Arriving there, emerging from under the last horse, they approached the instrument panel.
Pointing at the panel, Jimmy said, “Go on, then!”
“Go on?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Do it!”
“Do what?”
Exhaling his annoyance, Jimmy said, “Do whatever you did, before, when you stopped the floor from moving – but hurry, you berk!”
“Name calling is not one of your most endearing qualities,” said Eric, folding his arms defiantly.
“I will be calling you worse names than that if you don’t get a move on!” Jimmy snapped. “Look,” he said, “there goes another horse over the side!”
Turning, Eric glimpsed the hindquarters of a horse disappearing from sight. The munching machine, as if it was enjoying its gruesome work, grated and grinded louder, sending yet more blood red smoke billowing up the factory chimneys.
Studying the instrument panel, with the myriad dials, gauges, lights, switches and relays mounted upon it, Eric wondered what switch he had flipped, earlier. “I think it’s this one,” he said, pointing to a red coloured switch.
“Flip it, flip it, switch it, do something with it,” Jimmy hollered, “lest we all fall to our deaths!”
“Okay,” he said, “here goes.” However, as soon as Eric flipped the switch, he realised it was not the correct one, because every dial, gauge, light and switch on the control panel burst into life. Lights of every conceivable colour blinked, flashed and glowed; needles veered erratically from side to side, relays switched, and the same incredibly loud buzzer that sounded before, wailed again.
“Turn it off, turn it off!” Jimmy hollered, above the terrible din.
Flicking the switch, Eric was incredibly relieved when it ceased. “Phew,” he said, “thank god for that.”
Seeing another horse topple over the edge of the floor, Jimmy said, “Hurry! There goes another one! Have you any idea which switch it is?”
Studying the many switches, Eric said, “I thought it was either this one or that one.” He pointed to two switches, one red and the other one green. “It’s terribly confusing...”
“How on earth could you get them mixed up?” Jimmy asked. “They are two entirely different colours!”
Scratching his head, staring at the two switches, Eric searched in vain for an answer.
“Never mind,” said Jimmy, “Try it, do it, switch it, the second one – anything to stop this floor moving!”
“Here goes, then,” said Eric, his fingers stretching out tentatively towards the green coloured switch.
“Do it, do it!” said Jimmy.
Flicking the switch, Eric was relieved, eternally relieved to hear the workings of the munching machine slowing down. Gazing down at the floor that was still moving, he said, “Jim, it’s still moving! The floor is still moving!”
“Relax,” Jimmy replied, “and listen.”
“Listen?”
“Yes, you berk,” he answered. “The floor is stopping. It just needed a few seconds to catch up.”
“To catch up?”
“Yes, to catch up with munching machine. God, I sure know how to pick them!”
“I knew that,” said Eric, bluffing. “I just wanted to be sure.”
“Whatever,” Jimmy replied. Moving on, he said, “Look at them, the horses. See how excited they are! They know we are going to free them.”
Gazing happily at the horses, Eric nodded a yes.
“They really know we are going to free them,” said Jimmy, approaching one of the horses, patting it.
Eric nodded again.
“Follow us, horses,” said Jimmy, leading the way out.
To Face Their Foe
After Jimmy and Eric led the horses safely out of the factory, into the holding pen where they had originally seen them, they set about finding some feed and water.
“There must be something around here they can eat,” said Jimmy. Rummaging about inside the half-open roller door, he spotted some bales of hay stashed in a corner. “Eric,” he called out, “I’ve found some hay. Give me a hand, will you?”
When the horses were contentedly eating the hay, all that remained was to find them some water. Spotting a bucket, Eric said. “I can see a bucket!”
“And I can see a tap,” said Jimmy, pointing to a tap adjacent the roller door.
Leaving the horses eating and drinking their fill, the boys set about finding the glue factory owner. Making their way round the side of the building, they headed for the front door of the factory. Looking back, to the horses, Eric asked, “Won’t they wander off? The gate is open, you know!”
“I doubt it,” Jimmy answered. “They are far too busy eating and drinking to be thinking about that. Come on, we have a glue factory owner to find, to give a comeuppance to.”
“It’s about time he got his comeuppance,” said Eric. Suddenly diving for cover, he said, “Guards!”
Also diving for cover, Jimmy asked, “Where?”
“I, I thought I saw one...”
“Scanning the area, wishing he still had the prismatic viewer in his possession, to see better, Jimmy saw no indication of guards. “It’s okay,” he said, “the coast is clear.”
“Are you sure?” Eric asked hesitantly.
“Yes, I am,” he replied. “I’m out of here, off”
“Off?”
“Yes, to find the old buzzard.”
“The old buzzard?”
“Mr Viscous, the factory owner,” he answered, heading away from him.
“Hey, wait for me!” Eric called out, running, yet again trying to catch up with his friend.
On reaching the front of the factory, the two boys faced the cold steel of its door. “Where do you think he is?” Eric asked. “And why did we return, here, to the front door?”
“Shush,” said Jimmy, placing an ear to the door, listening.
“What are you listening for?”
“To.”
“What?”
“Pardon.”
Scratching his head, bamboozled by his friend’s erratic behaviour, Eric asked him to explain.
“You should have said to instead of for, and pardon, not what.”
Thinking his friend was losing a few more marbles of the grey matter kind, Eric, taking his word for it, asked, “Where do you think he is?”
“In here,” Jimmy answered, suddenly pounding the door with all of his might.
“What on earth are you doing?” Eric asked, fearing the factory owner himself would hear, and come running to answer it.
Placing a finger to his lips, Jimmy reiterated, “Shush!”
This time Eric said nothing, he simply waited to see what Jimmy did next.
Taking his ear away from the door, Jimmy said, “He’s coming.”
“Mr Viscous?”
“No!” Jimmy snapped. “Mr Gaunt!”
“Mr Gaunt?” said Eric. “I had forgotten all about him.”
“Quite, I can hear someone coming.”
Groaning, grating its disquiet, the door of the factory creaked open. Poking his head round the door, Mr Gaunt, on seeing Jimmy and Eric standing there, began closing it.
“Oh no you don’t!” said Jimmy, sticking a foot behind the door.
However, the insipidly thin man continued to pull it closed.
Grabbing hold of the door, Eric pulled it with all of his might. “We are coming in,” he barked, “and we are not taking no for an answer!”
Changing his tack, Mr Gaunt droned, “Very well, if that is what you want, I will go fetch him.”
“We shall find him ourselves,” Jimmy answered. Pointing to Mr Gaunt, he said, “Eric, show him the door.”
“You heard him,” Eric barked at the disdainful individual. “Scat!”
Offering no resistance, Mr Gaunt exited the factory.
“Where do you think he is?” Eric asked, gazing into the office adjacent the door.
“Not there,” Jimmy answered. “Follow me.” Making their way down t
he long corridor, into the darkly mysterious factory interior, Jimmy and Eric searched for its owner. This time, unlike earlier, the factory was deathly quiet. Turning a corner, pointing to the brown painted door in the dimly lit, dusty, cobwebby corridor Mr Gaunt led him to earlier, Jimmy said, “That is where we shall meet him, the old buzzard, or my name is not Jack Robinson.”
“But it’s not Jack Robinson,” Eric insisted, fearing yet more marbles of the grey matter kind were coming adrift.
Grabbing hold of the handle, pulling the door open, Jimmy said, “Follow me.” With that, he disappeared from sight behind it. Not intending to remain in the creepy corridor for a second longer than was necessary, Eric followed his friend.
The boys found the factory owner, Mr Viscous, lost in a world of his own, with his head poked inside his pride and joy, his huge safe. Talking to himself, fondling the many gold coins stashed within it, he said, “With you my pretties, I shall entice the warlocks join me. With them at my side, and with me as their leader, the world will be our oyster, and the lowerings, those who are neither warlocks nor witches, shall fall at my feet, adoring me, their lord and Master, lest I smite them out of existence.”
“The man’s a loony,” Eric whispered. “He should be in a cell, and a padded one at that!”
“He’s also a warlock,” Jimmy added ominously.
“Yes,” the factory owner continued, “when the last of those pesky horses have been rendered into glue, and I have sold it for a king’s ransom, I will have enough money, glorious money, to coerce every warlock on earth to join me.”
“Not if we can help it!” Jimmy barked defiantly.
“Huh? Who said that?” Mr Viscous asked, poking his head inquisitively around the door of his safe. Seeing the two boys, he said, “You two!”
“Yes, it’s us,” Eric replied, “and don’t you forget it!”
“I, I thought you
Jimmy, The Glue Factory and Mad Mr Viscous Page 23
