The Toyminator (13 page)

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.

“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.