The Toyminator

  ‘Not his fault,’ said Tinto. ‘He was in love. Females will do that kind of thing to you. Put you off what you’re meaning to do. Confuse you, fiddle you out of your money, then run off with a wind-up action figure. I can’t be having with females, me.’

  ‘Have you ever had a girlfriend, Tinto?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘Loads,’ said Tinto. ‘And they all confused me, fiddled me out of my money and ran off with a wind-up action figure. Except for the big fat one.’

  ‘She was nice, was she?’

  ‘No, she ran off with a clockwork train. What was that all about? I ask you.’

  Eddie shrugged. ‘We all have a tale to tell,’ he said, ‘and most of those tales are sad.’

  ‘And that’s what bars are for,’ said Tinto, ‘so you can tell them into the sympathetic ear of a caring barman.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Eddie, raising his empty glass between his paws. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers to you, too,’ said Tinto. ‘Now pay up or I’ll kick you out, you bum.’

  Eddie laughed. ‘Most amusing,’ he said.

  ‘No, I mean it,’ said Tinto. ‘It’s all your fault that it’s raining.’

  ‘It’s not my fault at all.’

  ‘ ’Tis too,’ said Tinto. ‘Everything’s your fault. Everybody knows that.’

  ‘Doom and gloom,’ said Eddie Bear.

  ‘Still,’ said Tinto, ‘you have to look on the bright side, don’t you? Or so I’m told. I’m reading this book, you see. It’s going to make me merry in thirty days.’

  ‘So how long have you been reading it for?’

  ‘Oh, more than four days,’ said Tinto. ‘It’s about forty-four, I think.’

  ‘It’s so good to be back here,’ said Eddie.

  ‘I thought I was throwing you out.’

  ‘I have some money coming soon.’ Eddie made encouraging motions with his glass.

  ‘I fail to understand the motions you’re making with that glass,’ said Tinto, ‘but what money would you have coming soon?’

  ‘I’ve gone back to my old profession,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Walking round the garden?’ said Tinto. ‘I never really understood the point of that. A “teddy-bear thing”, I suppose.’

  ‘Not that, nor taking picnics in the wood. I mean my profession as a private eye. I’m setting myself up in Bill’s office.’

  ‘Bill Winkie?’ Tinto made the sacred sign of the spanner again. ‘Have you noticed, Eddie, that folk who come into contact with you seem to come to very sticky ends?’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault, what happened to Bill. We were as close as.’ Eddie made a very sad face, for Eddie had loved Bill Winkie. Eddie had been Bill Winkie’s bear. Eddie had avenged Bill’s death, but Eddie still missed Bill. ‘I won’t be changing the name on his door,’ said Eddie. ‘It will still be “Bill Winkie Investigations”.’

  ‘Well, I doubt if you’d get too much business if you advertised yourself as “Ex-Mayor Eddie Investigations”.’

  Eddie made growling sounds. ‘In Bill’s memory,’ he said. ‘And I am confident that I shall soon have several wealthy clients on my books.’

  ‘But you haven’t yet?’

  ‘Not as such.’

  ‘Not as such?’ said Tinto.

  ‘Well, I haven’t managed to get back into the office yet. It’s padlocked up. And now I’ve only got these.’ Eddie sadly regarded his paws.

  Tinto made a sighing sound. ‘That was a pity,’ he said, ‘the Toymaker taking those hands he’d fitted you with. Spiteful, that, I thought, although—’

  ‘Although what?’

  ‘Well,’ said Tinto, ‘it wasn’t right, was it? A teddy bear with fingers and thumbs. That was all wrong. There was something really creepy about that. And I never liked those eyes he gave you, either. Teddies don’t have blinking eyes. It’s not natural. It’s—’

  ‘Stop it,’ said Eddie. ‘It’s all right for you. Try living with only paws for just one week, see how you like it.’

  ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t like it, but that’s not the point. We’re all here for a purpose. I’m a clockwork barman. That was what I was made to be. Not a fireman, or a clown. Or a train! The city functions because the toys who live in it do what they were intended to do.’

  ‘But the city doesn’t function. The city is in a mess.’

  ‘There you go again.’ Tinto shook his head once more and once again it rattled. ‘You can’t go trying to change things, Eddie. Things might not be to your liking, but things are the way they are and we just have to get on with it. Although not for much longer, it appears.’

  ‘Does it?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘It does, because The End Times are coming upon us. The Time of the Terrible Stillness draws near. Which, popular opinion agrees, is all your fault, by the way.’

  ‘End Times,’ said Eddie. ‘That’s as mad as. And it’s not my fault.’

  ‘I’m prepared to be reasonable.’ Tinto poured himself another five-year-old, but hesitated to refresh Eddie’s glass. ‘I’m prepared to say that you are only partially to blame.’

  ‘I’m not even partially to blame.’

  ‘You’re just in denial,’ said Tinto. ‘You need closure. It’s all in the book I’m reading. I’ll lend it to you as soon as I’m finished. Which should be in about fifty-three days, by my reckoning.’

  Eddie fidgeted some more. ‘If you won’t give me any more drink I will be forced to stand upon my head,’ he said.

  ‘And I will be forced to throw you out.’

  Eddie offered Tinto a bit of a smile. ‘It’s very good to see you again, Tinto,’ he said. ‘It’s as good as, it really, truly is.’

  Tinto poured Eddie another. ‘It’s good to see you, too,’ he said. ‘Even though you’ve brought The End Times upon us.’

  Eddie Bear was more than just drunk when he left Tinto’s Bar. He was rather full of bar snacks, too. Well, he had been rather hungry, and Tinto had become somewhat over-lubricated and somewhat generous in the process. As one will do if one is that kind of a drunk. He had also lent Eddie his copy of Become A Merry Old Soul in Thirty Days. Eddie was struggling to carry this, but at least it wasn’t raining any more.

  The streets were still deserted; street lamps reflected in puddles, gutters drip-drip-dripped. Eddie’s footpads squelched horribly, but as his feet were drunk he didn’t really notice.

  Eddie had no destination. He’d been sleeping rough for weeks, trying in vain whenever the opportunity arose to enter Bill’s office, slinking away at the approach of footsteps, hiding where he could.

  Just how he thought he could set himself up as a detective and actually find any clients who didn’t know and hate him was anybody’s guess. But Eddie was a bear of substance and although he was presently down, more down in fact than he had ever been before, he was far from out.

  Although, perhaps, not that far.

  Eddie stumbled and squelched and hummed a little, too. It had been very nice of Tinto to offer him a welcome. He would definitely reward the clockwork barman for his kindness sometime. Possibly even financially. Well, anything was possible. Eddie hummed and stumbled and squelched. And Eddie felt optimistic, for the first time in what felt like an age. He’d pull through, he knew he would. Pull through, somehow. Make good. Make the population of Toy City proud of him. Make the Toymaker proud of him. He’d do something. He would, he really would.

  And he would seek out Jack. Yes, he would definitely do that. Jack had been his bestest friend. They had been partners; together they had defeated the evil twin of the Toymaker. Together. He would seek out Jack and they would become partners once again. Do great things together. Jack could do things, great things. He could do things that Eddie could not, such as pick the padlock on Bill Winkie’s office. For Jack was a meathead; Jack had hands with fingers and opposable thumbs.

  ‘Jack and me,’ said Eddie, as he stumbled and bumbled along, ‘we were as close as. We were bestest friends. If Jack is still in the city I will find him. I will
get on to that first thing in the morning. But for now I need somewhere cosy and dry to spend the night. An alleyway, perhaps.’

  An alleyway presented itself, as they will when you are in your cups. Especially if you are in need of the toilet. Eddie was in need of the toilet as much as he was in need of somewhere cosy and dry, and so the alleyway that presented itself was a sort of dual-purpose alleyway. Or triple-purpose alleyway, if one were to be exact. Or quadruple, if you were Tinto.

  The alleyway that presented itself to Eddie was of the type that was greatly favoured by 1950s American-genre private eyes. It had one of those fire escapes with a retractable bottom section, some dustbins and the rear door of a nightclub, from which drifted the suitably atmospheric tones of a mellow saxophone.

  Eddie bumbled and stumbled into the alleyway and relieved himself to the accompaniment of much contented sighing. Even though sighing wasn’t usually his thing. He lifted the lid off the nearest dustbin and then drew back in disgust. Bears have sensitive noses, after all. Another lid and then another, and then he found an empty dustbin and a new one, too. Eddie flung Tinto’s book into this empty dustbin and, after something of a struggle, followed it.

  ‘Hardly the most salubrious accommodation,’ said Eddie, drawing the lid over himself and preparing to settle down for the night. ‘I will probably laugh about this one day. But for all the life that’s in me, I cannot imagine what day that might be. But,’ and Eddie did further settlings, ‘that day will come.’

  And Eddie Bear, in darkness, settled down to sleep.

  And slept.

  And then awoke.

  With more than just a start.

  A terrible clamouring came to the ears of Eddie, a terrible rattling and jangling about. His dustbin bower was being shaken. Ferociously.

  ‘Give a bear a break.’ Eddie put his paws to his head. The din and the shaking grew fiercer.

  Eddie rose and gingerly lifted the lid.

  A great white light dazzled his vision. Sparks flew from somewhere and leapt all around and about.

  Eddie’s mismatched eyes took it all in. Whatever it was. There was a glowing orb of light, a sphere of whiteness. It grew, right there, in the middle of the alleyway, from nothing to something.

  The shaking and rattling and the jangling too grew and grew. And then, just like that, because there was no other way to it, it ceased. The shaking and the rattling and the jangling and the sparking and the light. It was gone, all gone.

  But something else was there.

  Eddie cowered and peeped through the gap between bin lid and bin. Something had materialised. Out of nowhere. Into somewhere. In this very alleyway.

  It crouched. And then it rose. And as Eddie looked on, he could see just what this something was.

  It was a bear.

  A toy bear.

  And this bear looked like Eddie.

  Just like Eddie.

  The bear rose, flexed its shoulders, glanced to either side.

  And then made off at the hurry-up.

  Eddie Bear sank down in his bin and gently lowered the lid.

  ‘I think I may just give up drinking,’ Eddie said.

  2

  The morning sun rose over Toy City. It was a big and jolly sun with a big smiley face and its name was believed to be Sam.

  So the sun of Sam* shone down and the Toy City folk awoke.

  The economy, for Toy City had such a thing, as everywhere seems to have such a thing these days, whatever the word might mean, was a little on the decline hereabouts. Wages were down and prices were up and the niceties of life seemed as ever the preserve of the well-to-dos, those who had, having more, and those who had not, less. The heads of the have-nots drooped on their shoulders as they trudged, or wheeled, or trundled to their places of work. Factory whistles blew, traffic lights faltered, trains were cancelled, dry-cleaning failed to arrive back upon the promised day and how come one is always in the wrong queue in the Post Office?

  A rattling and jangling and shaking all about awakened Eddie Bear, from a sleep without dreams, because toy bears do not dream, to recollection, then horror.

  ‘Oh my, oh dear. Whoa!’ Sunlight rushed in upon the bear as his bin bower was raised and upended. And, ‘No!’ shrieked Eddie, affecting that high-pitched whine of alarm that one makes when taken with fear.

  Up went the bin, and up and over and out came Eddie, down into the dustcart.

  As will be well known to those who know these things well, these knowers being those who watch movies on a regular basis, movie garbage consists of cardboard boxes, shredded paper and indeterminate soft stuff. When heroes fall, or are thrown, into such garbage they generally come up unsoiled and fighting.

  Oh that life should as a movie be.

  Eddie found himself engulfed in fish-heads, curry cartons, rotten fruit, stale veg and that rarest of all rare things, the dung of a wooden horse. Eddie shrieked and struggled and wallowed and sank and rose again and was presently rescued, lifted (at the length of an arm) and set down on the ground.

  Garbageman Four looked down upon Eddie. ‘What did you do that for?’ he asked.

  Eddie spat out something evil-tasting and peered up at Garbageman Four. Garbageman Four was part of a six-man matching clockwork garbageman crew, printed tin-plate turn-outs all. Garbageman Four considered himself to be a special garbageman, because only he had a number four printed on his back.

  ‘What did I do what for?’ Eddie managed to utter.

  ‘Scream and shout and struggle about,’ said Garbageman Four, rocking on the heels of his big tin work boots. ‘Garbage is not supposed to do that. Garbage is supposed to know its place and behave the way it should.’

  Eddie made growling sounds. ‘I am not garbage,’ he said. ‘I’m an Anders Imperial. Cinnamon-coloured mohair plush, with wood-wool stuffing throughout. Black felt paw pads, vertically stitched nose. An Anders Imperial. I have the special tag in my ear and everything.’

  Garbageman Four leaned down and viewed Eddie’s special tag. ‘That’s a beer cap, that is,’ he said. ‘And you’re a grubby rubbish old bear. Now back into the truck with you and off to the incinerator.’ But as Garbageman Four reached down towards Eddie, Eddie took off at the hurry-up.

  His stumpy legs carried him beyond both garbageman and alleyway and out into a main thoroughfare. Clockwork motor cars whirred by, along with cycling monkeys, woodentop children going to school and a teddy or two who viewed him with disgust.

  Eddie sat down on the kerb and buried his furry face in his paws. How had it come to this? How had he reached the rockiest of rock bottoms, sunk to the very depths of the pool? How, how, how had it happened?

  His woe-begotten thoughts returned to his time as mayor. He had tried so hard to make things better for the denizens of Toy City. He really, truly had tried. But no matter how hard he’d tried or what actions he’d taken, he’d always somehow managed to make things worse. Every bylaw, edict and new rule he’d put in place had somehow got twisted about. It had been as if someone or something had been out to sabotage everything he’d done with kindness in his heart-regions and the good of all in the foremost of his thoughts.

  Eddie groaned. And now it had come to this. He was a down-and-out, a vagrant, a vagabond. Ill-smelling and disenfranchised. An outcast. The garbage truck rumbled by, its tin-plate wheels ploughing through a puddle that splashed over Eddie Bear.

  Eddie added sighs to his groaning, then rose and squeezed disconsolately at himself. He was a mess and whatever optimism he might have felt the previous evening, optimism that had probably been buoyed up by the prodigious quantities of Old Golly-Wobbler he had imbibed, was now all gone and only pain remained.

  Eddie did doglike shakings of himself, spraying puddle water onto a crinoline doll who tut-tut-tutted and strutted away, her haughty nose in the air.

  ‘I need a drink,’ said Eddie. And his tummy growled. ‘I need breakfast,’ said Eddie. And his tummy agreed.

  As chance, or fate, or possibly both would
have it, across the thoroughfare from Eddie stood a restaurant. It was a Nadine’s Diner, one of a chain of such diners owned by Nadine Spratt, widow of the now-legendary Jack Spratt, Pre-adolescent Poetic Personality. Jack, as those who recall the nursery rhyme will recall, was the fellow who ‘ate no fat’, whilst his wife ‘would eat no lean’, and so, in the manner of the happy marriage they had once enjoyed, between the two of them they had ‘licked the platter clean’ and started two successful restaurant chains, his specialising in Lean Cuisine and hers in Big Fat Fry-Ups. Hers had been the more successful of the two businesses.

  They had been going through a most colourful celebrity divorce at the time of Jack Spratt’s demise, when he was plunged into a deep-fat fryer.*

  Eddie gazed upon Nadine’s Diner: a long, low building painted all in a hectic yellow, with a sign, wrought from neon, spelling out its name, as such signs are ever wont to do.

  Eddie Bear sniffed, inhaling the smell of Big Fat Fry-Ups.

  Eddie had no pockets to pat, so Eddie did not pat them. Because the thing, well, one of the things, about pockets is that sometimes they have small change in them. Small change that you have forgotten about, but small change that is just big enough to pay for a Big Fat Fry-Up. But Eddie didn’t pat.

  Eddie Bear made instead a face.

  A face that had about it a multiplicity of expressions.

  The chief amongst them being that of determination.

  Eddie was determined that he should have breakfast.

  And now was the time he should have it.

  Being a bear well versed in the perils of stepping out onto a busy road without first looking one way and then the other, Eddie Bear did these lookings and when the way was clear of traffic crossed the road and wandered to Nadine’s Diner.

  Where he paused and pondered his lot.

  It was not much of a lot to ponder. It was a rather rotten lot, as it happened. But it did require a degree of pondering. He could not, in his present soiled condition, simply swagger into the diner, order for himself the very biggest of Big Fat Fry-Ups, consume same with eagerness and, when done, run out without paying.