"The storm is due to hit within the next hour. There are buses outside. Please head straight home. The official warning is to not be outside when the storm hits in approximately one hour. This is a city-wide warning so your parents will be expecting you home. Anyone caught truanting will face suspension."
Around Oliver, no one seemed to care. All they'd heard was that school was out and they were going to make the most of it. They grabbed their books and hurried out of the classroom like a stampede of buffaloes.
Oliver collected his own things more slowly.
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 couldn't 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 didn't 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 couldn't believe it. His hero was really here, standing before him, alive and well!
"Ah!" Armando said, smiling. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
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 you'd expect of a man who'd put the last seventy years of his focus into inventing zany machines that didn't 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.
"I'll 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. T
hen he took a contraption from a drawer that resembled a can opener in design but was so big it required two hands to operate.
"There's a reason why they say there's no need to reinvent the wheel," Armando said with a chuckle when he noticed Oliver's 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.
"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.
Oliver's 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 he'd even had time to think, he'd 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 you'll warm up soon," Armando added, kindly.
Oliver couldn't be sure if he meant warm up from the chilly rain or warm up socially. He hadn't really said much since he'd 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 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 you'd expect of a man who'd put the last seventy years of his focus into inventing zany machines that didn't 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.
"I'll 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. T
hen he took a contraption from a drawer that resembled a can opener in design but was so big it required two hands to operate.
"There's a reason why they say there's no need to reinvent the wheel," Armando said with a chuckle when he noticed Oliver's 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.
"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.
Oliver's 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 he'd even had time to think, he'd 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 you'll warm up soon," Armando added, kindly.
Oliver couldn't be sure if he meant warm up from the chilly rain or warm up socially. He hadn't really said much since he'd 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!