Von Gobstopper's Arcade (15 page)

‘Is everything all right?’ Rosie asked. ‘I thought I heard noises.’

‘Just me walking around because I can’t sleep,’ Milli said, happy not to have to rely on another lie.

‘Would a Face Trace help, do you think?’ suggested Rosie thoughtfully.

Milli sensed in her mother a desire to make peace and couldn’t reject the offer.

‘It might,’ she said. ‘I’m feeling sleepier now.’

Her mother smiled and moved closer to the bed. ‘I’m sorry we argued before,’ she said. ‘I know I’m not always patient and my expectations
are sometimes unrealistic. It’s just that this family doesn’t need any more adventures just now. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ said Milli, feigning a yawn.

Rosie sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the top of Milli’s head.

‘Now, ready for that Face Trace?’

Milli nodded.

‘Okay, then, eyes closed.’

A Face Trace (for those who have never experienced one) was Milli’s favourite thing as a child when she couldn’t drift off to sleep. It involved her mother tracing the outline of the features on her face with a fingertip and listing each of them each in turn, ‘Eyebrows, eyelids, eyelashes…’, and it was so soothing that sleep usually came quickly.

‘Goodnight, then,’ said Rosie, once she had finished.

‘Night, Mum, and thanks,’ said Milli.

Rosie was just leaving when she spotted the rocking horse. ‘Where did that come from?’ she said in surprise. ‘I’ve never seen it before.’

‘Prop for school play,’ mumbled Milli. ‘Got him from an op shop. Ernest’s idea.’

Rosie seemed satisfied with this and gently closed the door behind her. As soon as she’d gone, Milli sat up. She saw that Loyal was glaring at her.

‘I may be old, but I am certainly not op shop material,’ he said huffily.

‘Keep your voice down,’ Milli hissed. ‘It was all I could think of. Now please tell me what’s going on.’

Loyal’s face clouded over and his eyes went misty. ‘It’s Pascal,’ he said with a lump in his throat. ‘She’s gone missing.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Milli, feeling her stomach tighten. ‘She sometimes goes off on her own to mope, doesn’t she?’

‘No, she’s really gone this time,’ Loyal answered. ‘She’s been particularly down of late and spoke of rejoining her friends in the arcade. We suspect that’s what she’s done. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to impose the ideals of the Resistance on her when she wasn’t ready, but now she may have put herself in real danger.’

‘What do we do?’ Milli asked. Even if Pascal was naive and foolish, Milli couldn’t bear the
idea of her falling into the hands of the Botchers. The very thought made her dizzy with fear.

‘There is only one thing to do,’ replied Loyal. ‘We must find Pascal before they do. Put something warm on and climb on my back.’

Milli had just enough time to pull on her sheepskin boots and a fleecy dressing gown before hopping on Loyal’s smooth back. Loyal navigated his way around the camellias in the front garden and onto the icy street. He moved lightly and carried Milli’s weight with surprising ease. After a few simple directions they turned into Bauble Lane.

Ernest, who was a deep sleeper, proved more difficult to rouse and only when Milli’s tapping on his window turned to thumping did he wake with a jolt and tumble onto the floor. Even after he’d opened his window, invited them in and wrapped himself in his dressing gown, he was still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

‘Who’s gone where?’ he mumbled.

‘We have to go
now,’
Milli emphasised. ‘I’ll explain on the way.’

It was an exhilarating ride, zigzagging their way through cobbled streets on Loyal’s sturdy
back, the night air stinging their cheeks. The rocking horse used the children’s weight to propel himself forward and skied along swiftly on his polished rockers. The wind freed Milli’s hair from its ribbons so that it streamed behind her. Ernest, fearing they would run into a hedge or picket fence at any moment, kept his head buried in Milli’s back.

‘Ernest, look!’ Milli said, poking his ribs so he had to open his eyes. There was the night sky sprinkled with stars and the soft snow starting to swirl like a shawl around them. Even Ernest had to admit it was quite a sight.

Captain Pluck, Theo and Von Gobstopper were waiting for them in the underground headquarters. Captain Pluck, who had never had much sympathy for Pascal, was having difficulty curbing his criticism.

‘Foolish doll!’ he burst out when the children arrived. ‘Flighty, air-headed twit! Should have known she’d jeopardise everything.’

‘That isn’t going to help,’ Theo reminded him. ‘Besides, Pascal hasn’t jeopardised anything. She simply made a choice to leave.’ Although his
voice was level and calm, his muddy brown eyes gave him away—they couldn’t mask his distress over their missing compatriot. ‘Pascal may have done a stupid thing but she is one of us and we have to help her.’

‘I don’t know what we can do,’ objected Captain Pluck, ‘without putting us all at risk. Strategically, it doesn’t make sense.’

Their argument was cut short by Fritz’s arrival. His face was pinched as he greeted the children.

‘It’s too late,’ he said. ‘I’ve been up to the arcade and looked everywhere. Pascal’s not there. She must have been taken during the last round-up.’

A gloomy silence followed. Then Von Gobstopper jumped resolutely to his feet.

‘Too many of my creations have disappeared into that basement never to return,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to let that happen to Pascal. I’m going to find her.’

‘Uncle, calm down,’ pleaded Fritz, taking him gently by the arm. ‘You’re not strong enough yet. You stay here with Pluck. The children and I will go and find her.’

‘I would have thought my military experience might be put to better use,’ objected the toy soldier.

‘What better use than to guard my uncle?’ Fritz retorted. ‘Only the most heroic of us could be trusted with such a job.’

Captain Pluck was immediately appeased. He stood to attention, indicating that his guard duties had already begun.

‘I know my way around—we’ll be back with her in no time,’ Fritz reassured his uncle.

Von Gobstopper, a little shaky from the exertion of leaping to his feet, had no choice but to acquiesce to his nephew’s instruction. Fritz affectionately draped a rug around the old man’s knees.

‘How will we find her?’ Ernest asked.

‘If she was part of the last round-up, we know exactly where to find her.’

W
ith a growing dread in their hearts, the children accompanied Fritz and Theo back to the basement. When they reached Hack Ward, they felt palpable relief at not finding Pascal in one of the narrow beds. They hoped this meant she was still in the arcade somewhere. But then they saw two Botchers scrubbing up at metal troughs, at the same time polishing off their glasses of whisky. The Botchers were in no apparent hurry and it took only seconds for Fritz to lead them all past as soundlessly as ghosts.

In the operating theatre, under a huge spotlight and buckled onto a trolley by a series of clasps
and belts, lay an unconscious Pascal. Her cheeks were drained of their usual ruby colour and Milli shuddered to imagine what she’d been thinking when the anaesthetic was administered. A trolley bearing implements similar to those they had seen before was waiting beside the sleeping doll. A screen on the ceiling showed a Tempest Anomali design that detailed the proposed changes to the prima ballerina doll; the Botchers would only need to look up occasionally to follow her instructions. If they achieved only half of the suggestions outlined the post-surgery Pascal would be monstrous. She would have extra eyes in place of her dimples, her head would be shaved and covered with metal scales, and from her navel would hang electric wires that emitted a charge on touch. Army boots would be glued to her dainty feet so she wouldn’t be able to dance a single step. The design bore Tempest Anomali’s swirly signature and trademark bolt of lightning crossing the T.

A small needle attached to a massive syringe was inserted into the back of Pascal’s hand. The sight of it made Theo emit a deep rumble of rage. With the greatest care, he withdrew the
needle with his paw and flung it to the floor in disgust.

‘Untie her,’ he instructed gruffly, but before anyone could move the sound of footsteps came from just outside.

‘Behind here!’ cried Milli, grabbing Ernest and pulling him down behind a trolley piled with sheets. Theo and Fritz followed, and they all huddled there together, pulling the sheets around them in a disorderly fashion to conceal their presence. They saw the Botchers’ feet, swathed in ruched netting, enter the room. The men staggered a little, which they seemed to find rather amusing, and shared a joke about steady hands not being a requirement in their current positions.

They half-heartedly turned their attention to the ballerina doll strapped to the table, still decked in her opening night finery. One of the Botchers reached for a pair of nail scissors and began snipping roughly at the delicate bodice of her gown.

‘This one was hard work,’ he commented. ‘Kept kicking and squealing. Even bit a golly’s hand at one point. Beautiful, though.’

His partner gave a malicious chuckle. ‘I enjoy working on the pretty ones,’ he said. ‘I like to see their faces when the bandages come off. What’s this?’

Ernest felt his heart stop, but then saw that it was only the disconnected syringe that had drawn the Botcher’s attention. The man picked it up from the floor with a puzzled look.

‘Must have knocked it out in her sleep,’ said his partner. ‘They do that sometimes, jerk and jolt all over the place.’

The first doctor blew off any dust clinging to the hypodermic needle before re-inserting it.

‘Better get started,’ he said. ‘The game starts at five. The Big Lugs against the Knobbly Knees—should be a good one. Will you look at this! These instruments haven’t been cleaned since the last theatre. There’s glue on these scissors. That’s happened three times in a row now. I don’t know about you, but with or without a licence to practise, I’m not putting up with this.’

‘First things first,’ said his partner. ‘Open her up.’

‘Not without sterile instruments—this is an insult!’ The Botcher let out an exasperated sigh.

‘Okay, I’ll get a fresh lot. But lay off the grog while I’m gone.’

The remaining doctor moved to a metal cupboard and rummaged around inside, humming ‘Raindrops on Roses’, a popular musical theatre tune. A clatter indicated that the faulty air conditioning had just come on, and its buzzing allowed a hushed conference to take place behind the trolley.

‘I say we tackle them,’ hissed Theo, his teeth and fists clenched. The children had never seen him this riled.

‘It’s worth a try,’ agreed Fritz. ‘We’ll distract them from the operation if nothing else.’

Milli thought it was a desperate plan and looked at Ernest for support.

‘All the world’s a stage,’
he said cheerfully.

Theo and Fritz exchanged confused looks.

‘Not now, Ernest,’ said Milli crossly, wondering how he could be so insensitive at such a time.

‘All the world’s a stage,’
he repeated doggedly, as if the words had a hidden meaning he expected them to divine. He decided to help them out.
‘And men and women merely players…’

‘What’s he babbling about?’ growled Theo.

‘He’s quoting Shakespeare,’ said Fritz, who, Milli observed, must be a cultured young man. ‘I think he has a plan.’

Ernest’s face broke into a wide grin and he nodded enthusiastically at Fritz. Then he put his finger to his lips, indicating they should wait for the other Botcher to return.

When he did, and the two men were unwrapping fresh instruments, Ernest cupped his hands around his mouth and began to speak in a floaty, far-away voice. His plan was inspired by the school production of
Macbeth.
In the event that an understudy may be required, Ernest had decided to learn every character’s lines as well as his own.

‘It will have blood, they say: blood will have blood!’

A troubled silence followed. Neither Botcher trusted his own ears. With their professional reputations already in tatters in the outside world, neither doctor was prepared to add hearing voices to their list of shortcomings.

‘What was that?’ one of them finally hissed.

Again Ernest called out:
‘Turn, hell-hound, turn!’
Their semi-inebriated state played havoc with their reasoning skills. The Botchers seemed shaken. A small chisel clattered noisily to the floor.

‘Is it a trick?’ asked one.

‘A ghost more like,’ whimpered the other. ‘It’s the ghost of the doll.’

‘Don’t be a damn fool!’ his colleague said. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts.’

‘You keep going then,’ spluttered the superstitious one. ‘I’m reading it as an omen of what’s in store if we touch this doll.’

‘He shall live a man forbid,’
Ernest moaned. He was beginning to enjoy himself now.

Both Botchers stood paralysed, unable to continue. Theo decided to get in on the act.

‘I am one who perished under your knife years ago,’ he intoned in a low, gloomy voice. ‘I haunt these corridors at night looking for retribution.’

‘I am Raggedy Ann,’ sang out Milli. ‘Woe befall those who gave me a tail.’

‘I am the lion whose roar you stole,’ Fritz contributed. ‘But my teeth and claws are intact.’

‘Set Pascal free,’ they chimed in unison, ‘and your punishment may be less severe. Set her free …set her free!’

‘I want out!’ cried one of the doctors, sounding like a frightened child. ‘I knew this was a bad idea the moment I got here. It’s not natural. Remember what happened to Victor Frankenstein?’

‘I’m with you,’ declared the other. ‘I even see them in my sleep now. They stand there staring at me and pointing to their scars. It’s horrible.’

In their rush to leave the theatre, the Botchers knocked over the tray of implements and brought it crashing to the ground. As the doctors fled like maniacs down the corridor, their arms flailing, the rescue party scrambled from its hiding place and Pascal was gently lifted into Theo’s waiting arms.