Oliver glanced left and right as he walked, seeing through one door a huge machine that resembled Charles Babbages early prototype computer. Through another door was a room with a steepled roof, like a church, and a mezzanine level, upon which, directed toward a huge glass window, was a row of enormous brass telescopes.

Oliver continued following the doddery inventor, his breath continually catching in his throat. He peered into another room they passed. It was filled with eerily human-looking automatons. Then the next contained an entire military tank, which was mounted with the strangest-looking weapons Oliver had ever seen.

Dont mind Horatio, Armando said suddenly. Oliver jumped, breaking once again from his reverie.

He looked about him for the so-called Horatio, his mind conjuring up all kinds of machines that may have earned the name, until he noticed a sad-looking bloodhound lying in a basket by his feet.

Armando continued speaking. His arthritis is worse than mine, poor thing. It makes him very grouchy.

Oliver gave the dog a quick glance. Horatio sniffed the air as he passed, then settled back down to sleep with a weary sigh.

Armando hobbled stiffly into a small kitchen area, leading Oliver in after him. It was a modest space and very messy; the sort of kitchen youd expect of a man whod put the last seventy years of his focus into inventing zany machines that didnt work.

Oliver blinked under the flickering fluorescent lights.

Do you like tomato soup? Armando asked suddenly.

Uh… Oliver said, still too tongue-tied to actually speak, to even really comprehend the fact that his hero was offering to make him soup of all things.

Ill take that as a yes, Armando said, smiling kindly.

Oliver watched him fetch two cans of soup from a cupboard whose door was barely still on its hinges. Then he took a contraption from a drawer that resembled a can opener in design but was so big it required two hands to operate.

Theres a reason why they say theres no need to reinvent the wheel, Armando said with a chuckle when he noticed Olivers curious expression.

Finally the cans were open and Armando set to work simmering the soup in a pot on the little gas hob. Oliver found himself completely frozen, unable to speak or even move. All he could do was stare at this man, at the real, living, breathing version of his hero. He even pinched himself a couple of times just to make sure. But it was real. He was really here. Really with Armando Illstrom.

Please sit, Armando said as he came over and placed two bowls of soup on the rickety table. Eat.