The Quanderhorn Xperimentations by Marshall Andrew & Grant Rob

Author:Marshall, Andrew & Grant, Rob [Marshall, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Published: 2018-06-28T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

The Daybook of ‘Jenkins’ Jenkins, RQMS Royal Fusiliers (wanted in connection), Saturday the 5th of January, 1952

Feed boiler.

I eat the whole of that fast-motion biscuit, which turns out to be a mistake. I start racing round like Mussolini when he spots the enemy. I do get a lot done, but my heart’s thumping through my ribcage fit to burst.

I nip down to the village chemist’s in two and a half minutes. I would have gone faster, but the friction in my trousers was a worry. Old Mr. Gerber says he could rush the film through in four weeks. We haggle, and he decides two hours would be plenty. I put the revolver away. Course, I haven’t been able to get the bullets since 1949, but one sight of my well-oiled old Webley tends to encourage co-operation in even the most stubborn negotiator.

Quite keen to see that snap when printed up. I wonder who it might have caught? I has my suspicions, but I’m foresworn not to share them on these pages. It could raise some embarrassing questions round this place.

As I’m making such good time, I decide to pop into the Torso for a quick elbow-tilter, where I find Bill Blagstone celebrating. He’s just told his foreman exactly what he thinks of him, and where he can stuff his job, on account of what he thinks is a football pools win. I don’t have the heart to burst his bubble. But I do accept several pints.

Oddly enough, the drink doesn’t hit me like usual, and I get back to the lab in double record time. I have to stop every once in a while to scrape off all the insects splatted on my face, but then I’m off again, sprightly as ever.

When I get there, I find the Prof’s locked himself in the isolation lab. I press my ear to the door, but I can’t make anything out, before Himself bursts out of the door and hands me a list.

‘We need all of this right now, Jenkins.’

I studies it. A ton of nappies? Fourteen gallons of formula milk? Army size drum of talcum powder? ‘It’ll take a while, sir,’ I tells him. ‘Here they are.’

‘Too late!’ The Prof dashes off another note. ‘Now we need this.’

I studies it. Eighteen Dick and Dora books, a gross of wax crayons, and half a dozen potties. ‘I’ll have to go further afield for that lot, sir,’ I says. ‘Here they are.’

But he’s already handing me another note. I’m beginning to form an impression of what might be happening here. Four hundred and seventy blue exercise books, nineteen Fuzzy Felt kits, three train sets, a football and assorted dollies.

Mark my word, he’s growing people in there.

And he’s growing ’em fearsome quick.

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