'Come on,' said Jack. 'Let's do it.'
Eddie grinned, and then he said, 'Stop, hold on there, Jack.'
'What is it?'
'I smell something.'
'What do you smell?'
'Something more than chocolate. Something that I've smelled before.'
Eddie now led the way and cautiously Jack followed him. They edged along the hallway.
'The smell's getting stronger,' said Eddie.
Jack sniffed. 'I can smell it now,' he said. 'What is it?'
'I know what it is, and I don't like what it is.'
Presently they reached the end of the hallway. They passed through a narrow arch and found themselves standing upon a gantry constructed of pierced metal.
Beneath them was a vast beyond: a vast beyond of wonder.
Eddie stared.
And Jack stared too.
And, 'I don't believe that,' said Eddie.
27
It spread away beneath them, to dwindle into hazy perspectives: a vast subterranean factory complex.
Molten metal flowed from titanic furnaces, to be swallowed up by mighty engines fashioned from burnished brass and highly polished copper. Upon these, intricate networks of massive cogs intermeshed and glittering objects shuttled out upon clattering conveyor belts. Fountains of sparks arose above enormous lathes that tortured spinning metal. Great pistons pounded and countless funnels belched out steam.
And it went on and on and on.
And on and on some more.
'Look at it,' Eddie gasped, breathlessly. 'Look at it, Jack. It's incredible. It's as gabracious as.'
'As what?'
'You know I don't know as what.'
'I meant, what does gabracious mean?'
'How should I know?' said Eddie. 'I've never seen anything like this before. I don't have a word for it.'
Jack shook his head. 'It's very impressive,' he said.
'Assembly lines,' Eddie pointed out. 'Moving belts, but no workers. No workers at all, Jack. It's all being done by machine. It's all...'
'Automatic,' said Jack. 'Automated. Automation. When I was labouring away in the clockwork factory, the workers used to talk about this sort of thing: that one day factories wouldn't need workers any more. That machines would do everything.'
'But how?' asked Eddie. 'How is it done?'
Jack shrugged his narrow shoulders. 'It isn't done by clockwork, that's for certain.'
'Automation? That certainly sounds like the work of the Devil. And look there.' Eddie pointed some more. 'Look at those, on the conveyor belts there. Look what the machines are manufacturing.'
Jack did further lockings.
Robotic arms snatched up the glittering objects that shuttled along the conveyor belts, jointed them one to another, pieced them together: pieced them into all-too-recognisable forms.
'Women,' said Jack. 'The machines are making women.'
'The spider-women. Tinto's private army.' Eddie made a fearful face. 'He's building them down there, thousands of them.'
'This is very bad, Eddie; we have to stop him.'
'But the scale of all this. It makes me afraid, Jack. This must have taken years to build. Years and years and years.'
'More than a few years,’ Jack said, thoughtfully. 'This has been a very long-running project. Why would he want to build thousands of these creatures? What is he really up to?'
Eddie growled hopelessly. 'And all down here, beneath Toy City. Beneath the chocolate factory. And none of us knew.'
'They do favour an underground lair, these criminal masterminds. I'm a bit disappointed that it's not inside an extinct volcano, though. But there you go.'
'Don't be flippant, Jack,' said Eddie.
'Just laughing in the face of fear, that's all.'
'Which would be why your knees are knocking, would it?' Jack made an effort to stiffen his knees. 'But look at them,' said Eddie. 'Those spider-women. Look at their hands, Jack.'
Jack squinted down. 'Their hands?' he said. 'What about their hands?'
'Delicate hands,' said Eddie, 'coming off the conveyor belts, rows and rows of hands, all with four fingers, with opposable thumbs,' and there was no disguising the envy in the voice of Eddie Bear.
'This is hardly the time for that, Eddie. We're her.e on business. Detective business. To save the famous folk and bring the criminal mastermind, in the form of the evil twin, to justice. Or at least to this.' Jack cocked the 7.62 mm M134 General Clockwork Mini-gun. 'Forget about hands, please, will you?'
'I still have time to dream,' said Eddie, regarding his fmgerless paws with contempt. 'So, shall we do some more sneaking?'
'Practice makes perfect.' Jack raised his 7.62 mm M134 General Clockwork Mini-gun. 'Follow me.'
Eddie followed Jack, who snuck down this staircase and the next, down and down, and down some more, to the factory floor below.
It was very noisy there, and very smelly too.
And even with all the furnaces, there was a terrible chill in the air.
The chill that one feels when in the presence of Evil.
'What is that?' Jack shivered and covered his nose.
'The smell of the spider-women. I told you I knew that smell.' Eddie looked fearfully up at the creations upon the conveyor belts. 'It's coming from them. It's the smell of whatever they're made of
Jack reached out and touched the leg of one of the half-completed spider-women as the conveyor belt carried it by. 'Warm,' said he. 'And it feels almost like firm flesh. Imagine an entire army of these. It doesn't bear thinking about.'
'Could we blow them all up?' Eddie asked. 'Murders, fast car-driving, drinking, underage sex, gratuitous violence and a big explosion at the end. That's a recipe for success in any detective thriller.'
'Worth a try,' Jack agreed. 'But it might be better to rescue the famous folk first, don't you think?'
'Well,' said Eddie. It was a long well. A real weeeeeeeeeell of a well. 'Do you think anyone would really miss them?’
‘Eddie, what are you saying?'
'Only joking,' said Eddie. 'Shall we sneak about some more and see if we can find them? Perhaps somewhere away from these horrible creatures.’
‘After you this time,’ Jack said.
Eddie led the way between clattering conveyor belts, past the titanic furnaces and the mighty engines, around one huge and scary big machine and on past many more, until at last they snuck under an arch and down a passageway, which at least was far less noisy and didn't smell so bad.
'We're lost,' said Jack.
'We're not,' said Eddie. 'Bears have a great sense of direction. They're renowned for it. How do you think we find our way back from all those picnics in the woods, breadcrumbs?'
'We are lost.' They had reached a parting of the passageways. There were several now to choose from. None seemed to be saying, 'Come this way', but then again, none didn't.
Early morning sunlight dipped in through narrow arched windows. Jack glanced up at it. 'Which way should we go?' he asked.
'That way,' Eddie pointed.
'I'm not so sure.'
'I don't think it matters, either way.'
'Yes it does, Eddie.'
'I didn't say that,' said Eddie. 'That wasn't me.'
'He's right, it wasn't.'
Eddie turned.
And Jack turned too.
'Ah,' said Eddie. 'It's you.'
'Surprise, surprise,' said the Tinto impersonator. 'Drop your weapon please, Jack.' Where the Tinto impersonator's left arm had been, there was now a considerable weapon: it was a 19.72 mm M666 General Clockwork Maxi-cannon.
Jack recognised it at once, and in deference to its mighty firepower, he grudgingly put down his weapon. Which it pained him considerably to do.
'Chaps,' said the Tinto impersonator, shaking his metallic head from side to side. 'Chaps, chaps, chaps. The gatekeeper called me. Sergeant gatekeeper, that is. He called me to say that you two had breached the security perimeter. You're supposed to be dead. Can't you even die properly?'