It was long and low and expensive-looking. And Jack, who still had some lock-picking left in him, availed himself of this automobile and drove it away at some speed.
Jack drove and drove until the car ran down, rewound it and drove on some more. He eventually found himself in an area of the city that he recognised, and finally he drove up Knob Hill towards the house of the kindly loveable white-haired old toymaker.
It was a fine old house. A fine dark house: all turrets and spires and gables. Its leaded glass windows were deeply mullioned and its slated roofs pitched at queer angles. There were buttresses fashioned with grinning gargoyles and all kinds of glorious architectural fiddly bits. These fussed around and about the house and offered the eye of the beholder much to dwell upon.
There were no fences or gates, only a bit of a gravel drive. Jack parked the car upon this, told Eddie, 'We're here,' and removed himself at speed to the toymaker's door.
The door was a singularly magnificent affair. It put Jack in mind of Humpty Dumpty's door. It was old-style grand.
At its centre was a large, carved smiley face with a huge brass ring through its nose. This ring was the knocker. Jack reached out towards it.
'Don't even think about touching that,' said the carved smiley face. 'You can't come in. Goodbye.'
Although little about Toy City now surprised Jack, the carved smiley face on the door caught him somewhat unawares.
'Oh,' said Jack. 'Oh.'
'Oh?' said the face. 'Is that all you have to say for yourself?'
'I have to see the toymaker,' said Jack.
'Say please then.'
'Please,' said Jack.
'No,' said the face. 'Go away.'
'I have to see the toymaker. It's urgent. It's a matter of life and death.'
'It always is,' said the face. 'No one ever comes just to pay a visit. Or bring presents. Oh no, they turn up here at all hours of the night saying "my arm's fallen off", or "my spring's coming loose", or "a rat's gnawed my foot", or...'
Jack reached out his hand.
'Don't touch my knocker,' said the face. Til bite you.'
'I have a bear here that needs fixing.'
'There you go,' said the face. 'See what I mean? I knew it. I just knew it. Go away. Come back tomorrow.'
'Let me in now,' said Jack.
'And what happened to please?'
'Right,' said Jack. 'Stuff you.' And he pulled out the wire from Eddie's growler and prepared to pick yet another lock.
'What are you doing?' asked the face.
'Letting myself in,' said Jack.
'You can't do that. It's more than my job's worth to let you do that.'
'Do you have a brother by any chance?' Jack asked.
'Certainly do. He's the gatekeeper at the chocolate factory.'
'What a surprise,' said Jack. 'Well, I'm letting myself in.'
'But you can't do that.'
'And what are you going to do about it?'
The face made a thoughtful face. 'You've got me there,' it said. 'If you were in my position, what would you do?'
'Well,' said Jack. 'You discourage folk from entering, don't you?'
'I certainly do,' said the face. 'Lot of selfish timewasters. I keep 'em out. Stop them from bothering the toymaker.'
'And that's your job, is it?’ Jack was growing frantic.
'Not as such,' said the face. 'I act on my own initiative.'
'So when was the last time you actually let anyone in?'
The face made an even more thoughtful face. 'Can't remember,' it said. 'Ages ago.'
'So no one ever gets to see the toymaker?'
'He's busy. He designs toys.'
'How do you know what he does?' Jack's fingers were now at the keyhole.
'I can see what you're doing,' said the face.
'So what are you going to do about it?'
The face made a thoughtful face, perhaps even more thoughtful than the previous one. Then suddenly it made an enlightened face. 'Raise the alarm,' it said.
'How?’ Jack asked.
The face began to frantically knock its knocker.
'Inspired,' said Jack. 'You certainly are a credit to your profession.'
Knock Knock Knock Knock Knock went the knocker.
And at length the door opened.
Jack looked in.
And a very old face looked out at him.
It was a very old face, but it was a big one: a big face on a large head that was attached to a little body.
Now it is another fact, well known to those who know it well, that very famous people always have big faces. They have big faces and little bodies. Why this is, no one knows for sure — even those who know facts well don't know it. But it's true and there it is.
Jack said, 'Sir, are you the toymaker?'
'I am the kindly loveable white-haired old toymaker,' said the toymaker, and he indicated his hair and the kindliness of his features. And they were kindly. Very kindly.
'Then, sir, please, I need your help. My friend has been grievously injured.'
'I can only help toys,' said the toymaker.
'Intruder!' shrieked the wooden face. 'Call the police!'
'Be quiet, Peter,' said the toymaker.
'My friend is a toy,' said Jack. 'He's a bear.' Jack opened his coat.
The toymaker peered in. 'From what I can see, he looks a little under the weather,' said he. 'You'd best bring him in and I'll see what I can do.'
'Thank you, sir,' said Jack.
'And enough of that sir business. My name is Mr Anders. You can call me Anders.'
'That doesn't sound too polite.'
'It's my first name. I'm Anders Anders.'
'Oh,' said Jack.
The toymaker swung wide the door and, much to the disgust of the carved knocker face, ushered Jack inside.
It's strange how some homes are so much bigger on the inside than you would expect, isn't it?
So it came as a huge surprise to Jack to fmdjust how really small the toymaker's house was inside.
Jack had to duck his head.
'It's a spatial ambiguity thing,' the toymaker explained as he led Jack towards his workroom. 'Something to do with the transperambulation of pseudo-cosmic antimatter. Easily explainable in terms of quantum physics, if you know what I mean.'
'Haven't a clue,' said Jack.
'Well, let's get your little friend onto the workbench and see what can be done for him.'
'Yes,' said Jack. 'Let's do that.'
The workroom was exactly as Jack might have expected it to look.
Tools of many persuasions were racked on every wall between shelves and shelves of gingham and lace and kapok and countless jars containing glass eyes that stared out blankly at Jack. Sewing machines and other machines jostled for space upon a workbench crowded with half-completed toys. Beneath this, rolls and rolls of fur fabric of every bear shade were piled upon one another in furry confusion. From the low ceiling hung dolls' arms and legs of all sizes and shapes.
A coal fire burned brightly in a tiny fireplace and beside this stood a comfy-looking chair.
'Onto the bench with him then,' said the toymaker.
Jack carefully eased Eddie from his pocket and laid him down on the workbench.
'Oh dear,' said the toymaker. 'This is a very sorry-looking bear. I think we'd be better just to bin him.'
'No!' said Jack. 'No, please, he's my friend. Save him if you can.'
'Your friend,' said the toymaker. 'He really is your friend?'
'He is,' said Jack. 'I care about him.'
'Nice,' said the toymaker. 'Very nice.' And he looked once more upon Eddie. 'Ah,' he said. 'I know this model. It's one of the old Anders Standards.'
'I was given to understand that he's an Anders Imperial,' said Jack. 'He has a "special tag" in his ear.'