“Not his fault,” said Tinto. “He was in love. Females will do that kind of thing to you. Put you off what you’re meaning to do. Confuse you, fiddle you out of your money, then run off with a wind-up action figure. I can’t be having with females, me.”
“Have you ever had a girlfriend, Tinto?” Eddie asked.
“Loads,” said Tinto. “And they all confused me, fiddled me out of my money and ran off with a wind-up action figure. Except for the big fat one.”
“She was nice, was she?”
“No, she ran off with a clockwork train. What was that all about? I ask you.”
Eddie shrugged. “We all have a tale to tell,” he said, “and most of those tales are sad.”
“And that’s what bars are for,” said Tinto, “so you can tell them into the sympathetic ear of a caring barman.”
“Quite so,” said Eddie, raising his empty glass between his paws. “Cheers.”
“Cheers to you, too,” said Tinto. “Now pay up or I’ll kick you out, you bum.”
Eddie laughed. “Most amusing,” he said.
“No, I mean it,” said Tinto. “It’s all your fault that it’s raining.”
“It’s not my fault at all.”
“’Tis too,” said Tinto. “Everything’s your fault. Everybody knows that.”
“Doom and gloom,” said Eddie Bear.
“Still,” said Tinto, “you have to look on the bright side, don’t you? Or so I’m told. I’m reading this book, you see. It’s going to make me merry in thirty days.”
“So how long have you been reading it for?”
“Oh, more than four days,” said Tinto. “It’s about forty-four, I think.”
“It’s so good to be back here,” said Eddie.
“I thought I was throwing you out.”
“I have some money coming soon.” Eddie made encouraging motions with his glass.
“I fail to understand the motions you’re making with that glass,” said Tinto, “but what money would you have coming soon?”
“I’ve gone back to my old profession,” said Eddie.
“Walking round the garden?” said Tinto. “I never really understood the point of that. A ‘teddy-bear thing’, I suppose.”
“Not that, nor taking picnics in the wood. I mean my profession as a private eye. I’m setting myself up in Bill’s office.”
“Bill Winkie?” Tinto made the sacred sign of the spanner again. “Have you noticed, Eddie, that folk who come into contact with you seem to come to very sticky ends?”
“It wasn’t my fault, what happened to Bill. We were as close as.” Eddie made a very sad face, for Eddie had loved Bill Winkie. Eddie had been Bill Winkie’s bear. Eddie had avenged Bill’s death, but Eddie still missed Bill. “I won’t be changing the name on his door,” said Eddie. “It will still be ‘Bill Winkie Investigations’.”
“Well, I doubt if you’d get too much business if you advertised yourself as ‘Ex-Mayor Eddie Investigations’.”
Eddie made growling sounds. “In Bill’s memory,” he said. “And I am confident that I shall soon have several wealthy clients on my books.”
“But you haven’t yet?”
“Not as such.”
“Not as such?” said Tinto.
“Well, I haven’t managed to get back into the office yet. It’s padlocked up. And now I’ve only got these.” Eddie sadly regarded his paws.
Tinto made a sighing sound. “That was a pity,” he said, “the Toymaker taking those hands he’d fitted you with. Spiteful, that, I thought, although –”
“Although what?”
“Well,” said Tinto, “it wasn’t right, was it? A teddy bear with fingers and thumbs. That was all wrong. There was something really creepy about that. And I never liked those eyes he gave you, either. Teddies don’t have blinking eyes. It’s not natural. It’s –”
“Stop it,” said Eddie. “It’s all right for you. Try living with only paws for just one week, see how you like it.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t like it, but that’s not the point. We’re all here for a purpose. I’m a clockwork barman. That was what I was made to be. Not a fireman, or a clown. Or a train! The city functions because the toys who live in it do what they were intended to do.”
“But the city doesn’t function. The city is in a mess.”
“There you go again.” Tinto shook his head once more and once again it rattled. “You can’t go trying to change things, Eddie. Things might not be to your liking, but things are the way they are and we just have to get on with it. Although not for much longer, it appears.”
“Does it?” Eddie asked.
“It does, because The End Times are coming upon us. The Time of the Terrible Stillness draws near. Which, popular opinion agrees, is all your fault, by the way.”
“End Times,” said Eddie. “That’s as mad as. And it’s not my fault.”
“I’m prepared to be reasonable.” Tinto poured himself another five-year-old, but hesitated to refresh Eddie’s glass. “I’m prepared to say that you are only partially to blame.”
“I’m not even partially to blame.”
“You’re just in denial,” said Tinto. “You need closure. It’s all in the book I’m reading. I’ll lend it to you as soon as I’m finished. Which should be in about fifty-three days, by my reckoning.”
Eddie fidgeted some more. “If you won’t give me any more drink I will be forced to stand upon my head,” he said.
“And I will be forced to throw you out.”
Eddie offered Tinto a bit of a smile. “It’s very good to see you again, Tinto,” he said. “It’s as good as, it really, truly is.”
Tinto poured Eddie another. “It’s good to see you, too,” he said. “Even though you’ve brought The End Times upon us.”
Eddie Bear was more than just drunk when he left Tinto’s Bar. He was rather full of bar snacks, too. Well, he had been rather hungry, and Tinto had become somewhat over-lubricated and somewhat generous in the process. As one will do if one is that kind of a drunk. He had also lent Eddie his copy of Become A Merry Old Soul in Thirty Days. Eddie was struggling to carry this, but at least it wasn’t raining any more.
The streets were still deserted; street lamps reflected in puddles, gutters drip-drip-dripped. Eddie’s footpads squelched horribly, but as his feet were drunk he didn’t really notice.
Eddie had no destination. He’d been sleeping rough for weeks, trying in vain whenever the opportunity arose to enter Bill’s office, slinking away at the approach of footsteps, hiding where he could.
Just how he thought he could set himself up as a detective and actually find any clients who didn’t know and hate him was anybody’s guess. But Eddie was a bear of substance and although he was presently down, more down in fact than he had ever been before, he was far from out.
Although, perhaps, not that far.
Eddie stumbled and squelched and hummed a little, too. It had been very nice of Tinto to offer him a welcome. He would definitely reward the clockwork barman for his kindness sometime. Possibly even financially. Well, anything was possible. Eddie hummed and stumbled and squelched. And Eddie felt optimistic, for the first time in what felt like an age. He’d pull through, he knew he would. Pull through, somehow. Make good. Make the population of Toy City proud of him. Make the Toymaker proud of him. He’d do something. He would, he really would.
And he would seek out Jack. Yes, he would definitely do that. Jack had been his bestest friend. They had been partners; together they had defeated the evil twin of the Toymaker. Together. He would seek out Jack and they would become partners once again. Do great things together. Jack could do things, great things. He could do things that Eddie could not, such as pick the padlock on Bill Winkie’s office. For Jack was a meathead; Jack had hands with fingers and opposable thumbs.
“Jack and me,” said Eddie, as he stumbled and bumbled along, “we were as close as. We were bestest friends. If Jack is still in the city I will find him. I will get on to that first thing in the morning. But for now I need somewhere cosy and dry to spend the night. An alleyway, perhaps.”