The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse

by Robert Rankin

  ‘He’s not doing much of a job of it.’

  ‘Hear me out, Jack. According to the beliefs of this cult, there exists, outside the box that is Toy City, another world, a world of men, millions of men.’

  ‘There is,’ said Jack. ‘I came from it.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ said Eddie. ‘You came from a town just outside Toy City. I’ve heard of your town. It’s not too far away.’

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ said Jack.

  ‘Jack, you wandered off your little bit of the map and found yourself here. But you’ve always lived inside the same “box” as Tinto and me. You just never knew it before. The Jack-in-the-boxes believe that there is another world beyond, outside this box, but we can’t get to it. We can’t move out of one box and into another. Only Big Box Fella and his evil twin can do that.’

  ‘Ridiculous,’ said Jack. ‘And I’ll tell you why it’s ridiculous. All your rich folk made their millions from royalties earned on their nursery rhymes, didn’t they? So who paid out these millions? Not toys, but men. Men out there paid. Men out there in other cities. Out there somewhere.’ Jack pointed out there generally. ‘That’s obvious to anyone, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eddie, ‘it is. And somehow the money comes in. I don’t know how, but it does. But you and I can’t get out there, Jack. We can’t leave this box.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Jack took up another glass. ‘I wish we’d had some food,’ he said. ‘I’m already half drunk.’

  ‘You’ll want to be more drunk by the time I’ve finished. Think about this, Jack. The woman-creature that attacked us: she wasn’t human and she wasn’t a toy. So what’s left? I’ll tell you what’s left. She was some kind of a demon. That was the something that I didn’t want to think about. I’ve given my head a good hammering. I’m not wrong here.’

  ‘This is mad,’ said Jack. ‘A demon? Demons don’t exist.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Tinto. ‘Demons don’t exist.’

  ‘Thank you, Tinto,’ said Jack.

  ‘She was probably a fairy,’ said Tinto. ‘You know, one of those pretty little clockwork creatures that live in the woods.’

  ‘Keep out of this, Tinto,’ Eddie said. ‘She was a demon. Sent by the evil brother. Who seeks to return to the city and overthrow his good twin. If you put it all together, it makes perfect sense.’

  ‘So who is the good twin? Tinto here? Or perhaps it’s you, Eddie.’

  Eddie shook his head. ‘No, Jack,’ he said. ‘I’m talking about the man who is the brains behind this city. The man who created Tinto and me. I’m talking about the toymaker.’

  ‘What?’ Jack shook his own head wildly. ‘This is all insane. You’ve been beating yourself too hard on the head.’

  ‘It all makes sense.’

  ‘It’s superstitious nonsense.’

  ‘You have a better idea?’

  ‘I’ll stick to the criminal mastermind theory with no Gods involved.’

  ‘So how do you explain the spider-woman?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Or Miss Muffett’s vanishing house?’

  ‘So Miss Muffett’s house really has vanished,’ said Tinto. ‘Rufus the tour bus driver told me earlier that it had, but I didn’t believe him. What’s going on here, Eddie?’

  ‘It’s the evil twin,’ said Eddie. ‘That’s what’s going on.’

  ‘This is rubbish,’ said Jack. ‘You’re jumping to wild conclusions. This is not how detectives behave. Detectives catch criminals by thinking things out logically. Detectives draw logical conclusions. They catch logical criminals. They don’t get involved in mad stuff like this. Come on, Eddie, this can’t be true.’

  ‘It can,’ said Eddie. ‘It’s the only logical explanation. A famous detective, whose name now eludes me, said that once you’ve eliminated the impossible, then whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’

  ‘You just made that up,’ said Jack. ‘But what are you saying? That the toymaker is really Big Box Fella, one of God’s little helpers?’

  Eddie nodded. ‘An original Son of God. You’ve been driving yourself mad trying to work out how toys can live, haven’t you, Jack? So this explanation should please you: the toymaker can bring toys to life because he is a God in this world. And so is his twin brother. But he’s the opposite of his good brother, Jack. The evil opposite. He’s returned from outside to claim this boxed-up city world of ours for himself. His good brother doesn’t know what’s going on. He won’t know until it’s too late. When all is lost.’

  ‘So this criminal mastermind …’

  ‘He’s the Devil of this world, Jack. We’re not dealing with a man here. We’re dealing with an evil God. We’re dealing with the Devil.’

  23

  ‘Same again,’ said Jack. ‘And stick it on Eddie’s account.’

  ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘How can I believe you, I’m an atheist.’

  ‘Explain the spider-woman.’

  ‘You know I can’t. But I can’t explain him.’ Jack nodded towards Tinto. ‘Nor you.’

  ‘You could if you believed that the toymaker is a Son of God, possessed of Godly powers that can bestow life.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ said Jack. ‘I know that that does explain things. But not to my satisfaction. Not when I’m an atheist.’

  ‘It explains everything,’ said Eddie. ‘How toy telephones work. How teddy bears with sawdust for brains can think. Only a God can do that kind of stuff.’

  ‘I need another drink,’ said Jack. ‘Oh, I’ve got one. And I mean to drink it.’

  ‘I’m sorry to mess you up.’ Eddie sipped his alcohol. ‘But don’t get me wrong. This is messing me up too. Big Time. I’ve never thought too deeply about this kind of stuff. And I’m not a follower of The Big Box Fella Cult.’

  ‘My money’s on you being a Midnight Growler,’ said Jack.

  Tinto laughed. ‘Your money would be safe then. He’s the only Midnight Growler.’

  ‘There’s money to be made in starting your own religion,’ said Eddie. ‘But I couldn’t persuade any teddies to join mine.’

  ‘I’ll join,’ said Jack. ‘But come on, Eddie, the Devil? Say it really was the Devil. Then what could we, devoted Midnight Growlers though we might be, do to stop the Devil?’

  ‘Bit of a tricky one, I agree.’

  ‘But if the toymaker is a God,’ Jack stroked at his chin, ‘he did say that there might be an opening for me some day as an apprentice.’

  ‘We have to tell him,’ said Eddie. ‘Tell him what’s happening. Warn him.’

  ‘But if he is a God-of-this-world, does he really have anything to fear from his brother? How do Gods battle it out? It’s thunderbolts, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s fluff,’ said Tinto. ‘They stick fluff in each other’s clockwork.’

  ‘Eddie,’ said Jack, ‘think very hard now. Bang your head about as much as you want, more so if needs be. But are you absolutely sure about this? It is a pretty way-out theory. Couldn’t we just be dealing with a plain old criminal mastermind?’

  ‘I’m sure I’m right, Jack. Plain old criminal masterminds can’t vanish homes.’

  ‘So is Miss Muffett dead?’

  ‘Perhaps they’re all dead, Jack. Perhaps this is the beginning of the end.’

  ‘Let’s not get carried away. There might still be a more logical explanation.’

  ‘We have to go and see the toymaker.’ Eddie finished the last of Jack’s latest drinks. ‘We have to see him now. This is all moving too fast.’

  ‘I agree with that. So let’s just slow it down a little, take a few moments to think very carefully before we go jumping into something and get ourselves into trouble again. Let’s have one more round before we go.’

  ‘Just the one then. Tinto?’

  ‘Very generous of you,’ said Tinto. ‘I’ll have a large oil and soda.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. But yes, go on, have one yourself. Same
again for us.’

  ‘Eddie,’ said Tinto, ‘does this mean that the world is coming to an end? Is the time of the Great Stillness approaching?’

  ‘Not if Jack and I can help it.’

  ‘Because if it is, then I think I’ll close up early today. Can I come with you to the toymaker’s? He might wish to employ the services of a clockwork butler.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Eddie. ‘This is a detectives-only thing. Same again before we go, please, Tinto.’

  ‘Same again it is then,’ said the barlord.

  And yes. They did become very drunk, the three of them.

  And you’re not supposed to be drunk when you get involved with matters such as this: Big Matters, Matters of an Apocalyptic Nature. You’re supposed to be coldly sober. And you just can’t be coldly sober when you’re drunk.

  But then, if you really did find yourself involved in Matters of an Apocalyptic Nature, you’d need a few stiff ones under your belt before you got going with saving the world.

  ‘We’ll have to think very carefully,’ said Eddie. ‘Very carefully indeed.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ Jack squinted at Eddie in the manner that drunken people do, in the misguided belief that it makes them appear sober.

  ‘Why are you squinting in that drunken fashion?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘I’m not. What exactly are we going to have to think carefully about, Eddie?’

  ‘Exactly what we say to the toymaker.’

  ‘We tell him the truth. We warn him about what his evil twin is up to.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Eddie. ‘Tricky.’

  ‘Why is it tricky?’ Jack fell off his barstool.

  ‘Well,’ said Eddie, ‘it’s tricky in this fashion: the toymaker has never cast himself in the role of a God. Most Toy City religions have him down as a doer of God’s work, but not actually a God. So if he is a God, then he obviously wishes to remain incognito.’

  ‘So why is it tricky?’ Jack tried to get up, but without much success. Getting up was tricky.

  ‘He might not take too kindly to the fact that we have uncovered his true identity.’

  ‘But we’re the good guys. We’re on his side.’

  ‘But say, in the unlikely event that I’ve got a wee bit of the theorising wrong—’

  ‘The evil twin bit? The big bit?’

  ‘In the unlikely event. But say I’m right about the toymaker. He might disappear us.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that, would he? He’s all kindly and white-haired and loveable and everything.’

  ‘Benign Gods generally are. But they do have the unfortunate habit of chucking thunderbolts at folk who upset them.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Jack, floundering about. ‘Best not to risk it. Let’s crawl back to the office and get some sleep. We’ll have one more drink before we go and then we’ll, er, go.’

  ‘Have you ever heard this theory about drinking yourself sober?’ Eddie asked. ‘It’s a very popular theory. Amongst drunks, anyway.’

  ‘How does it work?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Well, I had it explained to me once, but I was rather drunk at the time and I can’t exactly remember how it works. But that’s what we should do, Jack, drink ourselves sober and then go to the toymaker’s house.’

  ‘Pretext,’ said Jack.

  ‘What?’ said Eddie.

  ‘Pretext,’ said Jack. ‘We go to the toymaker’s house upon some pretext. I’ll rip your foot off and beg him to stitch you up or something.’

  ‘You won’t,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Some other pretext then. We’ll engage him in casual conversation and subtly draw him in to a theological discussion. Then you could put your theory to him in a hypothetical manner, which will not imply any implicit knowledge on our part as to his potential status as a deity.’

  ‘Say all that again,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Don’t be absurd,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t know how I managed it the first time. Somebody help me up.’

  Tinto wheeled himself around the bar and assisted Jack into the vertical plane.

  ‘Thanks, Tinto,’ said Jack, clinging to the bar counter. ‘Another round, please. Eddie and I are drinking ourselves sober.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to see that,’ said Tinto. ‘I’ll join you again, if I may; I’m celebrating.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jack. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because when Eddie pays this bar bill I’ll have enough money to retire.’

  ‘We haven’t spent that much, have we?’

  ‘I’m only expecting to enjoy a short retirement,’ said Tinto. ‘The end of the world’s coming very soon. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘Same again,’ said Jack. ‘And as the end of the world’s coming, drinks all round.’

  Now, it is a fact well known to those who know it well that prophets of doom only attain popularity when they get the drinks in all round.

  Eddie and Jack were soon richly popular.

  Even though they both smelled very poor.

  Several rather attractive dollies gathered about Jack.

  Jack engaged a particularly tall and glamorous blondie-headed one in conversation. ‘I’m a detective,’ said Jack.

  ‘Are you famous?’ asked the blondie-headed doll.

  ‘Very,’ said Jack. ‘This is my sidekick, Eddie; he’s comedy relief.’

  Eddie, now balanced on his head, made growling sounds from his barstool perch.

  ‘It must be a very dangerous job,’ said the dolly, fingering Jack’s grubby trenchcoat lapel.

  ‘Extremely,’ said Jack. ‘But I’m always ready for action.’ He opened his trenchcoat to expose the 7.62 mm M134 General Clockwork Mini-gun that bulged from the front of his trousers.

  ‘My, that’s a big one,’ said the dolly.

  ‘Cocked and ready to shoot,’ said Jack.

  The dolly tittered.

  ‘Excruciating,’ said Tinto. ‘I don’t think he’s drunk himself sober yet, Eddie.’

  Jack whipped out his gun and waved it about in a most unsteady and dangerous fashion. ‘This can take the head off a clockwork barman at two hundred yards.’

  ‘You’re barred,’ said Tinto. ‘Out of my bar.’

  ‘He was only showing me his weapon,’ said the dolly. ‘No need to go all rusty-headed, Tinto.’

  ‘Drink for the lady,’ said Jack. ‘And have one yourself, barlord.’

  ‘Jack,’ said Eddie, ‘perhaps we should be off about our business now, even in our present condition. It’s really important business, remember?’

  ‘You’re just jealous,’ said Jack, trousering his weapon and putting his arm about the dolly’s slender waist. ‘Because I’m such a big hit with the ladies.’

  ‘Jack, get a grip of yourself.’

  ‘I have a grip of myself.’ Jack took a grip of himself. It was a most intimate grip; not the kind of grip that you usually take of yourself in public.

  ‘Get him out, Eddie,’ said Tinto. ‘Take him home.’

  ‘I don’t have a home.’ Jack swayed about, supporting himself on the dolly. ‘But I will have, a big home. A palace. I have come to this city to seek my fortune. And I will. I’ll have a palace and I’ll be a prince.’

  ‘Prince?’ Eddie performed a most remarkable, and probably once in a lifetime only, backflip, which resulted in his bum landing squarely upon the barstool.

  ‘That was impressive,’ said Tinto. And others all around and about made free with applause.

  ‘I said prince,’ said Eddie. ‘What is prince all about?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Jack in a sulky tone.

  ‘Yes it is. Why did you say that you want to be a prince?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with having ambitions.’

  ‘Not if they’re feasible.’

  ‘I don’t care about her,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘But I’m nice,’ said the dolly. ‘I have lovely hair; it gets longer if you turn the little key in my back.’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Jack, withdrawing his arm fr
om the dolly’s waist. ‘But I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about her. I don’t care about her.’

  ‘Who is this her?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘Just someone. I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘It’s that Jill, isn’t it?’ said Eddie. ‘The girl at Madame Goose’s. Did you do it with her, Jack?’

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘You did. He did, Tinto. Jack did it with a girl at Madame Goose’s.’

  ‘I once did it with a clockwork mouse at Madame Goose’s,’ said Tinto. ‘But I was young then and rather drunk. No one’s going to hold that against me, are they?’

  ‘Urgh!’ went all and sundry, who evidently were.

  ‘I was drunk!’ said Tinto. ‘Come on!’

  ‘I once did it with a potted plant,’ said Eddie. ‘I was really drunk that night, I can tell you.’

  ‘Stop it,’ said Jack. ‘She doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s not as if I’m in love with her or anything.’

  ‘Jack’s in love,’ said Tinto.

  ‘I’m not,’ said Jack.

  ‘He is,’ said Eddie.

  ‘I’m not!’ said Jack.

  ‘You’re drunk,’ said Eddie.

  ‘I’m not!’ said Jack.

  ‘Are too.’

  ‘Are not.’

  ‘Are.’

  Jack stared at Eddie. And it was a stare, rather than a squint. ‘You know what,’ he said, ‘I’m not drunk any more.’

  ‘Drunk yourself sober,’ said Eddie. ‘Hoorah!’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘It’s draining down to my legs,’ said Eddie. ‘You’ll have to carry me for a bit.’

  ‘Do you want to come back to my house?’ said the blondie-headed doll. ‘I could show you my publicity pictures; I’m hoping to get a job at Toy City TV.’

  ‘Er, no, thank you very much,’ said Jack. ‘Eddie and I have important business elsewhere.’

  ‘Most important,’ said Eddie. ‘Are you ready for it, partner?’

  ‘Certainly am,’ said Jack.

  ‘Then let’s go,’ said Eddie.

  And go they did.