“Well, Pajama Boy’s a stupid name,” said Jack, just as crossly, “and there has to be a reason a factory made an action figure. Why would anyone make a plastic boy in pajamas?”
“I only hope Specs doesn’t tip off the Loser that there’s an action figure around here who’s acting a lot like a living boy who’s lost a cuddly pig!” said the Christmas Pig. “If the Loss Adjusters start asking other toys whether they’ve ever heard of Pajama Boy and his cartoon, we’re really going to be in trouble. We mustn’t do anything else to draw suspicion to ourselves while we’re thinking up a plan.”
As Jack couldn’t think of a good retort to this, he sat down on the double bed, which made the mattress springs creak, and looked around. The room was lit by a single candle, and the wallpaper was peeling. Cobwebs stretched across the finding hole in the ceiling. Clearly, nobody had been found in this room for a very long time. Meanwhile, the Christmas Pig had moved to the cracked window, and was staring down into the snowy street.
Jack was far too worried about DP to sleep, so after a while, he got up and joined the Christmas Pig at the window. Snow was still falling thickly into the dark street outside. Scissors and the horses were gone.
“Christmas Pig?” said Jack, after a long stretch of silence.
“Hm?” said the Christmas Pig.
“What does ‘Alivening’ mean? Is it like the waking up you told me about?”
“That’s it,” said the Christmas Pig, still looking down into the dark snowy street.
“And it happens when human feelings rub off on Things?”
“It’s not really rubbing off,” said the Christmas Pig. “The feelings come inside us. Alivening is what changes us from fabric and beans and fluff, or metal and wood and plastic, into . . . something more. It can take a Thing years to be fully Alivened—but sometimes it comes all at once. That’s the way it happened to me, today, in the toy shop. Holly and your grandpa were discussing which pig to take home to you, and when they chose me, I was Alivened. That’s when I began to mean something. The Alivening is when we truly understand what we were made to do.”
“Is that why you want to belong to Holly?” asked Jack. “Because she chose you?”
“Yes,” said the Christmas Pig, after a little hesitation. “That’s wh—”
But just then, noises in the street below made them both peer back out of the window.
“Someone’s coming!” said Jack, scared. He could see more black hats at the end of the street. Were they coming to find the Thing that shouldn’t be here?
Three new Loss Adjusters—a razor, a chisel, and a penknife—were coming down the street, each of them driving a funny-looking sledge or carriage: an old slipper pulled by a clockwork mouse, a shoebox dragged by a fuzzy toy dog, and a wooden cart with wheels, which was being pulled along by two elephant ornaments, one made of marble and one of brass. Three passengers—a bus pass, a key, and a passport—sat in each of the vehicles, behind the Loss Adjuster who was driving. As Jack and the Christmas Pig watched, the carriages stopped beneath the lantern outside the saloon, and Sheriff Specs came bustling out onto the street to greet them.
Slowly and carefully, the Christmas Pig opened the window. It gave a little squeak, but fortunately, the new arrivals were making too much noise down below to hear it, and now Jack and the Christmas Pig were able to hear what Specs and the Loss Adjusters were saying.
“Howdy, friends!” cried Specs. “I was expecting you an hour ago!”
“We got held up—there’s a new checkpoint,” said the penknife, who wore a furry black hat. “Haven’t you heard? Seems there’s a Thing down here that shouldn’t be in the Land of the Lost at all.”
“Shiver my screws, you don’t say?” gasped Specs. “When’s the last time that happened?”
“I can’t recall it ever happening,” said Penknife. “You seen any Thing acting oddly, Specs?”
“Well, now,” said Specs slowly. “Funny you should say that . . . I was just talking to a pair of toys who I thought was acting a mite oddly.”
Jack and the Christmas Pig exchanged frightened glances.
“Then you’d better contact Captures, at once,” said Penknife sternly. “The Loser’ll eat you as well as them, if it turns out they’re the Things that shouldn’t be here. Anyway—here you are. Three new citizens for Disposable, from Bother-It’s-Gone. Oy, you three!” he shouted rudely at the passengers sitting in the vehicles. “Out!”
“Now, now,” said Specs as the bus pass, key, and passport all climbed down into the street, where they stood huddled together, looking miserable. “There’s no need to treat ’em rough, just because they’ve been Adjusted.”
“I’m in a hurry,” snapped Penknife. “It’s the usual story for these three. They’ve all been replaced Up There, so the trouble they caused is over. But I’ve got an order to Adjust three of yours. Here—” He handed Specs his list.
“Pokey,” Specs read out loud. “Hm, I had a hunch she wouldn’t be with us long. Fingers—oh dear,” said Specs sadly, “we’ll miss her at the piano. And—bless my nose pads—Lunchy, too?”
“The mum’s realized her little girl’s lost inhaler is inside her,” said Penknife. “The girl’s got asthma. The mum’s keen to find that lunch box, now.”
Jack suddenly gripped the Christmas Pig’s soft arm.
“What?” whispered the pig.
“We could hide inside Lunch Box, and go to the next town!”
“What if they make Lunch Box open, at the checkpoint?” said the Christmas Pig.
“I—I don’t know,” Jack admitted, frightened at the prospect, “but what if Specs reports us to Captures?”
The Christmas Pig thought for a few seconds, his snout crinkled up, then said, “All right—but leave the talking to me, and don’t mention having a cartoon! Take the blanket off that bed,” he added, “it’s cold out there. I told you, you should have put on something warmer.”
“I’m fine,” snapped Jack, but when the Christmas Pig had turned his back, Jack sneaked the blanket off the bed and followed.
Chapter 24
Lunch Box
Jack and the Christmas Pig crept out of their room and back along the dark corridor, the pig holding his belly tight to muffle the sound of his beans, until they reached door number twenty-three. Jack knocked softly, and the old tin lunch box opened it.
“D’you mind if we come in?” asked the Christmas Pig.
“Not at all,” Lunch Box said politely, though she sounded surprised.
Lunch Box’s room was quite as dark and shabby as the one they’d left, and even smaller. It looked over the back of the saloon, across the many low wooden houses of Disposable. Snow was still falling heavily past the window.
“Good news!” the Christmas Pig told Lunch Box. “The Adjusters have just arrived. If you can prove you’ve got an inhaler inside you, they’re going to take you out of Disposable!”
“Well, of course I can prove it!” cried Lunch Box joyfully and she let her lid fall open. Sure enough, inside sat a glum-looking inhaler, who said in a wheezy voice, “If I’m the reason we’re being Adjusted, why can’t I—”
But she didn’t finish her question, because the Christmas Pig had just jumped into the lunch box beside her and covered her mouth with his trotters. Jack squeezed inside, too. It was very cramped, and he could smell the egg sandwiches.
“That’s extremely rude!” said Lunch Box’s shocked voice from above them. “You can’t just walk in without an invitation!”
“Shut your lid!” said the Christmas Pig fiercely. “Or we’ll tell them you offered to smuggle us to the next town, and you’ll be chucked out onto the Wastes for helping Surplus!”
“Get out! Get out!” cried the lunch box, jumping up and down as she tried to dislodge them, but Jack and the Christmas Pig clung on. “I’ll tell them you jumped in and tried to make
me smuggle you!”
“It’ll be our word against yours!” said the Christmas Pig. “And what’s more, if you don’t help us, my action figure friend here will break this inhaler, and if the inhaler’s broken, you’ll never be Adjusted! Pajama Boy’s got remarkably fine fingers, you know! Perfect for breaking Things!”
Even though the whole idea of getting inside the lunch box had been Jack’s, he now felt both frightened and guilty. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for the lunch box and he definitely didn’t want to break the inhaler. He was also shocked at how mean the Christmas Pig was being to these poor Things, but before he could say any of this, there was a knock on the door.
“Lunchy?” came old Specs’s voice from outside in the corridor.
At once, Lunch Box slammed her lid shut, leaving Jack and the pig squashed together in the dark with the inhaler.
“Yes?” they heard Lunch Box say in a quavering voice.
“Good news. You’re being Adjusted!”
“Oh,” came Lunch Box’s muffled voice. “Um . . . wonderful.”
“You all right, dearie? You don’t sound that pleased.”
“No, I . . . I am. I’ll just—I’ll just miss you, Specs.”
“Well, now,” said the sheriff, sounding touched. “Ain’t that sweet! But you’d better hurry! The Adjustment Team’s running late!”
The lunch box’s lid was a little bit warped, which was lucky as it let in enough air for Jack to breathe, not to mention a tiny ray of light. Squashed together inside the dark tin, Jack and the Christmas Pig felt the lunch box hopping downstairs into the bar.
Lunchy’s tin bottom made such a racket crossing the wooden floor that Jack felt safe to whisper to the Christmas Pig, who still had his trotters clamped over the inhaler’s mouth, “There was no need to threaten her like that!”
“D’you want to find DP, or not?”
“Of course I do,” said Jack, “but you were horrible!”
“Says the boy who tried to pull off my head,” said the Christmas Pig.
“Stop going on about that! I’ve said I’m sorry!”
The lunch box kept bouncing along, and Jack knew they’d reached the street when they heard the penknife’s voice, quite close by. “You there, Lunch Box—you ride in my wagon, as you’re biggest. Here, Chisel—help her up.”
“No, no, I can manage!” said Lunch Box, sounding scared. Jack guessed she didn’t want any of the Loss Adjusters to feel how heavy she was, when she was only supposed to have an inhaler inside her. She made several little jumps, then finally managed to land with a clunk inside the wooden wagon.
“Sorry I’m late!” came a new voice. “I’m so pleased to be going! Not that you haven’t been kind, Specs—very kind—but I won’t miss sharing a room with Hanky. He hasn’t washed since he got here.”
“Poor fella,” said the sheriff sadly. “He’s given up. Some Things do, when they haven’t been found for years. Well, good luck, Pokey! Goodbye, Fingers! Goodbye, Lunchy! We’ll miss you!”
“So long, Specs,” called Penknife. “Mind you contact Captures about those toys, now!”
The wooden wagon moved off. Jack could hear the footsteps of the two heavy elephants crunching in the snow, the buzz of the clockwork mouse, and the occasional yap of the fuzzy dog.
“I’m going to let go of you now,” the Christmas Pig whispered to the inhaler. “But if you scream or give us away, we’ll make sure you get thrown onto the Wastes with us!”
The inhaler gave a little puff, which seemed to be her way of agreeing, and the Christmas Pig let her go. She drew a long wheezy breath, then whispered, “You’re both very rude and nasty, but it’s also nice to see something apart from the inside of this tin, so hello and welcome.”
The three carriages moved on for what felt like at least an hour, and Jack was getting quite tired of the smell of egg sandwiches, when they heard a voice from up ahead.
“HALT!”
The wooden wagon trundled to a stop. Jack and the Christmas Pig looked at each other and Jack could tell from the expression in the pig’s little black plastic eyes that he, too, was scared.
“Documents!” said a rasping voice.
They heard the shuffling of papers.
“One Pokémon card, Pokey, owner’s realized could be valuable—check,” said the cruel voice. “One gardening glove, Fingers, owner can’t find new ones as comfortable—check. One lunch box, Lunchy, owner’s remembered there’s an inhaler inside her.”
Something banged hard on the side of Lunch Box, who let out a yelp of pain.
“You in there, Inhaler?” snarled the voice.
“Yes!” called the inhaler.
“Check,” said the cruel voice. “All right, you can proceed. Keep your eyes peeled, though, Penknife. We’re on high alert. I s’pose you’ve heard there’s some Thing down here that shouldn’t be?”
“Yes. Any description yet?” asked Penknife.
“Not yet,” said the cruel voice. “But I’ve never seen the Loser so angry.”
“You’ve seen him?” said Penknife nervously.
“Oh yes,” said the cruel voice. “He told me, ‘The night for miracles and lost causes won’t last forever. Once it’s over, finders keepers.’”
“What does that mean?” asked Penknife.
“No idea,” snarled the cruel voice. “Just keep watch for any Thing acting strangely!”
With that, the wooden cart rolled on again.
“He dented me,” Lunchy complained to Penknife.
“Well, that’s Hammer for you,” said Penknife. “Never looks when he can bash!” He raised his voice to address all three passengers. “You lot might as well get comfy and sleep, if you can. We’ve got a long way to go.”
The cart now started to move uphill. Jack, who found himself forced to the back of the lunch box, managed to curl up in a corner, wrapped in the blanket he’d brought from Disposable, with his face lying against the Christmas Pig’s soft head. It wasn’t at all like curling up with DP, but it was comfier than leaning against the cold tin wall.
Chapter 25
Bother-It’s-Gone
Jack jerked awake. Something soft was prodding him, and after a moment, he realized it was the Christmas Pig’s trotter again. The cart was still moving. A ray of bright light was falling through the dent in Lunchy’s lid. Inhaler was still fast asleep, making little wheezy noises.
“Time to get out!” the Christmas Pig whispered in Jack’s ear. “Penknife’s just said we’re nearly at Bother-It’s-Gone! We’ll slip out of Lunchy, then jump off the back of the cart.”
“What if we’re spotted?”
“Well, then, we’ll just have to run as fast as we can. Ready?”
“All right,” whispered Jack, suddenly very scared.
“Lunchy?” said the Christmas Pig, prodding her side. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” she whispered back.
“Let us out, please, and don’t forget: if you tell anyone you saw us, we’ll tell them you helped us!”
Lunchy’s lid clicked open. Clutching his belly to stop the sound of his beans giving them away, the Christmas Pig climbed out of the lunch box into the bright sunshine and Jack followed, leaving Inhaler snoozing behind them.
Luckily, the wooden cart was last in the line of vehicles, and as Penknife, who was driving, had his back to them, nobody saw Jack and the Christmas Pig emerge from the tin.
“I know you didn’t want to help, but thanks all the same, Lunchy!” the Christmas Pig whispered, and he patted her gently on the lid.
“You were very rude,” the lunch box whispered back, “but I hope the Loser doesn’t get you. Good luck!”
Slowly and carefully, Jack and the Christmas Pig climbed over the back of the wooden cart, let themselves fall into the soft snow, then darted out of sight behind a clump of fir trees
beside the trail.
Looking around, Jack saw that the cart had taken them to the top of a mountain, from which they could look down on the wide stretches of the Wastes of the Unlamented. Disposable was no longer visible, nor could Jack see anything moving on the Wastes. He supposed the Loser had eaten all the latest arrivals, unless the poor Things were hiding in clumps of thistles.
Turning to watch the three carriages, he saw them disappear into the town, which was perched on the very top of the mountain. A glossy painted sign near Jack and the Christmas Pig’s hiding place gleamed in the sunlight. On it were written the words: welcome to bother-it’s-gone.
“We’ll wait ’til they’re out of sight,” said the Christmas Pig. “Then sneak into town and try and find a toy who might know DP . . .”
Once the carriages had disappeared, they hurried up the trail and into Bother-It’s-Gone.
The new town was nothing like Disposable. Everything was clean and well tended. The snow-covered houses were all as snug, neat, and pretty as if they were made of gingerbread, their front doors painted in different colors. The roads had been swept clear, and multicolored Christmas lights were gleaming in more fir trees.
In spite of being cold and shivery in his pajamas, Jack felt his spirits rise. He could just imagine DP living in one of these little houses. It definitely seemed like a place where Things that were loved would be sent.
“Let’s try this way,” said the Christmas Pig, pointing up a side street.
It really was the prettiest little town Jack had ever seen. Through the snowy windows of the houses, he glimpsed roaring fires and cuckoo clocks, thick rugs and comfy armchairs. The Things they passed—a school tie and some exercise books, a fountain pen and an old button—looked far more cheerful than those back in Disposable. Jack was sure these Things must be valued Up There in the Land of the Living, to have been sent to live in such a nice, cozy place, yet he couldn’t see any toys.
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