The Magic Factory

It was a swirling pool of dark black and purple. The whole thing reminded him of the Bird’s Eye View invention Armando had shown him, but on a much bigger, grander scale. And the substance swirling inside it was less like clouds and more like the swirling vortex of a storm. Lightning forked across the surface.

Oliver hurried to the side, standing beside the barrier, awed and fearful. What could it be?

Just then, Oliver heard pounding on the door. The security guards were trying to batter it down. By the sound of it they were using some kind of battering tool. Oliver wondered how long the doors would hold and keep them out. For all he knew, his powers may have weakened them. There could only be a matter of seconds left for him to make some kind of decision.

Oliver stared down into the swirling vortex. Whatever it was, Armando had believed it would be necessary in the survival of the human species. But on the other hand, he’d been trying to protect Oliver from it, to keep him away from it as long as possible. Whatever it was, it was a thing of immense glory, an invention with shocking magical properties.

The pounding on the doors grew louder. Oliver tore his gaze from the vortex over his shoulder and saw a huge indentation in the middle of the door. They were getting through, quicker than he’d have expected.

There was no time to waste. Oliver hurried around the vortex, searching for any sign as to what the machine might be, or how it might be operated.

At last he caught sight of a large button on the wall. It was a huge red push button, the type you’d expect to operate a nuclear weapon. Pressing it seemed like the last thing Oliver should do, and yet some instinctive knowledge within him knew it was precisely what he had to.

He ran for it, just as the steel doors yielded to another blow. They were opening a crack now, enough for him to see Lucas and the security guards on the other side. The battering ram they’d been using was thrown to the side and in its place was a large jack, the type that could be used to winch a vehicle as big as a monster truck. In just a matter of moments, they’d be inside.

Without another second to deliberate, Oliver slammed his palm on the big red button.

Immediately, the purple vortex began to swirl. And from inside came the sound of ticking. Not the ticking of a bomb, but the ticking of a clock. An enormous clock. The ticking grew louder and faster, and a display screen that had been in darkness before came suddenly to life. There was a string of red numbers upon it and they were quickly counting backward. It took Oliver a matter of seconds to work out that he was staring at a date—year, month, day, hour, minute, second—and that they were reducing at an increasingly fast pace.

The pieces all clicked into piece. Armando had told him to remember the time. The vortex was a time machine! Oliver’s quest, his destiny to save mankind, meant going back in time.

Suddenly, the doors behind him sprang fully open. In bounded Lucas and his security. They ran for him, arms outstretched.

Without missing a beat, Oliver ran full pelt for the vortex, propelling himself as fast as his legs could go. The guards were right behind him, barely millimeters from grasping him. With every ounce of power he possessed, Oliver leapt. He felt fingers clasp onto his leg but it was too late, he was already airborne, the force in his leap strong enough to overpower the fingertips that had only just caught him.

Suddenly, he was over the barrier. Now there was nothing between him and the vortex. He squeezed his eyes shut and plunged inside. With an enormous flash of white light, Oliver Blue disappeared.

PART TWO

CHAPTER TWELVE

Oliver opened his eyes to discover he was standing in the same room he’d been in before. Only now the swirling purple vortex was gone. Gone, too, were Lucas and his security men. Instead, smoke was swirling from the time machine.

A second later, there was a huge explosion. Lights flashed. Black smoke billowed upward. The force sent Oliver flying backward. He hit the wall hard and his head spun from the impact.

Stars obscured his vision and the smoke blinded him. But as the smoke cleared, Oliver saw the destruction that lay ahead of him. The time machine was gone. Not just broken, but completely eradicated, as if it had never existed.

Suddenly, some debris from the machine clunked to the ground before him. They looked like the wooden numbers you’d get to keep score at a baseball game. They read: 1944.

Oliver blinked and looked around. Had he really gone back in time? Back to 1944? And had his only way home just gone up in smoke? Was he stuck here in the past?

He pulled himself to standing. Cautiously, he walked to the door of the room. It wasn’t made of steel anymore but thick, dark oak.

Unsure of what awaited him on the other side, Oliver tried the handle. It turned easily and yielded to his force. He pushed open the door, his stomach in knots of anticipation.

The sight awaiting him stole the breath from his lungs. Instead of a rabbit warren of winding corridors, the other side was a large, open-plan warehouse. It was like the main factory floor where he’d worked with Lucas, only double the size. And it was a hive of activity. People bustled all over the place, carrying scrolls of paper and planks of wood, wearing hard hats and boots.

Oliver could hear the sound of pistons turning, of steam engines and hissing hydraulics. Everything was so shiny! The rusted brass giants of Armando’s present-day factory gleamed under the bright strip lights, looking brand new and luxurious, almost as if they were made from gold rather than copper. The huge windows of the factory—boarded up in the present day—were open now, letting in vast shards of light. The floorboards were polished to perfection, a warm chestnut color instead of the dusty, dull brown of today.

Oliver caught sight of a team of workers on different-sized wooden ladders, screwdrivers in hands, working on each of the joints of a mechanical giant. They were dressed in the same blue overalls Oliver was wearing now, the ones he’d taken from the mechanic’s closet which Armando had said were left by his workers after the war.

“Get out the way, kid!” a voice cried.

Oliver turned to see two men carrying a large steel girder. He ducked just in time.

Once they’d passed, he stood, and his gaze fell upon a very familiar face.

“Armando…” Oliver said aloud.

The inventor looked exactly like he did in the photograph in Oliver’s inventors book; seventy years younger, with the fresh, unblemished face of a twenty-year-old. He was even wearing the exact same loose cotton shirt and dark corduroy trousers as in the photo, the same waistcoat and tool belt. And his walking stick was nowhere to be seen.

Oliver couldn’t believe his eyes. But there was no denying it; he really had gone back in time. Back to a time when Armando was still alive. Back to 1944.

Though the shock and confusion was profound, Oliver was so thrilled to see Armando alive again that all he could feel was joy. He waved his arms over his head, jumped up and down, and called out across the din of the factory floor, “Armando! Armando!”

But his voice was lost in the hubbub of the busy factory. The inventor didn’t see Oliver’s frantic waving either; he was too busy looking at some schematics on a table, peering at them with a microscope monocle.

Oliver, however, did not go completely unnoticed. A young boy standing beside Armando looked up and locked eyes with him.

Immediately, Oliver recoiled. He knew that face, those eyes. It was Lucas.

Oliver dropped his arms and stepped back, like Lucas was a magnet repelling him. Even as a youngster, Lucas looked sinister. His pale eyes were piercing.

Oliver watched on as the young Lucas tugged at Armando’s loose sleeve, trying to get his attention. Armando was so busy he didn’t immediately react to the boy tugging at him. But eventually he turned to look at Lucas. Oliver watched as Lucas spoke to the busy inventor, then pointed over at him.

Oliver gulped as Armando’s eyes searched the factory hall for him, his frown deepening, his expression confused. Then their eyes met. Oliver felt a spark of grief inside; there was a clear lack of recognition in Armando’s eyes. This Armando did not know him. Not even slightly. Not even a flicker. His heart sank.

Suddenly, he felt hands tighten on the tops of his arms. He looked up—left then right—and saw two guards either side of him. They’d each gotten ahold of his arms under the pits.

“This is private property,” one said.

“How’d you get in here?” the other demanded.

“It’s a long story,” Oliver said, swallowing. “In about seventy years’ time…”

The guards gave each other a look over his head. Then, without another word, they began to haul him away.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Oliver protested, trying to dig his heels in.

But it was no use. The guards were far too strong. Oliver glanced back over his shoulder at Armando, appealingly.

“Armando! Help! It’s me! It’s Oliver!”

But the inventor had already gone back to his work. Only Lucas observed the scene, his pale eyes penetrating like a hawk’s, a small smile of evil delight upon his lips.

Oliver was hauled roughly to the door of the factory. The guards heaved it open. Then, with no ceremony, he was thrown straight through it.

Oliver tumbled to the ground as the door slammed shut behind him. He lay there in a dazed heap. It was the first time he’d been outside the factory since he’d entered. Except where he’d come out wasn’t the same place he’d gone in.