“That’s typical,” said Eddie. “How dearly I’d like a beer.”

“Beers later, justice first,” said Jack.

“Nice phrase,” said Eddie. “We could put that on the door of the office. And on our business cards. Put your foot down, Jack, that way.”

Jack now put his foot down, but the car just poodled along.

“I’ll paint it on the door of the car, too,” said Jack. “After I’ve given it a service.”

And so they moved off, in cold pursuit. Which indeed was a shame, because there’s nothing like a good car chase to spice things up. A good car chase always has the edge, even over falling chandeliers.

Eddie kept on sniffing and Jack kept on driving.

And sometime later Eddie said, “We’re getting close now, Jack.”

And Jack looked out through the windscreen and said, “We’re approaching Toy Town again.”

“Damn,” said Eddie once more, and he smote his head with a paw. “It was obvious they’d return here. We should have reasoned it out. We’ve wasted too much time.”

“We might still have the element of surprise on our side.” Jack switched off the headlights and the car did poodlings to a halt. “Down the hillside once more,” said Jack, “and this time we’ll keep a careful lookout. Any big bright lights and we run like bitches.”

“Like what?” Eddie asked.

“Lady dogs,” said Jack. “What did you think I meant?”

And down the hillside they went, through those briars and that gorse and even those nettles and stuff. And Jack held Eddie above them all, and troubled not about his trenchcoat.[19]

“To Bill’s house, is it?” whispered Jack.

“That’s what my nose tells me,” said Eddie.

Across the yellow-bricked road they went, across the town square and through that darkened alley. Finally, Jack set Eddie down.

“You could have walked the last bit,” he said.

“I was conserving my energy.”

“Still have the key?”

“Of course.”

But Jack didn’t need it. The door to Bill Winkie’s was open.

“Stay here,” said Jack. “I’ll go inside and see what’s what.”

“What’s what?” Eddie asked.

“This is neither the time nor the place,” Jack said, and he slipped into the house.

And presently returned.

“They’re not in there,” Jack told Eddie.

“No,” said Eddie. “But all those guns are.”

And so the two detectives went inside and availed themselves of weapons. Jack did mighty cockings of a mightier firepiece.

“The old M134 7.62mmm General Clockwork Mini-gun,” said Jack. “My all-time favourite.”

“Everyone’s all-time favourite,” said Eddie, “but somewhat heavy for me and tricky to fire without fingers.” And Eddie selected weaponry that was built with the bear in mind.

“And now?” Jack asked as he slipped bandoliers of bullets over his shoulders and tucked grenades in his pockets.

“Payback time,” said Eddie.

That full moon was in the sky once more, silver-plating rooftops, and a chill was in the air. Jack turned up his collar and Eddie sniffed the chillified air.

“Follow me,” said Eddie Bear, and with that said led the way.

They threaded their way through alleyways, and up front paths and out of back gardens and finally Eddie said, “Stop a minute, Jack. That’s where they went. Up there.”

Jack looked up, up the hill he looked, the hill that rose up behind the conurbation that was Toy Town. The hill upon which those great letters stood. Those letters that had once spelt out TOYTOWNLAND.

“Up there?” Jack said. “But what’s up there, anyway?”

Eddie shook his head.

“And on the other side of the hill, what?”

Eddie shook his head once more. “I’ve never been to the other side of that hill,” he said. “In fact …” and he paused.

So Jack asked, “What?”

“Oh, it’s a crazy thing,” said Eddie. “A silly thing. It’s just what some toys believe.”

“Well, go on then and tell me.”

“No,” said Eddie. “You’ll laugh.”

“I’m really not in a laughing mood right now.”

“It’s a silly thing, it’s nothing at all.”

“Just tell me, Eddie.”

“Did you say ‘Just tell me, Mister Bear’?”

“I did.”

And so Eddie told him. “It’s just a belief, a myth, probably, but it’s what we were brought up to believe. I was told by Bill when I was his bear never to wander up that hill, because if I did, I’d be lost.”

“That’s fair enough,” said Jack. “Bill cared about you. You were his bear. He loved you, he didn’t want you to get lost.”

“Not get lost, Jack. Be lost.”

“Get lost, be lost, what’s the difference, Edd – Mister Bear?”

“The difference is,” said Mr Eddie Bear, “that I would be lost. The theory was that that hill marks the end of Toy Town – the end of everything, in fact. Beyond that hill is nothing. If you went over that hill you’d fall off the edge of the world and be gone for ever.”

“Well, that is silly,” said Jack.

“There,” said Eddie. “I knew you’d say that. I wish I hadn’t told you now.”

“Hang on there,” said Jack. “Hold on, if you will.”

Eddie didn’t know what to hold on to, so he stood his ground.

“Beyond that hill lies the end of this world – that’s what you were told?”

Eddie nodded and continued standing his ground.

“Eddie,” said Jack, “look up there – what do you see?”

“A dark and threatening hillside,” said Eddie. “Well, threatening to me.”

“Yes, I can see that, but what else?”

“The Toy Town letters, that’s all.”

“Eddie, look at those letters and tell me what you see.”

“Not much – most of them are gone. I see ‘TO TO LA’.”

“And beyond that lies the end of this world?”

“Look, it’s just what I was told. You believe these things when you’re young.”

“Wake up, Eddie,” said Jack. “Look at the letters. What do they say? What do they tell you about the beyond?”

“About the beyond?” And Eddie scratched at his head.

“You’re not going to get it, are you?” Jack said. “Even though it’s there, staring you in the face?”

Eddie Bear looked up at Jack. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Wake up, Eddie,” said Jack once more. “You’ve used the phrase yourself enough times. Something about ‘Beyond The –’”

“Second Big O,” said the suddenly enlightened Eddie. “Beyond The Second Big O.”

“Exactly,” said Jack. “And there it is, The Second Big O in what once spelt TOYTOWNLAND. That’s where these invaders have come from. They come from Beyond The Second Big O – and that is The Second Big O.”

Eddie Bear looked up at Jack. “You genius,” he said.

“Well, thank you, Mister Bear,” said Jack, “but I just reasoned it out. That’s what we detectives do, reason it out.”

“Or calculate,” said Eddie, “As in the Opera House business. Do you feel up to confiding in me about that yet?”

“Later,” said Jack. “For now we have to get after the murderers. What does your nose tell you, Eddie?”

“It tells me,” said Eddie, dismally, “that that is the way they went. Beyond The Second Big O.” Eddie sniffed. “Through The Second Big O.”

“Then that’s where we’re going. Come.” And Jack set off. And then Jack turned. “Come on, then,” he said.

But Eddie once more stood his ground. Most firmly so, in fact.

“Well, come on then, Eddie,” said Jack. “Let’s go, come on now.”

“Ah,” said Eddie and Eddie stood firm.

“Come on now,” said Jack.

“I can’t,” said Eddie. “I just can’t come.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I can’t go through there,” Eddie said. “We must call Bellis, get him to employ troops, send an armed task force through, if he will. If he dares.”

“Dare?” said Jack. “What’s to dare? We’ve got weapons, Eddie. Stop this foolishness, come on.”

“I can’t come on, Jack. I can’t. It’s the end of my world up there. I don’t know what will happen if I leave my world.”