Oliver kept walking. All around him, great machines stood still and imposing, like giant beasts frozen in time. They were made of a combination of materials like wood and metal, and consisted of many different parts, like cogs and springs, levers and pulleys. Cobwebs hung from them. Oliver tried some of the mechanisms, disturbing a variety of insects that had made home in the shadowy crevices of the machines.

But the feeling of wonder started to wear off as it began to dawn on Oliver, with a horrible sense of despair, that the factory had indeed fallen into disrepair. And not recently. It must have been decades ago by the looks of the thickness of the dust and the build-up of cobwebs, by the way the mechanisms creaked, and by the vast number of bugs that had taken up residence within them.

With a growing sense of distress, Oliver hurried around the rest of the factory, peeking with diminishing hope into side rooms and down darkened corridors. There were no signs of life.

He stood there, in the dark, empty warehouse, surrounded by the relics of a man he now knew he would never meet. Hed needed Armando Illstrom. Hed needed a savior who could lift him out of his gloom. But it had just been a dream. And now that dream was dashed.

*

Oliver spent the entire bus journey home feeling wounded and deflated. He was too miserable to even read his book.

He reached his bus stop and stepped out into the drizzly evening. Rain beat down on his head, soaking him through. He hardly even noticed, so consumed was he with his misery.

When he reached his new home, Oliver remembered that he didnt have his own key yet. Going inside seemed like an extra cruel blow to an already desperately sad day. But he had no choice. He knocked on the door and braced himself.

The door was opened in one swift motion. There, in front of him, grinning demonically, stood Chris.

Youre late for dinner, he said, glowering, flickers of delight behind his eyes. Mom and Dad are flipping out.

From behind Chris, Oliver could hear his moms shrill voice. Is that him? Is that Oliver?

Chris shouted back over his shoulder. Yeah. And he looks like a drowned rat.

He looked back again at Oliver, his expression one of glee for the approaching confrontation. Oliver shoved his way inside, pushing past Chriss big, meaty body. A trail of drips came off his sodden clothes, making a puddle beneath his feet.

Mom hurried into the corridor and stood at the opposite end staring at him. Oliver couldnt work out if her expression was relief or fury.

Hi, Mom, he said meekly.

Look at you! she exclaimed. Where have you been?

If it was relief to see her son back home then she didnt follow it up with a hug or anything like that. Olivers mother didnt do hugs.