but I can definitely see something!”
“Hurry,” Jimmy whispered to Eric. “Start running.”
“As in down there?” Eric asked, pointing below.
“No, no!” Jimmy grumbled, slapping his forehead, frustrated by Eric’s tardiness to cop on. “Running, as in back and forth across this landing,” he explained, still in a whisper.”To make it sway!”
“Got it,” Eric answered, finally realising what his friend had in mind.
As the boys ran across the small landing, causing it to sway in harmony with their motions, the factory owner gazed into the viewer as if nothing was happening. Back and forth, back and forth they went, faster and faster until the landing was markedly swaying.
Although he was beginning to feel sick, Mr Viscous was oblivious to what the boys were actually doing. Gazing into the prismatic viewer, he said, “Yes, yes! I can see it! It’s the sea! I am sure of it! It must be, for I am coming all over seasick. Is this the power you were talking about?” he asked, taking the viewer away from his eyes. Seeing Jimmy and Eric running back and forth across in front of him, he said, “What on earth are you doing?”
“Faster, Eric,” Jimmy ordered, “faster!”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” Eric huffed, “but the old buzzard is still standing!”
Realising they had fooled him, the factory owner, delving a hand into his trouser pocket, searched for his wand. “You will not get away with it, whatever it is that you are trying to do,” he declared. “When I get my wand, drat these deep pockets,” he grumbled, struggling to find it, “it will be the end for you boyos. Mr, Madam, I have need of your help,” he called out. “Where are those animalistics, anyhow?”
“They have gone,” Jimmy thankfully informed him.
“Yes, they ran away like scared cats,” said Eric, “and they banged the door closed behind them.”
“No, I will never believe that!” Mr Viscous insisted. “They are my loyal servants.”
“They were until they had need of you, when you were not there to help them.”
“Help them?” the factory owner asked, losing his balance, falling over. “What on earth do you mean?”
“When they needed you,” Eric explained, “when we faced them down with pickled onions.”
Dragging himself up, delving a hand into his trouser pocket, trying to get at his wand, Mr Viscous said, “Onions, and pickled at that, how enterprising. I never thought you boys had in you, the knowledge. Are you sure neither of you are from the other side?”
This was the second time Jimmy heard mention of the other side, however, being so busy, trying to save both himself and Eric from a terrible vengeance if Mr Viscous managed to secure his wand, he left it for later.
Reminded of the onions, Eric opened the duffle bag and grabbed hold of the jar. It was still half-full. Unscrewing the lid, he delved a hand in, grabbing hold of two pickled onions. Sending them flying through the air, at the factory owner, he said, “Take that, you old fart. Delving his hand in a second time, fishing for another two onions, Eric watched, horrified, as the first onions bounced harmlessly off Mr Viscous.
Help Me, For I am Falling!
Smiling sweetly, sickly, the factory owner said, “You disappoint me, Eric. Did you really think that onions, be they pickled or not, could actually harm me?”
Dropping the jar, Eric stammered, “But, but!” Striking the hard metal landing, the jar shattered in to a thousand pieces.
“There will be no ifs or buts here,” Mr Viscous went on, finally withdrawing the wand from out his pocket. “I am a warlock, not an animalistic simpleton.”
“Come on, Eric!” said Jimmy, urging him on. “Another few passes across the landing should be enough to do it!”
Running fast across the landing, Eric was determined to keep on going until the factory owner had fallen over the side of the railing.
With his wand in one hand and prismatic viewer in the other, Mr Viscous, struggling to stay upright, said, “Stop it! Stop it! My eyes can hardly keep up with you!”
Ignoring his pleas, the boys run faster, back and forth, back and forth, across the small landing.
Dropping his wand, Mr Viscous bemoaned, “Now look what you have made me do!”
Diving for the wand, Jimmy tried to secure it.
“Leave it alone!” the factory owner warned, stooping, trying to stop him from touching it. “It’s mine!” Losing his balance, Mr Viscous landed heavily on his knees. “Ow!” he wailed. “That hurt!”
Reaching, stretching, Jimmy tried to secure the wand before it rolled over side of the landing.
Pushing him brusquely aside, the factory owner, making a desperate lunge for it, bellowed, “It’s mine! Leave it alone!”
Seizing the moment, his opportunity to strike hard, Jimmy positioned himself behind Mr Viscous. “Are you ready, Eric?” he asked.
“You bet I am!” Eric replied, knowing exactly what he intended to do.
“On the count of three, then: one, two – THREE!” With that, Jimmy and Eric kicked the factory owner hard on the bottom, forcing him through a gap in the railing, over the side of the landing.
“NO!” Mr Viscous screamed, falling, falling. “NOOOO!” he screamed as he fell into the deadly razor sharp workings of the munching machine. Above, the tall factory chimneys belched copious amounts of acrid black smoke, signalling the demise of the mad, bad glue factory owner.
Later that day, at Mr Smith’s Wonderful Emporium, Jimmy and Eric told the old man about their wonderful, exciting, scary, frightening – and dangerous adventure. “Mr Smith!” Eric cried out, in his excitement, “After you freed us from that cell, we had a fantastic adventure – we really did! There were the Mr and the Madam, the animalistics, you already know about them. We sent them packing, with onions, and pickled at that! There was also the insipid Mr Gaunt, and last, but certainly not least, there was Mr Viscous, the glue factory owner, he was bad, really bad – and a warlock to boot!”
“He got his comeuppance, though,” said Jimmy.
“Don’t forget the horses, Jim,” Eric added, reminding him.
“How are the horses?” Mr Smith enquired.
“They’re fine,” said Eric.
“They’re great,” said Jimmy.
“We set them free,” said Eric.
“What did you actually do with them?” Mrs Smith asked.
“We brought them to the estuary, where there is more than enough grass for them to eat,” Jimmy replied.
“They will never, ever be hungry again,” said Eric.
“Nor bothered by anyone,” said Jimmy.
Laughing roguishly, Eric said, “Except for us, maybe, because I sure enjoyed riding old Dot.”
“It’s Dotty!” Jimmy reminded him. “And don’t you ever forget it!”
Pulling up three empty crates, Mr Smith, sitting on one, motioned for Jimmy and Eric to join him. “Mrs Smith,” he called out, “can we have something to drink, please?”
No sooner had the old man said this, did the door to the rear of the shop open. Carrying a tray with four glasses and a huge jug upon it, Mrs Smith entered the front of the shop. “Here you are,” she said, pouring the contents of the jug into the glasses, “Fizzing Fruit juice drink, to refresh the weary travellers.”After handing her husband a glass, and one to each boy, she pulled up a crate and sat upon it, joining them. Anyone like a liquorice shoelace?” she asked, reaching across to the counter, procuring herself one.
“No thank you,” they replied in harmony.
After taking a bite of liquorice from out of the shoelace, Mrs Smith, raising her glass, said, “A toast, a toast to all the good witches.”
Raising their glasses, Mr Smith, Jimmy and Eric said, “A toast to all the very good witches indeed.”
When he had finished his drink, Jimmy, delving a hand into his trouser pocket, rooted for something. “Got it!” he said, withdrawing his hand. “See what I have!” he said, smiling gleefully
“Good lord
,” said Mr Smith, “it’s a wand!”
“Not any old wand,” Jimmy proudly replied.
“You crafty old beggar!” Eric exclaimed. “I thought it rolled over the side of the landing, and all the while you had it!”
Showing it to Mr Smith, Jimmy said, “Its Mr Viscous’ wand, at least it was until he got his comeuppance.”
His brow creasing, looking very concerned indeed, Mr Smith, pointing to the wand, said, “What are you planning to do with it?”
Fingering the wand, Jimmy said, “I was hoping you might be able to tell me...”
Nudging her husband, Mrs Smith said, “Go on, Jeremiah – tell him.”
Finishing his drink, Mr Smith placed his empty glass upon the counter. Fingering his beard, he considered the case, for or against telling Jimmy.
“Tell me!” Jimmy implored. “Please, Mr Smith, tell me what I should do with it!”
Patting his beard flat, Mr Smith, standing up from his crate, asked, “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, yes, I do!” Jimmy replied, standing up from his crate, so excited he was.
“In that case,” he went on, “you had better go to the circus.”
“The circus?” Jimmy asked, bemused at such a suggestion. “Why the circus?”
“Yes,” said Eric, “he – we both went to the circus only recently – you know that!”
“Exactly,” Mr Smith answered.
The penny having dropped, the boys said, “Oh, that circus...”
“Don’t look so glum, boys,” said Mrs Smith. Reaching across to the counter, procuring herself another liquorice shoelace, she added, “it’s not as bad as you think.”
“No, not at all,” Mr Smith concurred.
Jimmy, The Glue Factory and Mad Mr Viscous Page 26