The Toyminator

11

“No,” said Eddie. “Not the ballet.”

He sat in the passenger seat of the Anders Faircloud once more. Jack was once more at the wheel. But for once the Anders Faircloud was not performing high-speed death-defying automotive manoeuvres. It was sort of poodling along and clunking sounds were issuing from the bonnet regions.

“You’ve overwound this car,” said Eddie to Jack. “And you’ve trashed the engine with all your high-speed death-defying automotive manoeuvres.”

“I’ll fix it when I have time,” said Jack, ramming his foot floorwards but eliciting little response. “I know clockwork. And I’ll soup-up the engine, spraunch the springs, caflute the cogs, galvate the gears and other things of a workshop nature generally. You wait until you see how fast it will go then.”

“The poodling’s fine by me,” said Eddie, “but as I was saying, oh no, not the ballet.”

“The ballet it has to be.” Jack poodled through a red light, causing concern amongst righteous motorists. “That is where the next murders will occur. We can be ahead of the game this time, Eddie.”

Eddie yawned and shuddered slightly. “As I am sure you know,” he said, between further yawns, which set Jack off, “we bears are known for our remarkable stamina, and can go for many days without sleep.”

“Bears hibernate all winter,” said Jack, informatively.

“Yes, but that’s because they stay up all summer clubbing ’til dawn.”

“And your point is?” Jack asked.

“I’m knackered,” said Eddie. “Done in, banjoed, wrecked and smitten. I don’t think I can take the ballet.”

“The ballet is soothing,” said Jack. “You can take a little nap.”

“I’ll take a big nap, believe me. And that is not professional for a crime fighter. Five minutes of ballet and I’ll be gone from this world.”

“You’ll be fine.” Jack smiled and drove; the car lurched and hiccuped.

Eddie yawned once more, this time behind his paw, did little lip-smacking sounds and promptly fell asleep.

“We’re here,” said Jack, and he woke Eddie up.

There was no real question as to whether when they built the Toy City Opera House, which also housed the ballet, that they had built it for the patronage of toys. They hadn’t. This was a man-sized affair, as was Old King Cole’s, built for the elite of Toy City. The elite that was man.

Jack had to cruise around for a bit looking for a place to park, but once parked-up, in a rather seedy alleyway, he and Eddie plodded on foot to the glorious, grand establishment.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said Jack.

“Frankly, I hate it,” said Eddie. “It sends out all the wrong messages.”

“Right,” said Jack. “Well, I don’t really recall exactly what the protocol is here. The last time we came was when you were first made mayor, remember? We had some times then, didn’t we? We were fêted everywhere.”

Eddie did remember. “Wasn’t I sick in the royal box?” he said.

“Yes,” said Jack. “Just a little. So I think I’d better carry you in under my coat, or something.”

“You what?”

“We don’t want any unpleasantness, do we?”

“I could wait in the car, I don’t mind.”

“Eddie, a crime is going to be committed here. A murderous crime. A multiple murderous crime.”

“You have yet to tell me how you know this to be.”

“I have my sources,” said Jack, and he stuck a hand into his pocket. A tiny sighing sound coming from within went unheard by Eddie.

Because Eddie was now nearly being stomped upon.

The fashionable set, Toy City swells, the fêted glitterati, were hustling and bustling around the two detectives. Exclusive fragrances perfumed the air, diamonds dazzled and shimmered amongst fur stoles, gowns and gorgeousness.

“Do you have tickets?” Eddie called up to Jack.

“No,” said Jack, and he grinned.

“Phew,” said Eddie. “Then at least we won’t get in.”

“We’ll get in – I have my special lifetime membership card.”

“You hung on to that?”

“I have a walletful,” said Jack, “for all those posh places that wanted the bear and his partner who had saved Toy City to patronise their premises.”

“Scumbags all,” said Eddie. “Scumbags and treacherous turncoats. And my lifetime membership was lost in the post, as I recall.”

“You’ll be back on top, Eddie,” said Jack, lifting Eddie from his paw pads and tucking him under his arm. “Once we’ve saved the city once more.”

Eddie made a growly groan. “Just listen to yourself,” he said.

“I’m confident,” said Jack, elbowing his way into the crowd with his free elbow. “We have the edge, we’ll succeed.”

“The edge?” and Eddie shook his head.

The Toy City Opera House owned to a doorman whose livery put that of Old King Cole’s severely to shame. This man was magnificent. So much so that thankfully he was beyond description.

He held up his gloved hand against Jack’s slovenly approach.

“No tradesmen,” said this personage.

“How dare you,” said Jack, making the face of outrage and adopting once more the haughty tone. “I am a lifetime honorary member of this here establishment, and can therefore attend any opera or ballet, free of charge, in the very bestest seats that you have, as it happens. Would you care to see my gilt-edged membership card?”

“Dearly,” said the doorman. “Few things would give me greater joy.”

“That’s a smirk on your face,” said Jack, lowering Eddie to the marble flooring and rootling out his wallet. “We shall see who’s smirking soon.” Jack flicked through a number of cards that offered him lifetime privileges, some at certain establishments that really suited Jack.

“There,” said he, presenting the doorman with a grand-looking one.

The doorman perused this grand-looking card. He held it close to his smirking face, inspected it carefully, raised it up to the light. Marvelled at the watermark and the special metallic strip. Checked the ID photo and everything. “Wow,” he went, and he whistled. “You weren’t pulling my plonker-piece, were you, your princeship.”

“No, I wasn’t,” said Jack. “Now hand it back and stand aside and be grateful that I do not report you for your insolence.”

The doorman whistled once more and returned Jack’s card to him. Then he leaned forward, still smirking, and informed Jack in a curt and brusque manner exactly what Jack could do with himself.

“What?” went Jack. “How dare you!”

“I dare,” said the doorman, “because your card has no currency here. Shove off.”

“What?” went Jack. “What?”

“Do you ever read the newspapers?” the doorman asked Jack.

“Actually, I do,” Jack said.

“Well, not too long ago,” said the doorman, “Toy City was plagued by a mad mayor. A hideous freak, he was, with glass dolly eyes and these really creepy hands –”

Eddie flinched and took shelter at the rear of Jack.

“Well, this abhorrence put into place certain edicts,” the doorman continued. “He appeared to have it in for his betters, you see. Inferiority complex, inverted snobbery or have it as you will. I’ve been reading all about that kind of business in this self-help manual I bought. Anyway, this mad mayor did away with all the privileges of the monarchy. Edict Five, as I recall.”

Jack said, “What?” and Jack looked down at Eddie. Around and behind himself and then again down at Eddie.

Eddie made a foolish face and shrugged.

“Ah,” said Jack. “Ah, but –”

“Ah, but what?” asked the doorman.

“Ah, but the mad mayor was kicked out. Tarred and feathered.”

“Yes.” The doorman smiled. “But not all his edicts were rescinded. Actually, the management of the Opera House quite liked Edict Five – they were fed up with the monarchy always poncing free tickets for all the best bashes.”

“Oh,” said Jack.

“So on your way,” said the doorman. “Scruffy trenchcoated oik that you are.”

“You will answer for this,” said Jack.

“Word has it,” said the doorman, “that The End Times are upon us, and that all of us will answer soon for something or other.”

“You must let us in,” Jack protested.

“Us?” said the doorman. “I wouldn’t have let you take that tatty bear in with you anyway.”

“But,” said Jack, “we are detectives. We’re here on a case. We have the authority of Chief Inspector Wellington Bellis.”

“Yes, of course you have, sir. Now move along please, we have posh people trying to get in.”

“Let us in!” Jack demanded.

“Please don’t make me use force,” said the doorman. “As enjoyable as it would be for me, I regret to say that it would probably leave you with permanent damage.”

Jack made fists and squared up to the doorman.

The doorman made bigger fists and squared himself down to Jack.

“You haven’t heard the last of this,” said Jack.

“I can assure you that I have,” said the doorman, “because I am no longer listening.”

Posh folk pushed past Jack on either side. Jack retreated down the marble steps with Eddie following on.

“You and your bloody edicts,” Jack said to Eddie.

“Actually, I feel rather justified in imposing that one,” said the bear. “Can we go home now, please?”

“We have to prevent a crime.”

“I’m still not really convinced.”

“Eddie, evil will be done here and only we can stop it.”

“You could call your associate, Chief Inspector Wellington Bellis.”

“He might not have faith in my source,” said Jack.

“About your source –” said Eddie.

“Damn,” said Jack, and he sat down on the kerb. “Damn, damn, damn.”

Eddie sat down beside his friend. “Tell me about this source of yours,” he said.

“Can’t,” said Jack. “I am sworn to secrecy.”

“What?” said Eddie. “Why? We don’t have secrets. We’re partners.”

“Look, Eddie, I don’t want to go into it now. We have to get inside the Opera House and that’s all there is to it.”

“Well,” said Eddie, “if your mind is made up, and that is all there is to it, then you’d best follow me.”

“Where to?”

“Just follow.”

Jack rose and followed Eddie. The little bear led him around the corner and down an alleyway and to the stage door. Several Stage Door Johnnies surrounded the stage door.

“Disgusting,” said Eddie, stepping over one of them. “You’re supposed to flush those things away.”

Jack made an appalled face. “Was that a condom gag?” he asked.

“Take it as you will,” said Eddie. “Knock at the door, please, Jack.”

Jack knocked at the door.

The backstage doorman opened it. He was a clockwork fellow, somewhat rusty and worn.

“Ralph,” said Eddie.

“Eddie?” said Ralph.

“Ralph, how good to see you after all this time.”

“All this time?” said Ralph, and he scratched at his tin-plate topknot, raising sparks.

“We’re here on a bit of business,” said Eddie. “Would you mind letting us in?”

“Again?” said Ralph.

“Why is he saying ‘again’?” Jack asked Eddie.

“I don’t know,” said Eddie. “Why are you saying ‘again’, Ralph?”

“Because I’ve already let you in once,” said Ralph. “And your comedy sidekick there.”

“What?” said Jack.

And, “What?” said Eddie. And, “Oh dear,” said Eddie. “This is bad.”

“How did you get past me?” Ralph asked. “I never saw you go out again.”

“We didn’t,” said Eddie. “That wasn’t us.”

“Oh yes it was,” said Ralph. “I’d recognise those crummy mismatched button eyes, and the tatty old raincoat and the –”

“Have to stop you there, Ralph,” said Eddie. “Those were two impersonators. Two very bad and evil beings.”

“Uncanny,” said Ralph.

“What?” said Eddie once more.

“That’s what you said to me earlier, when I let you in. You said that two impersonators might turn up and try to get in, but that I was to refuse them entry because they were very bad and evil beings.”

And Ralph slammed the stage door shut upon Jack and Eddie.

And Jack and Eddie stood in the alley.

And Jack said, “Damn,” once more.

Eddie Bear looked up at Jack. “It seems,” said Eddie, “that I was wrong and you were right. We have to get into the Opera House.”

“We should phone Bellis,” said Jack, “get him to bring a task force, the Army, whatever is necessary. Everything. What do you think?”

Eddie gave his head a couple of thumpings. “I think not,” said he. “And before you ask why, I’ll tell you for why. These murderers, or soul stealers, or whatever Hellish things from beyond or above they are, are disguised as us. And it does not require the gift of precognition to predict the inevitable consequences, as in when a bunch of overexcited police snipers gun us down by mistake.”

“Ah,” said Jack. “You think that might happen?”

“I’d give you a very good odds on it,” said Eddie. “We will have to deal with this on our own. Just you and me.”

“So how do we get in there?”

“Well,” said Eddie, and he cupped what he had of a chin in a paw, “it will have to be the sewers.”

Jack made a sour face and Jack said, “The sewers?”

“It’s an Opera House,” said Eddie. “Ergo it has a phantom.”

“A what?” said Jack.

“A phantom,” said Eddie.

“No,” said Jack. “I mean, what’s an ergo?”

“Most amusing,” said Eddie. “But every Opera House has a phantom. Everyone knows that. It’s a tradition, or an old charter, or something. And the phantom always lives in the bowels of the Opera House and rows a boat through the sewers.”

“And he does this for a living?”

“He’s a phantom,” said Eddie. “Who can say?”

“I don’t like the sound of him very much.”

“We really are wasting time,” said Eddie. “Let’s find some conveniently placed sewer-hole cover to lift and get down to business.”

“Aren’t sewers filled with business?” Jack asked.

“Yes, and Stage Door Johnnies, and crocodiles, too, I’m told.”

“Perhaps if I bribed that doorman …”

A sewer-hole cover was conveniently located not many paces before them. Jack looked up and down the alleyway and then took to tugging, then struggling, then finally prying open.

“Here it comes,” he panted. And here the cover came, up and over and onto Jack’s foot.

“Ow!” howled Jack. And his “Ow” echoed down along the sewer beneath them.

“Keep it quiet,” said Eddie. “And get down the hole.”

“I’ll get business on my trenchcoat,” said Jack.

“Time is wasting,” said Eddie. “You brought us here to save lives, didn’t you?”

Jack lowered himself into the unpleasantness beneath, then called up to Eddie and Eddie jumped down. Jack caught Eddie, reached up and pulled the sewer-hole cover back into place.

Eddie and Jack stood in darkness. And in smelliness also.

“Whoa!” went Jack, holding his nose and fanning his face. “This is revolting – I’m up to my ankles in business here.”

“I’m nearly up to my bottom,” said Eddie. “But it’s quite a pleasant smell. Once you’ve acclimatised yourself.”

“So, which way do we go?”

“That way,” said Eddie.

Jack sighed deeply. “I can’t see a thing in the darkness. Which way do you mean?”

“That way,” said Eddie.

“Oh, that way,” said Jack. “I see.”

But of course he did not. But he did follow Eddie by holding his ear. And Eddie strode forward with confidence, because, as he informed Jack, bears are noted for their remarkable night vision and natural sense of direction.

Presently they reached the inevitable dead end.

“Brilliant,” said Jack.

“Up the ladder,” said Eddie. “Put your hands out – there’s rungs in the wall.”

Jack put his hands out. “Ah,” he said.

There were strugglings and pantings and it’s hard to climb a ladder in the darkness with one hand holding your nose. But at length the two now somewhat ill-smelling detectives emerged into a kind of underground chamber, bricked all around with big stone slabs and lit by flaming torchères in wall sconces. There was an old organ in one corner of this chamber and at this sat an old organist, playing an old organ tune.

Jack dusted down his trenchcoat, but demurred at wringing out its sodden hem. Eddie squeezed at his soggy legs and dripped fetid water.

The old organist suddenly burst into song.

The gulls that circle overhead

Cry out for crumbs and bits of bread.

The gulls that circle underfoot

Are very rarely seen.

“What a wonderful song,” said Jack.

“I hated it,” said Eddie.

“Who said that?” asked the old organist. And he turned. And Jack and Eddie beheld … the Phantom of the Opera.

“Oh my goodness,” said Jack, and he fell back in considerable disarray.

The Phantom wasn’t the prettiest sight, but he wasn’t the ugliest, either. He was somewhere in between, but at a certain level in between that made him, or perhaps it was a her, or indeed an it, utterly, utterly …

“What is the word I’m looking for?” Jack did whispering to Eddie.

“Search me,” said the bear in reply. “Average, bland, standard, run-of-the-mill, insipid, dull, middling, trite, mediocre, commonplace.”

“That’s enough,” said Jack. “But that’s what it is.”

“Aaagh,” went the Phantom. “Do not gaze upon my ubiquitousness.”

“And that’s a good’n,” said Eddie. “Possibly the best’n. He’s as ubiquitous as.”

“What are you doing here?” The Phantom raised his voice, but it didn’t really seem to raise. It droned somewhat. Which was odd as his, or her, or its, singing had been sweet. Although Eddie had hated it. “Have you come to mock me for my generality? Come to laugh at the cursed one? The one too dull and everyday to be noticed?”

“We noticed you at once,” said Jack. “And I really loved the singing.”

“You did?” said the Phantom. “You really did?”

“It was a beautiful song. But we’re lost. We need to get up into the Opera House. Would you help us, please?”

“I rarely venture above,” said the Phantom. “My appearance is too lacking in extremity even to draw notice. Folk don’t even know I’m there.”

“Who said that?” said Eddie.

“Stop it,” said Jack. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh, it is,” said the Phantom, wringing hands of abundant nonentity. “They all laugh. It’s all the Toymaker’s fault.”

“The kindly, lovable white-haired old Toymaker?” said Jack.

“Unless you know of another.”

Jack shook his head.

“He wanted to create a toy that would be loved by all, that would appeal to all. So he took a bit of this and a bit of that and a bit of the other and he blended them all together. But did he create something that would universally be loved by all?”

Jack shook his head slowly. “No?” he suggested.

“Correct,” said the Phantom. “I am everything. And by being everything, I am nothing. I am a Phantom.”

“That’s very sad,” said Jack.

“But we are in a hurry,” said Eddie.

“That is true,” said Jack. “Do you think, Mister Phantom, that you could be kind enough to show us the way up into the Opera House. It is Mister Phantom, is it, or is it Miss or Missis?”

“If only I knew,” said the Phantom. “Then, if I did know, I’d know whether some of the urges I feel at times are natural rather than perverse.”

“Difficult,” said Jack.

“Time,” said Eddie, pawing at an imaginary wristwatch.

“That bear’s no master of mime,” said the Phantom. “And what is he, anyway?”

“I’m an Anders Imperial,” said Eddie. “Cinnamon plush –”

“That’s a beer-bottle top in your ear hole.”

“That’s my special button tag.”

“Oh no it’s not.”

“Oh yes it is.”

“Time,” said Jack, and he pointed to his wristwatch.

“I’ll take you up,” said the Phantom, “but I’ll caution you to take care.”

“Oh yes?” said Jack.

“Something is amongst us,” said the Phantom. “I can sense it. Something that pretends to be us, but is not. Something other. Something apart. Something from Beyond The Second Big O.”

“We are aware of this,” said Jack, “and it is our job to stop it.”

“Really?” the Phantom voiced surprise, but in a manner too dull and too monotone to express the emotion. “Really, I am surprised. But you must beware. This something, and there is more than one of these somethings – there are two, in fact – these somethings will destroy us all, they will suck the very life force out of Toy City, leaving it an empty shell.”

Jack looked at Eddie.

And Eddie looked at Jack.

“Please lead us up,” said Jack.

The Phantom led the way. He, she or it, or all of the aforementioned, had a certain height to whatever he, she or it was. But it was an indeterminate height that was difficult to quantify. It was neither one thing nor the other; it lay somewhere in between, but beyond.

“If they ever make a movie of this,” Eddie whispered up to Jack, “they’ll have a real problem casting this, er, being.”

“They’ll probably get Gary Oldman,” said Jack. “He can play anyone.”

“Who is Gary Oldman?”

“Search me,” said Jack. “I think my mind’s wandering again. It was poetry yesterday. I probably do need some sleep.”

“This way,” said the Phantom, leading onward.

And onward the Phantom led and eventually his leading was done with the opening of a secret panel, as is so often the case with Phantoms. “This is the royal box,” he, she or it said. “You’ll have a good view of the show from here – no one uses it any more. Something to do with Edict Five. Did you ever hear of it?”

“Never,” said Eddie. “Thank you for helping us, Mister, er, well, Phantom.”

“I do have a name,” said the Phantom.

“Oh,” said Jack. “What is it?”

“Ergo,” said the Phantom. “I’ll be leaving you now.”

“Nice fellow,” said Jack, once the Phantom had departed. “Or woman, or whoever, or whatever.”

Eddie shrugged and climbed into a most comfortable-looking queenly kind of a chair. “All right, I suppose, if you like that kind of a thing.”

Jack dropped down into the chair next to Eddie’s, a most sumptuous kingly kind of a chair. Jack gazed all about the royal box. It was all gold twirly bits and gilt wallpaper.

And then Jack looked out from the box and into the Opera House proper. He had been there before, had Jack, as too had Eddie, and this was the royal box that Eddie had been sick in. Although it didn’t smell of sick now, or possibly it did, a bit. It smelled a bit like sawdust. And Jack marvelled anew at the wonders of the Opera House.

“It really is an incredible place,” said Jack.

“Gaudy,” said Eddie. “Gaudy.”

Jack looked out over the audience.

And then Jack whispered to Eddie, “They’re out there somewhere, our lookalikes, about to strike.”

“Did your, er, secret source tell you just who they are intending to strike at?” Eddie asked.

“The orchestra,” Jack whispered in return.

Eddie stood up on his chair and peered down into the orchestra pit. And Eddie counted on his paws, which meant counting two at a time. And when Eddie had finished his counting, Eddie turned to Jack.

“The orchestra?” said Eddie. “The entire orchestra?”

“According to my source,” said Jack, “who calculated the odds. There were twelve monkeys and then there was the jazz trio. Three times twelve is thirty-six and there are thirty-six orchestra members here. The murders are growing in a mathematical progression.”

“Jack, the entire orchestra? All of them?”

“That’s what my source suggests.”

“Jack,” said Eddie, “look down at the orchestra, if you will.”

Jack looked down upon the orchestra.

“Jack, count the number of members of the orchestra, if you will.”

Jack counted.

“Jack, tell me the number you have arrived at, if you will.”

Jack said, “Yep, that’s thirty-six, including the conductor, I’m afraid.”

“Jack, so many folk. This will be a massacre. What are we going to do?”

“Well,” said Jack, “I have thought about this, and the way I see it is –”

But then Jack’s words were swallowed away, for the orchestra struck up.