Hex
was curled in the darkness at the bottom of the rucksack, clutching his stomach. He slid sideways as Locksley peeled away from traffic and parked. The
boiler hissed softly as Locksley shut off the ignition and dismounted from the motorcycle.
"Are
you done sulking? We're here," Locksley said as she pulled the rucksack
from her shoulders, the canvas cloth muffling her voice.
Hex
squinted against the sudden intrusion of sickly purple light as Locksley
unfastened the toggles and peered inside. "Splendid. Go on without
me," Hex said, shaking his head.
"Come
on, you big baby, what could be easier than collecting a relic from some
little old lady? We could do this in our sleep."
Wrapping
his prehensile tail around himself for comfort, Hex glared up at his best
friend. "The last time you said that about a job, I lost a toe."
"So? It grew back. Most people would
be delighted to find out their regeneration experiments had paid off. So...you're welcome," Locksley said.
"Just
leave me alone to die," Hex rolled over, turning his back to Locksley.
"And don't let anyone touch any of my things when I'm gone."
"Stop
being such a drama queen." Locksley reached into the bag and hauled Hex out
by the collar of his brocade vest.
Hex
squinted, his vision tinted by nauseating hues of violet and lavender.
"I'm taking sick leave," he said, covering his eyes with his paws.
"If
I let you take sick leave every time you were convinced you were dying, you'd
never leave your room," Locksley said, depositing Hex onto her shoulder. She tossed her leather helmet onto one of the motorcycle's handlebars, the
chrome beast's steam pipes glinting in the sun.
"Fine.
Don't mind me. I've only been poisoned." Hex lowered his paws to grip
Locksley's jacket for balance. Hex glowered as Locksley waited at the curb for
an opening in traffic. Locksley stood with her hand resting on the butt of the
blunderbuss pistol wedged in the belt on her pinstripe trousers.
Locksley
rolled her eyes. "No one's ever died from ingesting monochromium, so dial
down the crazy, will you?" she said as an automobile lumbered past
them. Brass pipes flowed from its engine compartment to curve along its arched
fenders. "Besides, that barista said it would wear off in a few
hours."
"How
very reassuring. The pimply youth who couldn't tell me apart from some little blonde girl thinks I'll be fine," Hex said through clenched teeth. He held
fast to his perch as Locksley hurried across the street, her seven-inch tall stilt sandals click-clacking on the
cobblestones.
Locksley
snorted, hopping onto the sidewalk. "Imagine how disappointed that little
girl will be when she realizes the only addition to her drink was extra cream.
Now, suck it up. We have a job to do," she said, stopping in front of a
store, the words Mabel's Magical Toy Shop engraved in playful characters on the
sign.
Hex
picked at a loose thread on his knickers, his large, pointy ears twitching as a
woman wearing a bustle dress ambled past leading a clockwork poodle with
hydraulic legs. "How would you like it if you had to spend your afternoon
seeing the world through lavender lenses?" he asked, tapping the goggles
perched at a jaunty angle atop Locksley's unruly nest of sapphire hair.
Locksley
swatted at Hex's paw. "Don't smudge those. They're new."
Locksley pushed open the door, a silver bell tinkling overhead as she stepped
inside. She paused as their eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
"I'll
be right with you!" a woman called from the backroom.
Hex
lowered his voice, continuing her conversation with Locksley. "They're lovely. Did you swipe them from anyone I know?"
Locksley flipped the sign in the window to Closed and twisted
the deadbolt. "Have you ever noticed how judgmental you get when you've
been drugged?"
Hex
gazed around the empty shop, the few gas lamps ensconced along on the walls
casting an ominous light over the rows of toys on dark shelves along the walls.
"This place isn't at all creepy."
"Wuss."
Hex
glanced at a jack-in-the-box lying on its side on the shelf a few inches away.
The lid
was open, and the jester was sprawled on the ledge. The jester winked at him,
and Hex's tail involuntarily curled itself around Locksley's jacket collar like
a safety rope. Hex glanced sideways to see if Locklsey had noticed it too, but
her gaze was on a model dirigible hanging from the ceiling. Turning back towards
the jack-in-the-box, Hex watched for another sign of movement as Locksley
strolled towards the service counter, but the toy remained motionless.
Scratching
his head, Hex turned as the backroom door opened and a small, wizened old woman
bustled out carrying a large tin soldier in the crook of her arm.
"Mabel,
I presume," Locksley said.
"Indeed
I am, and how are you on this fine day?" Mabel smiled as she walked around
the counter and set the soldier on one of the shelves opposite the service
counter, adjusting its limbs just so.
"Splendiferous."
Locksley smirked sideways at Hex. Hex responded with a rude gesture.
"That's
nice, dear," Mabel said without a trace of irony as she turned to glance down at Locksley.
"My,
what an unusual familiar you have there," she said, reaching out to pat
Hex's head.
Hex
bared his sharp little teeth and hissed. "You wanna lose that hand,
granny-pants?"
Mabel
snapped her hand back, blinking.
Locksley
shrugged her shoulder, jostling Hex. "You'll have to excuse my minken.
He's been in a bad mood ever since his drink order got messed up."
"I'm
not your minken. If anything, you are my Fury."
Mabel
glanced back and forth between Locksley and Hex uncertainly, patting the gray
hair pulled back in a bun on top of her head.
Locksley
pulled a tin box the size of a set of playing cards from her breast pocket and
held it up for Mabel to see. "I'm looking for this," she said,
tapping the etching on the front of the box.
Mabel
frowned, pulling a set of reading spectacles from her apron pocket. Perching
the spectacles on her nose, she leaned forward to inspect the image of a pocket
compass carved into the box's surface. Shaking her head, she smiled
indulgently. "I'm sorry, dear. I don't carry compasses, just toys, you
see."
Locksley
sighed and put the tin back in her pocket. "It's a very specific
compass. And I heard from a reliable source you have it. It's imperative I retrieve it."
Mabel shrugged. "I'm sorry I can't help you, Miss..."
"Apologies. Allow me to introduce myself." Locksley pushed back her right jacket sleeve to reveal the leviathan tattoo curled around her forearm. The sea serpent writhed on her golden skin as if alive, its jaw snapping audibly.
Mabel shrugged. "I'm sorry I can't help you, Miss..."
"Apologies. Allow me to introduce myself." Locksley pushed back her right jacket sleeve to reveal the leviathan tattoo curled around her forearm. The sea serpent writhed on her golden skin as if alive, its jaw snapping audibly.
Mabel
flinched, her hand flying to her throat. "I don't have it, I swear."
"I
think you do," Locksley said, releasing the spring loaded truncheon hidden in a secret compartment in her biomech arm. She caught the telescopic steel baton by the handle as
it shot out of her coat sleeve.
Hex
sighed. "Can we just get this over with, already?" he muttered under
his breath. "I'm getting a headache."
"Please,
you wouldn't hurt an old woman?" Mabel backed into the shelves behind her,
her eyes misting.
"I
wouldn't enjoy it, but I wouldn't lose any sleep over it, either."
Locksley shrugged.
"You
despicable, vile monster." Mabel spat at Locksley.
Locksley's
nostrils flared. "You know the rules about relics. So, don't get pissy
with me, you nasty old rotter. "
"Rotter?
ROTTER?!" Mabel flung her spectacles to the floor as her eyes turned
black. Her hair stood straight on end, crackling as if she had laid her hand on
a Tesla coil.
"Just
some little, old lady?!" Hex hissed at Locksley.
"Did
I forget to mention she's a ghoul?" Locksley raised her eyebrows, her face
studiously innocent.
Hex felt his headache worsen. "You
suck."
To be continued in Part 2.