Wicked Winters

by Melanie Karsak et al.

  Turning, I looked out the frost-trimmed window to the square outside. Carolers moved from business to business, the merry lot singing gladly. A crowd surrounded a vendor who was selling wassail. Shoppers rushed to and fro with bright packages, baskets, and boxes full of baked goods, or clutched papers filled with roasted nuts. Even from here, I could catch the scent of the roasted walnuts on the breeze.

  “Missus Scrooge,” Bailey called from the back.

  “Yes?”

  “I thought maybe you’d like to have a look at the automatic’s attachment. I think it’s right, but we’d better test it.”

  I set my fingertips on the glass, glancing once more at the holiday revelry outside, and then headed back into the workshop.

  Bailey was standing at the bench. She’d uncovered the automaton lying on the workbench and was working on the weapon’s package we had attached to the left hand of the metal monstrosity we’d named Dickens.

  “Very well,” I said. I removed a metal compartment from the machine’s head then activated the switch therein. Bailey and I stepped back as the automaton clicked and hummed as it sprang to life. A moment later, its eyes glowed blue.

  “Dickens,” I commanded the automaton who turned its head toward me. “Stand.”

  Shifting its legs, the machine slowly lifted itself to standing.

  Satisfied with the fluidity of the moments, I nodded then went to inspect the weapon Bailey had been working on. Pulling down my goggles and switching to the magnification lenses, I looked over the modified device. Bailey had become a meticulous tinkerer. She had originally worked with Marley and me on the complex mechanics of the clockwork carousels. But when the business dried up, Marley had kept us out of debtor’s prison by finding an alternative avenue for cash flow. Bailey came along for the ride. As it turned out, Bailey’s talented fingers did just as good a job building mechanized automatons as they had carnival delights.

  I nodded. “You’ve done well.”

  “Not well enough. The arms still need some adjusting. He’s lifting unevenly,” Bailey told me, setting her hands on her hips as she considered the automaton standing before us.

  “Lift your arms,” I told the machine.

  It complied.

  Bailey was right, but the error was practically imperceptible to the naked eye.

  “You work on that. I have some work to do with the arsenal feeder,” I told Bailey then turned back to the machine. “Dickens, remain standing but power down.”

  The clockwork mechanics inside the machine clicked, and then the blue lights went out.

  Bailey got to work on the arms, whereas I went to the back of the automaton to check the weapons cache. The alignment had to be perfect, or the automatic rifle would not fire properly. Grabbing my toolbelt, I tied it on once more then opened the back panel of the automaton and got to work.

  Bailey and I fussed with the machine for the next two hours. The clock had just struck seven when we finished in tandem.

  “Finally finished,” Bailey called with a relieved huff.

  I slid the panel back into place. “The same.”

  “Should we have him fire a few shots just to be sure?” Bailey suggested.

  “Dickens, power on,” I told the automaton. Once more, the machine activated. “Now, come,” I added, waving for it to follow me to the back of the room. The old building in which we worked had a workspace large enough to hold a full carousel.

  Its feet tromping heavily, the automaton followed along behind me.

  “Bring the nutcracker,” I told Bailey. At the back of the workshop was a life-sized wooden nutcracker Marley had once carved to serve as a decoration for a display that we had made for a show at the Lyceum. It had been sitting gathering dust until Bailey and I found a better use for it.

  Grabbing the dolly, Bailey hauled the heavy piece into place, setting it with its back against the stone wall on the far side of the room. Once it was set up, she returned once more, standing behind the automaton and me.

  “All right, you tin can, let’s see what you can do,” I told the machine. “Dickens, activate weapon.”

  The automaton clicked then raised its arm.

  “Acquire target. Nutcracker.”

  The machine’s blue eyes closed for a moment, reopening once more with blaring red light. Its gaze centered on the nutcracker, the two optics closing in on the nutcracker’s face.

  “Short burst. Fire,” I told the machine.

  Cogs and gears clicked as the automatic weapon readied itself. Bailey and I both covered our ears. A moment later, the machine shot a quick burst of bullets toward the wooden dummy. A cloud of dust surrounded the nutcracker for a moment.

  Bailey and I waited.

  “Good. Dickens, return to the workbench and power down,” I told the machine.

  The automaton lowered its arm. Its eyes flickered blue once more. Walking with a stiff clatter, it returned to the workbench and sat back down. Swinging its legs onto the bench once more, it lay down. I heard a click as the machine turned itself off, its eyes going dim once more.

  With the machine powered down, Bailey and I headed across the room to investigate the damage.

  The nutcracker had taken most of the hits to the head, but a few stray bullets had hit the wall behind the target, which had caused the cloud of powdered mortar. Bailey inspected the stray shots.

  “Looks like a variation of thirty centimeters or so,” she reported.

  I nodded. “Acceptable. I warned the buyer about the accuracy. All right, Missus Cratchit. That will do. I will meet with the customer in the morning. Tidy up your tools and be on your way.”

  “Thank you, Missus Scrooge.”

  “I expect you to be on time on Boxing Day. I don’t care if the banks are off. We are not bankers.”

  “Of course, Missus Scrooge. I do hope you’ll reconsider about tomorrow. Robert and I would love for you to join us for Christmas. I hate to think you’ll be alone. The children haven’t seen you for—”

  “Yes. All right. We’ll see. There is still work to be done after we get this metal beast off our hands.”

  “Very well,” Bailey said with a sigh then began putting her tools away.

  At least Bailey had better sense of when to tie her tongue than my niece. Working quickly and quietly, she finished her work then pulled on her coat and hat. As she slipped on her gloves, she smiled at me.

  “I won’t wish you a Merry Christmas,” she told me. “How about a simple goodnight?”

  I huffed a laugh. “Goodnight, Missus Cratchit.”

  “Goodnight, Missus Scrooge.”

  At that, she headed to the front.

  “Lock the door behind you.”

  “Of course.”

  A moment later, I heard the bell above the door ring then the sound of the key in the lock. And then, finally, there was silence.

  I sat down on the stool beside the workbench, turned up the light on the gaslamp, and then lifted the automaton’s hand. Slipping on my magnification goggles, I tightened the tiny clockwork devices one last time.

  Just as I was settling in, a noise at the back of the workshop startled me.

  Pulling off my goggles, I grabbed a pistol I had hidden under the workbench and headed into the back of the darkened workshop. My ears pricking for any sound, I listened. But there was nothing.

  I hoisted my lantern and scanned all around, finally discovering the matter.

  The ropes that had been holding a tarp had come loose. The massive throw that had covered the stock in the back of the room had slid to the floor. Bailey must have bumped it when she moved the nutcracker.

  For the first time in years, I stood staring at the clockwork carousel horses sitting there. Their colorful paint was faded, but their jewel-like eyes sparkled in the lamplight.

  A lifetime’s worth of work and dreams sat before me.

  Memories wanted to insist themselves upon me, but then, I remembered Marley’s words.

  “When we were young, we wer
e dreamers. Now we are awake to the truth of the world. It is a cold, hard, and lonely place. Only those who are willing to do what it takes can survive. Dreams are for fools,” she’d told me the day we’d hauled all of the carnival materials to the back and covered them—keeping them only for spare parts.

  I stared at the emerald-green eyes of a pretty clockwork pony. I had loved making it, loved watching it work. On the carousel, its legs would gallop, the head tilting side to side. It had been one of my best creations.

  Sighing, I lowered the lamp and turned back.

  “Humbug,” I huffed, but I wasn’t sure at what. My absent partner. The pony. The dream. Or that old dreamer.

  2

  Jacqueline Marley

  It was after eleven when I finally found my way home. My townhouse was silent, save the ticking of the clock on the mantel in my bedroom. I left the downstairs dark and went upstairs to my bedchamber. The temperature had dropped below freezing. I banked up the fire in my bedroom and slid a chair close to the fireplace. Too exhausted to fix a proper meal, I returned to the kitchen only to fix myself a pot of tea and grab a plate of biscuits, which I took back to my bedroom. In my room once more, I slipped onto the chair. My eyes drooped as I sipped the amber-colored tea. Munching the biscuits, I stared into the fire. Memories of Christmases past wanted to insist themselves upon me, but I steeled myself to them. I hated Christmas. It was too full of memories, too full of…well, it was simply too full. In every spark of the fire, I saw my parents, my sister, Marley, Tom, and her. On Christmas, I always remembered her. I closed my eyes, willing myself to stop thinking, stop remembering. Christmas was a joyful season for many, but for me, the joy had long been gone from my life. Now, there was only work. I had no one to rely on but myself, and if I didn’t work, I was destined for poverty. Setting aside my teacup, I pulled my legs up into the chair. No use bothering going to bed. I needed to head back to the shop by five to meet my customer. I just needed a few hours of sleep between now and then. I closed my eyes.

  As I did, a soft memory drifted through my mind.

  “Mama, listen,” Maisie chirped sweetly.

  Against my will, a buried memory replayed.

  My daughter laughed as she shook the little stuffed kitten in my face, the small bell hanging from its collar ringing merrily. “See what Father Christmas brought me? Why did he bring it early?”

  A tear streamed down my cheek.

  “Not tonight,” I whispered into the darkness. “Don’t make me remember tonight.”

  Shutting out the memory, I forced myself to sleep, praying I did not dream.

  I awoke with a start when the clock bonged out the chimes of midnight. My body aching from sleeping in such an odd position, I rose to find the fire had gone out. How had that happened? Hadn’t I banked it up enough? Perhaps I was more tired than I thought.

  Shivering, I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and rose to go to the fireplace.

  An unearthly chill washed over me.

  The room smelled strange, the scent of death in the air.

  I exhaled deeply, a bank of fog forming in the chilly air.

  But then, I felt it.

  I was not alone.

  My heart pounding in my chest, I turned, scanning the room. A figure stood at the window, looking down at the street below.

  Moving quickly, I rushed to my bedside and pulled the pistol from the drawer of the nightstand.

  “Who are you? Get out of my house,” I said, taking aim.

  The figure, a woman, laughed. She was wearing a black gown with a long, black veil over her face. “Oh, Ebbie. Really?”

  I stilled. That voice…her voice…

  The figured stared at me. “Nice weapon. Did you make it?” she asked, gesturing to the gun.

  “I…” My hands shaking, I watched as the figure approached. “Get out of my house. Get out, or I’ll shoot.”

  The woman laughed again, then began walking toward me.

  “Last warning,” I said, surprised when my voice came out as little more than a whisper.

  The woman reached out for me.

  I pulled the trigger.

  The shot echoed around the bedroom. After a long moment, everything went silent once more. Only the sound of the ticking clock on the mantel was audible.

  The stranger stood where she had been, unmoved by the gunshot. She sighed heavily, then reached up and drew back her veil.

  My heart thundered in my chest. I stared in horror as the stranger pulled the covering away.

  It was Jacqueline. Well, it was what was left of Jacqueline. Standing before me was the corpse of my former partner, Jacqueline Marley. In place of her eyes were two glowing orbs. The milky-blue color of moonstones, she stared at me. Her red hair hung in patches from her head. Part of the flesh from her cheek was missing, revealing her jaw and teeth. What flesh remained on her bones had a terrible blue tone. She reached out for the weapon in my hand. When she did so, I saw the bones of her fingers hidden under the tatters of the black lace gloves in which she was buried. I stared at the dress. I recognized it now. It was her burial gown. I had been the one to select the high-necked black garment.

  Taking the pistol from my hand, she looked it over then handed it back to me. “Nice gun. Very well made.”

  “Jacqs,” I whispered.

  “I know I am a fearful sight, but don’t be afraid, Ebbie. I have come as a friend and with a warning. You see me as I am now, the rotting corpse of the woman I once was. You, too, will earn this fate if you do not amend your ways.”

  “What… What are you talking about?”

  “If you do not change your heart, you, like me, will be cast to purgatory. The hell in which you’ve locked yourself on Earth with be the same hell you know in death. Loveless. Friendless. Trapped in darkness. That is the hell that awaits you unless you amend your ways. My spirit is abandoned in the middle place. I am neither dead nor alive. There is no heaven nor hell. I am a ghostly thing, doomed because I closed my heart off to my fellow man. Once, I was a woman full of love and light. I let life destroy that person. I changed. I loved nothing. No one. I murdered the dreamer and replaced her with a criminal. You will share my fate if you do not correct your course.”

  I stared at the figure before me. It was then that I realized Jacqueline wasn’t actually standing, she was floating.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I told Jacqueline. “You had to.”

  Jacqueline and I had initially entered out partnership due to a shared passion for the whimsical. But fate, it seemed, had an ironic sense of humor. Where we had come together as partners bent on creating mirth and joy, life had turned to darkness for both of us. Jacqueline’s husband, who’d once been a kind man, had taken to drink and treating his wife like a rag doll to beat or use as he saw fit. As if his abuse had not been enough, the scoundrel stole every pence Jacqueline had inherited from her parents. Leaving her broken-hearted and impoverished, Jacqueline’s husband had run off, never to be heard from again. As fate would have it, our business had also bottomed out at the same time as our lives—my own losses happening in tandem with Jacqueline’s. It was Jacqueline who’d started making deals in the alleyways of the dark districts of London and at The Mushroom, the watering hole for all of London’s scoundrels. Due to the Strawberry Hill Accords, it was getting more difficult for unsavory elements to get the kind of weapons they needed. That’s where Jaqueline and I had come in. We had skills, talent, and need. The distasteful types had money. It was a match made in hell. Two women, once tinkers and dreamers, had become weapons merchants. And two women, both nursing broken hearts, had sealed themselves off from the rest of the world, walling out life to escape their miseries.

  “I chose to. I did not have to. No more than you have to,” Jacqueline told me. “I chose badly…on many counts.”

  I stared at the apparition before me. It was her, but it couldn’t be. “This can’t be real,” I whispered.

  “Can’t it? Once, we had the imagination to env
ision such things. Once, our hearts and minds dwelled in the realm of the impossible. But in our griefs, we fell into the darkness together. I never returned to the light. But you can.”

  “You’re dead. Gone.”

  “Yes, I am. But on this night only, I have been permitted to enter the visible plane to warn you. To try to save you.”

  “Warn me? Of what?”

  “Tonight, you will be visited by three ghosts. Heed their cries. Listen to their words. I beg you. Once, we were like sisters. I would not see my sister suffer the same fate as myself. I know what hardened your heart. I know the pain you endured. But you must find joy again. You must move past the darkness. Listen well to the three spirits who will attend you. If you don’t change your ways, you will become my partner in damnation as much as you were in life.”

  “Jacqs,” I whispered.

  She pressed closer to me, her boney hand extended as if she was going to touch my face.

  “No,” I whispered. Closing my eyes, I looked away.

  “Ebbie,” she whispered in a tender voice. “Ebony, come back to the light. I beg you. Listen, before it’s too late.”

  A chill washed over me.

  My heart pounding in my chest, I opened my eyes to find myself alone in my bedroom once more.

  The fireplace was burning cheerfully, casting an orange glow around the room. It was only a few minutes after midnight.

  I gasped. Breathing hard, I scanned the room. I was alone.

  I set my pistol down on the table beside the chair, wedging it in between the cup of tea and plate of biscuits.

  “A dream,” I whispered. Christmas. The damned holiday had me thinking of the past. Between my old memories and seeing the carousel horse at the workshop, I’d fallen asleep thinking of things better left forgotten.

  Feeling annoyed, I sat back down. As I closed my eyes, I remembered the day Jacqueline and I had hung the sign over our front door: Scrooge and Marley’s Wonder and Marvels Studio. We’d been so proud, smiling and laughing, two young women, gifted tinkers, dreamers.