Von Gobstopper's Arcade (12 page)

‘Have you seen your uncle recently?’ asked Loyal with concern.

‘No,’ said Fritz. ‘He wrote to me about the opening of the arcade and asked me to join him here. But when I arrived he was nowhere to be found. The new managers say he handed over administrative duties to them so that he can retire and resume his life as a recluse, but I think it odd that he would cut off
all
communication.’

‘Odd is exactly what it is,’ agreed the horse.

‘You don’t believe it either?’

‘Strange things are happening here,’ Loyal said. ‘Things your uncle would never approve of.’

‘You are quite right,’ Fritz admitted. He looked as if he might be on the verge of sharing something with them, and then reconsidered. He gave a furtive look down the corridor beyond the open steel door.

‘Please tell us what you know,’ Milli said encouragingly.

‘Can you come back later? We can talk then without being interrupted. There’s never anyone down here after six.’

Fritz’s pager beeped. He withdrew it and shook his head as he read the text on its screen.

‘I have to go now,’ he said quickly. ‘Our chief designer is calling for fresh coffee. We’ll meet back here later.’

‘Do you mean the curator?’ Ernest called after him, but Fritz was already walking away down the corridor, grumbling about being ‘reduced to a manservant’, and did not look back.

When Milli got home, she gave her father perfunctory answers to questions about her day and quickly asked whether she could go to Ernest’s to help him learn his lines for his part in the upcoming Christmas play. She added that Ernest had invited her to stay for dinner so they needn’t set a place for her. Dorkus looked at her sister with suspicion but Mr Klompet raised no objection. He agreed to pick her up when they were done, but insisted that Milli try a piece of his beetroot slice before she left as it was a while till dinner. At the Perriclof home Ernest had spun his parents a similar story and the children met as planned on the corner of Ernest’s street,
Bauble Lane, before heading off in the direction of the arcade.

When they returned to the underground headquarters, there was some time to spare before their meeting with Fritz Braun so they filled in the others on what they had encountered in the basement. Then they noticed that Pascal was not present.

‘She should be here any minute,’ said Theo.

When Pascal did appear some minutes later, her face was tear-stained and she was walking unevenly. It transpired that she had lost a slipper whilst making her way through the labyrinthine tunnels and had been unable to find it.

Captain Pluck raised his eyebrows and folded his arms impatiently. ‘Pascal!’ he scolded. ‘There are more important things than the loss of a shoe.’ Theo shook his head in warning but the damage was done.

‘More important perhaps for you!’ spluttered the now red-faced doll. ‘All you want to do is prance around in your uniform feeling important. I would so much rather be upstairs with my friends who understand me.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ said Theo. ‘We must stay together until we know what’s happening.’

‘If we weren’t fussing over Pascal all the time, we might actually get more done,’ snapped the soldier. ‘Useless, conceited doll.’

‘I may be useless and conceited,’ shrilled Pascal, her accent becoming more pronounced the angrier she became, ‘but at least I’m not a joke.’

‘Madam, retract that immediately! If I were not a soldier and a gentleman—’

‘Enough bickering,’ interjected Loyal. ‘Perhaps we will be able to shed more light on things after our meeting. In the meantime, let’s try to remain calm.’

‘He who wavers is lost,’ Ernest added sagely. He didn’t know whether it was Shakespeare or not but it had the effect of making Theo burst into thunderous laughter. The others soon followed and the tension in the room temporarily lifted.

They met up with Fritz as planned and he led them to his room via the elevator. Milli and Ernest thought the word
cubicle
might be a
better way to describe it. The walls and floor were concrete and the iron bed was narrow with a thin foam mattress. There was a small metal trunk by the bed which appeared to contain all of Fritz’s worldly possessions. His clothes hung from a portable rack and there was a ceramic wash basin with a jug balanced on it. Milli and Ernest knew from their research that Von Gobstopper had no children and it surprised them that the heir to the toy empire should be living in such reduced circumstances.

‘Not exactly what you expected?’ Fritz asked, reading their thoughts. The children smiled uncomfortably, not wishing to cause him further embarrassment.

‘I would invite you to sit down,’ Fritz said with a self-deprecating smile, ‘but standing is probably more comfortable.’

Loyal invited the children to climb onto his back in order to free up some space.

‘But Von Gobstopper is your uncle,’ Milli finally blurted, unable to contain her curiosity any longer. ‘And he’s worth millions!’

‘He is,’ said Fritz cheerfully, ‘but he does not appear to be here now, does he?’ Although he
was making light of the situation, his blue eyes were like icebergs. ‘Are you always so direct?’ he asked Milli.

‘Not always but usually,’ she said carefully. ‘In my experience, it saves an awful lot of mucking about.’

‘Where do you think your uncle is?’ asked Ernest.

‘I have thought about it, and it is my view that he is right here, somewhere in this arcade,’ replied Fritz matter-of-factly.

Milli was shocked. ‘Doing what exactly?’

‘Not
doing
anything in particular but being held prisoner.’ Fritz surveyed them carefully and rubbed his chin. ‘Before I go on, I feel I should warn you that this is not something you want to involve yourselves in. It would be far better if you left this place and resumed your normal lives. The longer you spend here, the more danger you put yourselves in.’

‘We can’t leave now,’ Milli protested. ‘Not without knowing that Theo, Pascal and Captain Pluck are safe!’

‘You’re quite a determined girl, aren’t you?’ Fritz said. ‘How old are you both?’

‘Just turned thirteen. We were born a month apart,’ said Milli and then for the first time in her life, she found herself wishing she were older, just so she might make more of an impression on this worldly boy. She was most put out when Fritz made a whistling sound through his teeth.

‘Just babies,’ he muttered.

‘We’re extraordinarily mature for our age,’ Milli contradicted huffily.

‘Thirteen marks the onset of adolescence,’ added Ernest, ‘and the end of childhood. So babies, I think, is hardly an appropriate word.’

‘I apologise if I have offended,’ said Fritz with a humble bow. ‘You have achieved a good deal for your young years. If you wish to stay and help, I would be honoured.’

‘This morning we caught a glimpse of Ms Anomali talking to a marble bust,’ said Milli.

‘Ms Anomali is a designer—what did you expect?’

‘What does she design?’

‘Why, toys, of course. She has taken on the position of chief designer for Von Gob Toys. She wants to revolutionise the company, make
cheaper toys and appeal to the mass market. She claims that my uncle has given her free rein.’

‘But Von Gob Toys have always been unique, never two the same in the entire world,’ said Ernest.

‘Yes, that was the case,’ said Fritz, ‘but I fear it is about to change now that my uncle has
retired.
’

‘And what’s all this business going on in the basement?’ interposed Loyal.

‘It is not a basement, old friend,’ Fritz said slowly. ‘It’s a laboratory.’

Fritz’s words hung heavily in the air. Nobody spoke for a long moment and then Loyal found his voice.

‘A laboratory for what?’

‘Modifications,’ murmured Fritz. ‘That is the job of the Botchers. They are plastic surgeons whose licences have been revoked so they can no longer practise in the human world.’

‘Why are they here?’ asked Loyal in an ominous voice.

‘It is not something that can be easily explained,’ floundered Fritz. ‘I would have to
show you. I think it is time for a visit to Hack Ward. Perhaps, together, we can work out what’s going on.’

Fritz’s words seemed to release a valve in Ernest’s brain, which he felt was on the verge of imploding. He was, admittedly, also irritable and hungry as he’d not had time for an afternoon snack.

‘No, we’re not sure we can handle it!’ he shouted. ‘Why should we be expected to? We’ve been through enough drama in the last year to last most people a lifetime and yet here we are again, facing danger and uncertainty and not an adult in sight to soften the blow. I know what Milli and I should be doing right now. We should be at home doing our homework or watching an episode of
So You Think You’re a Genius
on the telly’—Milli raised her eyebrows dubiously at this—‘before brushing our teeth and taking a mug of warm milk to bed. That’s what kids our age should be doing, not worrying about kidnapped toymakers and insane designers. There are debating tryouts at school tomorrow and we’re going to be too wrung out to do our best because we’re too busy trying to
catch—’ He stopped suddenly, conscious of having held the floor uninterrupted for the duration of this outburst. He took a deep breath and regained his composure. ‘Of course we can handle it,’ he said, and looked at Milli for confirmation.

Milli looked at Ernest as if she was seeing him for the first time. ‘Lead the way,’ she said, even though her heart was pounding in her chest.

F
ritz led the way to a stark corridor where the floors were pale grey and plastic chairs in a salmon pink colour were arranged in a row against the walls. The identical doors that lined the corridor were painted a maroon colour that reminded them of congealed blood. Fritz stopped abruptly in front of one of the doors.

‘This is Hack Ward,’ he announced. ‘This is a high-security area—where toys come for rehabilitation, so we’re told.’

‘What are we waiting for?’ Loyal asked, going to push the door open with his nose.

Fritz stepped in front of him and barred the
way. He looked particularly at the children and his tone turned sombre.

‘Before you go in, I think you should be prepared. I don’t know exactly what goes on in here, but the sight that greets you behind this door may be confronting. I’m afraid your memories of childhood may be altered permanently.’

The children nodded to indicate that they understood and were prepared to accept any ramifications. Fritz hesitated a moment longer then slowly turned the handle and pushed open the door.

At first glance the room looked like a regular hospital ward. There were rows of metal beds, monitors, drips, and clipboards with the patient’s history hanging from bed ends. The lights had been dimmed and the room was tinged with blue, giving it a surreal quality. The children wondered whether this was for the patients’ comfort. On a trolley by the door lay an assortment of implements, not all of them surgical in nature: scalpels, a variety of hooks, scissors, an enormous metal file, sponges in basins, a staple gun, a drill and a collection of knives. A drawer in one of the bedside cabinets
had been left half open and inside they could see tubes of adhesive and a blowtorch.

The curtains, also a washed-out blue, around the beds were open so the patients were clearly visible. As it has been established that this was some kind of toy hospital, many of you may now be hoping for a charming scene of teddies in plaster recovering from broken legs or dolls in slings or a golly with an icepack over its eye to reduce the swelling sustained from falling from a display or even a minor scuffle. If so, you should perhaps consider jumping to the next chapter, or even the last page of this book, to spare yourself unnecessary upset. I would like to spare you that upset myself, but in the interest of truth I cannot. For the truth is that life is not always (or even often) a bed of roses. It is full of pleasures and delights, yes, but unpleasant things also happen and often to those with the least means of defending themselves. I am of the opinion that it would be unwise for us as children to shy away from these things altogether. If we do, we run the risk of being caught unawares, and when we are caught unawares there is not much we can
do to prevent such things from happening again. So, if you are still with me, steel yourself and let us continue.

Although Milli and Ernest, as we know, had seen many extraordinary things in their young lives, nothing they had previously encountered prepared them for the grisly sights that greeted them in Hack Ward. Images of what they saw that day would stay with them for years to come, popping unexpectedly into their heads and jarring them from whatever pleasant activity they happened to be engaged in at the time. Could they have predicted such repercussions they might have reconsidered their decision, but I seriously doubt it.

On the little beds in neat rows lay an assortment of toys in various stages of convalescence. It was the toys’ appearance that made Ernest recoil and Milli’s jaw drop. Both children, resilient as they were, found themselves frozen in horror. Loyal’s reaction, perhaps buffeted by experience, was merely to look immeasurably sad.

On the bed nearest to them lay what had once been a doll. But surgery, if such it can be
called, had altered her to the extent that she barely passed as a doll any longer. Her face had been cut open from chin to eyebrows leaving a gaping slash from which sprang tiny dinosaurs with razor-sharp teeth and claws. One side of the doll’s head had been shaved and the blonde hair that remained was matted. An opening in her plastic abdomen showed a screwdriver protruding like a third arm. Her feet had been replaced by feline paws.

All around were toys in a similar condition. In the next bed, a doll had drill screws in place of fingernails. In another, a wide-eyed fleecy bear had the rippling torso of an action hero and carried miniature saws in both paws. A Mr Plod toy had had most of his body removed and replaced with jumbled chess pieces interwoven with shards of metal and glass. Grotesquely, his face was still bright-eyed and smiling. There was a two-headed doll with vampire fangs and barbed-wire hair, and a fairy doll with a rusty spear welded to her arm in place of a wand. In a corner, a tin soldier swung from a crane-like apparatus; a small sign above him read
Awaiting Treatment.