

“Hmm?”

“The whole
bombardier look. Not exactly subtle for a thief. What's the story there?”

And then, without
warning, the crafty, animated smile crept back onto his face.

“Bombardier,” he
repeated. “I like that. I like that a lot.”

Not the response I
was expecting.

“So...” I said,
trying to prompt a story.

“Did you hear
something?” he said instead.

I heard the
silence of Kitt not answering my question. It was roaring.

“No,” I answered
dryly.

“I'm serious,
listen.”

I did. Sure, some
light squeakiness beneath the floor. Sounded like it was coming from the
basement. Probably a loose hinge on a window or door or something. I made the
monumental mistake of telling this to Kitt.

A monumental gleam
burst from his eyes like fire. The fox had returned.

“A basement,” he
repeated.

I have never
considered myself to be a man of proper philosophy, so should the following
musings strike you as unnatural or maddening, please ignore them. But there are
those moments, I believe, in this existence, where one can nearly see the
unfolding of events in time by trying very hard not to. Kind of a gained sense.
There are also, I believe, moments within moments where one can just barely
deduce the splitting of a metaphysical road. The changes in time, the forking.
Possibility. Out of the corner of his eye, one might see a very tired Will Pocket
rise from his chair while another, equally likely, Will Pocket chooses to
remain seated and humor the ramblings of Kitt Sunner. One could then see the
first Will Pocket mumble goodbyes and head out into the night rain while the
second scratches his head and bites his tongue at Kitt's proposal of a “grand
exploration.” At the biting of the tongue, a third Will Pocket might appear,
choosing to withhold reservations while the second is loudly complaining and
the responsible first is half a mile away, looking for safer shelter. Minutes
into this supposed possibility, the second Will Pocket throws his hands up in
frustration, tells off the thief, and turns his back as Kitt begins pulling at
floorboards. The third Pocket, passively waiting for the rain to clear, offers
no vocal objection and finds himself somehow holding up pieces of carpet while
his companion checks the floor. Time presses on and the enthusiasm of Kitt
Sunner discovers a half-broken handle screwed into a square cut of wood beneath
a moved workbench. It is at this moment that the third Will Pocket begins
seriously wishing that his choices would have led him to become either the
firm-resolved second, his hands at last clean of this whole affair, the first,
moving further and further away, or a previously unmentioned fourth Pocket who
had the divine intuition not to follow Kitt across the city in the first place.

This however was
not the case.

“Give me a hand
with this,” Kitt said, twisting his fingers around the handle. “It's hard to
get a good grip.”

“Looks like
someone took a hammer to it.”

“Yeah, looks like.
Probably so the room won't be disturbed.”

“So let's not
disturb it.”

“That's not very
adventurous of you, Pocket.”

“I'm not—”

“I've got a better
idea. Let's jump on it.”

I closed my eyes
and counted out a hundred alternative progressions of reality. I was happy to
learn that none featured a Pocket even remotely willing to hop up and down on
an unknown door.

“Jump on it
yourself.”

“Fine,” Kitt said,
and did exactly that.

“Getting
anywhere?” I asked.

“I don't know. Can
I borrow your bottle again?”

“It's not magic.
Going through old windows is one thing, but wood—“

“Hold on! It's
moving!” Kitt jumped again and sank about an inch into the floor.

“You'd better be
careful,” I advised.

“I'll be fine.
Watch this.” He lifted a knee to his chest and then slammed it back down. The
wood instantly splintered and Kitt's leg went through the door.

“Wow,” I said.
“Impressive.”

“Don't be too
impressed. I didn't mean to do that.”

“Oh. You need a
hand?”

“There's...something
under me. Feels like a step. I think there's a staircase down there. Can you
help me up?”

“I just offered
to—“

“Here.”

Kitt offered his
hand and, clutching his arm, I pulled him up and out of the floor. A large
chunk of wood came with Kitt's leg. He shook it off and bent over the hole he
had made.

“It's dark down
there,” he said.

“Shouldn't it be?”

Kitt pulled at
splinters until he had broken most of the door away. He then took his first,
cautious step into the darkness.

“You'd better be
careful,” I repeated.

“Sure, sure.” He
took another two steps. His chest was half-sunk into the black. “In case the
rain stops before I come back up, it was good to meet you, Pocket.”

“You too,” I said,
unsure if I was being honest.

Kitt grinned and
disappeared. The sound of footsteps faded into silence.

And that should
have been the end of it all. But once again...

A metallic clang
came crashing from the hole, the noise echoing up into the front room.

“Hey fox!” I
shouted. “You all right down there?”

Silence.

“Kitt?” I called
out.

Silence.

“If you can hear
me, make some noise.”

Nothing. Curious.

“I'm sure he's
fine,” I said aloud, giving Kitt the opportunity to correct me if that wasn't
the case. He didn't correct me. I waited. And waited. In silence. And was satisfied.

Then I climbed
down the hole in the floor.

It was dark.

I moved slower
with each step, finding my footing on a stair before moving to the next. By the
time I inched to the bottom of the staircase, I couldn't see a thing except the
fading pool of natural light from the room above. I pressed my hands against a
nearby wall and began feeling my way deeper into the basement.

“Kitt,” I called
once more, this time whispering. I'm not sure why I was whispering, but it felt
appropriate.

I continued
moving, running my fingers against the wall until I hit a corner. Turning at
the corner, I followed another wall and traced it until I came to an attached
shelf.

On the shelf was
something that felt like a lantern. I felt around for matches but found none.
Frustrated, I dropped the object in my hand back onto the shelf. Something
clicked, and a bright, blue-white flame ignited from the device, casting a
small circle of light. Most unusual. The object, a craftwork of polished metal,
did indeed resemble a common lantern with its cover removed. The bottom of the
device was dipped in formed rubber and two small coils ran from the base up and
inside to the source of the flame. Retaking the device and holding it close to
my person, I could distinctly smell the burn of gas.

Gaslight? Without
striking a match?

Inspecting the
device, I found a large button on the back of it. I pressed it, the light went
out. I pressed it again, the light returned. Fantastic!

“Kitt! Kitt, you
have to see this!”

I held up the
gaslight lantern and marveled at it. It cast a glow onto the shelf and, looking
up, I could see that it was filled with dozens of equally-incredible devices,
all clad in the most beautifully-shining metals I have ever seen.

There was also a
framed photograph.

“What?” said Kitt,
standing directly behind me.

I dropped the
lantern with a yelp and a clatter. The room once more returned to darkness.

“Why'd you do
that?” Kitt asked.

“Why did you sneak
up on me?!?” I shouted back.

“You told me I had
to see something!”

“Well, you could've
given me...sigh. I dropped a lantern. Help me find it.”

“Oh. Sure. I think
it’s right here.”

The blue-white
light sparked on. Kitt stood before me with the device.

“Wow,” he said.
“How's it doing that?”

“Don't know.”

“Pretty strange.”

“Quick work, by
the way,” I commented.

“I have good eyes
in the dark. Comes in handy.” He handed me the lantern. “Just watch.”

“No. Kitt!”

And once again he
was gone. I didn't follow. Instead I put my gaze back to the shelf and
instantly locked eyes with a monochromatic pair staring back from the
photograph.

They were a
woman's eyes.

The woman was
young and beautiful, which is reason enough for me to frame her picture, but
she was also clearly in love. A man stood next to her, a good ten to fifteen
years her senior. He held her tiny hands in his and both shared a smile I would
pay any sum to own and wear. He was a good-sized man, large-framed, small eyes,
but such a sharp fire in them. The lovers were standing on a pier before a
docked ship, and a delicate watch chain hung out of both of their coats'
pockets.

Watch. There was
one on the shelf. It sat quietly as it needed to be wound. It had no chain.

I looked back at
the couple by the water and felt instantly guilty. I think it was the way they
were staring at me.

“Sorry,” I said to
them both, rather stupidly. “I don't usually break into places. I mean, I don't
at all. This is...I suppose...my first.”

I laughed. The man
seemed to tighten his grip on the woman's hands. A protective move.

“Anyway, I
apologize. I'll...uh...return the lantern. When I retrieve my friend. He's
just...”

Something made of
glass shattered in the distance.

“...robbing you
blind.” I looked at the gentleman's bristled eyebrows. “Anyway, I apologize.
Don't miss your ship.”

The time seemed
right to move on, so I moved on. Lantern in hand, I continued down the wall. It
was still dark, but the glowing patch of portable light allowed me at least to
see where my feet were falling. Great snaking shadows were cast on the wall,
some large and hulking, others small and mechanical, but all completely
fascinating to the young man walking in the dark. So fascinating, in fact, that
I didn't see the long-handled lever protruding up from the floor until I had
walked into it. I nearly tripped, and then, a little annoyed at my
carelessness, regained composure.

Shining the light
over the mechanism, I could see that it was made out of the same shiny metal as
the lantern and many of the other unusual objects I had nearly walked into in
the shadows. Now, I have read and have been told enough stories in my life to
know that when a man finds an unusual lever lurking in the darkness, he pulls
it.

So I did.

“What stories?”

“I'm sorry?”

“In what story is
there a man who pulls a lever in the darkness?”

“Oh...I don't
know, there must be. Something with a hero chained in a sadist's dungeon,
maybe. Or a villainous laboratory.”

“Mmm...doesn't
ring any bells, Pocket.”

“Well, it doesn't
matter. I'm sure there are probably hundreds. Doesn't matter.”

“Hey, since we're
intervening from the grand narrative here, you know what you
could
do?”

“I'm going to
forget my place in the—”

“You could have
yourself get chained up in a dungeon. I mean, later in the telling, right? And
then, you could get out, no, or Kitt could break you out, and then you find a
magic lever—“

“I never said it
was magical.”

“...find a magic
lever and pull it and say something really sharp like...uh...'Told you, Fox
Boy! Happens to heroes all the time!' Yeah, put that in!”

“This isn't a work
of fiction, Alan.”

“Mmm...”

“I'm trying to
recall to the best of my ability the manner in which these events unfolded.”

“So maybe you
recall
getting chained up in a dungeon later, is all I'm saying.”

“Alan...”

“Look, I told you.
I don't care if I believe it or not. It's entertaining.”

“But it's more
than...fine. Where was I?”

“Lever in the
darkness.”

A soft, chugging
sound, much like a far-off locomotive, began building in the corners of the
room, or what I assumed to be where the corners were located in the dark. A
strong smell of gas began protruding into the space around me. I began to get
nervous. The smell continued and just at the moment when I was about to throw
my hands back on the lever and pull and yank with every panicky finger, the
room began to light up. Not all at once, but timed, like dominoes falling in
sequence. Larger blazes of fire ignited out of mounted fixtures across the
walls, one after another with a pop and hiss, until the entire basement was
completely lit. I realized I hadn't exhaled in a while and did so.