#2: The more Jimmy and Eric got the upper hand, the more their confidence grew, which was a mistake, a big mistake...
Turning as another door mysteriously banged shut, the Mr, calling to the factory owner, said, “They have fallen into disrepair, Master.”
“Master?” Eric mumbled, confused.
“Disrepair!” Jimmy said, fearful.
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, the factory owner replied, “Yes, I am his Master, her Master and also your Master, hah, hah!”
“You’re barmy,” Eric grumbled, “as barmy as a barmbrack.”
“Whether I am or not as barmy as a barmbrack, whatever that happens to be, is of no consequence,” Mr Viscous continued. “All that matters is that you have fallen into disrepair,” he said, laughing all over again.
Edging away, Jimmy and Eric made a desperate bolt for a hatch they had noticed that they hoped was an exit.
His arms flailing like the sails on a windmill, shouting like the lunatic he truly was, Mr Viscous said, “Mr, you said they had fallen into disrepair! Why, then, was that hatch still open? Get them, or you will be falling into disrepair!” The Madam and the Mr, grunting, snarling their disquiet at him threatening them, so, scurried after the troublesome children.
Dashing through the hatch, Eric ran as fast as his legs would carry him, and he kept on running, as far away from the deadly munching machine, the Madam, the Mr and the ever so crazy factory owner as he could possibly get. He never thought of glancing behind, to see if Jimmy was with him. If he had taken the time to look, he would have been shocked to see that his life-long friend was not actually with him.
“So, it’s just you and me, Jimmy,” the factory owner said triumphantly, in all of his imaginary glory.
Struggling, trying desperately to free himself from the Madam and the Mr who had caught hold of him before he could get up to speed, and pass through the hatch, Jimmy decried, “From the moment I clapped eyes on you, I thought you were mad, as bonkers as conkers, now I am sure of it.” Nodding in the direction of the Madam and the Mr, who had peculiarly refrained from pursuing Eric, he said, “What do you call them, huh, scotch mist?”
“How droll,” Mr Viscous replied, “to be making such witty remarks in the face of certain defeat.”
“I will never accept defeat,” Jimmy hollered defiantly, “NEVER!”
“Hmm, if you had only been born to the other side...”
“The other side?” Jimmy asked. “The other side of what?”
“Come, come,” Mr Viscous chided, “you are not that innocent!”
“But?”
“There will be no ifs, buts or anything else here for that matter,” the factory owner continued. “Like the wretched horses you came so gallantly, so nobly to free, your time has almost gone.”
“But, but, but?” Jimmy stammered.
Clicking his fingers, Mr Viscous said, “Mr, Madam.”
Their heads bowed in respect to their better, the animalistic individuals replied, “Yes, Master?”
“Show him to the machine.”
On hearing those words, Jimmy struggled even more, trying to break fee of his captors, and all the while wondering where his best friend, Eric, had gone. Despite his best efforts, Jimmy found it impossible to break free; the Madam and the Mr, not intending to upset the factory owner anymore than they had already done, held him too securely. Nothing was going to wrench him from their grip, nothing.
“So,” said the Mr as both he and the Madam led Jimmy away from the hysterically laughing factory owner, “your friend has abandoned you.”
“He would never abandon me!” Jimmy insisted, though secretly fearing he had.
“Let me have a taste of this young morsel,” said the Madam, pinching Jimmy with a clawed, hairy hand, for size and tenderness.
Yanking Jimmy away from her, the Mr howled, “Have you not learnt anything, have you no idea, no concept what the Master will do to you – to us – if you cross him?”
Yet again hearing the word Master, Jimmy, gathering what little courage he had left, asked, “Why do you call him that, you know, Master?”
Yanking him that bit further away from the Madam, the Mr growled, “Mr Viscous is the Master; don’t you ever forget it – and you!” he warned, snarling at the Madam who was by now licking her black coloured lips
Giving Jimmy’s arm another hard yank, pulling him past the deadly workings of the munching machine, with its blades, cogs, wheels, pulleys, chains and belts silent, but ready to kill at a moment’s notice, the Mr said, “As to why I am telling you this is beyond me, because it will do you no good, no good at all. Up there, with you,” he snarled, pushing Jimmy onto the first step of the spiral staircase before them.
“No!” Jimmy protested. “I am not going up there. I saw it, before!” However, with the Mr pushing, and the Madam pulling, Jimmy had no other option other than climb the rickety metal staircase. It was certainly rickety, for it shook, wobbled, quivered and trembled as the three individuals made their way unceremoniously to the small landing at its top.
On reaching the landing, the munching machine suddenly burst into life, so also did the floor of the room opposite, panicking the horses. Seeing the munching machine burst into life, the Mr and the Madam relaxed, for all they had left to do was push Jimmy off the landing, into its deadly workings. Howling, growling, laughing and snarling, the Madam and the Mr bayed with delight at an invisible moon.
Far away, in another part of the factory, hiding in an alcove beneath one of the many huge pieces of machinery crammed into it, Eric listened for sounds of pursuers. He heard nothing. Relaxing, he inspected the alcove. There was nothing of interest other than a few gauges and meters. Creeping tentatively out, Eric saw no one. It was strangely silent, not even the sound of the munching machine entered this part of the factory. “Hmm,” he said, “it’s only now do I appreciate the mechanisation of this place...” Moreover, he was right, if Mr Viscous had managed his factory in the traditional way, there would have been people milling about all over the place, who would quite have spotted him. In a perverse sort of a way, Eric found himself in agreement with how Mr Viscous ran his factory.
Having said that, Eric was still uneasy with the situation he found himself in. “I don’t like it,” he said. “I don’t like it one bit. Why didn’t the Madam and the Mr follow me?” he asked. “Moreover, where is Jimmy? They must have got him!” He thought about it some more, trying to work out what he should do. After several minutes, thinking he had a semblance of a plan, Eric felt a might braver. Making his way along one of the many isles crisscrossing this part of the factory, he said, “Why aren’t these machines turned on? It is a working factory after all.” Scratching his head, he said, “Something’s wrong...it’s like they wanted me to go, to separate us...”
Bearing down on the next piece of machinery, Eric’s grey cells were buzzing, alive with activity. “I must get back there, to Jimmy,” he said. “And save him from those animalistics...”
Pickled Onions
As Jimmy stood there, in front of the Madam and the Mr, trembling, fearing for his very life, he began praying to his god that Eric, his lifelong, best friend, would return and save him.
“You leave him be!” a voice, an incredibly familiar voice barked out from below.
“Eric, is that really you?” Jimmy asked, hardly believing his luck.
“It was the last time I looked,” he jokingly replied. Sliding his duffle bag from off his shoulder, he set about opening it.
“Thank god you still have the duffle bag!” said Jimmy said.
“Yep,” Eric replied, “I thought it better to hold onto it. Seeing you up there, with them, it looks like I did the right thing.”
“Yep, I’m in a bit of a pickle, if you know what I mean,” he answered, secretly winking at Eric.
“What have we got, here?” the Mr asked, booming down, from above.
“A boy,” the Madam informed him dismissively. “It is a boy, a b
oy who is more foolish than I had previously thought.”
“Forget about that bag,” the Mr told Eric. “Come up here and join us.”
“Yes,” the Madam concurred. “The view is well worth the effort.”
Withdrawing his hand from out of the bag, hiding something behind his back, Eric said, “That is exactly what I was planning to do.”
“It was?” the Madam and the Mr both asked.
“Yes,” he replied, placing a foot on the first step of the rickety staircase. It quivered and wobbled under his weight.
“What are you hiding behind your back?” the Madam asked, craning her neck, trying to see what he was concealing.
“Yes, what are you hiding?” asked the Mr, pointing a hairy finger at him.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Eric answered, placing a foot onto the next step of the staircase. It quivered and wobbled some more.
Daring to distract the animalistics’ attention away from Eric, Jimmy said, “When we have freed those horses – every one of them – you and your missus, old bony fingers herself, will be sorry you ever met us!”
“Turning to face Jimmy, the Madam said, “Name calling will do you no good, no good at all.” Gazing at her fingers, she added, “As to how you could ever consider my fingers bony, is certainly beyond me.” Stretching out her hands, admiring her long bony fingers, she said, “These are fine fingers, very fine fingers indeed.”
“Bony means bony,” Jimmy retorted. “And that goes for you too, Mr long face, long bony jaw face!”
“When I get my
Jimmy, The Glue Factory and Mad Mr Viscous Page 21
