Turnkey (The Gaslight Volumes of Will Pocket Book 1) by Lori Williams, Christopher Dunkle Page B

three times then cocked her head to the
side again.
    “What's wrong?”
she asked.
    “You can take that
out?” I said.
    “Of course. I only
really need it turned once, and you did that for me.”
    “Oh. That works.”
    She dropped the
turnkey into my hands. I took a few steps back, feeling the weight of it. Kitt
shrugged and followed her up the stairs, basket in his arms.
    I stood alone at
the bottom, holding the shaped metal. I caught something. Etched into the key
in an elaborate script were the words: “TWO WEEKS.” I rubbed my thumb over the
W.
    “Come on up!”
shouted the Doll from upstairs. I felt my feet start to climb.
    Yeah, I'm no
follower, all right.

Chapter Five
Beggar's Vacation
     
    The city of New
London was nothing but a scrambled mess of children's building blocks.
Multicolored models reaching not far enough into the heavens. London was a
faraway toy on the other side of my glass. I pressed my fingers against the
cool pane and listened to the hug-chug sound of the engines aboard the British
Airway Grand Zeppelin No. 21. I sighed and pushed my shoulders back into the
worn seat in the zeppelin's guest cabin where I was residing.
    The zeppelin
chugged its motors and bounced casually through the smoggy-black clouds over
the far end of the city. A matron in an evening gown walked the aisles,
welcoming us, her “valued guests,” to her London, as she so put it, her
“city from the sky.” Poetic, I suppose.
    The No. 21
Zeppelin was a tourist ship specializing in quarter-hour tours around the
circumference of the city. It was a tour I'd never taken. Never had any
interest. But now that I was aboard, hanging in the sky on this big, bloated
bird, I found myself quite taken with the view.
    I let my head rest
in surrender in my hand. I stared out of my porthole and counted the white
clouds that would rise and reveal themselves every so often amongst the smog.
The clean amongst the brown-black tones of industry.
    I reflected on my
day thus far.
    It began with
Kitt, the Doll, and myself stepping out into the autumn air and leaving the
stilted quiet of the watch shop behind. We were fortunately able to exit the
building without attracting any attention and within moments blended into to
the bustle of the city. Nothing suspicious about three young Londoners walking
the town. The long ends of the Doll's key, I discovered, were hinged and folded
inward, rendering the entire piece small enough for me to hide in my coat. For
once, a bit of convenience in my life.
    “So what do you
want to do first?” I had asked the Doll.
    “See the outside.”
    “I meant, more
specifically.”
    “Specifically?”
    “Right. See, we're
already outside.”
    “Oh.”
    She really hadn't
seemed to give the endeavor much thought, other than “outside” and “picnic.”
She tapped a finger to her lips.
    “You pick
something,” she said at last.
    Wonderful. I
glanced up and down the street, looking for inspiration. I glanced at Kitt. He
raised his shoulders in apology. I glanced at the Doll, who was waiting
impatiently for my undeniably brilliant proposal. She would have to wait a
minute longer.
    “Well...” I said
to break the silence and assure my companions that I was deeply probing my mind
and exploring every fathomable option at our disposal. “I guess we could
always...”
    The Doll frowned
and poked at the picnic basket Kitt was still holding.
    “All right...” I
continued, determined to conquer this. “We could start out by...well...the
weather is pretty crisp today, a lot of sunshine...”
    “Yes,” the Doll
said, her eyes picking up a bit more shine.
    “A lot of
sunshine,” I repeated. “And if I think if I've got my bearing straight...Kitt,
we're just a few blocks from the trade district, aren't we?”
    “One of them,
yeah,” he replied. “It's a little over to the left.”
    “Good, good. I've
got it. If memory serves, just a bit away is this little combination butcher
and barber shop owned by this