‘What if it did? It’s got nothing to do with you.’
‘We’re here on special assignment,’ said Eddie. ‘We’re part of an elite strike force.’
‘That’s a coincidence,’ said the head. ‘So am I.’
‘Really?’ said Jack. ‘Which elite strike force are you in?’
‘Tinto’s Tornadoes,’ said the head. ‘I’ve just been enlisted. I’m already a corporal.’
‘Then stand to attention when you address a superior officer,’ said Jack. ‘I’m a major.’
‘Me too,’ said Eddie. ‘We’re both majors. Major majors. Open the gates, corporal.’
‘Can’t do that, sir,’ said the gatekeeping head. ‘More than my commission’s worth to do that.’
‘Major,’ said Eddie to Jack.
‘Major?’ said Jack to Eddie.
‘Major, this soldier is being insubordinate. Have him immediately court-martialled and shoot him dead.’
‘Sure thing, major.’ Jack pulled out his 7.62 mm M134 General Clockwork Mini-gun.
‘Opening the gates, sir,’ said the head. ‘I would salute you, but you know how it is, no hands.’
The gatekeeper head-butted certain controls and the big iron gates swung open.
Jack and Eddie saluted the head and returned to the limousine. Jack drove it through the open gates, which swung slowly shut behind him. ‘Tell me, Eddie,’ said Jack, ‘do you have any particular plan in mind?’
Eddie offered a foolish grin. ‘Not as such,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d sort of play things by ear, as it were.’
Jack steered the limousine across the broad expanse of courtyard that lay before the factory building. The chocolate factory really was of immense size: a veritable citadel, it seemed.
‘This place is huge,’ said Jack. ‘A veritable citadel, it seems. It’s like a fortress.’
‘We didn’t have too much difficulty getting past the guard on this occasion.’
‘That’s the military mind for you.’
Jack peered up through the windscreen. ‘This is an awful lot of chocolate factory,’ he observed. ‘Does Toy City really consume so much chocolate as to merit a factory this size?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Eddie. ‘Everyone loves chocolate. And I do mean everyone. And you don’t get better chocolate than Sredna’s. But that’s possibly because no one else makes it.’
‘What did you say?’ Jack asked.
‘I said no one else makes chocolate—’
‘No, Eddie. The name.’
‘Sredna,’ said Eddie. ‘A Mr Sredna founded the chocolate company years and years and years ago. Long before my time.’
‘Sredna,’ said Jack. ‘Then everything that man told me was true.’
‘What are you talking about, Jack? What man?’
‘A man I met. Back at the town where I lived. If it hadn’t been for him and what happened, I wouldn’t have set out on my journey to the city.’
‘Do you want to tell me all about it?’
‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘But not now, there isn’t time. Now we have to stop the evil twin and rescue the rich folk.’
‘You don’t have to do this, Jack,’ Eddie said. ‘You know that. It’s going to be dangerous. You could just walk away. If you want.’
‘What?’ said Jack. ‘But we’re partners. You and me. Jack and Eddie. We’re the detective dream team.’
‘Right,’ said Eddie. ‘We’re as dreamy as.’
Jack brought the limousine to a halt and looked into the driving mirror. The sun was rising higher now, above the highest heights of Knob Hill. It shone upon the rooftops of the toymaker’s house. ‘So what do you think?’ he asked. ‘Should we go and have another of our sneakabouts? See what we can see?’
‘Let’s do that,’ said Eddie. ‘Let’s sneak.’
And so, once more, they snuck.
They left the limousine and snuck about the mighty edifice that was the chocolate factory. And a truly mighty edifice it was: a Gothic goliath; a gargoyled gargantuan; a towering tessellated tour de force. And things of that non-nominally nominative nature, generally.
‘I don’t see any lights on,’ said Eddie. ‘And frankly, my paw pads are getting tired and sore.’
‘Let’s just break in,’ said Jack. ‘Find me a lock to pick.’
A small door presented itself. Jack selected a suitable piece of wire from a pile of waste that lay conveniently to hand, picked the lock and swung the small door open.
‘After you,’ he said to Eddie.
‘No,’ said Eddie. ‘You have the big gun. Very much after you.’
With Jack leading the way, they entered the chocolate factory. Eddie sniffed chocolate.
‘Tell me about the rabbits,’ said Eddie. Which rang a bell somewhere with Jack.
‘The rabbits?’ Jack asked.
‘The hollow chocolate bunnies. What are they all about?’
Jack shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue,’ said he. ‘But I’ll bet it’s something really obvious. Where do you think we are?’
‘Looks like the staff kitchens.’
‘Then let’s go somewhere else. I have no love for kitchens.’
They passed through a doorway and into a hallway. ‘You know what,’ said Eddie, ‘we really do need some kind of plan.’
‘I think I’ll just shoot him with my big gun, as soon as I see him,’ said Jack.
‘That’s not too subtle a plan.’
‘I know.’ Jack edged along the hallway, his big gun held high. ‘But you see, there’s always too much talking when it comes to the big confrontation situation. When I used to read the Bill Winkie thrillers and it got to the point of the final confrontation with the villain, there was always too much talking. I’d be reading it and saying “don’t talk to him, Bill, just shoot him”. And Bill would have the gun on him and everything, but he’d talk and then suddenly the gun would get wrestled away and then the villain would talk and talk.’
‘That’s the way it’s done,’ said Eddie. ‘If you want to do it by the book, that’s the way it’s done. Bill always triumphed in the end, though. With my help, of course, not that I ever got a mention. But he triumphed. He did it right, did Bill.’ Eddie’s voice trailed off.
Jack turned and looked down at Eddie.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Jack. ‘I know how much you loved Bill.’
‘Don’t talk wet,’ said Eddie.
‘You loved him,’ said Jack. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. And when this is all sorted out, you will have sorted it out for Bill. As a tribute to him. And your memory of him. That’s noble stuff, Eddie. That’s doing things for love. That’s okay.’
Eddie sniffed. ‘You’re okay, Jack,’ he said. ‘You’re my bestest friend, you know that.’
‘Come on,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s do it.’
Eddie grinned, and then he said, ‘Stop, hold on there, Jack.’
‘What is it?’
‘I smell something.’
‘What do you smell?’
‘Something more than chocolate. Something that I’ve smelled before.’
Eddie now led the way and cautiously Jack followed him. They edged along the hallway.
‘The smell’s getting stronger,’ said Eddie.
Jack sniffed. ‘I can smell it now,’ he said. ‘What is it?’
‘I know what it is, and I don’t like what it is.’
Presently they reached the end of the hallway. They passed through a narrow arch and found themselves standing upon a gantry constructed of pierced metal.
Beneath them was a vast beyond: a vast beyond of wonder.
Eddie stared.
And Jack stared too.
And, ‘I don’t believe that,’ said Eddie.
27
It spread away beneath them, to dwindle into hazy perspectives: a vast subterranean factory complex.
Molten metal flowed from titanic furnaces, to be swallowed up by mighty engines fashioned from burnished brass and highly polished copper. Upon th
ese, intricate networks of massive cogs intermeshed and glittering objects shuttled out upon clattering conveyor belts. Fountains of sparks arose above enormous lathes that tortured spinning metal. Great pistons pounded and countless funnels belched out steam.
And it went on and on and on.
And on and on some more.
‘Look at it,’ Eddie gasped, breathlessly. ‘Look at it, Jack. It’s incredible. It’s as gabracious as.’
‘As what?’
‘You know I don’t know as what.’
‘I meant, what does gabracious mean?’
‘How should I know?’ said Eddie. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before. I don’t have a word for it.’
Jack shook his head. ‘It’s very impressive,’ he said.
‘Assembly lines,’ Eddie pointed out. ‘Moving belts, but no workers. No workers at all, Jack. It’s all being done by machine. It’s all …’
‘Automatic,’ said Jack. ‘Automated. Automation. When I was labouring away in the clockwork factory, the workers used to talk about this sort of thing: that one day factories wouldn’t need workers any more. That machines would do everything.’
‘But how?’ asked Eddie. ‘How is it done?’
Jack shrugged his narrow shoulders. ‘It isn’t done by clockwork, that’s for certain.’
‘Automation? That certainly sounds like the work of the Devil. And look there.’ Eddie pointed some more. ‘Look at those, on the conveyor belts there. Look what the machines are manufacturing.’
Jack did further lookings.
Robotic arms snatched up the glittering objects that shuttled along the conveyor belts, jointed them one to another, pieced them together: pieced them into all-too-recognisable forms.
‘Women,’ said Jack. ‘The machines are making women.’
‘The spider-women. Tinto’s private army.’ Eddie made a fearful face. ‘He’s building them down there, thousands of them.’
‘This is very bad, Eddie; we have to stop him.’
‘But the scale of all this. It makes me afraid, Jack. This must have taken years to build. Years and years and years.’
‘More than a few years,’ Jack said, thoughtfully. ‘This has been a very long-running project. Why would he want to build thousands of these creatures? What is he really up to?’
Eddie growled hopelessly. ‘And all down here, beneath Toy City. Beneath the chocolate factory. And none of us knew.’
‘They do favour an underground lair, these criminal masterminds. I’m a bit disappointed that it’s not inside an extinct volcano, though. But there you go.’
‘Don’t be flippant, Jack,’ said Eddie.
‘Just laughing in the face of fear, that’s all.’
‘Which would be why your knees are knocking, would it?’ Jack made an effort to stiffen his knees. ‘But look at them,’ said Eddie. ‘Those spider-women. Look at their hands, Jack.’
Jack squinted down. ‘Their hands?’ he said. ‘What about their hands?’
‘Delicate hands,’ said Eddie, ‘coming off the conveyor belts, rows and rows of hands, all with four fingers, with opposable thumbs,’ and there was no disguising the envy in the voice of Eddie Bear.
‘This is hardly the time for that, Eddie. We’re here on business. Detective business. To save the famous folk and bring the criminal mastermind, in the form of the evil twin, to justice. Or at least to this.’ Jack cocked the 7.62 mm M134 General Clockwork Mini-gun. ‘Forget about hands, please, will you?’
‘I still have time to dream,’ said Eddie, regarding his fingerless paws with contempt. ‘So, shall we do some more sneaking?’
‘Practice makes perfect.’ Jack raised his 7.62 mm M134 General Clockwork Mini-gun. ‘Follow me.’
Eddie followed Jack, who snuck down this staircase and the next, down and down, and down some more, to the factory floor below.
It was very noisy there, and very smelly too.
And even with all the furnaces, there was a terrible chill in the air.
The chill that one feels when in the presence of Evil.
‘What is that?’ Jack shivered and covered his nose.
‘The smell of the spider-women. I told you I knew that smell.’ Eddie looked fearfully up at the creations upon the conveyor belts. ‘It’s coming from them. It’s the smell of whatever they’re made of.’
Jack reached out and touched the leg of one of the half-completed spider-women as the conveyor belt carried it by. ‘Warm,’ said he. ‘And it feels almost like firm flesh. Imagine an entire army of these. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘Could we blow them all up?’ Eddie asked. ‘Murders, fast car-driving, drinking, underage sex, gratuitous violence and a big explosion at the end. That’s a recipe for success in any detective thriller.’
‘Worth a try,’ Jack agreed. ‘But it might be better to rescue the famous folk first, don’t you think?’
‘Well,’ said Eddie. It was a long well. A real weeeeeeeeeell of a well. ‘Do you think anyone would really miss them?’
‘Eddie, what are you saying?’
‘Only joking,’ said Eddie. ‘Shall we sneak about some more and see if we can find them? Perhaps somewhere away from these horrible creatures.’
‘After you this time,’ Jack said.
Eddie led the way between clattering conveyor belts, past the titanic furnaces and the mighty engines, around one huge and scary big machine and on past many more, until at last they snuck under an arch and down a passageway, which at least was far less noisy and didn’t smell so bad.
‘We’re lost,’ said Jack.
‘We’re not,’ said Eddie. ‘Bears have a great sense of direction. They’re renowned for it. How do you think we find our way back from all those picnics in the woods, breadcrumbs?’
‘We are lost.’ They had reached a parting of the passageways. There were several now to choose from. None seemed to be saying, ‘Come this way’, but then again, none didn’t.
Early morning sunlight dipped in through narrow arched windows. Jack glanced up at it. ‘Which way should we go?’ he asked.
‘That way,’ Eddie pointed.
‘I’m not so sure.’
‘I don’t think it matters, either way.’
‘Yes it does, Eddie.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ said Eddie. ‘That wasn’t me.’
‘He’s right, it wasn’t.’
Eddie turned.
And Jack turned too.
‘Ah,’ said Eddie. ‘It’s you.’
‘Surprise, surprise,’ said the Tinto impersonator. ‘Drop your weapon please, Jack.’ Where the Tinto impersonator’s left arm had been, there was now a considerable weapon: it was a 19.72 mm M666 General Clockwork Maxi-cannon.
Jack recognised it at once, and in deference to its mighty firepower, he grudgingly put down his weapon. Which it pained him considerably to do.
‘Chaps,’ said the Tinto impersonator, shaking his metallic head from side to side. ‘Chaps, chaps, chaps. The gatekeeper called me. Sergeant gatekeeper, that is. He called me to say that you two had breached the security perimeter. You’re supposed to be dead. Can’t you even die properly?’
Jack chewed upon his bottom lip. ‘Nice place you have here … er … Tinto. Can’t we just talk about this?’
The clockwork chameleon shook its head once more. ‘You really have no idea what you’ve got yourself into, have you?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Jack, ‘we haven’t. But please tell me this, who are you, really?’
‘I’m Tinto,’ said the Tinto impersonator.
‘You’re not Tinto,’ said Jack. ‘You look like Tinto. But you’re not him.’
‘And why do you say that?’
Jack chose his words with care. Although he and Eddie knew that the evil twin lurked behind the Tinto disguise, the evil twin didn’t know that they knew. So to speak. ‘I know you’re not Tinto, because you’re too perfect,’ said Jack.
‘Why, thank you very much, young man. Perfec
t, yes.’
‘Tinto’s back is all scratched up,’ said Jack. ‘The “Y” has worn off the word Tintoy. That’s why he called himself Tinto; he thinks it makes him special.’
‘And don’t you think that I’m special too?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Jack. ‘You’re very special. Unique. You’re definitely one of a kind.’
‘I’m warming to you.’ Several of the 19.72 mm M666 General Clockwork Maxi-cannon’s barrels retracted. ‘Perfection is the name of the game. And everything is a game. Everything. All fun and games.’
‘So who are you, really?’ Jack asked.
‘He’s the evil twin, of course,’ said Eddie.
Jack gawped down at Eddie.
‘Sorry,’ said Eddie. ‘It just slipped out.’
‘What?’ Gun barrels bristled from places that had previously been gun barrel-free. ‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing,’ said Eddie. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘You did. You said that I was the evil twin. You must die this instant.’
‘No, hold on please,’ said Jack. ‘Eddie gets lots of silly ideas into his head. It’s full of sawdust; it doesn’t work very well.’
‘And he thinks that I am the toymaker’s evil twin?’
‘That’s bears for you,’ said Jack, making a helpless gesture. ‘They’re as stupid as.’
‘He thinks that I?’ The Tinto head spun round and round. ‘I am the evil twin? When here am I forging a private army to destroy the evil twin? Working unpaid around the clock, and this bear thinks that I’m the evil twin?’
‘So you’re not?’ said Eddie. ‘I mean, no you’re not. Of course you’re not.’
‘Of course he’s not,’ said Jack. ‘I told you he wasn’t.’
‘I don’t remember you telling me anything of the sort.’
Jack gave Eddie a kick. ‘Shut up!’ he whispered.
‘Ouch,’ said Eddie. ‘Oh yes, of course you did.’ Eddie’s knees were all a-tremble now. ‘Jack did say that. He definitely said that you were not the evil twin.’
‘That’s right,’ said Jack.
‘Good,’ said the clockwork creation.
‘He said you were just a loony,’ said Eddie.
‘He what?’ Weaponry appeared from the most unexpected places.
The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse Page 29
