The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse

  ‘Tinto’s Bar,’ said Eddie. ‘This is where I normally do my drinking, when I’m not on a case and getting thrown out of other bars. Put me down please, Jack.’

  Jack put Eddie down and viewed the exterior of Tinto’s Bar.

  The exterior of Tinto’s Bar was colourful, to say the very least.

  ‘Ghastly, isn’t it?’ said Eddie. ‘I’ve suggested he repaint the place. But does he listen? No, he just throws me out. That’s the trouble with being a teddy. Well, one of the troubles. People throw you about. They take liberties with your person. It’s not nice, I can tell you.’

  ‘I quite like the colours,’ said Jack.

  ‘They’re mostly brown,’ said Eddie. ‘Those that aren’t blue. They clash, in my opinion.’

  Jack stared at the bar’s exterior. ‘There aren’t any browns or blues,’ he said.

  ‘There are from where I’m looking. But then from where I’m looking, all the world is either brown or blue. It depends which eye I’m looking through. I’ve only the two, you see, and one’s brown and one’s blue. Not that I don’t have others. I’ve a drawer full. But I can’t fit them. No opposing thumbs, you see.’ Eddie waved his paws about.

  Jack looked down. ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Pardon is more polite,’ said Eddie. ‘But it’s the curse of the teddy bear. Paws rather than hands. They don’t even amount to proper paws, really. Proper paws are like stubby fingers. Mine are just sewn sections; nothing moves. You have no idea how lucky you are. Fingers and opposable thumbs. Bliss. What would I give, eh? That would be as wonderful as.’

  Jack pushed open the door and he and Eddie entered Tinto’s Bar.

  It wasn’t too colourful inside. In fact, it was all rather monochrome, or whatever the black and white equivalent of monochrome is. Black and white, probably.

  The floor was a chequerboard pattern. The ceiling was likewise. But there was something altogether wrong about that ceiling. It was far too near to the floor. Jack had to duck his head. There were tables and chairs, around and about, arranged in pleasing compositions. But as Jack viewed these, he could clearly see that their dimensions were wrong. The tables and chairs were much too small, built, it appeared, for children. And upon the chairs and seated at the tables, engaged in noisy discussion sat …

  Jack stopped in mid head-duck and stared.

  Sat …

  Jack opened his mouth.

  Sat …

  Jack backed towards the door he had come in by.

  Sat …

  ‘Toys!’ shouted Jack, and he fled.

  It was another alleyway, and Jack was sitting down in it.

  ‘You’re really going to have to pull yourself together,’ Eddie told him.

  ‘Toys?’ Jack made an idiotic face.

  ‘So?’ said Eddie.

  ‘Toys. In the bar. I saw them. They were drinking and talking.’

  ‘That’s what they do. What we do. What’s the big deal?’

  ‘Am I dead?’ asked Jack. ‘Is that it? I’m dead, aren’t I?’

  Eddie shook his head. ‘You’re a bit messed up. But you’re not dead. You’re as alive as.’

  ‘And so they were real?’

  ‘As real as. This is a very weird conversation, and becoming somewhat repetitive. You’re a very strange lad, Jack.’

  ‘I’m strange? How dare you? I was in that bar. I saw toys. Live toys. Dolls and bears like you and clockwork soldiers and wooden things and they were alive. I saw them.’

  ‘Well, what did you expect to see, insects? You’re in Toy City and Toy City is where toys live, isn’t it?’

  ‘Toy City,’ said Jack. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Eddie. ‘You’re a nice lad and everything. But you really must pull yourself together. You’re in Toy City, which is where toys live. Which is where toys have always lived and will always live. It’s hardly Utopia, but we get by somehow. Nothing ever changes around here. Or shouldn’t anyway, which is why I’m on the case I’m on. But this is where you are.’

  ‘This can’t be happening. I must have gone mad.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ said Eddie. ‘Perhaps you are mad. It’s a shame. A real shame. Perhaps it would be better if we just went our separate ways. I wondered, I suppose. But perhaps I was wrong. I think I’ll say goodbye.’

  ‘Wondered?’ said Jack. ‘What did you wonder?’

  ‘If, perhaps, you’d be the one. To help. It was only a thought. A drunken thought, probably. Forget it.’

  ‘How can I forget it? I don’t know what it was.’

  ‘I need a partner,’ said Eddie the Bear. ‘I’m in a bit of a fix and I need a partner. I thought perhaps … But it doesn’t matter. Go home, Jack. Go back to wherever you came from. This isn’t the place for you to be. You don’t understand about here. Sleep in this alley tonight, then go home, that’s my advice to you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Jack. ‘But I’m really confused. Real toys? Live toys? Living in a city?’

  ‘You came to Toy City and you didn’t expect to meet toys?’

  ‘I didn’t know it was Toy City. All I knew was it was the City. Where things happened. Nothing much ever happened in the town where I lived. So I came here to seek my fortune.’

  ‘Interesting concept,’ said Eddie. ‘I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before. But then, this is the first time that I’ve actually met anyone who came from outside the City.’

  ‘Because no one ever reaches here,’ said Jack.

  ‘Why? Do they get lost?’

  ‘No, eaten, mostly.’

  Eddie shrugged. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that. All I know is what I am. I live in Toy City. Things are as they are.’

  ‘But toys can’t live. They can’t be alive.’

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘Because they can’t.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I say that they can’t.’

  Eddie Bear looked up at Jack.

  And Jack looked down at Eddie.

  Eddie Bear began to laugh.

  And then, too, so did Jack.

  ‘Shall we go and have that beer?’ asked Eddie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s do that.’

  4

  Tinto’s Bar looked no better to Jack on second viewing.

  The interior was still the black and white equivalent of monochrome and the chairs and tables were still arranged in pleasing compositions. But the scale of everything was still all wrong and Jack had to duck his head once more, and keep it ducked. And all those toys were still there. And all those toys still worried Jack.

  The lad steadied himself against the nearest wall. There was no longer any doubt in his mind regarding the reality of this. It was real. That it couldn’t be real did not enter into it. He was here and all these toys were …

  ‘Drunk!’ Jack looked down at Eddie. ‘All these toys are drunk.’

  Eddie looked up at Jack. And Eddie shrugged. ‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘They’ve been in here all evening. Don’t folk get drunk where you come from?’

  ‘People do,’ said Jack. ‘But not …’

  ‘Don’t start all that again. Buy me a drink.’

  ‘I don’t have any money. I was robbed.’

  ‘You’ve some coins in your trouser pocket. I felt them when you were unconscious.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was trying to bring you round.’

  ‘You were going through my pockets?’

  ‘Not me,’ said Eddie. ‘No can do. No opposing thumbs.’

  Jack patted at his trousers.

  ‘Other side,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Jack, digging deeply into a pocket and winkling out a number of coins. ‘That’s a bit of luck.’

  ‘Stick with me, kidder,’ said Eddie. ‘I’ll bring you lots of luck.’

  Jack gazed down at the shabby-looking bear and nodded his ducked head in a manner that lacked conviction.

  ‘To the bar,’ said Eddie, leadin
g the way. ‘Let’s both get as drunk as.’

  Jack followed on, keeping his head down and making furtive sideways glances as he did so. There were toys to all sides of him, and just a little below. They were chatting away in a rowdy fashion, banging their glasses on the tables and generally carrying on as folk carry on anywhere when they are well in their cups.

  There were dolls and there were gollys, teddies and toy soldiers, and fluffy-faced animals of indeterminate species. And they all had that look of ‘favourite toys’ which have been loved to the point of near-destruction.

  Jack watched Eddie climb onto a bar stool. How could he move about like that? He was all filled up with sawdust; he’d said so himself. He had no bones, no muscles, no sinews. How could it be possible?

  Jack shrugged and sighed and sat himself down on a bar stool next to Eddie. It was a very low bar stool, beside a very low bar counter, and Jack found himself with his knees up high.

  ‘Can’t we go somewhere else?’ he whispered to Eddie. ‘This stool’s too low for me. I look a complete gormster.’

  ‘No you don’t.’ The bear grinned, a big face-splitter. ‘You look as handsome as. Get the beers in.’

  Jack sighed again. ‘Where’s the barman?’ he asked.

  ‘Howdy doody, what’ll it be, sir?’ The barman sprang up from beneath the bar counter, causing Jack to fall back in alarm.

  ‘Control yourself,’ said Eddie as Jack stared, all agog. ‘It’s only Tinto, the barman.’

  Tinto was clearly mechanical, powered by a clockwork motor. He was formed from tin and glossily painted, though much of the gloss was now gone. His head was an oversized sphere, with a smiling face painted on the front. His body was a thing-a-me-oid* painted with a dicky-bow and tuxedo. The arms were flat, though painted with sleeves and shirt cuffs. The fingers of the hands were fully articulated.

  Jack glanced at Eddie, who was staring covetously at those fingers.

  ‘Howdy doody, what’ll it be, sir?’ said Tinto once again. The painted lips didn’t move. The voice came from a tiny grille in the painted chest.

  ‘I …’ went Jack, ‘I …’

  ‘Beer,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Coming right up,’ said Tinto. ‘And anything for the complete gormster?’

  ‘He’ll have a beer too,’ said Eddie. ‘And he’s my friend and he’s paying.’

  ‘No offence meant,’ said Tinto.

  ‘None taken,’ said Eddie.

  ‘There was too,’ said Jack.

  ‘No there wasn’t,’ said Eddie. ‘Just relax and drink beer.’

  ‘I.D.,’ said Tinto.

  ‘What?’ said Eddie.

  ‘I.D. for the gormster. He looks underage to me. Underaged and oversized.’

  ‘Underage?’ Jack’s jaw dropped. ‘Oversized?’ His face made a frown.

  ‘I run a respectable bar,’ said Tinto. ‘Top notch clientele, as you can readily observe. I can’t have blue-faced, stocking-footed ragamuffins coming in here and losing me my licence. You’ll have to show me your I.D. or … I … will … have …’ Tinto’s voice became slower and slower and finally stopped altogether.

  ‘What’s happened to it?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Him!’ said Eddie.

  ‘Him,’ said Jack.

  ‘Run down,’ said Eddie. ‘He needs rewinding. I generally take advantage if this happens when I’m alone with him in the bar. Nip around and help myself to a free beer.’

  ‘Do it now then,’ said Jack.

  ‘There’re too many folk here now. But he loses his short-term memory when he’s rewound, so just back me up.’

  Jack shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Nellie,’ called Eddie, ‘Nellie, a winding needed here.’

  A dainty doll with a huge wasps’ nest of yellow hair hastened along behind the bar counter, turned Tinto around and began to vigorously crank the key in his back.

  ‘See his name there, on his back?’ said Eddie, leaning over the bar counter and pointing it out to Jack.

  Jack perused the barman’s back. ‘It doesn’t say Tinto,’ he said, ‘it says Tintoy. The “Y” has worn off.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Eddie. ‘But don’t mention it to Tinto. He thinks it makes him special.’

  Jack opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t.

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Tinto, his head turning a semicircle. ‘Almost ran right down there. Now, what was I doing?’ His body revolved to catch up with his head.

  ‘You were pulling two beers for us,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Was I?’ asked Tinto.

  ‘You were,’ agreed Jack. ‘You’d just scrutinised my I.D. and commented on the fact that I looked young for my age.’

  ‘Did I?’ said Tinto.

  ‘You did,’ said Eddie. ‘And we’d just paid for the beers.’

  ‘You had?’ said Tinto.

  ‘We had,’ said Jack. ‘Eddie did. With a gold piece. But we haven’t had the beers yet and Eddie hasn’t had his change.’

  ‘So sorry,’ said Tinto. ‘I’ll get right to it.’ And he moved off along the bar to pull a brace of beers.

  ‘A gold piece?’ whispered Eddie. ‘That’s pushing it a bit.’

  Jack shrugged. ‘I was only backing you up. You can always tell him it was a mistake if you want and say you gave him the right money.’

  ‘Oh no,’ whispered Eddie. ‘A gold piece is fine. I must remember that in future.’

  Tinto returned and presented Eddie and Jack with their beers and Eddie with a great deal of change. ‘Cheers,’ said Eddie, taking his glass carefully between his paws and pouring beer messily into his face.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Jack, doing likewise, though without the mess. The glass was tiny. Jack drained it with a single gulp and ordered another.

  ‘So, Eddie,’ said Tinto, doing the business for Jack, who paid with the change from his trouser pocket. ‘Any word from Bill?’

  ‘No,’ said Eddie, manoeuvring his glass back onto the bar counter. ‘He’s been gone for a week now. But I’m sure he’ll be back very soon.’

  ‘Who’s Bill?’ Jack asked as Tinto passed him a new beer.

  ‘My partner,’ said Eddie.

  Tinto laughed, a sound like small stones being shaken about in an empty tin can.

  ‘All right, my owner,’ said Eddie. ‘Bill Winkie, the famous detective. I’m Bill’s bear; I told you in the alleyway, Jack.’

  ‘Bill Winkie?’ Jack took a gulp and placed his latest empty glass on the counter. ‘Bill Winkie, Private Eye?’

  ‘The same,’ said Eddie.

  ‘I’ve read the books,’ said Jack.

  ‘I never get a mention,’ said Eddie.

  ‘No, you don’t, but that’s not the point.’

  ‘It is to me. Without me he’d never solve a single case. I’m the brains behind that man.’

  ‘That’s really not the point,’ said Jack. ‘The point is that Bill Winkie is a fictional detective. He’s not a real person.’

  ‘He seems pretty real to me.’ Eddie took up his glass once more and poured beer into his face. ‘From the brim of his snap-brimmed Fedora to the toes of his smelly old socks.’

  ‘You’re telling me that Bill Winkie is real?’

  ‘As real as.’

  ‘Hm,’ went Jack. ‘It follows.’

  ‘Eddie’s not kidding you around,’ said Tinto. ‘He really does solve most of Bill’s cases. He’s a natural, a born detective.’

  ‘Cheers,’ said Eddie. ‘I appreciate that.’

  ‘Credit where credit’s due,’ said Tinto. ‘But you’ll only get that credit here. And I don’t even give credit. This is a cash-only establishment.’

  ‘What he means,’ said Eddie, ‘is that toys have no status. This may be Toy City, but toys have to know their place. Step out of line and you turn up missing.’

  ‘I don’t really understand,’ said Jack.

  ‘The status quo,’ said Eddie. ‘I’m a teddy. I’m supposed to do teddy things. Eat porridge, picnic
in the woods, be cuddly, stuff like that.’ Eddie made a face and spat sawdust.

  ‘And you’re not keen?’ said Jack.

  ‘I’m a bear with brains. I have ambitions.’

  ‘About the brains,’ said Jack. ‘I have been wondering about those.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Eddie patted at his head with a paw. ‘You’ve been wondering how a head full of sawdust can actually think?’

  ‘It had crossed my mind, yes.’

  ‘And so how does your brain think?’

  ‘It’s a brain, that’s what it does.’

  ‘It’s a piece of meat,’ said Eddie. ‘And how does a piece of meat think? You tell me!’

  ‘Well …’ said Jack.

  ‘You don’t know,’ said Eddie. ‘Nobody knows. Except perhaps for Mr Anders. He knows almost everything.’

  ‘And who is Mr Anders?’

  ‘The kindly, loveable white-haired old Toymaker. He birthed me and everyone else in this bar, with the exception of you.’

  ‘So why don’t you speak to him about this status quo business? Tell him you want your recognition?’

  ‘Er, no,’ said Eddie. ‘The Toymaker made me to be a teddy and do teddy things. The fact that I don’t care to do them is my business. So I’ll just keep my business to myself.’

  ‘Or turn up missing?’

  ‘I don’t want to think about it.’

  ‘So don’t. Let’s drink. Do you want me to turn you upside down yet?’

  ‘No, not yet, but thanks anyway. You’re all right, Jack. I like you.’

  ‘I like you too, Eddie, cheers.’ Jack raised his glass, but it was empty.

  Eddie raised his, but it was empty too. Eddie fumbled with his paws and dropped his glass, shattering it upon the floor.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Eddie. ‘It happens. A lot.’

  ‘You haven’t mentioned to the Toymaker that you would really like a pair of …’ Jack stopped himself short. Of course Eddie hadn’t. He could hardly ask the Toymaker to fit him with a pair of hands. That would not be maintaining the status quo.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jack.

  ‘Forget it,’ said Eddie. ‘Buy me a beer. It’s your round.’

  ‘You have a lot of change on the counter there.’

  ‘Yes but that’s my change and it’s your round.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Jack. ‘Although it isn’t my round.’ Jack purchased a brace of beers with the last of his money and the two took to drinking once more.