“Your name is not on the list.”

“I only started yesterday. I rose up through the ranks.”

“Ah,” said the lovely, batting preposterous eyelashes towards Jack. “You are a migrant worker.”

“Exactly,” said Jack.

“No work visa, no ID, paid in cash and poorly, too.”

“That kind of thing,” said Jack.

“Then get out before I call security.”

“Now hold on –” said Jack.

“If I might explain,” said Dorothy. “Jack is from England.”

“Oh,” said the lovely. “England, is it? Where you all wear bowler hats and take tea with the Queen at three? Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“Would it have made a difference?” Jack asked.

“Well, naturally it would. We Americans just love you English. Our politicians, in particular our President, are so keen to cultivate a special relationship with your Prime Minister. I have the gift of prophecy, you see, and I calculate that in some future time our President will be able to bully your Prime Minister into breaking the Nato Alliance and help him invade a Middle Eastern nation state.”

“Eh?” said Jack, accepting the pass he was now offered. “What was that you said?”

“You want it all again? You see, I have the gift of prophecy. And I calculate –”

“That’s enough,” said Jack. “Can I use your toilet, please?”

“Well, you can’t use mine, but you can use the men’s room – it’s over there.” And the lovely pointed with a lovely hand.

And Jack said, “Excuse me, please,” and made for the door at the hurry-up.

And once inside the men’s room, he locked himself into a stall and withdrew from his trenchcoat Wallah the calculating pocket.

“Oh,” whispered Wallah. “Remembered my existence at last, have you, Jack?”

“I’m so sorry,” said Jack. “All kinds of things have been happening.”

“Of that I am fully aware,” whispered Wallah. “I have been plunged into dirty dishwater, then roasted in a rotisserie. Then washed and wrung out once again by your lady friend to get the smell of chicken out of me.”

“It’s all been rather hectic,” said Jack.

“Well, all the sex you’ve been having certainly has.”

“It’s just business,” said Jack. Which was a callous thing to say, more callous too because there was a more than even chance that he meant it.

“You are a very bad boy,” said Wallah.

“Eddie sometimes says that,” said Jack.

“And you behave very badly when that little bear isn’t with you.”

“I behave very badly when he is,” said Jack. “Often with his encouragement.”

“Time is growing short,” said Wallah, and her voice was faint. “Eddie has less than forty-eight hours – you must move with haste.”

“I’ve got this far,” said Jack, “thanks to you.”

“But I can take you no further. You forgot about me, Jack.”

“I didn’t. Everything got hectic. I told you.”

“You forgot about me. But it doesn’t matter. I thought I was special to you. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you find Eddie and together you stop the fiend who would destroy Toy City.”

“I’m on the case,” said Jack. “I’m trying.”

“I can do no more to help you but tell you this: I calculate trouble by teatime and I calculate that, given the choice, you should duck to the right.”

“Right,” said Jack in a puzzled tone.

“Right.” said Wallah. “And so goodbye, Jack.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Jack. I am fading fast. Time is up for me.”

“No,” said Jack, shaking Wallah about. “You can’t go now. You can’t –”

“Die?” said Wallah. “I’m dying, Jack. Would you do something for me?”

“Anything,” said Jack.

“Anything?” said Wallah. “Anything I ask?”

“Anything,’said Jack.’Anything at all.”

“Then kiss me, Jack,” said Wallah, “and …”

Jack emerged from the men’s room. He had a rather guilty look on his face. And it was a red and embarrassed face that this guilty look was upon.

“What have you been doing in there?” Dorothy asked Jack. “You look as if you’ve been –”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Jack. “I’ve been in there by myself.”

“Then you were –”

“Stop, please,” said Jack. “Let’s get a move on with what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“You have been,” said Dorothy. “Every woman can recognise that look on a man’s face, even though most women won’t ever admit it to a man. You’ve been –”

“Stop!”

When all had been issued their passes, all were led by the lovely to a golden escalator, up this and into a great hall (all gold) with seating upholstered in a similar hue. The seating was set up in rows before a stage, which Jack found unsurprisingly to be all over golden panels. And at length blinds were drawn at golden-framed windows and a spotlight, remarkably white in its brilliance, shone on the golden stage illuminating a golden microphone held high by a golden stand.

And into this spotlight stepped a dramatic personage who wore a suit that was not of gold, but was beige.

“Howdy doody, golden people,” he bawled into the microphone.

The sitters mumbled some good mornings/howdy doodys.

The man at the mic shook his head.

Jack peered up at the man at the mic. There was no all-over sameness about this fellow. He had something, something more. Just what was it? Jack wondered. A certain overconfidence? A certain attitude? He looked even more scrubbed than the sitters.

The man in beige had a big round head, with a big pink face and a kind of cylindrical body. His arms were long and so too were his hands, with very long fingers upon them.

His pink face surely shone.

“I said, ‘Howdy doody, golden people,’” he bawled.

The “golden people” sitting replied, this time with a louder “Howdy doody”.

“A very good howdy doody,” said the man on the stage, “but not good enough for you golden people. One more time.”

And this time he got a veritable thunderstorm of howdy doodys hurled back in his direction.

With the notable exception of Jack and Dorothy. Although Dorothy did mumble something.

“Good enough,” said the man in beige. “And welcome to Golden Chicken Towers. Welcome to you, the chosen ones. The special ones. The trusted ones. Your labours have brought you here. Your dedication to the company ethic. Your sense of duty. Your pride as young Americans.” And he raised a fist and shook it in a friendly fashion.

“Now who can tell me what this is?” he said. And he produced from his pocket … an egg.

Hands went up from the sitters.

Jack said, “It’s an egg.”

“It’s an egg, well done.” The figure in beige smiled down upon Jack. “It’s an egg indeed. And what is your name, young man?”

“Sir Jack,” said Jack. “I’m from England.”

“An Englander, is it? Well, up you come onto the stage.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Jack asked.

“Because I have chosen you to assist me with this presentation.”

“Well, aren’t I the lucky one.”

“What did you say, young man?”

“I said, ‘Well, I am the lucky one.’”

“As indeed you are. Up, up. Let’s have a round of applause for Sir Jack.”

And a round of enthusiastic applause went up.

Jack shook his head and climbed onto the stage.

“Now, Sir Jack,” said the man in beige, putting a long beige arm about Jack’s shoulders, “what I’d like you to do is –”

“Work the slide projector?” Jack asked, as one was now being wheeled onto the stage by the lovely with the golden hair and the big dark batting lashes.

“Precisely.”

“And would I be right in assuming,” Jack asked, “that the slides will display a sort of potted history of the company?”

“You are a most astute young man – I can see that career opportunities aplenty await you.”

“Splendid,” said Jack. “And then I assume you will be giving us all a motivational speech.”

“Something of that nature, yes.” The man in beige gave Jack a certain look.