‘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 incred
ible 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.
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 ba
ckstage 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.* 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?*
‘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.
The Toyminator Page 16
