Somehow, the second go lacked the feeling of awe and wonder there had been the first time around. Understandable, in a way; thousands watched in awe as Louis Bleriot flew the Channel for the first time, whereas now thousands sit around in airport terminals snarling about delays in air traffic control. Oh sure enough, there were crackles and hisses and lots of flashy blue fire; but it was playing to a sleepy Wednesday afternoon matinee rather than a first night. So, when the repaired Thing sat up this time, the Baron just grunted and started checking its seams for stress damage.

‘Hello,’ it said.

That got the Baron’s attention sure enough. ‘Hell’s teeth, it can talk,’ he said. ‘It’s not supposed to be able to do that. I formatted its brain. Damn thing should be clean as a whistle.’

‘Hello.’

The Baron shook his head sadly and reached for a screwdriver. Before he could make contact, however, the Thing’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist, making him squeal with pain.

‘Hello,’ it said.

Igor jumped up to go to the Baron’s assistance, but somehow the lab stool he was sitting on managed to topple, dumping him painfully on his backside. Once again, he felt the urge to look round at his little wooden pal.

Its eyes were shut. Lights out. Nobody at home.

And the Thing turned its head and winked at him.

‘Hi,’ it said, ‘my name is Carl. Mind if I use your mirror?’

Chapter 11

Somewhere in the darkness, a rat scuttled.

‘Ah,’ said the Beast, relieved. ‘I was just starting to think I was lost.’

Sis shuddered. It was dark down here; not Hollywood-dark, which is an environment where people are deemed not to be able to see even though the heat from the rows of sodium lamps behind the camera is enough to peel the skin off your nose, but dark as three feet down a long bag. Add the scuttling of offstage rats, and the result was something she didn’t much care for. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ she quavered.

‘We should be,’ replied the Beast. ‘That rat’s the first hint of the big cellar full of rats bit that comes up just before we stumble through into the castle. Follow me.’

‘Big cellar full of rats?’ Sis echoed. ‘You are joking, aren’t you? Because if you think I’m going anywhere near a cellar full of rats…’

‘Nothing to be afraid of,’ the wicked queen interrupted briskly. ‘They’re just doing their job, same as the rest of us. Just think of them as — oh, I don’t know, what about decor? Or atmosphere. Like raffia-covered Chianti bottles in an Italian restaurant. They’re there to tell you where you are and when the adventure’s likely to begin.’

‘I see. Wouldn’t a simple signpost do just as well?’

‘Wouldn’t be able to see a signpost in the dark. But everybody can understand the significance of a carpet-of-squirming-rodents noise. It’s a convention, like the stylised pictures of men and women on lavatory doors.’

‘I don’t like rats,’ Sis replied sullenly.

‘Good. You aren’t meant to. A secret gateway that leads directly into the very heart of the castle isn’t meant to be fun. It’s all about brooding menace and all your secret phobias suddenly brought to the — Hello, what’s this?’

‘You tell me.’

‘I’m not sure. But it feels oddly like carpet.’

‘Carpet?’

‘Carpet,’ the queen confirmed. ‘Quite definitely. Hey you, Beast, what’s all this in aid of?’

‘Don’t look at me,’ the Beast replied. ‘Not that you would if you had any sense and the lights were on, but…’

‘Don’t drift off-topic. Why’s this tunnel carpeted, like something out of The Hobbit? Have we come the wrong way?’

Because of its unique collection of hideous physical deformities, you could hear the Beast shrug its shoulders. ‘No hobbits in these parts,’ it said. ‘Used to be one or two who had weekend tunnels down here; you know, caved-in old mineshafts they buy up and have all done out in stripped pine and Habitat—

‘You mean Hobbitat, surely,’ Sis muttered.

‘—But they soon got fed up and moved away. Said the TV reception was hell and they couldn’t find anybody that delivered pizzas. Nobody here these days but us storybook types.’

The queen knelt down and groped with her fingertips. ‘Not just carpet,’ she said. ‘Thick, deep, good quality carpet. Might even be Axemonster.’

‘Shouldn’t that be Axminster?’

‘You don’t want to know. Well, if this is what passes for all your secret phobias suddenly made real in this neck of the woods, I can’t say I’m impressed. Unless it’s all sort of post-modern secret phobias stuff; you know, the carpet clashes unbearably with the wallpaper, and the curtains don’t go with the loose covers…’

‘I don’t think so,’ the Beast said. ‘Not even with the subdued lighting effects. It wasn’t a bit like this when I was last here. Or at least,’ it added, ‘I can’t quite recall—’

‘Enough said,’ sighed the queen wearily. ‘It’s just another cock-up in the system. Instead of thickly carpeted with rats, it’s thickly carpeted by rats. Any minute now—’

‘Halt! Who goes there?’

(‘Told you,’ muttered the queen.)

Suddenly the tunnel was filled with blinding light. Up ahead they could see a figure, clearly identifiable by the shape of its ears as rat, despite the fact that the savage back-lighting reduced it to a silhouette. ‘Beast?’ it said. ‘Is that you?’

‘Oh, so he knows you, then,’ breathed Sis, with an edge to her voice you could have shaved with.

‘At least you don’t sound quite so frightened any more,’ the Beast replied.

‘What’s there to be frightened of?’ Sis said. ‘That’s not a rat. That’s just Mickey Mouse’s disreputable younger brother. I’m only afraid of real rats, not unemployed actors in costume.’

‘Excuse me,’ said the wicked queen firmly, ‘but are we going the right way for Beauty’s castle?’

The rat nodded. ‘Follow your nose up the tunnel,’ it said. ‘You can’t miss it. Only, would you mind awfully wiping your feet before you go any further? In fact, if you could just wait there, I’ll put down some newspaper.’

It bustled away, leaving the queen to admit that an obsessively house-proud rat made quite a good secret phobia. When it came back and had finished putting down pages from last week’s colour supplements, it gave the queen a long, hard look.

‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ it said.

The queen shrugged. ‘Possibly,’ she replied. ‘I used to be something of a public figure around here. Why do you ask?’

‘No reason. Well, carry on. And please — don’t touch anything, will you? I’ve just done a thorough spring clean, and—’

The queen did a double-take. ‘Spring cleaning?’ she demanded.

‘That’s right.’

‘As in “Hang spring cleaning!” and everything that implies?’

The rat twitched its whiskers. ‘Don’t know what you’re getting at,’ it said. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me.’

The queen nodded, and they carried on up the news-papered passageway, past what seemed like miles of sofas, coffee-tables, Parker Knoll reclining chairs, embroidered footstools and the like. ‘Now I know where we are,’ the queen whispered, as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘This confounded tunnel’s mutated into Wind In The Willows. Which means that where we’re headed for is going to turn out to be Toad Hall.’

‘Oh. Is that bad?’

‘I’m not sure,’ the queen confessed. ‘You see, it won’t be your actual Toad Hall, because of all these horrid random mutations. It’ll have turned into something ostensibly similar but effectively different, just like everything else has round here. And without knowing what that is, I haven’t a clue whether it’ll be good for us or not. See what I’m getting at?’

‘I think so,’ Sis muttered. ‘Look, I don’t know if this is at all important, but when Carl was a kid, he really used to like Wind In The Willows. Well, the cartoon version, anyhow, he never was a great one for books. Not unless they’re the right height for propping up a wobbly computer workstation.’