“They don’t look confused,” said Professor Stefan. “They just look hostile.”

“Why don’t we see what happens if we try to leave?”

The two scientists, with Brian and Dorothy/Reginald in tow, pretended to depart.

“Bye!” they said. “Lovely meeting you! Good luck with everything!”

The heads of the toys turned to follow their progress, but no attempt was made to stop them, not even when Brian opened the main door and stepped outside. He might have kept going as well had not Professor Hilbert grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back inside.

“That’s quite enough cowardice for today, Brian,” he said.

“It really isn’t,” said Brian. “I have loads left.”

But Professor Hilbert was not to be argued with, and Brian reluctantly trudged back into the store.

“Interesting,” said Professor Stefan. “Mr. Nurd, Mr. Wormwood, perhaps you’d like to try, just out of curiosity.”

Nurd and Wormwood did as he asked, but as they approached the door the toys closed in on them, blocking their way with a wall of plastic and fur broken only by the odd knife.

“Ah,” said Professor Stefan. “That would seem to answer the question, at least partly. Something wants you two to remain here.”

“We should have known,” said Wormwood. “We were invited to the opening, and we never get invited to anything. Now it looks like the only reason we were asked is because something wants to hurt us.”

He and Nurd looked sad.

“Try not to take it personally,” said Maria.

“I’ll try,” said Wormwood, “but it’s difficult.”

Crudford put one hand to the side of his head, even though he didn’t have any obvious ears, and listened.

“Can you still hear the heart?” asked Professor Hilbert.

“It’s definitely near,” said Crudford. “I say we go up. It’s clear that whatever we’re looking for isn’t here.”

Brian didn’t want to go up. He wanted to go out. He could not think of any reason why he should go deeper into this shop of horrors. At that moment, fate intervened—as it often will—to give him a push in the right direction.

“What is that noise?” said Professor Stefan. “It sounds like music.”

A handful of Nosferati survivors, their ears jammed with dead mice to drown out the sound of the organ, had found the stairs out of the basement. They emerged from the stairwell with their fangs exposed, their clawed hands raised, and their bald heads shining under the emergency lights.

“Me first,” said Brian. He made it to the top of the stairs in record time.

Brian might have been a scaredy-cat of the highest order, thought Professor Stefan, but he was very agile when he needed to be. He just hoped that me first wouldn’t be Brian’s last words.

• • •

All of the pieces were on the board—almost. There were two missing, but they were on their way.

The demons called Shan and Gath were probably happier than they had ever been. In Hell, they had been strictly third-level staff: their main task was to shovel coal and tend the Eternal Fiery Pits of Doom, which wasn’t very difficult as the Eternal Fiery Pits of Doom were never likely to go out anytime in the future. That was why they were called the Eternal Fiery Pits of Doom, and not the Temporary Fiery Pits of Doom, which doesn’t have the same ring about it at all. Every so often they were sent on holiday to the Quarry of Gray Meaninglessness, where they broke rocks for two weeks, and were entertained in the evenings by the swinging sounds of Barry Perry on the kazoo.⁵⁹