The Toymakers(120)

In the middle of the army, Kaspar stood. ‘Tonight, he’s here as a friend. So let’s hear what he has to say.’

The soldiers bristled, but at least they obeyed. That was good, thought Emil. Their loyalty to Kaspar was the thing he had staked the future of the Emporium upon, the last chance he had for a life with his boys.

‘I know what you think of me,’ he began. His voice was trembling, but desperation made heroes of mortal men, and he fought it back down. ‘You think me a coward … and you’re right. But the war’s gone on too long. I concede it.’ He looked across the soldiers to address Kaspar alone. ‘I beat a retreat, Kaspar. The Long War is over. The triumph is yours. All I ask is that the Emporium goes on.’

Emil was not certain that the soldiers heard – or, if they heard, whether they had the capacity to understand. Perhaps theirs was the primitive intelligence of mice; perhaps they knew only fear. He tried not to startle as a troop of infantrymen made a sally for his shins – and was still holding his ground when a single gunshot popped in the middle of the army, bringing the infantry to a halt.

‘They’re listening,’ said Kaspar.

‘Well?’

‘It isn’t a parley unless you agree terms. So what are the terms … of your surrender?’

‘If we must share the Emporium, then we share it.’ Emil hardened himself. ‘I’m willing to give them the attics. The burrows in the cellars and the deep layer storerooms too. They can live there and do whatever it is soldiers do in peacetime, build their towns and cities and make toy children of their own. I won’t interfere with them, and they won’t interfere with us. It will be like night and day. Two states, inside the Emporium, and never the twain shall meet.’

There was uproar on the Wendy House floor. The soldiers swarmed around Kaspar, seeming to squabble for his attention. Others pirouetted and danced.

‘The Emporium is their mother country. You ought to know how fiercely a man can fight for his home. What guarantee do they have that you’ll stay true to your word? What guarantee that, the moment they’re safely tucked away, you don’t start making soldiers again – dumb, obedient ones who have to do your every command?’

The chaos stopped. Ranks re-formed. On either flank, the soldiers advanced, as if in a pincer with Emil at its head.

‘It is my Emporium, Kaspar. I must be allowed to make what toys I can.’

‘We have spoken of this, Emil.’

‘I don’t remember any conversation. All I remember is orders. Orders, ever since I was a little boy. Well, it’s my life too, Kaspar. And next winter, when the frost comes, these shelves are going to be full. The Emporium’s going to be alive. It’s what Papa would have wanted. It’s what I want.’

‘They came here tonight to reach an accommodation. What are you giving them, if you mean to just make more—’

Emil hung his head. ‘Don’t make me do this, Kaspar.’

‘You’re still a little boy with a puffed-up sense of his own importance. Haven’t you—’

As Kaspar had been speaking, the soldiers fanned out. At the foot of the bed where Cathy once slept sat the first toybox Kaspar had made, his earliest, most unrefined design. Now the soldiers had scaled the summit and, working in unison, heaved open its lid. With arms windmilling wildly they drew Kaspar’s eye.

Inside were cans of bully beef and seasoned ham, jars of new potatoes in brine, sardines and blackberry preserve. Two of the soldiers descended into the chest and returned smeared in dirt from the terracotta pots underneath. They bore up packets of garden seeds as if they were unearthed treasures.

‘Please, Kaspar.’

‘What is this?’

‘Your provisions,’ spat Emil. ‘In the event they don’t accept my terms.’

Kaspar was still – but somehow the soldiers seemed to understand.

‘Because these soldiers can’t be trusted,’ Emil said, ‘because I need a way to be certain this is the end. I’m sorry, Kaspar. I told you I’d do anything, anything at all.’ Emil lifted his hand. There dangled the key to the Wendy House door. ‘You should have listened to me, Kaspar. You should have listened all along.’

In the same moment that Kaspar understood, the soldiers sprang to life. Emil stepped backwards, making for the exit, but already the soldiers were around him. A dozen infantrymen scythed into his shins and Emil lashed out, sending them sprawling. Too late, he realised another unit was besieging his other foot – and, caught off-balance, he crashed into the Wendy House wall. That was when the first artillery fired. From somewhere on the other side of the Wendy House floor, howitzers rolled into place. Emil took the first volley on the breast, turned against the second, only for the third – coming from some unseen corner of the Wendy House – to catch him full in the face. Stars exploded behind his eyes. Blood exploded from his nose. He reared back, fighting to keep balance as the next wave of infantrymen attacked. It was only five more strides to the exit. He would get there however he could.

They thought him a coward? Well, was this what a coward did? He felt mahogany bullets peppering his back and, propelled by them, staggered through the door. Some of the soldiers were trying to stream out alongside him. He took aim and kicked back, stemming the tide one splintered soldier at a time.

There was blood in his eyes, the taste of fresh meat on his lips. Before he closed the door, he dabbed it away and looked within. In the sea of stampeding soldiers, Kaspar was like an island, a god propped up with walking canes either side.