A Clockwork Fairytale Read Online Free

at her. “You’ll be needing this.” She tossed a small black block and a scrap of cloth into the bathwater. Then she picked up Melba’s clothes between two fingers as though they were dead rats and headed for the door.
    “Oy, me clothes.” Melba started to rise, then remembered her nakedness and plopped back down with a splash. “You can’t take me clothes.”
    Gwinnie paused in the doorway and pursed her lips. “You’ll not be wearing this filthy tat in Turk’s house. I’ll bring you something more fitting.”
    “No!” Melba’s cry echoed off the blank walls of the bathhouse as Gwinnie pulled the door closed. Panic welled inside her. She had nothing to cover herself. Then she remembered that the pledge stone Turk had given her was in the secret pocket in her breeches. “Bring back me pants,” she yelled.
    Silence greeted her call. Gwinnie would have to bring her something to dry herself with and some clean clothes. She would ask about the pledge stone then. She took a calming breath. Get yourself clean, then you can get out and cover up.
    Melba scrabbled in the bottom of the bath and found the cloth and a black slab that she recognized as a cake of seaweed soap. She lathered the cloth and rubbed it over her body and head before dunking herself again. A brown, scummy crust covered the water. She wrinkled her nose. Had all that dirt really come off her? Maybe Master Turk was right and she had needed a bath.
    She scrubbed her feet until the skin was red, but she couldn’t clean all the dirt from the creases around her toes. Gwinnie came in so quietly Melba didn’t hear her arrive. “Scrub that mug of yours too, boy. Want me to do it?”
    Melba hugged her knees and shrank away from the old woman. “Leave me be.”
    Gwinnie laughed and dropped a large white cloth on the wooden chair in the far corner of the room. “Dry yourself with this. I’m going to find you some clean clothes.”
    Three times Melba soaped the cloth and scrubbed her face and head to make sure she would be clean enough to please Master Turk. Then she sat still and listened. When she was sure it was quiet outside, she climbed from the tub and darted across the room. Her wet feet skidded on the shiny tiles and she barreled into the chair, landing in a tangled heap with the towel over her head. Cursing, she scrambled up from the cold floor. As she pulled the towel off her head, an earsplitting cry came from the doorway.
    “You miserable little dollymop.” Gwinnie charged at her.
    Melba just had time to throw up an arm before Gwinnie started slapping at her face.
    “If you think you can entice Turk to take you into his bed, you’re wrong. He don’t want the likes of you.”
    Ducking, Melba escaped and dashed around to the opposite side of the bath. “I ain’t a dollymop. I want to be a spy.”
    “You miserable, conniving, scabby tart.”
    Melba pulled the towel around herself as best she could, but it wasn’t quite big enough to cover top and bottom. Gwinnie lunged around the bath and Melba ran to the other end, keeping the obstacle between them. “Bring me some clothes.”
    “I ain’t taking orders from a tart who’s after lying her way into me master’s bed.”
    “I do not want to get into Master Turk’s bed,” Melba shouted in desperation.
    “What’s this about my bed?” Master Turk appeared at the bathhouse door, his tall dark figure in stark contrast to the white walls.
    “This dollymop is after you,” Gwinnie spluttered.
    Master Turk frowned, his brown eyes focusing on Melba. She struggled to pull the towel up and down at the same time, which proved a wasted effort as Gwinnie darted forward and yanked the fabric out of her hands. Melba froze beneath Master Turk’s uncomprehending dark gaze. He opened his mouth and closed it again. Rather belatedly, he turned his back.
    “Give the girl her towel, Gwinnie, and fetch her some clothes,” he commanded in a clipped tone.
    A dark pall of desperation closed over Melba.