The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse (21 page)

As Jack did his sneaking, he also did peepings about, not just to seek out the mysterious murderess, but to generally peruse the premises.

Jack was getting a feel for grandeur. For wealth. He'd viewed the overt opulence of Humpty Dumpty's apartment, the gilded rococo chic of
Oh Boy!
and the romantic harmony of Madame Goose's establishment.

This, however, differed from those, which indeed differed from each other.

'This stuff is old, isn't it, Eddie?' Jack peeped into an elegant room, lavishly furnished with ebonised furniture trimmed -with heartstone and heavy on the ormolu. 'I mean, it's
old.'

'Antiques so often are,' said Eddie.

'Yes, but what I mean is this: the folk in nursery rhymes are the old rich of Toy City, aren't they?'

'They are.' Eddie ducked down behind a Zebrawood thuya of considerable yearage.

'So who owned this stuff before they did? Are these people the
new
old rich? Was there previously an
old
old rich that had this furniture built for them?'

'Oh, I see what you're getting at. Well, now that you come to mention it, there was something the curator said to me about the copyrights on the nursery rhymes that doesn't seem to make any sense.' Eddie rolled onto his belly and squirmed under a low mahogany side table with foliate splayed legs and rosewood inlay.

'What did he say?' Jack followed Eddie and struck his head upon the table's underside. 'Ouch,' he continued.

'What he said was...' And then Eddie put his paw to his nose.

'What?’ Jack asked.

'Can you smell that?'

Jack did sniffings. 'No,' he said. 'What is it?'

'Jam,' said Eddie. 'Plum jam.'

Jack clipped Eddie on the ear. 'This is no time to be thinking about food,' he said. 'Naughty, bad bear.'

'Watch it,' said Eddie. 'But do I smell plum jam. Too much plum jam.'

'Can you have too much plum jam?’ Jack asked. 'I'm very partial to plum jam, as it happens. And cradberry preserve.'

'Oh yes,' said Eddie, licking his mouth. 'Cradberry preserve is very nice indeed. And bongle jelly, that's particularly toothsome on hot buttered toast and...'

'Stop it,' said Jack. 'I'm still hungry, but I can smell it too, now. It's a very strong smell of plum jam.'

'Come on Jack, quickly,' Eddie squirmed out from under the table and jumped to his paws. 'Quickly.'

'Okay, I'm coming. Oh damn, I'm stuck under this table.'

There was a bit of a struggle, then certain damage was inflicted upon the mahogany table with the foliate splayed legs and the rosewood inlay. Jack emerged with the big gun held high.

And he followed Eddie at the hurry-up, into another kitchen.

Jack recalled all too well the horrors that he had met with in the kitchen of Madame Goose. He was not, however, prepared for those that awaited him here.

'Oh no,' croaked Jack, when his stomach had no more to yield. 'That is all too much.'

Eddie was slowly shaking his head. 'Much too much,' said he.

Little Jack Horner sat in the corner.

But Little Jack was not so little now.

He had been roped onto a kitchen chair, bound hand and foot. His body was bloated, the stomach distended, hugely distorted. The cause of this was the rubber tube that had been rammed into his mouth and forced down his throat. This tube led upwards to a great metal kitchen vat, suspended from a ceiling stanchion. This vat had evidently been filled with plum jam. This vat was now empty.

On the floor, about the chair, a pool ofjam was spreading. It spread over around and about a hollow chocolate bunny.

'Sick,' said Eddie, giving his head further shakings. 'That is very sick.'

Jack wiped vomit from his chin and tears from his eyes. 'He might still be alive,' he said. 'Perhaps we could pump his stomach out?'

'He's dead,' said Eddie. 'As dead as, and more so besides. Not the best way to go, I suppose. But I can think of far worse. Imagine if the vat had been filled with sprout juice.'

'Eddie, stop it, please.'

'Sorry, it's nerves.' Eddie twitched his nose. ‘ Jack,' he said in a low and dreadful tone, ‘ Jack, don't move.'

'What is it, Eddie?’ Jack had the big gun raised once more.

'She's still here. I can smell her perfume.'

'Stay close to me.' Jack swung the big gun around and about. 'Come out!' he called. This first 'come out' didn't come out too well; it lacked for a certain authority.

'Come out! I have a gun.' The second 'come out' came out somewhat better. 'Give yourself up!’ Jack fairly shouted now. 'The mansion is surrounded. You have no means of escape.'

Eddie nudged at Jack's leg and pointed with a paw. 'Broom cupboard,' he said.

'They favour broom cupboards, don't they?'

'Shoot through the door, Jack.' Eddie mimed gunshots as best he could. 'Shoot her while we have her cornered.'

'I can't do
that.'
Jack's gaze wandered back to the bloated corpse.

'Don't start that again. Shoot her, Jack.'

'But I...'

But he should have done.

The broom cupboard door splintered and through it she came: slender and deadly; swift and smooth.

And then she was on them.

She swung a fist at Jack, who ducked and struck Eddie's head with his chin. And then she had Jack by the scruff of his neck. She hauled him from his feet and swung him around in a blurry arc. Jack lost his grip upon the pistol, which skidded over the flagstone floor. The struggling Jack was hefted aloft and then flung with hideous force.

He tumbled across the kitchen table, scattering crockery and disappearing over the other side.

And then she was up on the table, grinning down at the fallen Jack. And then she was stooping to take up a large meat cleaver.

Jack backed away on his bottom. 'No,' he pleaded. 'Don't kill me, please.'

The being in the figure-hugging rubber grinned on regardless. She raised the cleaver to her lips and licked its edge with a blood-red pointy tongue.

'Who are you?' Jack tried to edge away, but there was nowhere left for him to edge to. 'Why are you doing these things?'

The being leapt down from the table and stood astride Jack, grinning evilly.

'Say something.’ Jack was in absolute terror now. 'Please say something. Anything. Please.'

The being raised the cleaver. Her mouth slowly opened, as if to utter words, and then it closed again.

And then the cleaver swung down.

Jack was aware of a horrible force. Of a great pushing and pressing and cutting and tearing and...

An explosion of sound.

His eyes had been closed.

But now they were open.

And he saw it all happen in slow motion.

The upswing of that cleaver.

Then the down.

And then the splitting of the head.

The fracturing and shattering as the head became a thousand scattering pieces.

But it was not Jack's head.

It was that of his attacker.

The cleaver came down.

Jack ducked aside and it crashed to the stone floor beside him, dropped by a hand that was now clutching at the empty air where a head had just been. There was only neck now, with ragged sinews and tubey things spilling out dark ichor.

The hands, both hands, clutched and clawed, and then the headless body fell onto Jack.

'Wah!' went Jack. And 'Aagh!' and 'Oh,' and 'Help.'

'You're all right.' The voice belonged to Eddie. 'You're

all right. I got her, Jack. Plugged her good. She's as dead as.

And I'm not kidding you about.' Jack fought to free himself from the fallen corpse. He could see the grinning bear. The grinning bear was holding the 7.62 mm Ml34 General Clockwork Mini-gun.

'It's a good job it doesn't have a trigger-guard,' said Eddie, 'or I'd never have been able to fire it. The cabbie was right about it taking heads right off though, wasn't he?'

'Wah!' went Jack once more.

Then once more he was sick, which, considering that he'd had next to nothing in his stomach prior to the first vomiting, was something of an achievement.

Although not one of which he could be proud.

'She's definitely dead this time,' said Eddie. 'For all of Toy City's unfathomable mysteries, I can assure you, Jack, that nothing lives with its head completely shot off.'

Jack, who was on his knees, hauled himself to his feet. 'Thank you, Eddie,' he said. 'You saved my life.'

'That's what partners do,' said the bear. 'You save my life, I save yours.'

'Thanks.’ Jack stooped and patted Eddie on the back. And then he gazed down at the headless corpse. 'So what
was
she, Eddie? What do you think?'

'Turn her over, Jack. Let's have a good look at her.'

'No way. I'm not touching that.'

'Get a grip, partner. We're fearless detectives, are we not?'

'No,
we are not.
Look at me, Eddie. I'm shaking all over and my trenchcoat is covered in black goo. My stomach's caving in and look at the state of my fedora.’ Jack stooped to pick up his fedora. The falling cleaver had taken its crown clear off.

'The new open-topped look,' said Eddie. 'It might catch on.'

'I'm not touching her,' said Jack, and he folded his shaky arms and made a shaky-headed sulky face.

'Use your foot then.'

Jack sighed and with difficulty nudged the body over with his foot.

'Fine big bosoms,' said Eddie. 'Though rather too scrawny in all the other places for my taste.'

'Stop it, please.'

‘Jack,' said Eddie.

'Eddie?' said Jack.

‘Jack, those fine big bosoms...'

'I told you to stop that.'

'Those fine big bosoms are moving.'

'Wah!' went Jack; 'Wah!' always served him well at such times. 'She's still alive. Shoot her again, Eddie. But wait until I turn away.'

'She's not alive,' said Eddie, 'she's... urgh, look at
that
!'

Jack looked at
that.
'Urgh,' he agreed. 'What
is
that?'

'It's spiders.' Eddie backed away. 'They're coming out of her, everywhere. Let's go, Jack. I don't want to look at this.'

Jack took one more look, then wished he hadn't. The corpse was now a heaving mass of spiders. They spilled from her ragged neck hole, and out of belt holes and seams and here and there and all over everywhere.

'This can't happen.’ Jack gawped and gasped and backed away. 'She can't be full of spiders. What
is
this, Eddie? What's going on here?'

Eddie backed away and cocked an ear. 'Do you hear what I hear?' he asked.

Jack tried to cock an ear too, but there are certain things that bears can do and lads just can't.

And vice versa, of course.

'No,' said Jack. 'What?'

'The bells of approaching police cars,' said Eddie. 'I think the cabbie must have regained consciousness and called the police.'

'Ah,' said Jack. 'And you don't think we should just stay here and talk to the policemen? Explain things? Tell them what we know?'

'I'm not keen,' said Eddie. 'I think we should head over to Miss Muffett's at the hurry-up; she's next on the list. We don't know how many of these spider-women things there are. I can't believe that this one could move so fast as to kill Tommy Tucker, then head across town and kill the curator and still get here before us. There could be another at Miss Muffett's now.'

'You're right. Back door?'

'Back door,' agreed Eddie.

They skirted the house and slipped quietly away.

'So where does Miss Muffett live?' Jack asked as he trudged along upon wobbly legs.

'Not too far. Let's hope we can get there before our criminal mastermind dispatches another of his killers. He surely won't know yet that we just popped off this one.'

'But what do you think they are, Eddie? They're not human, and they're not toys. So what's left?'

'Only one thing I can think of and I don't want to think about that. Do you still have the Maguffin?'

Jack patted his pocket. It was a sticky pocket, all black goo'd. 'Still have it,' he said. 'And one question. Before we went into that kitchen, you mentioned something the curator said to you. Something you said made no sense.'

'I did,' said Eddie. 'Turn left here.'

Jack turned left. 'It's more fun in a car,' he said. 'But what were you going to say? It was something about the copyrights on the nursery rhymes.'

'Yes it was.' Eddie's little fat teddy bear legs were tiring. 'Walk slower,' he said.

Jack walked slower.

'The copyrights,' said Eddie. 'When I asked about the order they were registered in, the curator told me: it was the dates that didn't make sense.'

'Go on,' said Jack.

'Well, the copyright on
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
That was the first one ever registered. How long ago do you reckon that was?'

Jack shrugged and the crown of his fedora fell off. Jack stooped, picked it up and replaced it on his head.

'You should throw that hat away,' said Eddie.

'No chance,' said Jack. 'You can't be a proper detective without a fedora. But I don't know about the copyright; maybe thirty or forty years ago, I suppose.'

'That would seem about right,' said Eddie. 'But it's wrong.
Humpty Dumpty: The Nursery Rhyme
was registered three hundred and fifty years ago.'

'That's ridiculous,' said Jack. 'Was it another Humpty Dumpty? This Dumpty's great-great-great-grandfather?'

'There's only ever been
one
Humpty Dumpty: the one who got boiled in his swimming pool.'

'But no one can live for three hundred and fifty years.'

'Toy Town grew into Toy City,' said Eddie. 'But I don't know
when
it did. It's always been the city to me and I've been here for a long time. I was Bill Winkie's bear. I'd never thought before about how long I'd been his bear, but it must have been a very, very long time.'

'What, you're telling me that
you
might be three hundred years old?' Jack stopped short and Eddie bumped into him.

'I don't know,' said Eddie, who, having tumbled, now struggled up. 'No one ever really keeps track of time here. Things are always the same. Nothing ever changes. We just go on and on. Until we fall to pieces. If you're a toy, that is.'

'It's all nonsense,' said Jack. 'Three hundred and fifty years old! But then, in this nightmare of a city where nothing makes any sense, who can say? Are we there yet?'

'Yes,' said Eddie. 'We are. But we're not.'

'Well, that doesn't make any sense, so I suppose it's about right.'

'No, Jack, we should be there, but we're not, because it isn't here.'

'What isn't here?'

'Miss Muffett's house. It's gone.'

'What do you mean? It's been pulled down?'

'No, I mean it's gone, just gone.'

'A house can't be just gone; where should it be?'

'There,' said Eddie. 'There.'

There
was a bit of a hillside with some well-established trees and some equally well-established bushes.

'There's not been a house there in ages,' said Jack. 'If there ever was one.'

'There was,' said Eddie. 'I was here last week, on the
Tour of the Stars' Homes
bus. It's one of my favourite outings. The house was here.
Right
here.'

'You must have got it wrong. Houses do not simply vanish.'

'I never implied that there was anything simple about it. But this house has vanished.'

'You think so?'

'I know so.'

'Oh.'