Von Gobstopper's Arcade

by Adornetto, Alexandra

  ‘What on earth’s a Botcher?’ Ernest whispered.

  Loyal’s brow creased and he shook his head to indicate that he could not enlighten them.

  Milli and Ernest crept closer, with Loyal watching them, poised to spring at the slightest sign of trouble. They had to stand on their tiptoes to peer into the room and even then their eyes only just reached to where the glass panel began.

  Nothing terribly exciting appeared to be going on inside the room, which looked a little like the waiting lounge in an airport where passengers sit counting off the time before boarding their flights. The occupants were mostly men in lab coats, bespectacled and greying. They were sitting in leather armchairs, reading papers or sipping coffee, and by the semi-recumbent positions of some you could tell they had been there for a while. They had a look of being temporarily marooned and nobody was making any move to resume their duties. In one corner was a bar where some people downed amber liquid from tumblers. Two men were engrossed in a game of chess. Another had nodded off in the midst of reading a journal, which had slipped from his hands onto his thighs. A very unhospital-like smell of alcohol and tobacco seeped from the room.

  The children were just close enough to overhear the conversation of a pair seated near the door. One had a receding hairline and the other a carefully groomed goatee that he stroked at regular intervals.

  ‘How long before we have to get back to work?’ one of the men said.

  ‘At least an hour,’ his colleague replied, stretching his legs and glancing at his wristwatch.

  ‘Oh well, can’t complain. They should have school groups in more often.’ The balding man smiled.

  ‘Makes a welcome change from reconstructive surgery,’ added the bearded man and they both chortled with laughter.

  ‘God, this place is depressing,’ muttered another man nearby, putting down his newspaper.

  ‘Quit moaning,’ the bearded man snapped. ‘No one’s holding a gun to your head.’

  ‘Let’s see what you say if the truth ever comes out,’ taunted the other.

  The children looked back at Loyal. He rolled his eyes frantically, indicating that they should come away. They crept back towards him and all moved a safe distance from the Botchers’ Common Room.

  ‘I think they might be toy doctors,’ said Ernest. ‘They seem to be waiting for the kids to leave before they can get back to work.’

  ‘What did that doctor mean by “the truth”?’ puzzled the rocking horse. ‘And what exactly is this work that can’t be resumed until the excursion is over? This is strange indeed.’

  ‘Perhaps they can’t be distracted by noise when working,’ suggested Ernest, even though he knew this was implausible. Whatever noise the children upstairs were making, it seemed unlikely that any of it would filter down as far as the basement.

  ‘Where to now?’ said Milli.

  ‘I think that might be enough for one day,’ Loyal replied, his voice rumbling with disquiet. ‘We need to report back to Theo. He will know what the next step should be.’

  Ernest heartily concurred, but Milli wasn’t convinced.

  ‘Report back?’ she objected. ‘There’s nothing to report. We need to keep looking, at least for a little while.’

  ‘Very well,’ Loyal reluctantly agreed. ‘If that is what you think.’

  ‘But only for ten more minutes,’ put in Ernest. ‘We have to get back to the others. We can’t be left behind a second time.’

  ‘But we don’t have to get back,’ Milli reminded him. ‘We’re not officially here so we won’t be missed. We can make our own way home later.’

  There was nothing to direct them through the maze of windowless corridors, so they headed down the nearest one in the hope that it might lead somewhere useful. But it stretched ahead emptily and Milli began to worry that they would have to abort their mission having discovered little of value. They were on the verge of heading back when the sound of banging and crashing drew their attention. There was a door ahead that was ajar and when they peeked inside they saw the messiest workroom they had ever laid eyes upon. It wasn’t a clinical room like the others they’d seen; in here were dusty bookcases, antique vases and old wicker furniture. The giant heads of stone gargoyles sat grinning on the floor and there was a statue of some classical deity so large its head touched the ceiling. There was a tea trolley holding plates of half-eaten sandwiches and dainty cakes that had only been nibbled at the edges. Various drawing utensils were strewn across the floor; tattered sheets hung from the overhead fan. There was an easel and numerous brushes in jars. Strange markings and rudimentary sketches even covered the walls, which were decorated with a silver grey wallpaper with a dragonfly imprint. Everywhere the children looked they saw strange objects: giant syringes filled with brightly coloured sizzling liquid, candelabra in the shape of intertwined test tubes, glass specimen domes holding beetles and exotic butterflies the size of bread-and-butter plates. The occasional tables were made from tree trunks with twisted branches for legs. A series of antique bird cages held colourful birds made of papier-mâché. A red velvet chaise lounge held an assortment of rare toys—a sailor bear, three French dolls, and a dragon with shimmering scales.

  In the midst of the chaos stood a woman in black, tall and ghoulish. Her eyes were shut and she seemed to be lost in thought. A black cat leapt onto the tea trolley, sniffed indifferently at what it found there, then jumped down to rub itself around its mistress’s legs, purring for attention.

  ‘Not now, Socrates!’ snapped the woman. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy.’

  The cat continued undeterred and the woman opened her eyes, the mood broken.

  ‘Infuriating animal!’ she muttered under her breath and began to hurl whatever small objects she could reach across the room. Socrates scuttled for cover and the children flinched as a coffee cup shattered against a pillar, followed by the pages of a notepad fluttering through the air and a storm of pens that rained down on the floor. Without so much as a glance at the damage she had caused, the woman settled herself comfortably at a large round table that held sheets of butcher’s paper and an assortment of crayons. She picked one up and set to work on a rather flamboyant sketch.

  Now that she was seated the children were able to get a better look at her. She had long hair the colour of pitch on one side of her head; on the other it had been cropped as short as a pixie’s and dyed ox-blood red. There were dark rings under her eyes, as if she were sleep deprived, and her mouth was painted an extraterrestrial silver. Her skin was bluish-white which gave her the appearance of being frozen. She was as lanky as a bean stalk and dressed in a torn black lace dress, so flimsy that part of her skeletal chest was visible. On her feet were boots that came to arrow-sharp points, and she had a black leather jacket with metal studs on the upturned collar over her shoulders. A tattoo of a serpent wound its way up her pale arm.

  Suddenly she jerked to her feet as if struck by an idea, and began an animated conversation with someone on the other side of the room. She batted her eyelids, gasped and giggled like a school girl, and patted her chest. The children strained to see who else was in the room but saw nothing but a marble bust propped on an antique barley-twist pedestal.

  ‘I am unworthy of your time, Brilliant One,’ the woman said. ‘But I will learn. Just be patient, grant me time.’

  When Milli and Ernest looked at Loyal, his mane was bristling. What was wrong? Milli didn’t get a chance to ask because the woman began singing, closing her eyes and resting her cheek alongside the cold marble head. She clearly had difficulty holding a tune—no sooner had she started in one particular key than she jumped to another without showing the least awareness of having done so. What started as a chant grew in momentum and volume until the woman was standing on the table playing air guitar and belting out the words as if she were in front of an audience of thousands.

  I’ve met Coco, Calvin and Gianni,

  Luis, Marc and Armani,

  They make handbags, blouses and evening wea
r,

  But there’s one thing they can’t do and wouldn’t dare.

  They couldn’t design a toy in a blind pink fit,

  They’d need manuals, assistants and instruction kits.

  In all the world there is only one Girl who can really get things done.

  That girl is here for all to see,

  They’ll never know my secrets, I’m a mystery.

  My designs will go down in history!

  I’m warped and twisted,

  I’ll cop some flack.

  Most people think I’m a maniac…

  Milli’s and Ernest’s fear left them momentarily.

  ‘Don’t think she’ll be signing any record deals in a hurry,’ Ernest smirked.

  ‘Really?’ said Milli in mock surprise. ‘I think she’ll go far, whoever she is.’

  Loyal’s face looked both surprised and troubled. ‘Are you saying that neither of you recognise that person?’ he asked.

  Ernest squinted for a closer look and then let out an audible gasp. Milli struggled to comprehend.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘That’s her,’ Ernest mouthed in disbelief. ‘That’s the curator.’

  Part III

  Dark Discoveries

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Fritz Braun

  Discovering the curator in her workshop looking so wild and behaving so erratically convinced even Milli that it was time to beat a hasty retreat. As they backed away from the door and found the stairs that had led them down to the basement, a jumble of questions formed in Milli’s mind. It felt as if a ball of wool had got tangled in her head. What had happened to the previously austere curator? Who were the Botchers and what sort of work did they perform? The basement’s intricate network of passageways was surely being used for something more sinister than restoration.

  For a moment Milli considered whether they should seek assistance from other sources, but immediately dismissed the idea. They had no evidence of wrongdoing, or even negligence for that matter. And even if they had, who would take the matter seriously given that the alleged victims were toys and the suspected perpetrator a woman who liked to dress up in different outfits and talk to statues in her spare time? Eccentricity, after all, wasn’t against the law. There really was nothing to be done but continue their investigations alone.

  Milli could just imagine Mrs Perriclof’s reaction: ‘Talking toys! Really, Ernest, that is the absolute limit. I think it might be time for you to broaden your friendship group.’ She thought of POSSOM arriving on the scene and searching the doll perambulators for illicit substances. The news would spread that Drabville’s child heroes had finally lost the plot, that fame had eroded their sense of reality. Others might accuse them of saying or doing anything for attention. No, Milli decided, this was definitely not the time for adult intervention.

  Ernest, meanwhile, was racking his brains for a Shakespearean quote that might come close to describing their situation. He wasn’t successful.

  The children inched open the heavy metal door at the foot of the stairs as quietly as they could, and found a frowning Fritz Braun standing on the other side, his arms folded across his chest as if he had been expecting them. All traces of his friendly demeanour had vanished. He scowled at them darkly.

  ‘What are you doing down here?’ he barked. ‘Are you out of your minds? Can you not read signs?’

  Milli thought she detected a hint of fear in his voice, not completely masked by his anger. She thought frantically for an acceptable explanation but Fritz’s glare unsettled her and she couldn’t think properly. Ernest was looking at her imploringly, expecting her to come up with an explanation.

  ‘We…got lost?’ she offered weakly.

  ‘Nonsense!’ snapped Fritz. ‘You don’t honestly expect me to believe that.’ He leaned in closer to the children and his words took on a greater urgency. ‘Now I don’t know what you two have been up to, but you’re going to leave right away. This is no place for children. Go now and I promise not to tell the curator you were here.’

  He took a step towards them and Loyal made a defensive snorting sound. Fritz took in the rocking horse for the first time and his eyes widened in shock.

  ‘Loyal?’ he said. ‘Can it be you?’

  The rocking horse looked confused before giving a guarded answer. ‘That is my name.’

  ‘Don’t you remember me?’ said Fritz, dropping to his knees and now looking as excited as a child. ‘I used to play with you when I visited my uncle’s country house as a little boy. You remember, in the nursery overlooking the park?’

  Loyal scrutinised Fritz closely and the beginnings of a smile creased the corners of his mouth.

  ‘My dear Fritz!’ he exclaimed. ‘How you have changed. When I saw you last, you were a chubby, round-faced boy. But that must have been at least ten years ago, surely!’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I was chubby,’ Fritz objected. ‘But you, on the other hand, have not changed at all.’

  ‘Made to last,’ said Loyal. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

  Fritz put his arm around the horse’s neck and the children felt they were witnessing the reunion of old friends.

  ‘What happened to you?’ continued Loyal, his expression changing from pleasure to consternation. ‘You used to visit regularly and then you just stopped coming. I worried about you.’

  Fritz’s face clouded over and he looked suddenly self-conscious. ‘That was my parents’ idea,’ he said. ‘There was a falling-out—it happens in families. They cut contact with my uncle, believing him to be…what were their words …a damaging influence. I was sent away to boarding school in Switzerland and spent the next seven years studying Logic and Mathematics, but they gave me little satisfaction. As soon as I was old enough, I ran away and went to work for Von Gob Toys, my uncle’s company. He had a factory then in Vienna, and I lived in the rooms upstairs. My parents searched for me but I managed to elude them.’

  ‘Have you seen your uncle recently?’ asked Loyal with concern.

  ‘No,’ said Fritz. ‘He wrote to me about the opening of the arcade and asked me to join him here. But when I arrived he was nowhere to be found. The new managers say he handed over administrative duties to them so that he can retire and resume his life as a recluse, but I think it odd that he would cut off all communication.’

  ‘Odd is exactly what it is,’ agreed the horse.

  ‘You don’t believe it either?’

  ‘Strange things are happening here,’ Loyal said. ‘Things your uncle would never approve of.’

  ‘You are quite right,’ Fritz admitted. He looked as if he might be on the verge of sharing something with them, and then reconsidered. He gave a furtive look down the corridor beyond the open steel door.

  ‘Please tell us what you know,’ Milli said encouragingly.

  ‘Can you come back later? We can talk then without being interrupted. There’s never anyone down here after six.’

  Fritz’s pager beeped. He withdrew it and shook his head as he read the text on its screen.

  ‘I have to go now,’ he said quickly. ‘Our chief designer is calling for fresh coffee. We’ll meet back here later.’

  ‘Do you mean the curator?’ Ernest called after him, but Fritz was already walking away down the corridor, grumbling about being ‘reduced to a manservant’, and did not look back.

  When Milli got home, she gave her father perfunctory answers to questions about her day and quickly asked whether she could go to Ernest’s to help him learn his lines for his part in the upcoming Christmas play. She added that Ernest had invited her to stay for dinner so they needn’t set a place for her. Dorkus looked at her sister with suspicion but Mr Klompet raised no objection. He agreed to pick her up when they were done, but insisted that Milli try a piece of his beetroot slice before she left as it was a while till dinner. At the Perriclof home Ernest had spun his parents a similar story and the children met as planned on the corner of Ernest’s street, Bauble Lane, before heading off in
the direction of the arcade.

  When they returned to the underground headquarters, there was some time to spare before their meeting with Fritz Braun so they filled in the others on what they had encountered in the basement. Then they noticed that Pascal was not present.

  ‘She should be here any minute,’ said Theo.

  When Pascal did appear some minutes later, her face was tear-stained and she was walking unevenly. It transpired that she had lost a slipper whilst making her way through the labyrinthine tunnels and had been unable to find it.

  Captain Pluck raised his eyebrows and folded his arms impatiently. ‘Pascal!’ he scolded. ‘There are more important things than the loss of a shoe.’ Theo shook his head in warning but the damage was done.

  ‘More important perhaps for you!’ spluttered the now red-faced doll. ‘All you want to do is prance around in your uniform feeling important. I would so much rather be upstairs with my friends who understand me.’

  ‘You don’t mean that,’ said Theo. ‘We must stay together until we know what’s happening.’

  ‘If we weren’t fussing over Pascal all the time, we might actually get more done,’ snapped the soldier. ‘Useless, conceited doll.’

  ‘I may be useless and conceited,’ shrilled Pascal, her accent becoming more pronounced the angrier she became, ‘but at least I’m not a joke.’

  ‘Madam, retract that immediately! If I were not a soldier and a gentleman—’

  ‘Enough bickering,’ interjected Loyal. ‘Perhaps we will be able to shed more light on things after our meeting. In the meantime, let’s try to remain calm.’

  ‘He who wavers is lost,’ Ernest added sagely. He didn’t know whether it was Shakespeare or not but it had the effect of making Theo burst into thunderous laughter. The others soon followed and the tension in the room temporarily lifted.