Читать книгу The Magic Factory - Морган Райс, Morgan Rice - Страница 11

The world was very quiet. Bright sunlight warmed Oliver’s 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 Armando’s 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 shouldn’t be surprised; the bed was the warmest, most comfortable bed he’d ever slept in. In fact, Armando’s 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 hadn’t come home for an entire night. Maybe they thought he’d 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 he’d 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 he’d 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 he’d 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 ceiling—which was as high as a cathedral’s—and 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 Armando’s voice.

Oliver’s gaze snapped back down to the factory floor. There was Armando, straightening up from where he’d 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 didn’t 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, didn’t 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 Armando’s 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 wouldn’t hurt to stay a little longer, he persuaded himself. At least to go on Armando’s tour.

“If it’s your family you’re 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. “That’s okay. I can go on the tour first.”

The old inventor reached forward and placed a firm but reassuring hand on Oliver’s 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 Oliver’s 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 he’d 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 didn’t 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.