––––––––
“And you’re sure?” Spencer was talking to Nebwett and the twins who were surrounded by bits of paper, all of it used in furious scribblings.
“I think so Mr Blake, we won’t know ‘til we try it though.” Normally Spencer wouldn’t have trusted someone like Nebwett, or Norbert for that matter as far as he could throw them. Which, now he thought about it and their size, was probably a decent distance. He did however believe in Nebwett’s ability with technology. For starters, he had managed to make a working copy of a Vibobbler, which was no mean feat bearing in mind nobody seemed entirely sure how the thing worked. He had had a fast and in depth conversation with Spangler where Spencer only caught a few words he recognised such as string theory and wavelengths, the rest appeared to be gibberish.
Afterwards he had sat with the twins, the Vibobbler he had used to come to this world in front of them, and scribbled furiously as they talked.
“And this will take three of us you think?”
“I think so Mr Blake. One at each end and then one in the middle to turn the handle. I call it the ‘Double Ended Vibobbler’. The twins exploded with laughter. Spencer was determined he wouldn’t give in and join them, but the effort of keeping a straight face made his jaw ache.
“Right, good name,” he replied to a confused Nebwett who was looking at the twins like they were aliens.
“I’d like to be the one turning the handle if that’s ok Mr Blake?”
Suddenly Spencer didn’t need any help to stop laughing.
“Are you sure Nebwett? We don’t know what will happen when we do this, where we’ll end up, or even if we’ll make it at all.”
Nebwett pulled himself to his full height (which was less impressive than it sounds), puffed out his chest and threw his shoulders back.
“I know Mr Blake, and I am ready to do what needs to be done to save everyone. From what I've learnt ‘ere, and what I know about these ‘fings, this will get a whole load worse if don’t I do something.”
“Right, good. Well done.” Spencer was taken back by the passion of the little man. “You better get on then.” He left them to it and walked outside to where Albert and Colin were grappling with a large metal box which stood on a small cart against the wall of the Strang’s house. He was shifting it about, lining it up so the weight was distributed evenly.
“Have you come up with our distraction Albert?” Spencer said joining him next to the cart.
“I hope so. It’s something I’ve been tinkering with for a while for my... well you know, my little atmospheric enhancements.” Spencer thought back to the thunder and lightning Becky and he had seen in the morgue.
“Yes, I know.”
“I’m going to need a few people to help me though, someone to stoke the boiler, some to hold the trumpets.” Spencer paused while he considered this, then decided to just wait and see what this thing was, and go and get Albert what he needed.
“Ok, I’ll get some bodies to help.”
“Bodies!” Albert cried. “And I'm a mortician! Very good Spencer, very good!”
Spencer smiled at him and walked away, hoping his face hadn’t betrayed the fact that he hadn’t meant to make the joke. Turning, he saw Mrs Strang turn the corner of the small close with a gang of young men and women behind her looking sheepish.
“Allo Mr Blake. Now I ain’t rounded all of ‘em up yet, but these ‘ere are a start.” She said, pointing to the group behind her who were attempting to look like it was pure coincidence they were following her, and that they were definitely still rebels and that doing what your mum said didn’t change that.
“Right, excellent.” He scanned the group who all avoided his gaze. “If you want to go and help Albert over there, that would be great. You’ll all be given jobs later when we’re ready to go. The group slouched off in the direction he’d waved them in and he moved across the street to Becky who had appeared from around the corner after Mrs Strang's gang.
“Hey,” he said, trying to appear nonchalant, but it was hard when he was wondering if this was the last time he’d ever see her. “Any news?”
“Well pretty much all of the people who’d joined up to Garsh’s militia have gone home. Word went round pretty quick once Mrs Strang had given her little talk.” They both smiled at the recollection.
“Good, sounds like we’re almost ready to go. Look, Becky, if things don’t go...”
“No.” She held her hand up “We don’t do this mushy goodbye stuff until afterwards.”
“What if there isn’t an afterwards?”
“Then it doesn't matter. If we say goodbyes now, we’re saying it because we’re scared of what might happen. If we’re both here after all of this, then we’ll have a drink and say what we think.” He opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off.
“That’s my final word.” She smiled at him and walked off towards the Strang’s house.