A Clockwork Fairytale (19 page)

When they reached the small door, Turk turned the handle and gave it a shove. It didn’t budge. “It’s locked.” He ran his fingers over the hinges. “It goes inwards. If I get a run up, I can kick it open.”

Melba glanced at the three-foot square platform they were standing on. “You ain’t gonna get no run up here.”

Turk’s white teeth flashed in a very un-Turk-like grin. “How much do you want to bet me?” He continued up the steps, circling around to the opposite side of the chamber. “Go a few steps farther up, Melba, so you’re clear of the door.”

She did as he said, and watched him, her heart beating faster. He was incredibly agile on the skyways, leaping wide gaps and walking along wires, doing things she found impossible. She hadn’t worried about him at first, but now she cared for him, it frightened her to see him take risks.

He stared intently across the jump to the door, his hands clenching and releasing at his sides. He bent his legs, then leaped. He flew through the air, poised and sure, his gaze never leaving the target. Both his feet slammed against the wood beside the door handle. It burst inward with the crack and groan of splintering wood and wrenching metal. Turk landed on his side and skidded through the door.

Melba ran down the steps to help him but he was already on his feet, brushing himself down. “You all right?” she asked.

He grinned. “Never better.” She touched his back lightly, just to reassure herself he was in one piece. What a strange split character he was. One day the smart educated nob, the next a scoundrel throwing himself off heights and kicking open doors. He was different from anybody she had met before.

They entered the narrow musty corridor behind the door. Melba called her Flower Jinns out of her sleeve and they fluttered in front of her, their luminous glow giving just enough light by which to see. After a short distance, a recently built wall blocked their way. Melba’s breath hissed out in a frustrated sigh. “Looks like you were right. They don’t want anyone getting in the Palace this way.”

“We can go up,” Turk offered.

She glanced up to see a grating in the roof. She couldn’t reach it but it wasn’t even a stretch for him. He hooked his fingers through the metal bars, wobbled the grating loose, and shoved it aside with a clatter. Then he gripped the edges of the opening and hauled himself up.

Melba stared after him. “What’s up there? You gonna help me?”

His face appeared in the gap, illuminated by the glowing pink, red, and yellow flutterbys. “Give me a few moments to check that it’s safe.”

Melba tapped her toe on the ground as she waited for him to return. Cold dark tunnels didn’t bother her. She didn’t even mind rats and creepy crawlies. But the automaton had spooked her and she was already tense and on edge about leaving Turk and meeting her pa.

Lantern light glowed through the gap and Turk lowered down a broken chair. The back was missing, but the base was sturdy. She positioned it beneath the hole, then climbed up and managed to get a firm grip on the edges of the opening. With a grunt, she hauled herself up, her arm muscles burning with the strain. As soon as she got the top of her body through, Turk pulled her the rest of the way.

She sat on the damp floor of a shadowy corridor rubbing her poor biceps. Turk crouched beside her in the pool of warm light from an oil lamp. The doors along the corridor all stood open except the ones at either end. “Rooms full of broken furniture,” Turk said, indicating one of the dark doorways.

The place stank of mold, rotting wood, and a hint of the horrible bad-fish smell she recognized from the infirmary and Maddox’s bakery. Something about that smell made the hair stand up on her neck. She peered around, wondering where the smell was coming from.

Turk headed to the end of the corridor, so she scrambled up and followed. He tried the door and grinned to himself when it wouldn’t open. She stood aside while he backed up a few steps and launched a kick near the handle. The door slammed open against the wall with a smack that echoed down the corridors like cannon fire.

“I thought spies slipped in and out of places quietly,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter down here. The place is deserted.”

“You don’t know that.”

Turk tapped his temple. “I have the plan of the Royal Palace saved up here. We’re in the disused cellars in the old original part of the Palace.”

“So who left the lamp?”

Turk frowned at the light in his hand. “It has probably been down here for years.”

Melba didn’t say anything, but she doubted a disused lamp would have lit so easily. They climbed a flight of worn stone steps, taking them out of the old part of the Palace and emerged into a corridor with white stone walls. Gas wall lights lit their way, so Turk turned out the oil lamp and left it concealed on the old steps. “We need to be careful. From now on we might meet servants,” he said.

Turk swept his gaze over her before glancing down at himself. “We cannot go before the king in this state. The laundry room is somewhere around here. Let’s see if we can find a change of clothes.”

The smell of clean linen came from a small side corridor where Melba could hear a woman singing. Turk put his finger to his lips and opened another door, indicating she should go through. They both crowded into a storeroom full of cleaning supplies and Melba found her back pressed against Turk. She closed her eyes, taking in the feel of his lean, hard body so she would never forget. The swish of skirts and the woman’s warbling voice came closer, passed, then faded until all was silent.

They stepped out and ducked down the side corridor to find a room full of slatted wooden shelves heaped with clean laundry. “Ah ha!” Turk strode across to a rail where the smart uniforms of the Royal Guard hung. “I’ll change into one of these. Dressing like a guard will help us move through the Palace unchallenged.”

Melba fingered a frilly apron on a pile. Even the servants’ clothes were made of fine linen with stitching so small it was nearly invisible. “You wear a maid’s uniform,” Turk said, holding up a simple black dress.

Taking a dress and apron, she stepped behind a tall set of heaped shelves. She pulled off her boy clothes, then picked up the black dress. On the other side of the barrier, she heard Turk’s boots drop on the ground, then the clink of his belt buckle and the pop of studs on his shirt. She stared at the piles of sheets and pillowslips, a strange heat whispering through her, and caught a flash of movement through a gap.

She pressed her eye to the hole and caught a glimpse of his naked back. Then he turned, which gave her a view of the muscles bunching in his arm. Wriggling her fingers between the heaps of linen, she widened the gap. She licked her dry lips and held her breath as he turned toward her, revealing the curves and angles of his chest. She’d never taken any notice of the dockers who worked shirtless, but this was Turk.

He looked straight toward her. She ducked down behind the linen, hugging the dress over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Are you ready, Melba?” he asked. Glancing down, she realized she was standing there nearly starkers. She pulled the black dress over her head and fastened the hooks on the side of the waist. The sensible style allowed her to dress without help.

She tied the apron about her waist and went to join him, biting her lip to stop herself smiling. Turk was buttoning up the uniform jacket over a clean shirt and smartly tied white neck cloth. “The only problem is footwear,” he said. “You’ll have to go barefoot, and I’ll have to wear my old boots.”

He buffed his boots with a towel while Melba washed her hands and face in a small sink in the corner of the room. While he splashed water on his face and rubbed his skin with a towel, she stood back and watched, memorizing the line of his jaw, the shape of his lips, his silky black eyebrows, and his disheveled dark hair. Tears filled her eyes as he stuffed their discarded clothes under a deep shelf in the corner. This was the end of her time with Turk.
The end
.

***

Turk balled his wet towel and tossed it on a heap of dirty laundry in a basket. He glanced at Melba and she dropped her gaze to the floor, but not before he noticed tears glistening in her eyes. A fist of pain clenched tight around his heart. “Melba, my little Star.”

“What?”

He closed the gap between them, wanting to say something, anything to keep her here with him for a few minutes longer. “You still have dirt on your face.”

“I do?” Her fingers went uncertainly to her cheek. “There’s no mirror. Will you clean it off for me?” She hesitated then tilted up her face, eyes closed. He stared down at the golden crescents of her eyelashes against her cheeks, her pink lips. How blind he must have been to mistake her for a boy. But his eyes were open now, and he would never forget her. He grabbed a clean towel and gently stroked imaginary spots of dirt off her brow and jaw. Then he wiped her chin and circled around her eyes. The towel dropped from his hand and his thumb grazed across her cheek, brushed the corner of her mouth.

This was the last time they would ever be together like this. Once he returned her to the king, he would have to make an appointment to see her and she’d be chaperoned. He would
never
be able to touch her again.

“Am I clean now?” she whispered, opening her eyes.

“Perfect.” Gregorio had once told him the wise man sets a firm course—only a fool lets the wind blow him where it likes. But his heart had taken him in a direction he’d never planned to go. He prayed he could find his way back.

“I want you to have something to remember me by.” He fished out his gold Earth Blessing from around his neck and unfastened the chain. It was the gift Gregorio gave him when he graduated from trainee to Brother—his most precious possession. She tilted her head forward and he fastened the chain behind her neck.

“Thank you.” Melba cupped the gold Earth Blessing in her slender hand and kissed it. “I love it, but don’t need nothing to help me remember you. It weren’t me that turned
you
down.” She glanced up at him, pain from his rejection sharp in her eyes.

Her pain echoed through him. He wished he could explain he was a monk, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it, and it made no difference now.

“Keep it tucked inside your clothes,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to take it away from you.”

She gave him a determined look. “I won’t let no one take it.”

Time to go
. He sucked in a breath and turned toward the door. They took the winding servants’ stairway up to the king’s apartment on the top floor. Turk peered out of the door at the top of the stairs to make sure Vittorio’s men were not on guard in the hallway before leading Melba to the office of Mister Rossi, the king’s personal secretary. Then he knocked and went in.

“Mister Turquin to see His Royal Highness,” he said, slipping into his nob’s persona even though he was wearing the uniform of a Royal Guard. The small dark-haired man blinked at him from behind his desk, checked a diary, and frowned.

“You’re over an hour early, sir.” Mister Rossi’s critical gaze swept over Turk’s clothes. Then he glanced at Melba and the pen slipped out of his hand. He stared at her for long moments. “Is she who I think she is?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“Yes, sir,” Turk replied.

The man shot to his feet and hurried to another door. “Please take a seat. I will be back directly,” he said as he went out.

They sat down on some chairs against the wall. Turk’s heart thundered in his ears. He felt as though he was running too fast down a steep roof with a dangerous drop at the end. He reached out, touched his fingertips to the back of Melba’s hand. She turned to him, her eyes glassy with nerves.

“It’ll be all right, my little Star. I promise.” There was so much he wanted to say that he couldn’t say anything at all.

Then Mister Rossi burst back through the door. “His Royal Highness will see you now. Please follow me.”

Turk rose and waited for Melba to go first, but she gestured him forward and her fingers gripped his as they walked down a short corridor. The secretary knocked on a door and opened it. Turk followed him through as if in a daze. His breath jolted with shock at the sight of the king.

In the last two years, the monarch had not attended any Court functions. Turk could see why. King Santo’s skin was deathly pale, his cheeks sunken, his dark hair thin and graying. He sat in a comfortable chair, swathed in a purple velvet gown, but the fabric could not hide the sharp angles of his emaciated body.

Turk stepped forward and bowed deeply. “Thank you for seeing us, Your Royal Highness.” The king’s gaze brushed over Turk, barely acknowledging him before his eyes settled on Melba.

“Come in, child. Come in,” he said. Melba moved to stand at Turk’s side. The king’s gaze dropped to her feet. Obviously guessing his thoughts, she lifted the hem of her dress to reveal her bare toes. King Santo’s breath hissed in and his fingers clenched, momentarily stilling the tremor in his hands. “If only your poor dear mother had lived to see you returned to us.” His gaze traveled slowly up her body to her face. “Surely you do not work as a maid in the Palace?”

“No, sir,” she said in a shaky voice. “’Tis a disguise.”

“Melbaline child, come here.” He beckoned her closer, turning to his secretary. “Rossi, another chair, man, then you may leave us.”

The secretary brought over a chair and placed it at the king’s side before heading out of the door. Melba sat beside the king and he reached out to take her hand, his eyes watering.