white mouse on the windowsill. “You’ll have to find some other sort of signal!”
The Snowman, who was a big white tomcat, leaped from a shelf and landed on the counter. “There’s nothing wrong with my hearing.” He glared menacingly at the mouse, who ducked behind a dusty bicycle pump. “I can tell what you ate last week just by listening from across the room to the rumblings of your large bowel.” He turned to Pete. “If I had not promised Mr Humperdinck otherwise, he would have been mouse lasagne long ago.”
“Oh, stop it,” said Pete. “I know you like Squeak.”
The cat seemed to mellow a bit. “Yes. Actually I do like Squeak … soup. And Squeak pie. And Squeak pizza should be good.”
Pete opened his mouth to say something, but then he saw someone standing in the darkness behind the counter. “Who’s this?”
The Snowman walked across the counter and switched the lights on. “Pete, I would like you to meet my new shop assistant, Sticks.”
Pete stared at the young man, who stood as still as a statue. “But … it’s Elvis Presley!”
The cat sat down, obviously disappointed about something. “Damn!” he said, swishing his tail.
“I told you everyone would notice,” said Squeak.
Pete walked to the supposedly dead rock and roll star. “Hi. I’m Pete.”
Elvis, or Sticks, said nothing.
“He got the head from the wax museum. I told him to take an unknown face, like Jack the Ripper or someone,” said Squeak. “He wouldn’t listen.”
The cat drew his ears back just a little. “Would you like Jack the Ripper to work in your shop, Pete? I hire only the best!”
“It’s a doll?” asked Pete.
“An automaton,” corrected the Snowman. He picked a small but elaborate contraption full of spinning wheels and gears from the counter and strapped it to his head. The whole thing was engraved with arcane symbols. “Watch this.”
A tiny propeller on the device started to whirr, and a green gem lit up inside it.
Sticks suddenly came to life. “Good evening. How may I help you?” Its voice sounded suspiciously like the Snowman’s.
“Go on, Pete. Greet him,” said Squeak.
Pete held his hand out to the automaton. It grabbed his hand with a gloved hand and shook it vigorously.
“I am pleased to meet you,” it said and walked over to one of the shelves, like a puppet with tangled strings. “Would you like to buy a bicycle?”
Pete glanced at the Snowman. The cat was moving in a charade of the automaton’s walk.
“It’s like a remote-controlled robot!” he exclaimed.
The cat took the thing off his head, and Sticks immediately froze in its tracks. “It works by magic. See this whatsit? It’s a thaumaturgic neuroteleactuator. I think, and the automaton moves and speaks. This automaton’s only a test model though. It’s made of broomsticks. I’ll build a more permanent body when I have the time.”
A “whatsit” was an object charged with magic. Pete was impressed. “You made that?”
For a moment it seemed as if the cat tried to look humble. “Well, I …”
“The Snowman built it from a blueprint he found among Mr Humperdinck’s notes,” said Squeak. “The old man invented it even before he started to work on the animal speech whatsit.”
Mr Humperdinck had altered Squeak and the Snowman’s brains to make them capable of human speech, with the aid of a magical device – his wonderful whatsit. Unfortunately, the thief who had stolen his research notes (a crooked policeman named Grimsby) had also murdered him.
“I did assemble it from scratch.”
“But what do you want to do with him?” asked Pete. “Why don’t you just hire somebody?”
“Look,” said the cat, obviously annoyed, “I inherited this business from Mr Humperdinck, and I am not about to let some human throw his weight around here. How many humans do you know who would take orders from a cat?”
“Lots,” said Squeak, snorting. “Mew, feed me! Feed me!”
The Snowman glared at the little mouse. “You are a whisker’s breadth away from feeding me,” he warned.
The doorbell tinkled again and played ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’. Maggie walked in. She was slim and blonde, and owned Maggie’s Health Food and Fitness Emporium next door. The Snowman grabbed the whatsit and disappeared somewhere into a shadow.
“Hi Pete!” she said. “I saw the lights were on, and thought I should meet the new owner.”
Pete glanced at the automaton that stood frozen by the shelf.
“Oh, isn’t he delicious,” Maggie whispered to Pete when she saw it. She raised her hand and said loudly, “Hello, neighbour!”
The automaton did not move so much as a hair.
Maggie tried again. “Hi!”
Pete heard a bump behind the counter and the cat swearing under his breath.
Maggie walked over to Sticks, looked at it, and waved her hand in front of its face. “Is he okay?”
“I think he’s in shock,” said Pete. “He has just had some bad news …”
There was another bump behind the counter, and the automaton suddenly came to life. It blinked and looked straight into Maggie’s eyes.
Then she recognised him, and for a moment it seemed as though she would faint.
“Oh my! I knew it. I knew you were still alive! Wow! Pete, he’s alive! Mr Presley … Are you okay?”
The automaton smiled and extended its hand to Maggie. “Never been better,” it said.
“But I thought … Pete said that …”
“Pete said what?”
“The bad news, remember?” said Pete. It was obvious that the Snowman had not heard that part.
“Oh yes, that,” said Sticks. “The bad news is that I cannot allow anybody into the shop right now. I am very busy. Please leave.”
“Mr Presley, do you like celery? I sell fresh celery in my shop next door,” Maggie said quickly. “And broccoli.”
The automaton steered her to the door. It nearly tripped over its own feet in the process. “And I am not Elvis Presley. A most unfortunate resemblance. I plan to sue him for copying my looks.”
“If you feel like some spinach, Mr Presley, you know where to find me!” Maggie smiled and disappeared
