Please sit, Armando said as he came over and placed two bowls of soup on the rickety table. Eat.
Oliver at the very least could remember how to sit down. He took his seat, feeling very odd indeed. Armando lowered himself slowly into the seat opposite. Oliver noticed the misty quality in his eyes and the patches of discolored skin on his face. All the telltale marks of old age. When Armando laid his hands on the tabletop, all his finger joints looked red and swollen from arthritis.
Olivers stomach growled as steam from the soup wafted into his face. Even though he was so shocked and befuddled by everything, his hunger drive took over, and before hed even had time to think, hed grabbed his spoon and taken a huge mouthful of hot, flavorful soup. It was very tasty and nourishing. Far better than anything his parents ever cooked. He took another spoonful, not even caring that the soup was burning the roof of his mouth.
Nice? Armando asked encouragingly, eating his own soup at a much slower pace.
Oliver managed to employ a modicum of restraint and paused between mouthfuls to nod.
Hopefully youll warm up soon, Armando added, kindly.
Oliver couldnt be sure if he meant warm up from the chilly rain or warm up socially. He hadnt really said much since hed gotten here, but he was so muddled from the storm, then so surprised to see Armando in the flesh, that his faculty for speech had completely failed him!
He tried now, to speak, to ask one of his burning questions. But when he opened his mouth, instead of words, the only thing that came out was a yawn.
Youre tired, Armando said. Of course. Theres a spare room you can nap in, and Ill get some extra blankets since the weather is quite cold at the moment.
Oliver blinked then. A nap?
Armando nodded, then qualified his offer. Youre not planning on going back out into the storm, are you? Last message from the mayor said we should expect to stay inside for hours.
For the first time, Olivers thoughts turned to his parents. If theyd heeded the mayors instruction to return home, what would have happened when they discovered only one of their sons had made it back from school? He had no idea for how long hed been knocked out in the trash can, nor how many hours had passed while he was being batted around inside it. Would they be worried about him?
Then Oliver shook his worry away. His parents probably hadnt even noticed. Why should he give up the opportunity to rest in an actual bed, especially when the only thing waiting for him at home was a dingy alcove?
He looked up at Armando.
That sounds really nice, he said, finally managing a full sentence. Thank you. He paused then, deliberating over his words. I have so many questions to ask you.
Ill still be here when you wake, the old inventor said, smiling kindly. Once youre warm, fed, and rested, then we can talk about everything.
There was a knowing look in his eye. For some reason, Oliver wondered if Armando knew something about him, about his freakish powers, his visions and what they meant. But Oliver quickly pushed those thoughts away. Of course he didnt. There was nothing magical about Armando. He was just an old inventor in a strange factory, not a magician or wizard or anything like that.
Suddenly overcome with fatigue, Oliver had nothing left in him to even ponder. The storm, the days of stress from the move and starting a new school, the lack of sufficient food, it was all suddenly too much for him to handle.
Okay, he conceded. But itll just be a quick nap.
Of course, Armando replied.
Oliver stood, rubbing his weary eyes. Armando used his walking stick to help lift his frail body to standing.
Along here, Armando said, gesturing down the narrow, dimly lit corridor.
Oliver let Armando lead the way, trudging wearily along behind him. His body felt very heavy now, as though hed been holding in so much stress and unhappiness and was only now aware.
At the end of the corridor stood an odd wooden door that was lower than a normal door and curved at the top like it belonged in a chapel. There was even a little window in it, framed with burnished iron.
Armando opened the door and ushered Oliver inside. Oliver felt a sense of nervous anticipation as he stepped over the threshold.
The room was bigger than hed been expecting, and much neater considering the state of the kitchen. There was a large bed covered in a soft, white duvet and matching pillows, with an extra woolen blanket folded at the end of it. There was a wooden desk covered in small war figurines, beneath a window with long blue curtains. In one corner of the room was a fabric-covered chair, next to a bookshelf crammed with exciting-looking adventure stories.
It looked, in every way, like the kind of bedroom an eleven-year-old boy like Oliver ought to have, rather than an alcove in the cold, shadowy corner of an unfurnished living room. He felt a sudden surge of grief for his life. But stronger than that was the gratitude he felt for this sudden opportunity to escape it all, even if it was only for a few hours.
Oliver looked over his shoulder at Armando. This is a very nice room, he said. Are you sure you dont mind me staying in here?
He became very aware then of his sodden clothes and the muck he must have trailed into Armandos factory. But rather than chastise or berate himlike his parents had yesterday with his soggy sweaterArmando just smiled a knowing smile.
I hope you sleep well and feel rested when you wake, he said. Then he turned and left the room.
Oliver stood for only one more awestruck moment before realizing he was far too exhausted to even stand up. He wanted to think about the strange events of the day, to try and make sense of them, to replay them and order them and catalogue them in his mind. But there was only one thing his body demanded right now and that was sleep.
So he peeled off his clothes, put on a pair of too big pajamas he found hanging in the closet, and crawled into bed. The mattress was comfortable. The duvet was warm and smelled of fresh lavender.
As Oliver snuggled into the big, warm bed, he felt safer than he ever had before in his life. Finally, he felt like he was somewhere he belonged.
CHAPTER SIX
The world was very quiet. Bright sunlight warmed Olivers eyelids. He let them flicker open. There was a shard of light coming through a gap in the curtains.
Oliver suddenly remembered where he was. He sat up, blinking, taking in the sight of the bedroom in Armandos factory. It was all real. He really was here.
It suddenly occurred to him that it was morning. His nap had turned into a deep sleep that had lasted all through the night and into the next day. He shouldnt be surprised; the bed was the warmest, most comfortable bed hed ever slept in. In fact, Armandos factory felt more like home to Oliver than any of his previous houses ever had. He snuggled under the duvet, feeling content and completely in love with the place. He never wanted to leave.
But what of his family? Oliver wondered with a growing sense of anguish. By now they must have noticed that he was missing. He hadnt come home for an entire night. Maybe they thought hed been swept away by the storm. They must be worried.
Though the thought concerned Oliver, there was another side to the coin. If they did think hed been swept away by the storm, that meant he may never have to go home at all
Oliver grappled with his thoughts, caught somewhere between anguish at causing them any distress and excitement at the opportunity fate had apparently presented him. He decided, finally, that hed address the issue with Armando.
Feeling rejuvenated from his sleep, Oliver leapt up and hurried out of the room to find Armando. He rushed through the rabbit warren of corridors, trying to find his way back to the main factory floor where he suspected Armando would be. But the place was a maze. Doors hed been certain were there yesterday now seemed not to be. It was only when he found the kitchen and Horatio the dozing bloodhound in his basket that he was able to work out where he was and which direction he needed to go.
Finally, he emerged out onto the factory floor. In bright daylight it was even more magnificent than it had been in the dim, stormy light. Now he could see all the way up to the ceilingwhich was as high as a cathedralsand see that upon the wooden joists perched several mechanical birds. Others fluttered about in the rafters, moving in every manner like real birds, except for the fact their wings were made of brass and their eyes of little lights that glowed red. He noticed bats as well, sleeping upside down with their huge metal wings folded across their chests.
How on earth? Oliver muttered aloud, gazing up at the myriad of flying machines above his head.
Ah, Oliver, good morning, came Armandos voice.
Olivers gaze snapped back down to the factory floor. There was Armando, straightening up from where hed been bent over a machine, tinkering away. Immediately, Oliver lost all courage to ask him whether he could stay on at the factory.
Did you sleep well? the old inventor asked.
I did, Oliver said. In fact, better than ever. But it was only supposed to be a nap. Why didnt you wake me after the storm finished?
Armando chuckled. I tried, dear boy, but you were in a deep, deep slumber. My guess is you really needed that sleep. He smiled. Now, I promised to tell you all about my factory and my life as an inventor, didnt I? Would you like some breakfast first? A shower? A clean change of clothes?
It was only then that Oliver realized he was still wearing pajamas. He hesitated, mulling Armandos offer over in his mind. Breakfast and a warm shower and clean clothes were not things his parents would offer him if he returned home. It wouldnt hurt to stay a little longer, he persuaded himself. At least to go on Armandos tour.
If its your family youre concerned about, perhaps you ought to call them? the old inventor added, picking up on his hesitation.
That was the last thing Oliver wanted to do. He just shook his head. Thats okay. I can go on the tour first.
The old inventor reached forward and placed a firm but reassuring hand on Olivers shoulder. He peered down at him with his misty eyes. Oliver could see the deep kindness and warmth within them. They were trustworthy, imploring him to relax. Not for the first time since arriving at the factory, Oliver got the sense that Armando knew more than he was letting on.
The old man gestured with his arm to the factory floor.
Please, this way, he said.
Thoughts of his family shifted to the back of Olivers mind as curiosity took over. He walked slowly alongside Armando, matching his pace.
I was a similar age to you, Oliver, Armando began, when I started to make my own inventions. Nothing that worked, mind you. He chuckled. I think I managed a mechanical slingshot but that was about it.
Oliver remember the slingshot hed created and used on Chris. The coincidence struck him, and the sense of it lingered, mixing with all the other emotions coursing through him.
I excelled at school, Armando continued. Although I didnt get along very well with any of the children.
You and me both, Oliver added.
They reached a room and Armando strolled inside. It was a library, Oliver saw, with high ceilings and wooden floorboards. A spiral staircase led to a second level where there was a comfy-looking floral armchair and a large reading lamp.