The Magic Factory

The qualifier did nothing to quell Oliver’s excitement. He just couldn’t contain himself. He leapt up and down on the spot, punching the air, whooping and hollering.

“I did it!” he cried, running in triumphant circuits around the room. “I did it!”

Armando chuckled but kept a more tempered response. “I feel with your determination and thoroughness, not to mention the enormity of your brain power, well, I’d be foolish to send you away rather than nurture your talents.”

Oliver stopped running, halting in front of the inventor and gazing up at his hero. He was so overwhelmed with gratitude, he wanted to throw his arms around the old man. But he held back. It didn’t seem appropriate.

“What now?” he asked, overjoyed that he’d really done it, that he’d proven himself. “What do you want me to work on next? How about the invisibility coat?”

Oliver’s fear had given way to excitement. All he wanted to do now was get going. But Armando shook his head with good humor.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, my boy. I need to see how you get along first. With actual inventions, rather than theoretically possible but practically impossible ones. We must start with the basics.”

“Whatever you want,” Oliver said. “I’m ready to learn. Let’s start right now.”

Armando smiled kindly. “Of course. Come with me. We will work on more things and see how you get along. Then we can discuss what to do with you on a more long-term basis.”

Oliver felt like he was walking on air as he followed Armando to a corner of the factory. Here, there was a workbench set up with a whole array of tools—saws, clamps, and files—and a range of materials—wood, metal, and plastic. Oliver gingerly touched his fingers against them, delighted by the prospect of soon using them.

“Let’s go through the basics,” Armando began, indicating a pair of plastic goggles. “Safety first.”

Oliver put the goggles on.

“These are special ones, by the way,” Armando said. “Modified by myself for improved functionality.”

He reached and clicked a little button on the bridge of the glasses. Oliver gasped as the world turned black and white.

“The black and white function is for improved contrasting,” Armando explained. Then he clicked the button again and Oliver’s world turned green. “Infrared for night work.”

“Will there be a lot of that?” Oliver asked. “Night work?”

He didn’t mind if there was. In fact, the prospect was quite exciting. The idea of working until midnight seemed quite romantic to Oliver.

Armando was nothing more than a heat-sensored red blob as he answered. “I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.” He clicked the button and reappeared in front of Oliver’s eyes once again as the old man he’d become quite familiar with. “But there may be times when we must, times when you will be expected to forgo sleep.”

“I’ll do anything,” Oliver replied stoically. And he really meant it. He wanted nothing more in the world than to help Armando. To be his apprentice. To have the old man as a mentor.

But Armando’s troubled expression seemed to suggest he had other things on his mind. “I’m most certain you will.” Then he snapped back to attention. “Come, come, let’s get to work.”

The rest of the day for Oliver was a dreamlike blur. Armando showed him all the basics of carpentry and electronics. They started by making simple paper circuits with copper tape, coin batteries and LEDS, then moved on to building a small electric motor with a battery, wire, and magnets.

“We’ll look at the chemicals another time,” Armando explained as the exciting day drew to a close.

Oliver’s head felt very full, but he absorbed everything like a sponge, eager only to know more and more and more, eager, too, to prove himself to Armando so that the elderly inventor trusted him enough to take him on full time as an apprentice.

As night fell on Oliver’s second day in the factory, Armando announced, “Let’s stop for dinner.”

Oliver removed his goggles and smoothed down his flyaway hairs, wiping away others that had gotten stuck with sweat to his forehead. It had been hard work but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

As they began to walk together toward the kitchen, Oliver heard a sudden noise from the other end of the factory. He flinched in shock, and heard the thin growl of Horatio the bloodhound in the distance.

“Someone’s here,” he exclaimed, turning back to Armando with an expression of panic.

“Yes,” the old inventor confirmed. “That’ll be Lucas, the factory foreman.”

Oliver paused, shocked and surprised. “You mean to say, someone else works in the factory?”

He felt a strange swell of jealousy in his chest. He thought he’d be the only one working here. The thought of sharing his hero with another left a bad taste in his mouth.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Armando added, somewhat flippantly. “Lucas has been at my side since day one. He’s the only person who has stuck with me through thick and thin. When I’m not around, you’ll be working alongside him. He’ll be showing you what needs to be done.”

“When you’re not around?” Oliver repeated, feeling an anxious shard lodge in his throat. Sharing his hero with someone else was one thing but having his hero not available was something else entirely! “What do you mean? Where else would you be if not here?”

Before Armando had a chance to reply, an approaching figure drew up beside them. Lucas too was an old man, though clearly not as old as Armando. Oliver estimated him to be in his eighties. If he had indeed been foreman of the factory for the last seventy years, he must have been around Oliver’s age when he started working there! That thought bothered Oliver even more.

Lucas’s lined face seemed stuck in a permanent frown, his features dragged downward from gravity, making him look as unhappy as Horatio the bloodhound. He eyed Oliver suspiciously.

“Lucas,” Armando said brightly. “This is Oliver.”

Lucas’s expression could only be described as cold. His eyes were very pale and very blue, and they seemed to penetrate right into Oliver’s soul. Clearly, Lucas didn’t like the idea of sharing the old inventor with anyone either.

“He’s working here, is he?” Lucas said, his voice dripping with disgust.

“Yes,” Armando replied cheerfully, clearly not picking up on the hatred in Lucas’s voice. “For the time being anyway. Tomorrow morning, I’ll need you to show him the ropes and get him up to speed. I have some important business to attend to and will be out all day.”

Oliver tore his gaze from Lucas to Armando, feeling suddenly panicked. This wasn’t what he’d imagined at all. He’d thought Armando would be teaching him, not this horrible scowling man who clearly hated him!

“Come, come,” Armando said. “Dinner, then bed.”

“Wait…” Oliver said, about to protest about the arrangements for the next day.

But Armando seemed suddenly very distracted. It was as though his focus had shifted instantly from Oliver to something else entirely.

Oliver looked over at Luas, at the intruder into his otherwise perfect life. Lucas locked eyes with Oliver. Slowly, a menacing grin spread across his face. Oliver gulped.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The next morning Oliver readied himself for the day, wearing a clean pair of the 1940s workman’s overalls. He left his room and went to the factory floor, where Lucas was already waiting for him. There was no sign of Armando. Oliver gulped with trepidation.

Lucas glowered. He didn’t even bother with a hello.

“I’ve been told to look after you today,” was all he said, and his tone implied it was the last thing he wanted to do in the world.

Oliver shrugged and stuffed his hands into his deep pockets. He felt very uncomfortable in Lucas’s presence.

Just then, a noise came from behind. Oliver looked over his shoulder and saw Armando, walking stick in hand, hobbling across the factory. He was wearing a long green trench coat and heading for the fake wall. Oliver wondered where he was going.

“Armando?” Oliver called out. The thought of being left in the factory with just Lucas made him feel quite panicked.