The 'sub-level' apartment — apparently Wibbly preferred this term to 'cellar' — was 'economically furnished'. Which is to say that there wasn't much furniture at all.
There weren't any chairs, but then, why would there have been? Wibbly couldn't sit down.
Wibbly was one of those wibbly wobbly toys with legless, convex bottom portions, filled up with lead shot that could be endlessly battered backwards and forwards, only to roll upright again and again and again.
Until they finally broke.
It wasn't easy to break them, as they were made of stern and durable stuff. But a child has a lot of time on its hands. And a determined child can break anything, even an anvil, if he or she is determined enough.
Wibbly still wobbled and wouldn't fall down.
But he lacked for a lot of his head.
He possessed a degree of face, located on the left-hand side. But much of his head was merely void. He had a dangling eye and a row of exposed teeth. He was not a thing of joy to gaze upon.
'Wibbly, this is Jack,' said Eddie. 'Say hello to Wibbly, Jack.'
Jack made the face of a simpleton and did that thing with his hands that people do when impersonating simpletons, that thing which is no longer considered politically correct, but which people still do anyway, because it makes other people laugh. Particularly when the doer and the viewers have all had a few drinks.
'What a complete gormster,' said Wibbly. 'Looks like he's been taking a swim in that dry-clean-only trenchcoat. Why did you bring him here, Eddie?'
Jack looked on in morbid fascination as the exposed teeth rose and fell and half a tongue waggled between them. How could this thing speak? How could it move? It was all but hollow. Jack shook his head. There was some big secret here, in this strange city. Some big secret.
Mr Anders, the kindly, loveable white-haired old toy-maker, had to be the brains behind it all. He had to be the one who held the Big Secret. Jack wondered whether Mr Anders might be looking for an apprentice. Working for him and learning the Big Secret would be infinitely preferable to knocking about in dark cellars, conversing with fractured wobbly men and having to impersonate a dullard.
Infinitely preferable!
'He's Bill's cousin,' said Eddie, smiling towards Jack. 'I'm looking after him while Bill's on his holidays.'
'Holidays?' said Wibbly, revolving on his axis, which afforded Jack a view of his all-but-hollow head. 'The word on the street is—'
'I don't care what the word on the street is.' Eddie tried to fold his arms, but, as ever, failed. 'Bill will be back. But until he is, I'm dealing with his case. Andjack here is helping me.'
'Just what this city needs, another Jack.' Wibbly wobbled (but he didn't fall down).
'What of this?' asked Jack.
'The city does suffer from a surfeit of Jacks,' Eddie explained. 'There's a Jack B. Nimble, and Jack of Jack and Jill, and Jack Spratt.'
'And Little Jack Horner,' said Wibbly.
'And Bigjack Black,' said Eddie.
'Who's Bigjack Black?' asked Jack.
'Another Preadplescent Poetic Personality.' Eddie sat down on Wibbly's floor.
'Well, I've never heard of him.'
'Of course you haven't. Because he never got famous. He's one of the sorry few meatheads whose nursery rhymes never caught on.'
Jack did sniffings. 'So why did Big Jack Black's rhyme never catch on?' he asked.
Wibbly chuckled loudly. The sound echoed up from his hollow belly and, had there been windows, would surely have rattled them. 'Recite it, Eddie,' he said to the bear. 'You can remember it, can't you?'
'I think so,' said Eddie. 'It goes like this:
'Bigjack Black
'Lived in a sack,
'Lived in a sack did he.
'He dined upon cripples,
'And little boys' nipples,
'Served upon toast for his tea.'
‘’Nuff said, I think,' said Wibbly.
Jack shook his head once more and his stomach grumbled loudly.
'Nice grumbling.' Wibbly offered Jack Haifa smile, for it was all he possessed. 'Your belly's as empty as my own. I generally have a bucket or two of lead shot at this time of day. Perhaps you'd care to join me?'
'I don't think that would agree with my digestion,'-said Jack.
'He's fussy. For a loon,' said Wibbly.
'Don't wind the lad up, Wibbly,' said Eddie. 'Give him some bread and milk or something.'
'Anything edible will do,' said Jack.
Wibbly had some bread, which was not altogether hard, if you left the crusts. And some milk that wasn't altogether evil-smelling, if you didn't smell it too closely. And even some cradberry jam that wasn't altogether unspeakable, if you didn't speak about it and took the trouble to scrape the fur off the top.
Jack, who had now reached the point where he was prepared to eat almost anything, ate almost everything. With relish.
But without relish, as there wasn't any relish.
Eddie ate what was left of the jam. Including the furry bits. 'I don't know what it is about jam,' he said, wiping a paw over his now jammy face. 'I can't stand honey, but I do love jam.'
'Nonconformist,' said Wibbly, ladling lead shot in through the hole in his head. 'So what have you really come for, Eddie? It wasn't just for a free lunch.'
'Well, it was.' Eddie had his paw now stuck in the jam pot. 'But it was also for a bit of information and a small favour or two.'
'That's what friends are for,' said Wibbly.
Eddie smiled. And struggled.
'To ponce off,' said Wibbly.
'Oh, come on, Wibbly.' Eddie now fought to free his paw. 'Remember that it was Bill who found you this place and built you the ramp down the stairs and...'
'Yes, all right,' said Wibbly. 'And I look after his dodgy gear and everything.'
'You store certain sensitive items.' Eddie rolled around on the floor, fighting with the jam pot. Jack, who could bear no more of it, eased out Eddie's paw and helped him back to his feet.
'Thanks,' said Eddie. 'Friendship, see.'
'Dullards don't count,' said Wibbly. 'Dullards will befriend anyone who feeds them. But go on, what do you want?'
'A disguise for the dullard.'
'What?' said Jack. 'This disguise business again. I like the trenchcoat and the fedora.'
'You're going under cover. You need a disguise-'
'I don't want a disguise.'
'He doesn't want a disguise,' said Wibbly.
'Thank you,' said Jack.
'He wants a smack,' said Wibbly. 'Shall I give him one? I used to be red-hot at head-butts. But, you know how it is.'
'I don't want a disguise,' said Jack once again.
'He does want a disguise,' said Eddie. 'From Bill's trunk.'
'He'd look good as a clown,' said Wibbly with another hollow chuckle.
'I thought, a whore,' said Eddie.
'What?' said Jack.
'Only joking,' said Eddie. 'Actually, I thought you'd look best as a gentleman.'
'A gentleman?' Jack preened at his trenchcoat lapels. 'I like the sound of that. Will I have a dandy cane and an eyeglass and everything?'
'The dullard is truly a dullard,' said Wibbly, chuckling once again.
'I said, a gentleman,' said Eddie, 'not a fop, although— He winked at Wibbly. Wibbly winked back with his dangling eye. It wasn't a pretty sight.
'Okay,' said the wobbly one. Til get him kitted out from the trunk. What else did you want, Eddie?'
Eddie looked up at Jack. 'It's a personal matter,' he said. 'We can discuss it whilst Jack is changing.'
'Follow me then, Jack,' said Wibbly. And he ledjack from the room, his convex bottom making sounds upon the floor that Jack now recognised.
Wibbly returned presently to the company of Eddie, who spoke to him in hushed and urgent tones.
Presently still, Jack returned to the company of Wibbly and Eddie, was soundly mocked and laughed at for his choice of costume and was then led from the room once more by Wibbly.