The Magic Factory

Now inside the factory, Oliver was struck once more by how alive the place was in 1944, with so many workers and machines, so much noise and commotion. He gasped in awe at how shiny the machines looked, as if they were made from gold instead of brass. And the floor was so open without Armando’s fake walls or labyrinth of corridors concealing secret rooms. In this era, he’d not yet lost funding for the factory, the result of which was his construction of fake walls and secret passageways to keep invaders out. This was the factory’s heyday, fully funded, when Armando had been on the cusp of inventing incredible things. There’d been so much promise back then, so much excitement. It seemed to permeate the air.

Just then, the crowd of workers who had been concealing Oliver began to disperse. They started heading out in different directions to their various projects, leaving Oliver floundering in the middle of the open-plan floor. He had to find Armando before the guards noticed him and kicked him out.

He gazed around, searching for Armando. The inventor had been at his workbench when Oliver had last been here, but had since moved on. Oliver deduced that the amount of time that had passed out here while he’d been in the School for Seers was only around a few minutes. A few minutes to several days. But if that were true, his timetable should have come back online by now. Could it be that time had switched when he stepped outside of the school, with it now running more slowly there than here? He clung to that slim possibility. Perhaps there was still a chance he could stop Lucas before Esther’s strength failed.

As he scanned the factory floor, Oliver suddenly became aware of the feeling of eyes on him. He turned sharply. The young Lucas was watching him like a hawk from the other side of the factory. Knowing what he now did about the man he’d become, Oliver felt more uneasy under his penetrating glare than ever before. Even in his youthful form, Lucas had a nasty expression on his face, like he’d sucked a sour lemon. He wondered what made him so bitter.

Oliver knew that Lucas would call the guards on him again, just like he had done the last time he’d intruded on the factory. He turned and hurried off, trying to work out where the back rooms of the factory could be reached from. He weaved his way into groups of workmen, trying to get lost within the hubbub.

But suddenly he smacked into someone. Lucas. The evil-looking boy glared into Oliver’s eyes.

“Back so soon?” Lucas growled. “I thought our guards made it clear that you’re not welcome here. You must be wanting your ears boxed to come straight back!”

Oliver didn’t have time to deal with the young incarnation of Lucas, not when his elderly counterpart was going to destroy the school. But even as a boy, Lucas was testy and stubborn. He folded his arms and blocked Oliver’s attempts to pass, looking just as hate-filled as the elderly man he would become. There seemed to be something dark within him, evident even at this young age.

Oliver tried to shove past Lucas. But the boy grabbed him roughly, pushing him backward.

“GUARDS!” Lucas yelled. “He came back! Seize him!”

From the other side of the factory, Oliver saw the two burly men spot him and leap into action. They looked furious as they barreled through the workers toward him.

He pushed Lucas’s hands off of him and darted off the other direction. He whizzed across the factory floor, peering around large machines, rushing between workmen, ducking beneath their legs.

He leapt under a table, sliding across the ground on his knees before popping out the other side. Then he was on his feet again, racing to the next group of workmen, making his way across the factory floor in a strange zigzag dance. The corridor with the backrooms was just in sight. He was almost there. Just a few more feet to go.

Oliver burst out of the group and slammed straight into the chests of the two burly guards. They got hold of him and began to drag him roughly to the exit.

“No, stop!” Oliver pleaded.

“We told you to get lost,” one barked gruffly.

“You don’t understand,” Oliver begged.

They ignored him, hauling him across the room. His view of the corridors grew more distant as he was pulled backward.

They reached the exit and one of the guards yanked the door open.

“Get out!” he shouted.

“And stay out!” the other yelled.

They threw him up and out of the door. Oliver flew through the air and landed hard on his behind. He groaned in pain. The doors slammed behind him.

Suddenly, Oliver felt a vibration coming from deep within his pocket. He grabbed his timetable and gasped. It was starting to come back online. Slowly, a single, weak light was beginning to blink to life.

Oliver realized he’d been right. The speed of time within the school and outside it had switched when he’d stepped over the threshold. More time passed here than there. But soon, more lights would switch on, and once the timetable was fully back online he’d be locked out of the School for Seers forever. He had to leave now if he stood any chance of returning to the school before his absence was noticed.

But he couldn’t, not while Lucas was at large.

Oliver clutched his timetable. The only thing he could be certain of was that he had to stay, even if that meant sacrificing his school, his new life, and his friends. He had to find the bomb.

With a heavy weight pressing in his chest, Oliver slid his timetable back into his overalls pocket.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

There was no time to waste. Immediately, Oliver was back up on his feet. He skirted around the perimeter of the building, glad that the nettles and brambles he’d had to contend with in his own era had not yet grown. Another difference; in his era, the windows were boarded up, but not so here.

Oliver made his way around the back of the building and cautiously peered in through the first window. It seemed to be some kind of store cupboard, with mops and brooms inside. He headed on.

The next window showed a break room. Oliver ducked quickly when he saw there were workmen sitting around a table eating sandwiches.

He hurried on in his crouched position to the next window. This time he rose up very, very slowly. He peered inside. And there, sitting at his desk, blinking through the window at Oliver with bemusement, was Armando.

Oliver felt a flutter of relief to see him alive and well. But Armando, on the other hand, did not seem pleased to see Oliver. He strode over to the window and heaved it open.

“What are you doing?” he barked. “You’re trampling on private property.”

“It’s Lucas,” Oliver blurted out.

“My apprentice?” Armando asked, raising an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“He’s building a bomb,” Oliver told him hurriedly.

“He’s just a boy!”

There was no time to explain that he meant a version of Lucas from the future, because Armando slammed the window shut and turned his back on Oliver.

Oliver felt the glass bump against his nose. He felt crushed. Armando didn’t believe him.

But he wasn’t giving up. He’d have to take some drastic action to prove to Armando he was someone worth listening to.

As the inventor went back to his schematics, Oliver took a steadying breath and shifted his mind into the place he needed in order to access his powers.

At once, he discovered it was remarkably harder to do so here than it had been at the School for Seers. He wondered if there’d been some kind of magical force field around the school that made it easier for the students to access their powers, extra training wheels just like Doctor Ziblatt’s goggles and Coach Finkle’s helmet.

But after a few more seconds, he felt his mind shift into place. A small ripple of relief went through him. It was harder to access his powers, yes, but not impossible. It took more effort than usual to conjure the image in his mind, and even more effort to push it outward into reality, but slowly and surely Oliver felt it begin to work. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he focused his attention on the items on Armando’s desk, pushing out a new reality from his mind.

A ruler, pencil, compass, and protractor on the desk Armando was working at began to rise into the air. The inventor flinched back in his seat, leaping up to standing as the items hovered in the air before him.

Oliver kept his hold on the items, on their atoms, and started to pull them apart. Armando watched the scene unfold before his disbelieving eyes.

Slowly and with great effort, Oliver shifted the composition of the atoms in each item, turning them from solids into gas. Then, employing remarkable concentration, he began to rearrange them, turning the gas into a swirling gray cloud. He spelled out a message to Armando: Let me in.

Armando turned back over his shoulder, gaping at Oliver through the window. From his expression, it was clear that he was rattled. Oliver prayed that he’d done enough to get Armando to listen to him.

The inventor seemed frozen on the spot, as he looked from the message to Oliver and back again, his face a combination of confusion, curiosity, and fear. Then, in one sudden movement, he shook his head, turned on his heel, scooped some schematics off his desk, and marched out the door.

Instantly deflating, Oliver exhaled, letting go of his visualization. The ruler, pencil, compass, and protractor returned to their normal structures and clattered to the tabletop.