With a huge crack, the sky seemed to open. Rain cascaded down and lightning streaked across the sky. So much for an hour before it hit, Oliver thought. The storm was already upon them.
The bus wove perilously along the road. Oliver gripped the metal pole and bumped shoulders with the kids standing around him. Things had gone from feeling ominous to feeling suddenly quite scary.
Another bolt of lightning jagged across the sky. Kids on the bus yelped out in fear.
Oliver realized then that perhaps he could use the storm to his advantage. Since getting off at his own stop was out of the question with Chriss cronies watching on, hed have to get off unexpectedly. Blend in with the crowd. And with the pounding rain and general disorientation, that might just be possible.
At that exact moment, the bus slowed to a halt. A large group of kids surged forward for the door. Oliver looked around and saw they were just on the outskirts of the good neighborhood, which appeared to be where the majority of Campbell Junior High pupils lived. Oliver didnt know the neighborhood particularly well, but he had a vague idea of where it was in relation to his own.
So he followed the crowd, hopping off the bus at an unfamiliar stop. Rain lashed down on him and the others. He tried to stick with the crowd, but to his despair, everyone dispersed in different directions, and quickly too, to escape the weather. Before Oliver could even blink, he was left standing on the sidewalk completely exposed.
Not even a second later, the second bus pulled into the stop. Oliver saw Chris through the steamed up window. Then Chris clearly saw Oliver, because he started pointing excitedly and shouting something to his friends. Oliver didnt need an interpreter to know what Chriss gesticulations meant. He was coming for him.
Oliver ran.
He didnt have much of an idea where he was, but he ran anyway, heading in what he was certain was the vague direction of home.
Without looking behind, Oliver ran and ran. The rain and wind beat him, making it hard going, but this was one of the few occasions where being small was an advantage. Chris would struggle to drag his lumbering body around, Oliver knew, whereas he was sprightly.
But, Oliver realized, Chris wasnt his only problem. All his friends were with him. The girl in particular was a very fast runner. Oliver stole a glance over his shoulder and saw that she was gaining on him.
Oliver passed some stores, then turned into an alleyway leading to their back streets. He dodged and weaved through obstacles such as abandoned shopping carts and empty boxes that had been swept up in the winds.
Then he rounded a corner. For a brief moment, he was out of sight of the approaching bullies.
As a strong blast knocked over a garbage can, Oliver had a sudden burst of inspiration. Without a moments hesitation, he leapt inside the can, crawling over rotten food and empty wrappers until he was completely out of sight. Then he curled into a ball and waited.
The girls feet appeared on the strip of sidewalk he could see. She stopped and paced in a full circle, as if looking for him. Then Oliver heard more pounding footsteps and saw that shed been joined by Chris and the other cronies.
Where did he go? he heard one of them shout.
How did you lose him? came Chriss distinct voice.
He was here one second and gone the next! the girl yelled back.
Oliver stayed very still. His heart was hammering and his limbs were shaking from all the exertion.
Hes done one of his spells, Chris said.
In his stinky, shadowy trash can, Oliver frowned. What did Chris mean?
Thats so creepy, the girl said. You mean he made himself disappear?
I told you, didnt I? Chris replied. Hes some kind of freak.
Maybe hes possessed, one of the boys said.
Dont be an idiot, Chris shot back. Hes not possessed. But theres something wrong with him. Now do you believe me?
I do, the girl said, but Oliver noticed that her voice was coming from farther away.
He peered to where her feet had been and saw theyd now disappeared from sight. Chris and his cronies were leaving.
Oliver waited. Even after their disparaging conversation about him faded to nothing, he didnt want to leave the safety of the trash can. There was still a chance one of them was waiting, just in case he was about to reveal his hiding place.
Soon, the rain started to really come down. Oliver could hear it pounding heavily against the metal trash can. Only then did he accept that Chris would definitely have left. Even if he did want to beat Oliver up, he wouldnt stand in the pouring rain in order to do it, and Oliver was quite certain his cronies wouldnt be convinced to either.
Finally deciding he was safe, Oliver started to leave the trash can. But just as he wriggled toward the front of it, a huge gust of wind started up. It battered him right back inside. Then the wind must have changed direction, because suddenly Oliver felt the can lurch beneath him. The wind was so strong, it was making him roll!
Oliver gripped the edges of his metal prison. Filled with terror, disorientated, he started to go round and round and round. He felt sick with panic, sick from the motion. Oliver willed it to end soon but it seemed to go on and on. He was thrashed about, jerked around.
Suddenly, Olivers head thunked the side of the trash can very hard. Stars appeared in his eyes. He closed them. Then everything went black.
*Olivers eyes fluttered open and took in the sight of the spherical metal prison around him. The spinning motion had stopped but he could still hear the roaring sound of the storm all around him. He blinked, disorientated, his head pounding from the blow that had knocked him out.
He had no idea for how long hed been unconscious but he was covered in stinking garbage. His stomach swilled with nausea.
Quickly, Oliver shuffled toward the front of the can and peered out. The sky was dark and rain lashed down like a sheet of gray.
Oliver scrambled out of the trash can. It was freezing and it took barely seconds for him to become soaked through. He rubbed his arms in an attempt to get some warmth into them. Shivering, Oliver looked around, trying to discern his location.
Suddenly it dawned on him where he was, where the can had rolled him to during the storm. He was at the factory! Only this time, Oliver noticed, there were lights glowing inside.
His mouth fell open. Was he seeing things? Maybe hed gotten a concussion from the blow to his head.
The rain continued to lash against Oliver. The lights in the factory glowed like some kind of beacon, drawing him to it.
Oliver hurried forward. He reached the grass around the factory, and it squelched beneath his feet, turned swampy from the downpour. Then he skirted around the side of the warehouse, trampling on the ivy and nettles in his haste to get to the back door, to shelter. He found the door just as hed left it; ajar, and just wide enough from him to squeeze through. Quickly, he did, and found himself in the same darkened room, with the same smell of dust, the same echo of abandonment.
Oliver paused, relieved to be out of the rain. He waited for his eyes to adjust. Once they had, he saw that everything was just as it had been last time hed been here, with dusty, cobwebbed machines disused and in disrepair. Except
Oliver noticed a very thin, straight yellow line running across the floor. Not paint, but light. A shard of light. Well, Oliver knew that a shard of light needed a source, and so he hurried to it, following it like it was a trail of breadcrumbs. It ran all the way up to a solid brick wall.
Oliver noticed a very thin, straight yellow line running across the floor. Not paint, but light. A shard of light. Well, Oliver knew that a shard of light needed a source, and so he hurried to it, following it like it was a trail of breadcrumbs. It ran all the way up to a solid brick wall.
How bizarre, Oliver thought as he stopped and pressed his fingers against the wall. Light isnt supposed to travel through objects.
He fumbled around in the dim light, trying to work out how light could pass through a solid object. Then suddenly his hand touched something different. A handle?
Oliver felt a sudden surge of hope strike him. He heaved the handle and jumped back as a huge creaking noise sounded out.
The ground shook. Oliver wobbled, attempting to stay upright as the very ground moved beneath his feet.
He was turning. Not just him, but the wall too. It must have been built on a turntable! And as it turned, a huge shard of golden light burst out.
Oliver blinked in the sudden, blinding brightness. His legs felt unsteady beneath him from the motion of the turning floor.
Then, no sooner had it started than the movement stopped. There was a click as the wall found its new position. Oliver staggered, this time from the sudden deceleration.
He looked about him and was stunned by what he saw. He was now standing in a whole new wing of the factory. It was filled with incredible, fantastical inventions! Not the cobwebbed, creaking, rusted relics from the warehouse before, but instead, floor to ceiling, as far as the eye could see, stood bright, gleaming, new, ginormous machines.
Oliver couldnt help himself. Filled with excitement, he ran up to the first machine. It had a moveable arm that spun right over his head. He ducked just in time, and saw the hand on the end of the arm deposit a boiled egg into an egg cup. Just beside it, two disembodied automaton hands bounced along the keys of a piano, while beside them a very large brass clockwork metronome ticked out the beat.
He was so preoccupied and delighted by the inventions around him, Oliver didnt even notice the strange bowl-shaped item from yesterday, nor the man tinkering away with it. It was only when a clockwork cuckoo took flight, making him stagger backward and bump straight into the man, that Oliver even became aware that he was not alone.
Oliver gasped and spun on the spot. Suddenly he realized who he was looking at. Though many years older than the picture in his book, Oliver knew he was staring into the eyes of Armando Illstrom.
Oliver gasped. He couldnt believe it. His hero was really here, standing before him, alive and well!
Ah! Armando said, smiling. I was wondering when youd show up.
CHAPTER FIVE
Oliver blinked, stunned by what he was seeing. Unlike the dusty, cobwebbed part of the factory that existed on the other side of the mechanized wall, the factory this side was bright and warm, glistening with cleanliness and brimming with the signs of life.
Are you cold? Armando asked. You look like youve been in the rain.
Olivers gaze flicked back to the inventor. He was shocked to actually be standing face to face with his hero. Even as the seconds ticked by, he was completely tongue-tied.
Oliver tried to say, I have, but the only sound that came from his throat was a garbled kind of grunt.
Come, come, Armando said. Ill fix you up a hot drink.
Though unmistakably the Armando from his inventors book, his face had been ravished by time. Oliver made some quick calculations in his head; he knew from his inventors book that Armandos factory was up and running during World War Two, and that Armando himself had been a young man of barely twenty years old during the factorys heyday, which meant he had to now be well into his nineties! He noticed for the first time that Armando had a walking stick to support his frail body.
Oliver began to follow Armando across the factory floor, the lighting too dim for him to work out what exactly the large shadowy shapes around him were, though he suspected they were more of Armandos glorious inventions, working ones, unlike those on the other side of the mechanized wall.
They went down a corridor and Oliver was still unable to really believe that any of this was real. He kept expecting to wake up any moment and discover this was a dream caused by him knocking his head in the trash can.
Making matters feel even more fantastical and unreal to Oliver was the factory itself. It was designed like a rabbits warren, a labyrinth filled with doors and arches and corridors and stairs, all leading away from the main factory floor. Even when hed walked the entire external perimeter of the factory the previous day he hadnt noticed anything odd in its architecture, no signs of external staircases and the like. But the factory itself was so huge, he reasoned, that from the outside it just looked like an enormous brick rectangular prism. No one would guess from the outside how the interior was designed. Nor would anyone expect it. He knew Armando was supposed to be zany, but the way his factory was structured was downright bizarre!
Oliver glanced left and right as he walked, seeing through one door a huge machine that resembled Charles Babbages early prototype computer. Through another door was a room with a steepled roof, like a church, and a mezzanine level, upon which, directed toward a huge glass window, was a row of enormous brass telescopes.
Oliver continued following the doddery inventor, his breath continually catching in his throat. He peered into another room they passed. It was filled with eerily human-looking automatons. Then the next contained an entire military tank, which was mounted with the strangest-looking weapons Oliver had ever seen.
Dont mind Horatio, Armando said suddenly. Oliver jumped, breaking once again from his reverie.
He looked about him for the so-called Horatio, his mind conjuring up all kinds of machines that may have earned the name, until he noticed a sad-looking bloodhound lying in a basket by his feet.
Armando continued speaking. His arthritis is worse than mine, poor thing. It makes him very grouchy.
Oliver gave the dog a quick glance. Horatio sniffed the air as he passed, then settled back down to sleep with a weary sigh.
Armando hobbled stiffly into a small kitchen area, leading Oliver in after him. It was a modest space and very messy; the sort of kitchen youd expect of a man whod put the last seventy years of his focus into inventing zany machines that didnt work.
Oliver blinked under the flickering fluorescent lights.
Do you like tomato soup? Armando asked suddenly.
Uh Oliver said, still too tongue-tied to actually speak, to even really comprehend the fact that his hero was offering to make him soup of all things.
Ill take that as a yes, Armando said, smiling kindly.
Oliver watched him fetch two cans of soup from a cupboard whose door was barely still on its hinges. Then he took a contraption from a drawer that resembled a can opener in design but was so big it required two hands to operate.
Theres a reason why they say theres no need to reinvent the wheel, Armando said with a chuckle when he noticed Olivers curious expression.
Finally the cans were open and Armando set to work simmering the soup in a pot on the little gas hob. Oliver found himself completely frozen, unable to speak or even move. All he could do was stare at this man, at the real, living, breathing version of his hero. He even pinched himself a couple of times just to make sure. But it was real. He was really here. Really with Armando Illstrom.