Tin

by Padraig Kenny

‘Why’s he going to London?’ Round Rob asked Jack.

  ‘Because that’s where the Agency is,’ grinned Jack.

  Round Rob frowned for a moment and looked at the floor. A smile started to slowly creep across his face as he realized what this meant. He stepped towards Cormier and held out the photograph. Cormier had been pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair. He turned to see Rob, and he blinked rapidly at him as if seeing him for the first time. Rob stretched his arm out further.

  ‘He still looks like that,’ said Rob. ‘Just so’s you know, when we find him.’

  Cormier gently took the photograph. He looked at the photo, then he looked at Rob. A great grating chuckle started to build in the back of his throat. He started to laugh again, like a man gargling with gravel. Rob joined in. Estelle looked at Jack and raised an eyebrow as Cormier and Rob started another round of mutual laughter.

  Soon Cormier was dashing around the house, shouting and flapping his arms, while Egbert ran hither and thither, collecting tools and bags in the hall, only stopping to bow and curtsy and utter a ‘Very good’ at occasional intervals.

  The others stood in the hallway and watched the frenzy. Cormier’s head darted to and fro as he muttered to himself. Rob was the only thing that caught his eye amid the frenzy.

  ‘What’s that?’ he said, pointing at Rob’s neck.

  ‘That’s George,’ said Rob, as an anxious George attempted to hide himself by huddling closer into his neck.

  ‘George?’ Cormier spluttered.

  ‘That’s his name,’ said Rob.

  Cormier frowned and scratched his chin. ‘Don’t remember giving him a name.’

  ‘He’s a six-legged, not a spider,’ said Rob.

  Cormier nodded, but gave the mechanical the kind of look that people reserved for lunatics, then he was off dashing down the hallway, shouting Egbert’s name.

  ‘I found him down that way,’ said Rob proudly, pointing towards the corridor.

  ‘Right,’ said Jack, not sure what to say.

  ‘Did you find anything else?’ asked Estelle, reaching out to touch George.

  Rob shook his head. George gingerly touched the tips of Estelle’s fingers, and when he felt brave enough he scampered up her arm and on to her shoulder. Estelle laughed. Jack wheeled round to look at her, and Rob raised an eyebrow and instinctively held it in place. They both exchanged a glance. Neither of them had ever heard Estelle laugh before.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Jack. Rob pretended to be busy looking at a particularly interesting speck of dust on the floor.

  Cormier arrived back a few moments later. He was wearing sturdy boots and a long black leather jacket. He rummaged through the inner lining of his jacket, which had pockets filled with screwdrivers, spanners and various nuts and bolts. He patted himself down, and when he seemed satisfied that he had everything he raised his shoulders and rolled his neck as if to release some tension.

  ‘Right then, let’s be off,’ he said, rubbing his hands together.

  ‘All of us?’ said Jack.

  ‘Of course, yes,’ barked Cormier. He frowned for a moment and looked at Manda. ‘Well, maybe you can stay.’

  Manda looked like she was about to protest, but Jack stepped forward.

  ‘It’s probably for the best, Manda,’ he said. ‘You need to get used to your new legs.’

  Manda pouted and squeezed Ted into the crook of her right arm. She glowered at them.

  ‘Egbert will look after you until we come back,’ said Cormier. He looked at her, as if he was about to say something else, then seemed to think better of it, then seemed to change his mind just as quickly. He started to stammer:

  ‘Earlier . . . I said . . . when I said . . . and you cried . . . well . . . that—’

  ‘The normal way to apologize to someone is to say sorry,’ said Estelle, with a raised eyebrow.

  Cormier glared at her, then turned back to Manda. ‘Sorry,’ he said huskily, before stomping through the front door.

  The others followed him outside. Cormier made it all the way down the steps before he stopped and stared wide-eyed at the remains of the gate.

  ‘Who did that?’

  Rob pointed straight at Gripper. Gripper looked panicked.

  ‘You can fix it when we get back,’ Cormier said, and turned away, before turning back and squinting at Gripper. ‘I might use one of your arms to strengthen the new gate.’

  The engineer chuckled to himself, while a nervous-looking Gripper rubbed his right arm.

  When they got outside the gate the truck was there, but so were dozens of other mechanicals. Cormier stopped in his tracks and looked nervously at them as they peeked out from behind walls and lamp posts and trees. He made a great show of clearing his throat, as if their presence didn’t bother him, and strode towards the truck with his head down and his arms swinging by his sides.

  He tried to open the driver’s door, but it was stuck. Jack stepped up to help him, and out of the side of his mouth Cormier growled, ‘Hurry.’

  Some of the mechanicals had stepped out of their hiding places.

  Jack put his hand on the door, then seemed to reconsider. He took a step back.

  ‘What are you doing?’ hissed Cormier as he rattled the door handle.

  Jack saw Sam Six Legs standing nearby. He looked unsure about what to do or say, and he was looking at Cormier with an expression of complete awe.

  ‘You should say something,’ Jack whispered to Cormier.

  ‘What? No,’ Cormier spluttered as he yanked at the door handle ever more desperately.

  ‘You need to say something to them,’ said Jack, nodding towards the mechanicals, who were drawing closer. He fixed Cormier with a sly look. ‘Then I’ll open the door.’

  Cormier clenched his fist. ‘Right. Fine.’ He stood back and placed his hands on his hips and tapped his foot on the ground. ‘Right. Well. Now then,’ he began, rolling his eyes in exasperation. ‘I, Philip Cormier, would just like to say that I shall return.’ He pointed a finger in the air with a grand flourish.

  No one said anything.

  Rob was leaning against the truck, looking up at him. ‘And when I do I’ll fix everybody,’ he whispered.

  Cormier looked stunned by the suggestion. Jack smirked.

  ‘Fine. And when I return I shall fix everybody,’ Cormier shouted. He turned quickly to Jack. ‘Come on then, let’s be off,’ he muttered, putting his head down.

  Jack opened the door and a grateful Cormier climbed in. Jack turned to wink at Sam and Sam smiled.

  ‘Remember, Mr Cormier, a promise is a promise,’ said Rob as the truck sputtered into life.

  Cormier just looked straight ahead and growled.

  Jack couldn’t decide whether Cormier was a better driver than Absalom or, in fact, a lot worse. The difficulty lay in his style, which seemed both wildly erratic and insanely confident. He wrestled with the steering wheel like a man trying to grapple a bull to the ground by its horns. He took corners with a great sweeping motion which involved turning the wheel at the last possible moment, while accelerating at the same time. The whole experience wasn’t helped by the fact that Round Rob kept squealing ‘Wheeeeee!’ every time they took a corner.

  Jack and Estelle tried to get more information from Cormier as they sped towards London, but his eyes were fixed on the road ahead at all times, and the best they got in return was a series of grunts:

  ‘So, he’s one of yours then,’ said Estelle.

  Cormier gave a grunt that could have been construed as a ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you lose him?’ asked Jack.

  Cormier gave another grunt that could have been construed as a ‘Mind your own business.’

  ‘You’re not really telling us very much,’ said Estelle.

  Another grunt – this time a very definite, ‘No, I’m not, because it is none of your business.’

  Estelle folded her arms and leant back against her seat. ‘Charming
,’ she said to Jack.

  The rest of the two-hour journey was passed more or less in silence, but it was hard to repress their excitement when they arrived in the great city. Round Rob, for one, had never seen a ‘proper’ city before, and kept reminding everybody of the fact. He ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ as they made their way through the streets, and kept pointing out things to George, who chittered amiably in response while nestled under his chin. The incredible height of the buildings alone dazzled them.

  There were more cars than they’d ever seen before. Rob and the others were used to the country roads, where they would normally pass a horse and cart and not see an actual car for hours at a time. London was different. London was filled with cars. Many were driven by mechanicals while their owners sat in the back seat reading papers, or in some cases having papers read to them by the latest super-intelligent Harrison V5 model.

  Other mechanicals stood on street corners selling newspapers or running fruit stalls. Rob’s darting eyes were moving so rapidly in an effort to take everything in that Jack feared they might fall out of his head. They all watched in amazement as a mechanical boy casually made his way across the frantic hustle and bustle of Piccadilly Circus with a dozen baskets balanced precariously on his back. The beeping of car horns didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.

  They stopped outside an imposing building fronted with huge pillars. Cormier leapt out of the truck and stood looking at the building’s facade with his hands on his hips. The others got out and stood by his side.

  Jack had never seen so many windows on the front of one building. They were jammed together over five floors, and the building itself took up half of the street. People in suits bustled in and out of the large revolving doors that led into a reception area. Most of them were serious-faced; the men wore dark, sober suits and the women tweed skirts and jackets, sensibly buttoned collars, and businesslike hats. Cormier squinted at the large sign that adorned the centre of the building. It was off-white with large black letters in relief that simply said ‘the Agency’.

  He headed straight for one of the revolving doors; the others started to follow, and a great clanking behind him alerted Jack to the fact that Gripper had climbed out of the truck and was eagerly heading towards the building with them. He turned to Gripper and told him to stay in the truck. A disappointed Gripper ground his jaws.

  ‘No,’ said Jack, ‘because you just can’t. Besides, we won’t be long.’

  Gripper clambered back into the truck petulantly.

  Jack followed the others inside and found himself in the centre of a great marble atrium. The floors gleamed and sparkled, wood panelling shone, and droves of people bustled through the great cool space, lending it an air of elegance and efficiency. Three men in macs and trilbies strode past towards the exit. As soon as Jack saw them he felt a jolt of panic. For a terrifying moment, he was back in Absalom’s junkyard on that awful night. He could see Christopher being dragged away; there were flashes of blue lightning. He had to resist the urge to grab Estelle by the arm.

  There was a large reception desk facing the main door. Cormier strode towards it purposefully. There was a young man in a pale grey suit sitting behind the desk, scribbling in a ledger. Cormier rapped the desk to get his attention. The young man’s face shot up, and he attempted a friendly but professional smile. He managed to curl up one corner of his mouth before his smile vanished, and his face blanched to a milky white.

  ‘Hello,’ said Cormier.

  ‘You’re . . . you’re not . . .’ stuttered the young man.

  ‘I am,’ said Cormier.

  The young man looked back over his right shoulder. There were six portraits high up on the wall behind him. All of them were of men looking imperiously outwards at the world. The first, of course, was a painting of Runcible. The third one from the left was Cormier – a much tidier, younger-looking Cormier, but Cormier all the same. He was standing sideways, holding his left lapel, his eyes blazing with his typical mixture of belligerence and defiance.

  ‘How . . . how can I help you, sir?’ asked the man, adding, ‘Mr Cormier, sir,’ in a panic.

  ‘Hibbert,’ was all Cormier said. He laid his hand on his left lapel and drew himself upright, mirroring his stance in the portrait.

  ‘Hibbert,’ repeated the young man.

  ‘Hibbert,’ said Cormier.

  They sound like a pair of frogs, thought Jack.

  ‘Mr Hibbert?’ the young man almost shrieked.

  Cormier leant forward and gave a low, threatening growl. ‘Mr Hibbert.’

  The young man swallowed nervously and looked around the top of his desk in a dazed fashion, as if he’d misplaced something. Finally, he managed to pull himself together.

  ‘He can’t see you, sir.’

  Cormier glared at him.

  ‘He can’t see you,’ the young man yelped, between nervous licks of his lips. ‘Not without an appointment.’

  Cormier nodded towards his portrait. ‘Who’s that up there?’

  The young man turned in his chair to look back at the portrait. ‘That’s you, sir.’

  ‘And I am?’

  The young man swallowed again, as if something had gotten stuck in his throat. ‘You’re Philip Cormier.’

  ‘Top floor, office number seven. Am I right?’ said Cormier.

  The young man nodded, his face still white.

  ‘Good lad,’ smiled Cormier.

  He turned on his heel and headed towards the lift doors.

  The lift doors were dark and baroque and covered in an ornate tracery of varnished briars and branches. Cormier pressed a brass button and the doors parted to reveal a small boy standing inside the lift wearing a brown uniform and a bellboy’s cap.

  They entered the lift, and the boy piped up:

  ‘Where to, sir?’

  ‘Top floor, please,’ said Cormier.

  The boy pressed a button and the doors rolled shut. There was a pause, then a clacking sound, a quick jolt, a sensation of rising, and they were off.

  There was silence in the lift for a few moments. Cormier cleared his throat and tried to stare straight ahead, but something was nagging him. He looked at the boy, then looked away. Then, as if he couldn’t fight it any more, he looked at him again.

  ‘Pilkington, eh?’ he said.

  ‘That’s right, sir,’ said the boy.

  ‘Grade four. Am I right?’ said Cormier.

  ‘You are, sir. Grade four and proud of it, sir.’

  There was another moment’s silence, broken only by the sound of the lift’s cogs and pulleys. Cormier lowered his head and sighed. He reached inside his coat and took out a spanner, and knelt beside the boy.

  ‘May I?’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ said the boy.

  Cormier took the boy’s right arm and raised it. He gave it a quick up and down motion and grunted, ‘Knew it.’

  He unbuttoned the boy’s jacket and took out his right arm and tightened a nut on his left shoulder. Throughout all of this the boy just looked straight ahead. When he seemed satisfied, Cormier told the boy to lift his arm up and down. The boy did as he was told, and Cormier took a small can from inside his jacket and oiled the boy’s shoulder and elbow.

  ‘Now,’ said Cormier. The boy lifted his arm up and down without looking at him.

  ‘Spotted it as soon as I came in,’ muttered Cormier, looking at the floor. He seemed almost embarrassed. The boy simply blinked and looked vacantly straight ahead as Cormier buttoned his jacket back up.

  The lift shuddered to a halt, and the doors opened.

  ‘Fifth floor,’ announced the boy.

  They all stepped out of the lift, and Cormier gave a quick sharp bow and thanked the boy. As they walked along the hallway, Rob leant into Jack and whispered, ‘Did you see that boy’s eyebrows? They were well proper.’

  A small girl in a pale-grey dress glided past them carrying a tray filled with envelopes. Rob watched her go. Jack had to turn him around and gently nudge h
im along the corridor. They hadn’t gone far when Cormier took a swift right to face a wooden door. There was a gold plaque on the door with the name EDGAR HIBBERT, CHIEF COMMISSIONER.

  Cormier hammered the door with the heel of his fist, then, without waiting for a reply, he stormed straight in.

  They entered the room to find a man sitting behind a large desk in front of a window. The man looked to be in his fifties. He was small, grey and balding. He wore spectacles and a dark grey suit, and he blinked at them in utter astonishment.

  There were three chairs positioned in front of the desk. Cormier strode to the middle one, pulled it out, flapped his coat tails behind him and sat down. Jack and Estelle decided to sit either side of him. Rob stood at Cormier’s right shoulder.

  Cormier grinned at the man, whose mouth was open in shock. ‘Edgar,’ Cormier said.

  ‘Philip.’

  ‘Edgar Hibbert,’ chuckled Cormier, slapping his thighs. ‘Good old Edgar Hibbert.’

  ‘Good old Edgar,’ said Round Rob, and he and Cormier winked at each other and chuckled.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Hibbert demanded. His cheeks had taken on a pink tinge, and he wriggled in his chair in an attempt to appear in control, but only succeeded in doing a very good impersonation of a man who’d just found something uncomfortable in his pants.

  ‘I came to say hello to an old friend,’ said Cormier, giving a hard smile.

  ‘Well now,’ Hibbert huffed, and cleared his throat.

  ‘You have my Type A,’ said Cormier. He threw the framed photograph of Christopher and himself on the table in front of Hibbert. ‘I want him back.’

  Hibbert picked up the photograph. It showed Cormier and Christopher standing side by side in front of a shed. They were both smiling and squinting into the sun. The top half of the photo was faded, so that things appeared to be disappearing into the flared whiteness behind them. Jack had marvelled at the photo back at Cormier’s, not just because Christopher was in it, but because he was amazed by the fact that Cormier appeared to be happy. His hand was resting on Christopher’s right shoulder, and Christopher too seemed just as happy.

  Hibbert placed the photo gently back on the table. He pushed his spectacles further up his nose with one finger, and then clasped his hands on the desk in front of him.