'After you,' he said to Eddie.

'No,' said Eddie. 'You have the big gun. Very much after you.'

With Jack leading the way, they entered the chocolate factory. Eddie sniffed chocolate.

"Tell me about the rabbits,' said Eddie. Which rang a bell somewhere with Jack.

'The rabbits?’ Jack asked.

'The hollow chocolate bunnies. What are they all about?'

Jack shrugged. T haven't a clue,' said he. 'But I'll bet it's something really obvious. Where do you think we are?'

'Looks like the staff kitchens.'

'Then let's go somewhere else. I have no love for kitchens.'

They passed through a doorway and into a hallway. 'You know what,' said Eddie, 'we really do need some kind of plan.'

'I think I'll just shoot him with my big gun, as soon as I see him,' said Jack.

'That's not too subtle a plan.'

'I know.' Jack edged along the hallway, his big gun held high. 'But you see, there's always too much talking when it comes to the big confrontation situation. When I used to read the Bill Winkie thrillers and it got to the point of the final confrontation with the villain, there was always too much talking. I'd be reading it and saying "don't talk to him, Bill, just shoot him". And Bill would have the gun on him and everything, but he'd talk and then suddenly the gun would get wrestled away and then the villain would talk and talk.'

'That's the way it's done,' said Eddie. 'If you want to do it by the book, that's the way it's done. Bill always triumphed in the end, though. With my help, of course, not that I ever got a mention. But he triumphed. He did it right, did Bill.' Eddie's voice trailed off.

Jack turned and looked down at Eddie.

'I'm sorry,' said Jack. 'I know how much you loved Bill.'

'Don't talk wet,' said Eddie.

'You loved him,' said Jack. 'It's nothing to be ashamed of. And when this is all sorted out, you will have sorted it out for Bill. As a tribute to him. And your memory of him. That's noble stuff, Eddie. That's doing things for love. That's okay.'

Eddie sniffed. 'You're okay, Jack,' he said. 'You're my bestest friend, you know that.'

'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.'