Her body was sheathed in contour-hugging black rubber, held in place by many straps and buckles. Eddie had never seen an outfit quite like it before. It looked very chic and expensive, but it also had the down-to-business utility quality of a military uniform about it. It flattered in an impersonal manner.
She hadn't spoken a word. And this made her somehow more terrifying — because, if she inspired awe in Eddie, she also inspired terror.
She leapt right over the table and she wrung the neck of Madame Goose with the fingers of a single hand. And then she picked up a kitchen knife and cut Eddie's throat with it.
The rest was somewhat hazy.
Eddie vaguely recalled being hauled up by his left leg, dragged along an alleyway and flung into the boot of a car. Then there was a period of bumping darkness. Then a horrible light. Then dark corridors. Then here. The cold damp cell.
And oblivion.
And now he was awake again. And gravely injured.
And very scared indeed.
Jack wasn't so much scared as furious.
He had been wrongfully arrested. And he had been beaten about and thrown into the rear of a police van. And now he was being driven uptown at breakneck speed. And there was a big policeman sitting on his head.
'Get your fat arse off me,' cried Jack. 'You're in big trouble. You can't treat me like this.'
Officer Chortle, whose bottom it was, laughed loudly. 'We have you bang to rights, meaty-boy,' he said. 'We've all been waiting for this one.'
'What do you mean?’ Jack asked.
'For the chance to bring one of your lot to justice.'
'I don't have a lot,' said Jack. 'I'm just me.'
'You're a man,' said Officer Chortle. 'And men think, they're above the law. The law is for toy folk, not for men. But you've killed your own kind and we have you now.'
'I demand my rights,' Jack demanded. 'And I demand to see a solicitor.’ Jack had read about solicitors in a Bill Winkie thriller. Suspects always demanded to see their solicitors. It was a tradition, or an old charter, or something.
It was a suspect thing.
'No solicitor for you,' said Officer Chortle, who read only weapons manuals. (Though mostly he just looked at the pictures.) 'You're going uptown and we'll lock you away until all the paperwork's done. Then I think we'll take you to pieces, to see what makes you run.'
'No!’ Jack shouted. 'You can't do that to me.'
'Tell it to Bellis,' said the officer.
'Is he here?'
'No, he went on ahead. Probably to warm your cell for you. He left me to act on my own initiative. I love it when he does that. It means that I can hit things.'
'Listen,' said Jack, trying to think straight, 'can't we make some kind of a deal?'
'Are you trying to bribe an officer of the Law?'
'Frankly, yes,' said Jack.
'Go on then,' said the officer of the Law.
'All right,' said Jack. 'You hate meat-heads, don't you?'
'I do,' said Officer Chortle. 'We all do.'
'So you don't really care about them being killed.'
'Not at all,' said the officer.
'So the more that get killed, the happier you'll be.'
'That's true,' the officer agreed.
'So let me go and I promise to kill loads more of them. I'll kill them all, if you want. What could be fairer than that?'
'Well,' said Officer Chortle, 'if you put it that way,' and he raised his bum from Jack's head.
'Thanks,' said Jack.
'Had you fooled.' Officer Chortle sat down once more. 'That's all the confession we needed. You heard what he said, didn't you, men?'
'Yes we did,' said the officers, laughing fit to burst.
The police van sped onwards through the night-time streets of Toy City, the bell on its top ringing loudly. The ringing of this bell gave Jack a headache. The pressure of Officer Chortle's bottom didn't help to soothe the pain.
'You've got the wrong man, you know,' Jack ventured.
'You've said enough,' said Chortle. 'Be silent now, or I will be forced to plug your mouth.'
Jack maintained another of his sulking silences.
At length a new sound came to Jack's ears. It was louder than the ringing bell and it caused Officer Chortle to raise his bum once more.
'What is that?' he shouted above the sound, which had grown to an all but intolerable din. It was now accompanied by a considerable grinding vibration.
The driver of the police van shouted back at Officer Chortle. 'It's a fire engine,' he shouted. 'A Mark 5 Roaring Thunderer. The deluxe model. It's trying to push us off the road.'
'What?' shouted Officer Chortle. 'That's outrageous. Push it back.'
'But sir, it's a Roaring Thunderer. It's bigger than us. Much bigger.'
Officer Chortle glared out through the police van's rear window. The Roaring Thunderer was much bigger. Very much bigger indeed.
'Do something, driver,' he ordered. 'I'm in charge here. Take evasive action.'
The driver took evasive action. He swerved onto the pavement, scattering pedestrians, including several who had, by coincidence, been earlier scattered by Jack.
'He's coming after us,' shouted the driver. And the Roaring Thunderer was.
It really was a magnificent vehicle. Constructed of heavy gauge pressed steel and finished in glossy red and black, it had a nickel-plated ladder, with wheel-operated rotating turntable and elevation extension, powered by a crank handle, pressed steel wheels and a cab-mounted bell. It normally came complete with six tinplate firemen, two with hose-gripping hand attachments.
Had Jack been able to see it, he would have admired it. And he certainly would have wanted to drive it. The reflected streetlights glittered on its polished bits and bots. It was mechanised by two extremely powerful double-sprung synchronised clockwork motors which took five clockwork firemen to turn its enormous key.
The Roaring Thunderer careered along the kerb, striking down lampposts and tearing the overhanging awnings from the shops and bazaars. It struck the police van once again. The driver of the police van took to praying.
'You're not a mechanologist,' shouted Officer Chortle. 'You're a bendy policeman. Cut that out and drive faster.'
'The van won't go any faster. Oh no!'
The police van overturned. Over and over and over it overturned.
Within the van, the officers of the Law and their captive revolved in a blur of blue bouncing bellies and long lanky limbs. The rear doors burst open and Jack found himself airborne.
And then things went very black for Jack.
Very black indeed.
Eddie moved once more into the black. Unconsciousness was never anything other than black for Eddie, for teddy bears don't dream while they sleep. They exist in a state of non-being which is truly un-conscious.
How long Eddie remained in this particular period of blackness he was unable to say, because he didn't have a watch. He had tried to wear one in the past, but it always fell off, his stumpy little arm lacking a wrist. This particular period of blackness ended in an abrupt fashion -when a bright light shone upon him.
Eddie peered up, shielding his eyes with a floppy paw.
A figure stared down upon Eddie.
Eddie flinched.
The figure said, 'Eddie, it's you.'
Eddie said, ‘ Jack? My bestest friend? Is that you?'
'It's me,' said Jack. 'It's me.'
'And you've come to save me. Jack, this is wonderful, how—'
But Eddie's words were cut short as Jack was suddenly propelled forward at considerable speed. He landed heavily upon the bear, raising a cloud of sawdust and causing Eddie's button eyes to all but pop from his head.