The expansion - by A.P. aged 13

The expansion

                                 by A.P. aged 13

The rain pattered a tattoo onto the roof, wearing away the layers of paper.

“I’m not too sure about this,” said Herm. He looked up at the newspaper ceiling, blobs of not-yet-dried glue dripping down.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Richard re-assured. “It’s mainly the ‘Deaths’ section. Pretty hard stuff.”

“But still . . .” Herm sighed. He was never comfortable with his master’s projects, but, as his assistant, he had no choice but to go along with them or lose his job. And he really needed his job. Richard Le Branski was well known for taking in the malformed and the miscreants of the town – people and things that no one else would have.

Herm had a deformity of his spine, rendering him useless for manual labour. Richard had hired him as a sounding board for his ideas, although he rarely took Herm’s advice.

“Right. Now we’ve got that sorted we can go back to the Ideas Room and continue planning the ‘expansion’.”

He turned on his heel and fell into a tray of glue.

Herm held out a hand to help him up but Richard raised a finger and used his other hand to undo a buckle on each hip. He then lifted himself out of the tray, leaving the seat of his pants behind, which he then picked up and deposited in the hands of a laundry steward.

“It’s an idea I had earlier this morning. I have five squares of fabric buckled to my trousers so when I fall,” – Richard indicated the glue – “I just remove the protecting fabric and walk away with clean trousers.”

Herm just nodded and followed Richard out the room, down the hall, and into the Ideas Room.

Richard placed himself upon a wing-backed chair and Herm on a small leather cube chair.

“Now, about the improvement!” The ‘improvement’ was Richard’s ever-changing ideas and plans to modify the mansion.

“Are we still going along with the Gothic look? Herm asked. His master had recently become obsessed with Gothic architecture.

“No, no! Le Branski replied. “I want something sleek and modern. Gothic is so yesterday.”

Herm sighed again. He had spent the best part of last night Googling masons who would be willing to do Gothic style. The closest he could find lived in Belgium

“What colours?” Herm asked.

“Black and red, with a hint of gold.” Then, “Ah, here come the muffins.”

A muffin steward entered with a tray of freshly baked blueberry and white chocolate muffins. Richard selected one. Then Herm. The room was silent as the muffins were munched, the only sound being the ticking of the 57 clocks placed in the room. A steward had the job of maintaining the clocks, making sure they were well-oiled and showing the correct time.

“Now,” Richard said, “Just one more muffin and then we’ll get started on design details . . .”