Read Online A Clockwork Fairytale by Helen Scott Taylor - Free Book Online

During her reading and writing lessons in the library, he was serious and strict. But at night when he taught her the skyways routes, jumping streets and skylarking, he relaxed and became more like a friend than a master. She enjoyed being with him, liked the deep tone of his voice and his lemon-spice smell. She even dreamed about him at night.
    “So why’re you dressed up all la-di-da?” Melba asked breezily, trying to sound casual.
    Master Turk glanced up, his gaze traveling over her curiously. Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment and she pulled down the hem of her jacket, hoping her bumps didn’t show. She decided to distract him. She’d quickly learned what type of comments he considered unladylike, and she loved baiting him. “I’m getting a big arse with all the grub you’re feeding me.”
    He’d just as quickly grown wise to her teasing. He tried to frown, but the corners of his mouth twitched. Melba’s heart jigged with pleasure. When he smiled, he looked younger and even more attractive.
    “Today you’ll be my box boy,” he said, setting aside his newssheet.
    “What’s a box boy?”
    “Would you believe that it’s a boy who carries boxes?” Master Turk picked up a flat brown box big enough to hold a folded suit of clothes and held it out.
    Melba pulled down the peak of the cap hiding her burgeoning blonde curls and saluted like the bluejackets, clicking her boot heels together. “Right you are, sir.”
    Master Turk shook his head, fighting his smile as she took the empty box. “We’re going to Sugar Street Market,” he said turning toward the front door.
    “Golly, that’s the nob’s market. Won’t no one rumble I’m a girl?”
    “‘Won’t no one’ is a double negative, Mel. You should say ‘won’t anyone’… and you’re safe. The wealthy don’t notice servants. Just don’t talk too much and you’ll be fine.”
    He grabbed his top hat and cane and led her out of the door to the small private quay on the canal. A flat wooden punt was moored outside, the punter in his traditional red jacket and cap standing in the stern, leaning on his pole.
    Turk sat on the padded bench to the fore of the craft and Melba took the seat behind him and rested the box on her knees. The punter pushed off with his pole and the boat joined the throng of crafts navigating the canal around the inner circle.
    For a few minutes, Melba watched the tall palaces with their shuttered windows and ornate balconies slide past, then her attention wandered back to Master Turk. His black silk top hat gleamed in the sun and the amber gems in his ears sparkled. Gwinnie had cut his hair a few days ago, but a tiny bunch of strands on the back of his neck curled in defiance of the tidiness. Melba grinned at the secret curl and decided she wouldn’t tell him about it because he’d only cut it off.
    The muted chatter of people in the other boats drifted across the water and she was lulled into a sleepy haze by the warm sun and the gentle swishing against the hull. After ten minutes, the cries of market vendors grew louder as the buildings on the left of the canal gave way to an open area full of multicolor striped canopies.
    Master Turk angled around on his seat to face her. “Your instructions for today are twofold: I want you to keep your eyes peeled for anything you think is interesting and you’re also to watch the young ladies and note how they comport themselves. When we get home, I’ll expect a report on the first and a demonstration of the second.”
    “What does ‘comport’ mean?”
    “I want you to watch how they behave; notice how they move and how they interact with each other and with the gentlemen. There are social rules and etiquette you need to learn if you’re going to fit in well enough to be a spy.”
    Melba groaned and rolled her eyes. She’d worn trousers while Master Turk took her all over the city at dusk and nighttime learning the skyways. She’d even got away with wearing trousers during