The Toyminator

12

Now Jack felt that he could understand a clockwork orchestra. In a way. Which is to say that he understood the principles involved. A clockwork orchestra was an orchestra of automata – clockwork figures programmed, as it were, to perform a series of pre-planned tasks, to pluck certain strings, to touch certain keys, to finger certain notes. In fact Jack, with his knowledge of clockwork, apprenticed as he had been in a factory that produced clockwork figures, felt confident that he had the ability to personally create a reasonably efficient and melodic clockwork orchestra. It was only down to knowing how clockwork functioned and what it was capable of.

But the trouble was.

The trouble was, as the trouble had been ever since Jack had first arrived in Toy City, in what now felt to him like a distant past, the trouble was that the clockwork orchestra playing beneath him was actually playing. These were not simple (or indeed complex) automata going through their mechanical motions. No, not a bit of it. These were clockwork musicians, but they were real musicians. They actually played, and some of them sometimes hit the wrong notes.

They really played. They thought. They used their skills.

But clockwork brains? It was a mystery to Jack. It had always been a mystery and it remained a mystery still.

Jack glanced at Eddie. The little bear looked out anxiously over the audience, down upon the clockwork orchestra. That bear, as Jack knew, had nothing in his head but sawdust. Yet he thought, saw, heard, felt. Loved.

It was above and beyond a mystery. And although Jack felt certain that his own senses – those of a living, breathing man – did not deceive him, that he really was here in Toy City, a city where toys lived and moved of their own accord, it was beyond his comprehension as to how. And Jack knew that he cared for these ersatz creatures, these living toys. He wished no harm to come to them. In fact, like Eddie, he wished that something could be done to ease their lot, which was for the most part a pretty rotten one.

Jack looked out once more towards the orchestra: they were hammering into the overture. Going at it with gusto. These thinking, feeling clockwork musicians knew nothing of the threat that was presently hanging over them, that at any moment the terrible light might strike and their very essences would be torn from their bodies.

“Eddie!” bawled Jack. “We have to get down there. To the stage.”

“You do have a plan?” Eddie bawled back.

“I need the toilet,” bawled Jack.

“You need what?”

Jack and Eddie left the royal box. There was no one in the corridor. Jack located the nearest gentlemen’s toilet.

“Bottle job, is it?” Eddie asked.

“Just give me a minute, please. Wait here.”

Jack slipped into the gentlemen’s toilet, closing the door behind him. He locked himself into the nearest stall and withdrew from his trenchcoat Wallah the calculating pocket.

“You’ve a lovely soft hand,” crooned Wallah.

“Yes,” said Jack, “I’m sure I have. Now, you must help us, please. You were absolutely right about the orchestra being the next target and I’m still not certain how you arrived at your calculations.”

“That’s because I haven’t explained it to you,” said Wallah, in a husky tone. “And it’s not really necessary that I do, is it?”

“No,” said Jack, “not at the moment. But please, tell me, what should Eddie and I do next? The murderers are already in the building and they could strike at any moment. Eddie and I have to stop them.”

“Well then, my dearest –” said Wallah.

“Dearest?” said Jack.

“Well, you’re such a dear boy.”

“Please tell me,” said Jack. “I don’t know what to do.”

Wallah did snugglings into the palm of Jack’s hand. “You’ll need a plan,” she whispered.

“Yes,” said Jack, “and very fast indeed.”

“Then hold me up to your ear and let me whisper.”

Jack emerged from the gentlemen’s toilet.

“All right now?” Eddie asked. “I hope you didn’t forget to wash your hands.”

“I have a plan,” said Jack.

“Now, that’s a coincidence,” Eddie said, “for I have a plan as well.”

“Nice,” said Jack. “But my plan is this –”

“You’ll want to hear mine first,” said Eddie.

“No I won’t,” said Jack.

“Oh, I think you will – mine is a real blinder. It’s as brilliant as.”

“Mine is calculated to achieve optimum success,” said Jack.

“Ooh,” went Eddie. “Optimum success.”

“Time,” went Jack, doing wristwatch tappings, “time is surely running out.”

“Then we’ll run backstage and on the way I will explain to you my plan.”

“And if it doesn’t conflict with mine, we’ll put it into operation.”

“Jack, there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“You know there is.”

“Then tell me, please.”

“I won’t.”

And the two took to jogging down the corridor.

It’s really quite easy to move about unseen, as it were, in a big Opera House when a production is underway. After all, the audience are in their seats, the front-of-house staff, who are not required again until the half-time rush for the bar, are outside having a fag and discussing what rubbish they think the production is and how much better they could do it themselves. The technical staff are deeply engaged in their technical stuff, gaffers are gaffing and best boys, who don’t really have a role to play in the running of a successful ballet, and who would be better off getting back to whatever movies they should be being the bestest of boys on, are generally to be found in the stars’ dressing rooms, sniffing the roses and drinking champagne out of glass slippers. But some folk have all the luck and best boys have most of it.

And so it really is quite easy to move about unseen, behind the scenes, as it were, in a big Opera House when a production is under way.

“Up this way,” said Eddie.

“Might I ask why?” Jack asked.

“It’s part of my plan. Any objection?”

“Actually, no,” said Jack. “It’s part of my plan also.”

Jack and Eddie were backstage now, that wonderful place where all the flats are weighted down and there are big ropes everywhere and curiously it smells a bit like a stable.[16] Unlike the front of the stage. Which smells quite unlike a stage.

As a matter of interest for those who have never attended a ballet, or those who have attended a ballet but sat either up in the circle or further back in the stalls, it is to be noted that if you are ever offered front-row stall seats to the ballet, do not accept them. If you do attend the ballet, take a look at the front row of stalls seats. Notice how few folk are sitting there, and how uncomfortable these folk look.

Why? you might well ask. What is all this about? you also might ask. Well, the answer is this: what you can smell when you sit in the front row of the ballet is a certain smell. And it is a smell quite unlike stables. What you can smell when you sit in the front row of the ballet is …

Ballet dancers’ feet.

Why ballet dancers’ feet smell quite so bad is anybody’s guess. Probably because ballet dancers work so hard that they don’t have time to wash their feet as often they should, would be anybody’s reasonable guess.

But there it is.

Never accept front-row seats for the ballet.

Never.

Understood?[17]

“Why does this backstage smell of stables?” Jack asked Eddie.

“Because of the hay bales that are used as ‘running chuffs’.”

“Ah,” said Jack. “But what are –”

“This way,” said Eddie.

“That was the way I was going,” said Jack. “But what are –”

“Let’s hurry,” said Eddie. “I have a very bad feeling coming upon me, and as you know, we bears are noted for our sense of –”

“Let’s just hurry,” said Jack.

And so they hurried and presently they found themselves, and indeed each other, upon a high gantry, which held the above-stage lighting rigs. There were lots of ropes all about and wires and cables, too.

“We’re here,” said Eddie.

“Yes we are,” said Jack. “About this plan of yours.”

“Let me ask you just one thing,” said Eddie. “Does your plan involve a chandelier?”

“Actually, it does,” said Jack.

“Mine, too,” said Eddie.

“Well, what a coincidence that is.”

“Really?” Eddie raised his imaginary eyebrows. “And yet this is an Opera House, and we did meet the Phantom of the Opera. And the one thing everyone remembers about the Phantom of the Opera, and indeed associates with operas, is the big chandelier that hangs above the centre of the stage. Which gets dropped upon someone.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” said Jack.

“Nor me,” said Eddie. “I just made that bit up to pass some time.”

“Oh,” said Jack. “Why?”

“Because that,” said Eddie, and he pointed with a paw, “is a very big chandelier and I’m not exactly certain how we’ll be able to drop a thing that size on anyone.”

“Aha,” said Jack. “Gotcha.”

“Gotcha?” said Eddie. “What means this odd word?”

“It means that my calculated plan extends a little further than your own. I know exactly how to drop that chandelier upon the evildoers.”

“Assuming of course they stand directly beneath it when we do the dropping,” Eddie said.

“Eddie,” said Jack, “let’s face it: it’s a pretty preposterous idea. But this is a pretty preposterous situation. All of this is utterly ludicrous.”

“When you put it like that, how can we fail?”

“Well said. Now bung your furry ear hole in my direction and let me whisper into it.”

And so Jack whispered. And when his whispering was done, which, it has to be said, was quite loud whispering as it had to make itself heard above the spirited strains of the orchestra beneath, Jack straightened and Eddie looked up at him.

And then Eddie said, “No way.”

“No way?” said Jack.

“Absolutely no way,” said Eddie. “What do you take me for? You’ll get me killed.”

“It will work,” said Jack. “You’ll be fine. It’s a calculated risk.”

“I won’t be fine, I’ll die. You do it.”

“I can’t do it. It has to be you.”

“And what do I do it with?”

“You do it with a spanner. This spanner.”

“And where did you find that?”

“Backstage, next to the ‘thunder sheet’.”

“And what’s a –”

“Don’t start with me. I know you made up ‘running chuffs’.”

“But I’ve only got paws, Jack. No hands with fingers and opposable thumbs.”

“It’ll only take a few turns – you’ll manage.”

“Oh, look,” said Eddie. “The ballet has begun.”

Now ballets and operas have several things in common. Swanky costumes they have in common, and too much stage make-up. And music, of course – they are both traditionally very musical affairs. But the most notable thing that they share is the storyline. The one thing that you can always be assured of if you go to the opera or the ballet is, in the case of the opera, lots of really good loud singing, and in the case of the ballet, lots of really wonderful dancing, and in the case of both, really rubbish storylines.

They are rubbish. They always are. You always know what’s coming next. Who the baddy is and who the goody. The jokes, such as they are, are telegraphed a mile off. Rubbish, they all are. Rubbish.

Eddie watched the dancers a-dancing beneath. Very pretty dancing dolls they were, of the variety that pop out of musical boxes, only bigger.

“What is this ballet all about?” he asked Jack.

“Boy sees girl, villain sees girl, boy meets girl, villain sees boy meet girl, boy gets parted from girl due to villain’s villany, boy remeets girl and boy gets girl in the end.”

“And that’s the story?” Eddie asked.

“Yes,” said Jack. “Clever, isn’t it?”

“That would be irony, would it?”

Jack said, “We should be doing our stuff!”

Eddie said, “I don’t want to!”

Beneath them, dolly ballerinas twirled. The hero, a wooden dolly who given the bulge in his tights apparently had wood on, did pluckings up on the heroine and twistings of her round in the air and the doing of something that is called a pas de deux. And also a full-tilt whirly-tronce, a double chuff-muffin rundle and a three-point turn with the appropriate hand signals and other marvellous things of a quite balletic nature.

The villain of the piece, imaginatively costumed in black, lurked in the limelight at stage left, posturing in a menacing fashion and glowering ’neath overlarge painted eyebrows.

Eddie said, “Don’t do this to me, Jack.”

Jack said, “It has to be done.”

And then Jack did it, but did it with care. He lifted Eddie from his paw pads, raised him to shoulder height and then hurled him. Eddie, wearing the face of terror, soared out over the dancers beneath. Jack buried his face in his hands and prayed for a God to believe in and wished Eddie well. And Eddie landed safely in the topmost crystal nestings of the mighty Opera House chandelier.

Unseen by dancers, orchestra or audience.

Jack peeped out through his fingers and breathed a mighty sigh. Eddie clung to the chandelier and growled in a bitter fashion. Jack waved heartily to Eddie.

Eddie raised a paw to wave back and all but fell to his death. Jack rootled the spanner from a nameless pocket and waggled it at Eddie.

Eddie steadied himself in his crystal nest and prepared to do catchings.

And it could have been tricky. In fact, it could have been disastrous. That spanner could have fallen, down and down onto dancers beneath. But it didn’t, for it was a calculated throw.

And Eddie caught that spanner between his paws and offered a thumbless thumbs-up back to Jack.

And Eddie peeped down from his lofty crystal eyrie. Through twinkling crystals, which presented the world beneath as one magical, he viewed the dancers, the orchestra and even the backstage, smelling of stables, which lurked behind the flats. It was a pretty all-encompassing overview, and one that brought no little sense of awe to Eddie Bear.

And of course bears are noted for their tree-climbing abilities and fearlessness of heights.

Eddie clung to the chandelier, and if he had had knuckles, these would at this time have been white. As would his face. From fear.

Jack grinned over at Eddie. “Bears are noted for their tree-climbing abilities and fearlessness of heights,” he said to himself, “so Eddie will be fine.”

Beneath, the villain enticed the heroine. Well, menaced was better the word. But as he did this via the medium of skilful dance, a degree of menace was lost.

And Jack looked down from on high, as did Eddie, and then Jack saw what Eddie saw, although from a different perspective.

Along the backstage the two of them crept, one Jack and the other one Eddie. The Jack carried two large suitcases. The Jack upon high’s eyes widened, though the Eddie upon high’s could not. Jack now did blinkings and rubbings at his eyes. That was him below. It really was. Though of course it really wasn’t. But it looked like him and walked like him, or at least Jack thought that it did.

Although it didn’t look altogether right. Jack screwed up his eyes and did long-distance squintings. What was wrong with this picture?

“He’s the wrong way round,” whispered Jack. “Oh no, he’s not – it’s just that I’ve never seen myself like that. I’ve only seen myself in a mirror.” And Jack did frantic wavings of the hands towards Eddie. Frantic mimings of a spanner being turned.

But Eddie wasn’t looking at Jack. Eddie was looking down upon his other self. “Damn fine-looking bear,” said Eddie to his own self. “Anders Imperial. Cinnamon plush coat …”

Down below, backstage, the other Eddie and the other Jack were unpacking the contents of the suitcases and assembling some rather snazzy-looking hi-tech equipment.

Above, Jack’s motions to Eddie became ever more frantic. Jack sought things to throw at the bear.

Eddie gawped at his other self. It was a damn fine-looking bear, but what was it? Spaceman? Space chicken? What? Where had it come from? Why did it look like him? Why was it doing whatever it was it was doing? And whatever was it doing?

Eddie now glanced in Jack’s direction. Jack seemed to be doing a foolish dance.

“Spanner!” mouthed Jack. “Release the chandelier,” he mouthed also.

“Ah,” went Eddie. “Oh, yes.”

Beneath the two detectives, their other selves, the other Eddie and the other Jack, appeared to have concluded the setting up of their hi-tech and Hellish apparatus. The Jack was now adjusting settings, twiddling dials, making final preparations.

Eddie on high laboured with the spanner – not easy between teddy paws – at the great nut and bolt that secured the chandelier to the ceiling above.[18]

Ballet dancers twisted and twirled. The villain, who wouldn’t get around to stabbing the hero until at least the third act, did more posturing and glowering with his eyebrows. The orchestra did the slow bit that involved violins.

The other Jack did straightenings up and rubbings of his hands.

Eddie struggled with the spanner. It was a tricky nut.

Jack glanced here and there and everywhere, down at the dancers, up at Eddie, down at their other selves, out towards the orchestra. Jack felt helpless. He was helpless.

Eddie continued his struggling, but the tricky nut wouldn’t budge.

“What do I do? What do I do?” Jack took to flapping his hands and doing a kind of tap dance.

Something tweaked him hard in the groin. Jack ceased his kind of tap dance.

“Ow,” went Jack. “Who did that to me?”

His groin got tweaked once again.

“Stop it! Oh, it’s you.” And Jack drew Wallah from his trenchcoat and held her to his ear.

“My calculations regarding the nut-turning potential of the bear would appear to be incorrect by a factor of one-point-five,” said Wallah. “It will be necessary for you to jump from the gantry onto the chandelier and turn the nut yourself. Do take care to cling onto something safe when the chandelier falls.”

“What?” went Jack.

“It’s a calculated risk,” said Wallah. “And as I will be with you and I care about you, believe me, it is the product of most careful and meticulous calculation.”

“I can’t do that,” said Jack. “I can’t.”

Eddie struggled hopelessly to turn the nut.

Lights began to pulse on the hi-tech apparatus far below.

“No,” said Jack. “I can’t. I can’t.”

A big white light began to grow backstage.

“No,” said Jack. And he climbed onto the handrail of the gantry. “No, I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I … ooooooh.”

And Jack leapt into the wide blue yonder, as it’s sometimes known. And he soared, as in slow motion, and struck the mighty crystal chandelier. And did scrabblings. And did clawings. And did grippings. And did holdings on.

And did sighings.

And.

“Hello there, Jack,” said Eddie. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“They’re …” Jack huffed and puffed and clung on also and climbed a bit, too, until he was level with Eddie. “They’re going to blast the orchestra. We have to drop the chandelier upon them.”

“Such was my plan,” said Eddie, “but I cannot shift the nut.”

“Let me.” And Jack took the spanner.

And down below the other Jack’s fingers hovered above a big red button. And the other Jack looked down towards the other Eddie. And the other Jack smiled and the other Eddie smiled back. And those smiles were evil smiles. And the other Jack’s finger pressed down upon the blood-red button.

And above, Jack fought with the tricky nut. “It’s a tricky nut,” said he.

“Get twisting,” howled Eddie, looking fearfully below. “Oh no – something terrible’s happening.”

The white and awful light spread out from the hi-tech whatnot. It penetrated the rear of the stage flat, emerged through the painted backdrop and spread out onto the stage. The ballet dancers shielded their eyes, ceased their pirouetting and fled in confusion. The clockwork orchestra engaged in orchestration played on regardless, regardless.

“Twist the blighter,” Eddie further howled.

The awful light flooded the stage.

Other howls went up now, these from the audience. The explosion of light blinded their eyes and folk rose from their seats in confusion.

Jack got a purchase upon that nut. “I think it’s giving!” he said.

The other Jack adjusted controls, did twistings of his own of buttons rather than nuts. The terrible light swept out from the stage and dipped down into the orchestra pit.

And it fell upon the orchestra. Musicians rose to take flight, to escape from a terrible something. Dread. And panic. And confusion.

“Hurry, Jack, hurry!” cried Eddie.

“I’m hurrying.” Jack put his back to his work. The chandelier swung beneath him. Crystals shook. Jack forced at the nut, and the nut began slowly to turn.

But now terrible cries and screams came from the orchestra.

And terrible cracklings and poppings and sounds of hideous horribleness.

“Swing it,” cried Eddie. “As you turn that nut, swing the chandelier – we have to drop it right on top of these monsters. And quick please, Jack, the musicians are dying. They’re killing them, Jack.”

“I’m trying. I’m trying. Oh!”

And off came the nut, away from the bolt.

And …

“Nothing’s happening!” Jack shouted.

“You’ll have to kick the bolt out,” Eddie shouted back.

“And how will I do that?”

“Use this!”

The voice came in a shouted form from the lighting gantry. Upon this now stood the Phantom of the Opera. He held a hammer in his hand.

“Catch it and knock out the bolt.” And the Phantom threw the hammer. And Jack caught the hammer. And Jack used the hammer. And Jack knocked out the bolt.

And then things happened in sort of slow motion. In the way that they would if this were a movie (instead of real life, as it obviously was!).

Jack knocked out the bolt.

And the bolt spiralled away into space.

And the chandelier fell (in slow motion, of course).

And the light beneath penetrated the orchestra, bored its way into their very beings, sucked away at their very soul-stuff.

And the chandelier fell.

And with it fell Eddie and Jack.

And down went that chandelier. Down and down upon the other Jack and the other Eddie, who at its coming down looked up to see it doing that very thing.

And down too went Eddie and Jack.

And the orchestra, writhing and dying in the terrible light.

And the chandelier falling.

And now the Phantom, gripping a dangling rope. Swinging down from the gantry.

And the chandelier falling.

And the other Jack and the other Eddie looking up.

And the orchestra dying.

And the Phantom swinging (normal action now, not slow motion).

And he gathers up Jack and Eddie as they fall, sweeps onward, lands them and himself all safely upon another gantry, just lower down on the other side of the stage.

Nice work.

And the chandelier smashes down (normal action).

And explodes.

Into a million crystal fragments.

Spiralling crystals fly in all directions, which you can do really well with CGI nowadays.

And the awful light dies.

And things go very dark.

And very still.

And cut!

That’s a take!

Well done, everyone.