The Toyminator

13

“Oh my goodness,” croaked Eddie. “Are we still alive?”

“You are alive,” said the Phantom, lowering Eddie to the floor of the lower gantry, “and so is your companion.”

“That is not what I mean.” And Eddie craned what neck he had to peer down at the shattered chandelier. It had probably been a most expensive chandelier, but there wasn’t much of it left now. “I mean the other we, the other me and Jack – are they still alive?”

Jack took to peering, clinging to the gantry handrail, his knees now wobbling somewhat.

“Can you see?” Eddie asked. “Did we smash those blighters good?”

“I can’t see,” said Jack. “But I can see … Oh dear, Eddie.”

“What is it? What can you see?”

“The orchestra,” said Jack, and he said it in a strangled whisper. “It’s the orchestra, Eddie. All the musicians are dead.”

Eddie buried his face in his paws. “This is as bad as,” he said.

“Oh Eddie, I’m so sorry.” Jack leaned down and patted his friend. “I’m so very sorry. It’s all my fault.”

“All your fault?” Eddie looked up with a bitter face. “It’s not your fault, Jack. You did everything you could. You were as brave as. It was my fault. The fault of these stupid paws. I couldn’t turn the spanner. If only I’d had my hands –”

“You did your best,” said the Phantom in his or her (or its) toneless manner. “And you couldn’t be expected to have hands. Hands, indeed? You’d look like that creepy mayor. In fact –”

“It was my fault.” Eddie regarded with bitterness his fingerless, thumbless paws. “Everything has been my fault.”

“Stop it, Eddie,” said Jack. “You did what you could. I should have leapt over to the chandelier in the first place.”

“You were both very brave,” said the Phantom, “and you had no care for your own safety.”

“And you saved us both,” said Jack. “We owe you our lives.”

“Oh, it was nothing. The least I could do.”

“I won’t forget this,” Jack said.

Eddie sighed, and he so hated sighing. “We’d better go down,” he said. “There is nothing we can do for the orchestra, but if the other me and the other you are still alive down there, I’m going to see to it that they don’t remain so much longer.”

“Steady, Eddie,” said Jack.

“I’ll lead the way,” said the Phantom. “It’s a bit complicated, but it does involve another secret panel.”

“We could just go down these steps,” said Jack.

“What, and miss the secret panel?”

“It’s probably for the best,” Jack said.

And Jack led the way down the staircase to backstage. Much of the backdrop had collapsed beneath the fallen chandelier and Jack was able to look out across the empty stage, over the silent orchestra pit and the deserted auditorium.

Eddie Bear raised an ear. “I hear police sirens in the distance,” he said.

“Let’s make haste, then,” said Jack, and he began to sift amongst the ruination that had been the chandelier.

“Anything?” Eddie asked.

“You might help,” said Jack.

“No, I might not,” said Eddie. “That’s a lot of broken glass – I could cut myself and lose my stuffing.”

Jack did further siftings and added some rootlings to these. “There’s something,” he said.

“Bodies?” Eddie asked. Hopefully.

“No,” said Jack. “Their machine is here, all broken in pieces. Which is something, though not very much.”

“But no bodies?”

“No,” said Jack. “Ah, I see.”

“You see bodies?”

“I don’t see bodies. But what I do see is the trap door.”

“And it’s open, I suppose.” Eddie made low growling sounds. “They’ve escaped.”

Jack was dragging ruined chandelier to this side and the other. “Then we’ll go after them,” he said.

“What? When they seem capable of vanishing away in a puff of smoke? Like my one did at Old King Cole’s?”

“I don’t think they’ll find it quite so easy this time,” Jack said. “Their machine is busted, after all.”

“Their killing machine? What has that to do with them making their escape?”

“It has to double as a means of transportation, surely?”

“That doesn’t really follow,” said the Phantom, who hadn’t said much lately and had done absolutely no rootling or sifting either. “You are making a supposition there that is not based on any empirical evidence.”

“Please keep out of this,” said Jack. “You saved our lives and for that we are extremely grateful, but Eddie and I must now pursue these monsters. Pursue them to their lair.”

“And destroy them,” said Eddie.

“Well, apprehend them, at least.”

“Destroy them,” said Eddie. “At least.”

“Well, we’ll see how things take shape when we catch up with them.”

“And how will we do that?” Eddie asked.

Jack now made a certain face. “Now, excuse me,” he said, “but don’t I recall you telling me at some time or another – yesterday, in fact – how bears are noted for their tracking abilities?”

“Ah, yes,” said Eddie. And he sniffed. “And I have the scent of the other me in my nostril parts right now.”

“Then sniff on please, Mister Bear,” said Jack.

“Mister Bear,” said Eddie. “I like that, Mister Bear.”

“Then sniff on, if you will.”

“I will.”

Jack thanked the Phantom once more and promised that he would return as soon as matters were sorted and take he, she or it out for a beer, or a cocktail, or a measure of motor oil. Or something. Eddie Bear too said his thanks and then he and Jack descended into the void that lay, uninvitingly, beneath the open trap door.

And not before time, as it happened, for now laughing policemen swarmed into the auditorium. And rushed in the direction of the stage. But there they found nothing, for the trap door was closed and the Phantom had melted away.

“Which way?” Jack asked. “I can’t see a thing.”

“Follow Mister Bear,” said Eddie. “And I’m here – stick out your hand.”

And Jack followed Eddie and Eddie Bear sniffed the way ahead. Which just went to show how subtle a bear’s smelling sense can be, considering the stink of all that business down there.

“They might be hiding down here,” Jack whispered, “waiting to get us.”

“They’re not,” said Eddie. “My nose tells me that. But if they’re still upon our world, then Mister Bear will find them.”

Jack was about to voice words to the effect that he might soon grow tired of Eddie calling himself Mister Bear, but then he considered that he probably wouldn’t. Mister Bear sounded good; it lent Eddie dignity.

“After you, Mister Bear,” said Jack.

And Mister Bear led on. And soon he and Jack were no longer in the Opera House; they were outside in the car park. Police car roof lights flashed around this car park, and Eddie and Jack moved with stealth.

“Actually, why are we moving with stealth?” Jack asked.

“Because,” said Eddie, “this would be the moment when the misidentification scenario kicks in and we both get arrested.”

“I’ll bet I can move with more stealth than you,” Jack said.

“And I’ll bet you cannot.”

Eddie did further sniffings at the evening air. “To use one of your favourite words,” he said, “damn.”

“They took a car, didn’t they?” Jack asked.

“That is what they did, but I can still track them. We’ll just have to get the Anders Faircloud and skirt around the police cordon until I can pick up the scent again.”

“Right,” said Jack, and he plucked up Eddie. “Then let’s do this fast.” And with that Jack took to his heels in a stealthy kind of a way.

There followed then far more skirting around the police cordon than either Eddie or Jack might have hoped for. Jack drove with his head down, but Eddie had to stick his out of the window.

They were outside Tinto’s Bar when Eddie picked up the scent once more.

“That’s typical,” said Eddie. “How dearly I’d like a beer.”

“Beers later, justice first,” said Jack.

“Nice phrase,” said Eddie. “We could put that on the door of the office. And on our business cards. Put your foot down, Jack, that way.”

Jack now put his foot down, but the car just poodled along.

“I’ll paint it on the door of the car, too,” said Jack. “After I’ve given it a service.”

And so they moved off, in cold pursuit. Which indeed was a shame, because there’s nothing like a good car chase to spice things up. A good car chase always has the edge, even over falling chandeliers.

Eddie kept on sniffing and Jack kept on driving.

And sometime later Eddie said, “We’re getting close now, Jack.”

And Jack looked out through the windscreen and said, “We’re approaching Toy Town again.”

“Damn,” said Eddie once more, and he smote his head with a paw. “It was obvious they’d return here. We should have reasoned it out. We’ve wasted too much time.”

“We might still have the element of surprise on our side.” Jack switched off the headlights and the car did poodlings to a halt. “Down the hillside once more,” said Jack, “and this time we’ll keep a careful lookout. Any big bright lights and we run like bitches.”

“Like what?” Eddie asked.

“Lady dogs,” said Jack. “What did you think I meant?”

And down the hillside they went, through those briars and that gorse and even those nettles and stuff. And Jack held Eddie above them all, and troubled not about his trenchcoat.[19]

“To Bill’s house, is it?” whispered Jack.

“That’s what my nose tells me,” said Eddie.

Across the yellow-bricked road they went, across the town square and through that darkened alley. Finally, Jack set Eddie down.

“You could have walked the last bit,” he said.

“I was conserving my energy.”

“Still have the key?”

“Of course.”

But Jack didn’t need it. The door to Bill Winkie’s was open.

“Stay here,” said Jack. “I’ll go inside and see what’s what.”

“What’s what?” Eddie asked.

“This is neither the time nor the place,” Jack said, and he slipped into the house.

And presently returned.

“They’re not in there,” Jack told Eddie.

“No,” said Eddie. “But all those guns are.”

And so the two detectives went inside and availed themselves of weapons. Jack did mighty cockings of a mightier firepiece.

“The old M134 7.62mmm General Clockwork Mini-gun,” said Jack. “My all-time favourite.”

“Everyone’s all-time favourite,” said Eddie, “but somewhat heavy for me and tricky to fire without fingers.” And Eddie selected weaponry that was built with the bear in mind.

“And now?” Jack asked as he slipped bandoliers of bullets over his shoulders and tucked grenades in his pockets.

“Payback time,” said Eddie.

That full moon was in the sky once more, silver-plating rooftops, and a chill was in the air. Jack turned up his collar and Eddie sniffed the chillified air.

“Follow me,” said Eddie Bear, and with that said led the way.

They threaded their way through alleyways, and up front paths and out of back gardens and finally Eddie said, “Stop a minute, Jack. That’s where they went. Up there.”

Jack looked up, up the hill he looked, the hill that rose up behind the conurbation that was Toy Town. The hill upon which those great letters stood. Those letters that had once spelt out TOYTOWNLAND.

“Up there?” Jack said. “But what’s up there, anyway?”

Eddie shook his head.

“And on the other side of the hill, what?”

Eddie shook his head once more. “I’ve never been to the other side of that hill,” he said. “In fact …” and he paused.

So Jack asked, “What?”

“Oh, it’s a crazy thing,” said Eddie. “A silly thing. It’s just what some toys believe.”

“Well, go on then and tell me.”

“No,” said Eddie. “You’ll laugh.”

“I’m really not in a laughing mood right now.”

“It’s a silly thing, it’s nothing at all.”

“Just tell me, Eddie.”

“Did you say ‘Just tell me, Mister Bear’?”

“I did.”

And so Eddie told him. “It’s just a belief, a myth, probably, but it’s what we were brought up to believe. I was told by Bill when I was his bear never to wander up that hill, because if I did, I’d be lost.”

“That’s fair enough,” said Jack. “Bill cared about you. You were his bear. He loved you, he didn’t want you to get lost.”

“Not get lost, Jack. Be lost.”

“Get lost, be lost, what’s the difference, Edd – Mister Bear?”

“The difference is,” said Mr Eddie Bear, “that I would be lost. The theory was that that hill marks the end of Toy Town – the end of everything, in fact. Beyond that hill is nothing. If you went over that hill you’d fall off the edge of the world and be gone for ever.”

“Well, that is silly,” said Jack.

“There,” said Eddie. “I knew you’d say that. I wish I hadn’t told you now.”

“Hang on there,” said Jack. “Hold on, if you will.”

Eddie didn’t know what to hold on to, so he stood his ground.

“Beyond that hill lies the end of this world – that’s what you were told?”

Eddie nodded and continued standing his ground.

“Eddie,” said Jack, “look up there – what do you see?”

“A dark and threatening hillside,” said Eddie. “Well, threatening to me.”

“Yes, I can see that, but what else?”

“The Toy Town letters, that’s all.”

“Eddie, look at those letters and tell me what you see.”

“Not much – most of them are gone. I see ‘TO TO LA’.”

“And beyond that lies the end of this world?”

“Look, it’s just what I was told. You believe these things when you’re young.”

“Wake up, Eddie,” said Jack. “Look at the letters. What do they say? What do they tell you about the beyond?”

“About the beyond?” And Eddie scratched at his head.

“You’re not going to get it, are you?” Jack said. “Even though it’s there, staring you in the face?”

Eddie Bear looked up at Jack. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Wake up, Eddie,” said Jack once more. “You’ve used the phrase yourself enough times. Something about ‘Beyond The –’”

“Second Big O,” said the suddenly enlightened Eddie. “Beyond The Second Big O.”

“Exactly,” said Jack. “And there it is, The Second Big O in what once spelt TOYTOWNLAND. That’s where these invaders have come from. They come from Beyond The Second Big O – and that is The Second Big O.”

Eddie Bear looked up at Jack. “You genius,” he said.

“Well, thank you, Mister Bear,” said Jack, “but I just reasoned it out. That’s what we detectives do, reason it out.”

“Or calculate,” said Eddie, “As in the Opera House business. Do you feel up to confiding in me about that yet?”

“Later,” said Jack. “For now we have to get after the murderers. What does your nose tell you, Eddie?”

“It tells me,” said Eddie, dismally, “that that is the way they went. Beyond The Second Big O.” Eddie sniffed. “Through The Second Big O.”

“Then that’s where we’re going. Come.” And Jack set off. And then Jack turned. “Come on, then,” he said.

But Eddie once more stood his ground. Most firmly so, in fact.

“Well, come on then, Eddie,” said Jack. “Let’s go, come on now.”

“Ah,” said Eddie and Eddie stood firm.

“Come on now,” said Jack.

“I can’t,” said Eddie. “I just can’t come.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I can’t go through there,” Eddie said. “We must call Bellis, get him to employ troops, send an armed task force through, if he will. If he dares.”

“Dare?” said Jack. “What’s to dare? We’ve got weapons, Eddie. Stop this foolishness, come on.”

“I can’t come on, Jack. I can’t. It’s the end of my world up there. I don’t know what will happen if I leave my world.”

“There’s only the two of them. We’re a match for them.”

“There isn’t just two, Jack. If there’s another world beyond that O, then there could be a whole worldful, another whole worldful and not yours or mine.”

“You don’t know what’s there and you won’t know until we’ve gone through and found out. Those monsters that are impersonating us have killed your kind, Eddie, many now of your kind. They’ll return and kill more if we don’t stop them.”

“We’ll lie in wait, then,” said Eddie.

“You can walk,” said Jack, “of your own accord, or else I’ll carry you.”

“You wouldn’t!” Eddie drew back in alarm. “You wouldn’t treat me like that.”

“All right, I wouldn’t, but I’m pleading with you, Eddie. Let’s go after them now, before the scent goes cold. We’ll be careful and I’m damn sure that they won’t be expecting us.”

“You don’t understand,” said Eddie. “You didn’t grow up here.”

Jack looked down at Eddie Bear. The bear was clearly shivering.

“You are afraid,” said Jack. “You really are.”

“Yes I am, Jack. I really am.”

Jack cocked his head from one side to the other. “You knew,” said he. “You’ve known all along.”

“Know what?” said Eddie. “What did I know?”

“You knew what the phrase meant. Beyond The Second O. If you grew up here and you were told you’d be lost if you went over that hill, you had to know what the phrase meant.”

“Well, perhaps I did. But it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Look,” said Jack, “whatever is out there, I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you with my life.”

“I know you will, Jack – you’ve done it before.”

“Then come with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Then I will go alone.” And Jack turned to do so.

“No,” cried Eddie. “Jack, please don’t go up there alone.”

“Then come with me, Eddie. Come with me, Mister Bear.”

Eddie dithered and dithering wasn’t his style. “Let’s go tomorrow,” he said. “In the daylight.”

Jack hefted his mighty Mini-gun. “I’m going now,” he said, “and if you won’t come, if you can’t come, then I understand. You’re brave, Eddie. I know you’re brave. But if this is too much for you, then so be it. Wait here and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Jack, please don’t go.”

“I must.”

And with that Jack turned away, looked up the hill, up at the letters TO TO LA, and then Jack set off up the lonely hillside, and Eddie Bear watched him go.

And Eddie Bear made faces and scuffed his paw pads in the moonlit dirt. He couldn’t let Jack go up there on his own, he couldn’t. There was no telling what kind of trouble he’d get himself into. Eddie would have to go, too. No matter how great his fear.

And Eddie took a step or two forward.

And then a step or two back.

“This is ridiculous,” said Eddie. “I can do it. I must do it. I can and I must and I will.”

But he couldn’t.

The figure of Jack was diminishing, as is often the case with perspective. Eddie watched as Jack climbed higher, bound for that Second Big O.

“Come on, Eddie,” the bear told himself. “Jack is your bestest friend. You would never forgive yourself if he came to harm and you could have protected him from it.”

“I know,” Eddie now told himself, “but I’ve been hoping against all hope that there was another solution. That the murderers were simply spacemen, or something. Something not of this world, but not something from Beyond The Second Big O. Because beyond there lies a terrible, dreadful something. That’s what I was taught and that is what I believe.”

“And you’re letting your bestest friend wander into that something alone,” Eddie further told himself. “What kind of bear are you?”

“A terrified one,” Eddie further, further, further told himself.

“Oh, what do I do? Tell me, what do I do?” And Eddie, although no devout bear, prayed to the God of All Bears. “I don’t know what to do,” Eddie prayed. “Please won’t you send me a sign?”

And perhaps it was the God of All Bears, or perhaps it was not, but a sign was made manifest to Eddie. Manifest in the Heavens, it was, as such signs often are.

And Eddie looked up and Eddie beheld. And he beheld it on high.

The moonlit sky was studded with stars, but one was brighter than all the rest. Eddie Bear peeped through his button eyes. “There’s a new star in Heaven tonight,” he said.

And the new star, the bright new star, grew brighter still.

“Is that you, Mister God?” asked Eddie.

And brighter and closer grew this star until it was all over big.

And Eddie looked up at this very big star.

And Eddie Bear said, “Oh no!”

For this star, it now seemed, was no star at all. This star now grew even bigger and hovered now overhead. For this star, it seemed, was no star at all. It was a spaceship instead.

A proper flying saucer of a spaceship, all aglow with twinkling lights and a polished underbelly.

And the saucer now hovered low above Eddie and Eddie could make out rivets and tin plate and a sort of logo embossed into the underside of the brightly glowing craft. And this logo resembled a kind of stylised, in-profile sort of a head. And this was the head of a chicken.

And a bright light swept down upon Eddie.

And Eddie Bear took to his paw pads.

And onward scampered Eddie with the spaceship keeping pace, and the light, a sort of death-ray one, he supposed, a-burning up the grass and gorse and briars and nettles and stuff.

“Wah!” cried Eddie as he scampered. “Wah! Oh, Jack. Help me!”

Jack, a goodly way up the hill, turned and looked over his shoulder. And Jack saw the spaceship and Jack saw Eddie.

And Jack was frankly afeared.

And when Jack had managed to summon a voice, this voice cried, “Eddie, hurry!”

“I am hurrying.” And Eddie was, his little legs pounding beneath him. And Jack now hefted his great big gun and flipped off the safety catch.

The spaceship, keeping pace with Eddie, burned up the hillside behind him. The gorse and briars and nettles and stuff took all to blazing away. A goodly fire was spreading now, fanning out to Eddie’s rear.

“Hurry!” cried Jack. And then he let rip. Let rip with the Mini-gun. The clockwork motion hurled projectiles through six revolving barrels. Barrels spat flame and bullets, bullets that tore tracer-like into the moonlit sky.

And the craft moved onward, bullets bouncing from its hull. And the light swept onward, raising fire in Eddie’s wake.

And the bear rushed onward, bound for his bestest friend.

“You’re a really bad spacecraft,” cried Jack, and he flung the Mini-gun aside and brought forth a grenade from his trenchcoat pocket. “Come on, Eddie, faster now,” and Jack pulled the pin and wondered how many seconds ’til Boom!

“Ow!” went Eddie. “Ouch!” And his heels took fire.

“One,” said Jack. “Two. How many? Ten, I suppose, so three, no, that would be four now, or maybe six, or seven, or … damn.”

And Jack hurled the grenade.

And it was a good hurl, but it fell short.

And a big chunk of hillside exploded.

And some of that hillside rained down upon Eddie.

“Don’t do that, Jack!” cried the bear.

Jack pulled out another grenade and once more pulled the pin.

“One, two, three, four,” Jack counted. “Hurry, Eddie, hurry, eight, nine, oh!” And Jack did another hurling and ducked his head as he did so. For the spacecraft was very near now, as indeed was Eddie.

“Quickly, Eddie.” And Jack snatched up the bear and ran very fast indeed.

And next there came an explosion, an explosion on high. And the spaceship swung about in the sky, flames roaring from its upper dome area. And then it began its plunging down, in Jack and Eddie’s direction.

“Oh no!” shouted Jack, and he ran and he leapt, a-clutching Eddie tight. And as the spaceship smashed down to the hillside with a mighty explosion, which far exceeded that of the falling chandelier and probably had the edge over even a car chase when it came to exciting spectacle, Jack leapt for his life, leapt with Eddie, up and through and beyond.

Jack leapt through The Second Big O.

And through and out and into nothing.

And down and down and down.

And Jack tumbled down.

And Eddie, too.

And down and down and down.

And, “Oooh!” cried Eddie.

And, “Ouch!” cried Jack.

And, “Ooooh!” and, “Ouch!” and, “Ow!”

And then all finally became still and silent and Jack lay upon grass, and so did Eddie, and moonlight fell down on them both.

“Are we still alive?” Eddie asked. “And this time I do mean us.”

“So it would seem.” Jack patted at his limbs. None, it appeared, were broken.

Eddie did flexings at his seams, and none, it seemed, were torn.

“And where are we?” And Eddie looked all about himself.

“We went through The Second Big O.”

“Oh no!”

“But we’re still alive, don’t knock it.”

“And we are …” Eddie felt at the ground. “We’re on grass, on a hillside.”

“Because we’re on the other side of the hill,” said Jack. “Which means that you had nothing to fear. I’d like to say, ‘I told you so,’ but as I didn’t it wouldn’t help much.”

“On grass,” said Eddie. “On grass.”

“On grass,” Jack said. “Just on the other side of the hill.”

“Well,” said Eddie, and Eddie rose, “I don’t know what you were making all the fuss about.”

“Me?” said Jack. “I was making all that fuss? Sorry?”

“I forgive you,” said Eddie.

“What?” said Jack.

“It doesn’t matter, forget it.”

Jack now climbed to his feet. He dusted down his trenchcoat, sniffed at his fingers and said, “Yuk!”

“You’ll want to get that trenchcoat cleaned,” said Eddie. “I know a good dry-cleaners. Although I’ve never understood how dry-cleaning works – do you know how it does?”

“Don’t change the subject, Eddie.”

“What subject would that be?”

Jack smiled down upon Eddie. “It doesn’t matter, Mister Bear. We’re both safe and that’s all that matters.”

“You certainly taught those space chickens something,” said Eddie. “Don’t mess with my bestest friend Jack. That’s what you taught them. Well done you.”

“It was a big explosion,” said Jack. “Actually, I’m quite surprised that a lot of flaming spaceship didn’t rain down upon us. Pretty lucky, eh?”

“Pretty damn lucky,” said Eddie. And looked all around and about. “And so this is it?” he said. “This is what I spent my whole life dreading? The land Beyond The Second Big O. And all it is is another hillside – not much of a big deal, eh, Jack?”

Jack didn’t answer Eddie. Jack was gazing back up the hillside. Up in the direction from which he and Eddie had tumbled down and down.

“Not much, eh, Jack?” said Eddie once again. “Eh, Jack?”

But Jack didn’t answer.

“Jack, are you listening to me?” asked Eddie.

And Jack stirred from his staring. “Eddie,” said Jack, “tell me this.”

“Tell you what?”

“Well, we plunged through The Second Big O, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

“The Second Big O in the remaining few letters of what once spelled out ‘TOYTOWNLAND’ and now just spell ‘TO TO LA’.”

“That we did,” said the bear.

“So, looking back,” said Jack, “at those big letters, we should see the reverse of ‘TO TO LA’. ‘AJ OT OT’, in fact.”

“Indeed,” said Eddie, “but I don’t know how you were able to pronounce that.”

“But that’s not what I’m seeing,” said Jack. “Those big letters on the hillside, they’re not spelling out ‘AJ OT OT’.”

“They’re not?” said Eddie.

“They’re not.”

“So what are they spelling?”

And Jack pointed upwards and Eddie looked up upwards and then Eddie said, “What does that mean?”

And Jack said slowly, “I don’t know what it means, but those letters spell out ‘HOLLYWOOD’.”