CHAPTER SIX
Meeting Boi Toi

In order to convey to you the extent of the wonders the children were about to experience, I ask you to think about the most spectacular thing you have ever seen. Was it fireworks exploding like sea anemones across a midnight sky on New Year’s Eve? Was it the costumes in a theatre production that were so vivid and lavish they took your breath away? Was it an architectural masterpiece viewed on a cultural tour with your parents? Whatever it was, think of your reaction magnified one hundred times and you may get some idea of how the children felt.

At first, however, there wasn’t that much to see—just a vast gallery with a richly coloured mosaic floor, decorative columns and quaint little shopfronts lining either side. Milli and Ernest observed immediately that the different levels within Hog House had been retained, forming tiers that reached upwards towards a domed ceiling made entirely of stained-glass panels that scattered beams of tinted light across the floor. There was a sweeping staircase to one side, and old-fashioned elevators, painted forest green, for those too impatient to climb the stairs.

The group stopped dutifully to read the arcade directory, which was shaped like an ancient scroll and held up by two brightly painted clay giants.

Between the giants’ colossal sandalled feet was a map. Milli ignored it and instead tried to look inside the closest shops to determine their contents. At the entrance to one were giant powder puffs acting as revolving doors. It appeared to be a beauty parlour. What was a beauty parlour doing in the middle of a toy arcade, you may ask? Milli wondered the same thing and could only conclude that some of the

toys availed themselves of such services. Another shop interior seemed to be choked with vegetation. Bulky vines hung from the ceiling and a carpet of leaves covered the floor. Milli was intrigued to see Jungle Life written on the plaque outside and in brackets below: Unsupervised Entry Strictly Prohibited.

The main gallery, where they were now standing, was lit by enormous gaslights held by wrought-iron arms protruding from the walls. A familiar and mouth-watering aroma filled the air. It smelled like a mixture of popcorn and vanilla biscuits. Ms Anomali pointed a thin finger to the ceiling, and when the children looked up, they nearly jumped out of their skins. Suspended on fishing wire above them was a row of teddy bears in tutus. They did a little choreographed dance and sang a welcome song; a performance which the children rewarded with riotous applause.

Welcome to the Toy Arcade

A world filled with laughter.

Make sure you’ve left your worries behind

For there’s no room for mopers.

Welcome to the Toy Arcade We hope you’ll be enchanted.

Ms Anomali waited for the applause to subside then ushered them over to a pile of brightly coloured beanbags and indicated they should sit down. The children settled into the beanbags, which let out a ‘Please sit down’ in a range of different accents each time they adjusted their position, but fell silent when Ms Anomali began speaking.

‘It is only when a toy loses its lustre of newness that it becomes really interesting,’ the curator began. ‘Many of the toy exhibits here are part of history. They all have a story to tell. I am sure you are already acquainted with the honey-coloured bear wearing a blue raincoat and red hat, or the wooden boy in overalls with the ridiculously long nose?’ She spoke in such an alluring tone that her words sent shivers down their spines.

Looking down, Ernest noticed that the mosaic floor depicted characters and scenes from famous fairy stories. There was an ice castle, a knight in pursuit of a dragon and a princess with hair the colour of corn leaning out of a tower. He wondered how long it had taken to assemble such a collection of images. The attention to detail was remarkable. Tempest Anomali’s velvet voice brought him back to the present.

‘A word of warning. This arcade, although built for the entertainment of children, is vast and contains many rooms and passageways. It would not do for any of you to get lost. You cannot be sure what you may encounter, and some of the electronic toys are not easy to control. It is therefore imperative that you follow my instructions at all times. The basement level is strictly out of bounds as it contains dangerous machinery. We don’t want to be sending anyone home minus a finger, do we?’

The knuckles of the curator’s hands, which she’d clasped tightly in front of her throughout her talk, were white by the time she had finished and she wrinkled her nose as if there was a bad smell in the vicinity that she was having trouble identifying. Ms Anomali seemed about to announce the commencement of the tour when she was interrupted by a question. It came from Ha-Ha Pyles, who hadn’t been put off by her imperious manner. ‘Is Mr Von Gobstopper himself likely to make an appearance at any stage of the day?’ he asked eagerly.

A look somewhere between scorn and amusement flickered briefly over Tempest Anomali’s chalky face.

‘I’m afraid not,’ she replied in dulcet tones. ‘Mr Von Gobstopper is in retirement and rarely appears in public. It is too stressful for him; it interferes with his creative chi. You will, however, see evidence of his creativity in abundance! To begin, we hope you enjoy our dramatisation of the poem written for children by Christina Rossetti, “Goblin Market”.’

A suspended platform, unnoticed by the children up to now, lit up. On it stood a toy theatre made of cardboard, high enough for everyone to see without craning their necks. Even though the characters were printed on cards attached to wooden sticks, and slid in and out of slots in the stage floor, the children were instantly engrossed in the story. It was a dramatic tale about two sisters, Laura and Lizzie, and their different reactions upon encountering goblin merchants selling some very enticing fruit. The children were relieved to see that sisterly devotion prevailed over the menacing goblins in the end, but everyone was left wondering what their decision might have been had they encountered such tempting merchandise on their way to fetch water.

When the show ended, the black-clad puppeteers, who had also provided the voices for all the characters, appeared in a row to take a bow.

‘And now,’ Ms Anomali announced, ‘let us move on to the first exhibition, the Clockworks Hall. Here you will see a range of toys operated by the winding of some kind of key or mechanical device. Such toys were immensely popular with Victorian children—I believe they originated out of a human desire to bring inanimate things to life. Human beings are arrogant enough, after all, to believe that everything should mimic their own behaviour.’

She paused, seemingly in expectation of some reaction. Had she made a joke? The children wriggled uncomfortably until someone asked whether the toys had anything to do with clocks.

‘Obviously they are thus named because their design employs similar principles to those employed in the making of clocks,’ Ms Anomali replied coolly.

She turned sharply on her heels and marched down a nearby passageway. Feeling a mixture of anticipation and suspense, the children scurried after her. On their way they managed to read some of the plaques on the shopfronts: Edible BuildingBlocks, Bath Friends, Golliwog Makeover, Barbie World, Planes ‘n’ Stuff. The shop windows were in semi-darkness, keeping their wares well hidden.

Ms Anomali led them into a long, narrow hall where clockwork toys were displayed on low tables. Heavy curtains were drawn around a larger display stand in the centre of the hall. The children were invited to walk around freely to examine the toys on display. They could even operate them, as long as they did so one at a time.

The next half-hour was spent in gleeful exploration and the noise level grew steadily as various clockwork toys moved across the shiny floor displaying their particular skills. If you had previously said ‘clockwork toy’ to any of these children, they would have perhaps envisaged a soldier beating a drum. They now realised that the sky was the limit in the manufacture of such toys. Soon all manner of clockwork toys were buzzing around them like exotic insects. There were tiny birds that swarmed unexpectedly from mouse holes, pursued by motor-operated cats; battery-operated motorcycles transporting stylish dolls in bathing suits; pandas waving their paws in greeting; sumo wrestlers that twisted themselves into the most torturous positions; a nanny steering a baby in a perambulator; vampires that bared their teeth as they flew across the room; and monkeys that turned somersaults over and over. All the movements, although mechanical, were fluid and amazingly lifelike.

When Ms Anomali felt that they had seen enough, she pulled a lever on a panel and the toys clambered up onto the tables and resumed their stationary positions.

‘Now,’ the curator said, gliding over to the curtained display, ‘it is time for something really special. This toy has been years in the making and once you meet him you’ll understand why. Have you ever seen a toy that can look you directly in the eye, tell jokes and play catch? Allow me to present to you, on loan to us all the way from Tokyo, Boi Toi.’

The heavy curtains fell away and there on a pedestal stood a mechanical boy roughly Ernest’s size. He had jet black hair, a swatch of which fell over one eye, and skin the colour of milky coffee. The whites of his eyes were whiter than white and his cheeks were perfectly sculpted. His painted rosy lips were parted slightly in a smile.

Ms Anomali withdrew a remote control device from her breast pocket and pressed a button. Boi Toi’s arm bent at the elbow with a slight scraping sound. The action revealed an enormous metal key jutting from his side. His narrow eyes blinked, the lashes brushing against porcelain skin. Slowly, he opened his mouth, the jaw detaching from the rest of his face like on a ventriloquist’s dummy. Then the lips widened into a smile.

‘My name is Boi Toi,’ he said in a monotone. ‘I am happy to make your acquaintance.’

He took a wonky step forward, which caused the children to take one back. Even the usually adventurous Miss Macaw had safely positioned herself behind Gummy Grumbleguts. Milli, who didn’t want to appear overwhelmed so early in the day’s preceedings, decided to take a step forward.

‘He’s not real,’ she said. ‘Look!’

She reached out bravely to stroke the waving mechanical hand. They had not, after all, been instructed not to touch. Immediately the clockwork toy’s hand snapped shut around her wrist. Milli tried to shake her hand free but Boi Toi’s grip was as strong as a vice. The class gasped as his shiny face bore down on her. Milli saw Boi Toi’s eyes flash at her, so lifelike now they sent shivers up her spine, and he bared his teeth.

‘He’s just being friendly,’ the curator reassured her. ‘No harm done.’

She pushed another button and the toy released Milli’s wrist. Milli moved away so quickly it caused Boi Toi to lurch forward. Ms Anomali was at his side with supernatural speed to catch him in case he fell. But he regained his balance unassisted and, smiling even more widely, parroted the words, ‘No harm done.’

The curator punched a few more buttons and Boi Toi walked stiff-legged back to his stand and hoisted himself back up. ‘Perhaps we may meet again,’ he said vacantly before becoming immobile. The curtains swished shut, enshrouding him from view again.

‘Unique, isn’t he?’ said Ms Anomali with undisguised affection.

No one replied.

In an attempt to defuse the tension created by Boi Toi’s misconduct, Ms Anomali looked up at a spider clock suspended below the vaulted ceiling and announced it was time for morning tea, which would be served in the Teddy Bear Bakery.

‘Don’t worry,’ she clucked, noting the wary expressions on some of the faces around her. ‘Teddies are friendly.’

The Teddy Bear Bakery was an old-fashioned cosy tearoom on the ground floor. A tiered display in the window offered such delights as iced cakes sitting like monuments on silver platters, lamingtons so laden with cream and jam they wobbled, meringues in the shapes of cars and planes, and golden scones piled in a pyramid. The centrepiece was a giant pavlova with passionfruit oozing over a golden crust. Inside, there were checked tablecloths and spotted china. The children sat on upholstered chairs and were served by a team of teddy waitresses in pink aprons and hats who sped around on roller skates taking their orders.

Gummy Grumbleguts rather shocked Ms Anomali by declaring that he would have ‘one of everything’ until Miss Macaw whispered something tactfully in his ear and he announced sheepishly that he was only joking.

Morning tea was followed by a whirlwind tour of so many different exhibits the children wondered how they would remember them all. Ernest, assiduous as ever, made notes on everything they saw and also did some impromptu sketches in anticipation of the follow-up activities they might be given back at school. Milli, of course, decided that note-taking would only interfere with her appreciation of what she was seeing and decided that she would rely on memory (and Ernest’s copious notes if he could be bribed into sharing them) should there be some major assignment awaiting them on Monday.

In Perambulator Place, prams made of the finest silk held infant dolls so lifelike they cried in response to noise of any kind and sucked on their rubbery thumbs. They visited a shop that gave off a distinct odour of emergency (if you have never smelled an emergency it is a sort of metallic scent with a hint of wood smoke and whisky). Inside this shop figurines of all of history’s superheroes were mounted on the walls, from Wonder Puss to Volcano Man. When the curator tugged at a cord behind each figure’s shoulders, they sprang to life and zoomed around the room, shouting catchphrases like I’ll save you and Have no fear, help is here! At one point, several superheroes joined forces to lift the smallest member of their class, Titchy Le Piccolo, right off his feet. Next the children visited the shop Milli had already peered into, where it seemed as if an entire forest had sprung up from the floor. They heard a strange snuffling then stuffed animals burst from all directions. Monkeys swung down from the vines, metallic snakes slithered from beneath bushes, and toucans squawked in the branches of the trees.

In a shop called Farm Yard Friends they found sheep bleating, pigs grunting and horses whinnying in their various enclosures. In The Golliwog Tree, the entire space was filled with tree branches displaying gollies of all shapes and sizes. Golliwogs are so engaging they don’t have to do anything, and there was something very endearing about their button eyes and crimson smiles that made this one of the children’s favourite stops.

Their next visit was to a large room draped in velvet and lit by ornate lamps on side tables. Those easily frightened were warned beforehand to wait outside as this room might hold some sudden shocks. No one took up the offer. The shop was called Haunted Chairs, and spread around its interior was a collection of chairs like assorted chocolates in a box. They ranged from a shabby low stool to a deep armchair upholstered in a cabbage rose design. The curator explained that each chair was inhabited by a character that only came to life once someone sat in the chair. After considerable deliberation, Gummy Grumbleguts offered to go first. He chose the small, inoffensive-looking stool, concluding that it couldn’t pose too much of a threat. As soon as he sat down, the notes of a harp filled the air and the stool, with Gummy atop it, sailed gracefully across the room and back. Milli tried the armchair, but quickly regretted her decision because a cabbage rose on the arm reconfigured into the face of an old witch, warty and as wrinkled as a prune. The witch hissed and glared at the terrified onlookers and her skinny arms reached right out of the chair in an attempt to catch hold of a child. Milli tried to leap up immediately but couldn’t move until the witch’s arms and face dissolved once more into the flower pattern. Ernest decided to take his chances with a sea captain’s chair. No sooner had he sat down than the menacing bald heads of four pirates emerged from each leg and threatened to make him walk the plank if he didn’t immediately empty the contents of his pockets.

Their next stop was, thankfully, more sedate. The sign outside read: Thimble Sisters—Doll Dressmakers since 1864. The children were instructed not to make any noise or ask questions during this visit as the dressmakers were involved in work that required absolute concentration. The sisters, Ethel and Eve, were elderly women, delicate and fine-boned, who sat on a raised platform and were so engrossed in their craft they barely acknowledged the children’s entrance. The room they worked in was small and circular, and every inch of it was cluttered with tiny rolls of fabric, lacquered sewing boxes and tubes of sequins and glitter. One sister was sewing pearls onto a tiny ballgown whilst the other crocheted a mantle in gold thread. So skilful were they that they didn’t need to keep their eyes on their handiwork but instead gazed into the distance, in all likelihood dreaming of romance.