Read My Shorts

Meet Bernard

Meet Bernard

He hadn't seen anything like it in twenty years of teaching. Standing with his mouth opening and shutting like a hyperactive goldfish, Mr. Entwhistle stood in stunned silence as, following a flurry of blows, the smaller of the two boys in front of him viciously headbutted the other boy, the nose breaking in a bloody spume and leaving him clutching his face and howling.

Finally finding his voice, he whacked the ever-present cane across the desk and bellowed into the ear of the smaller boy. "Wilkins! How dare you boy, you vicious little mongrel."

"He started it, sir."

"I didn't," retorted the other boy through a handful of gore.

"You did, you called my friend a witch."

"That's cos she is. She's a nutter."

Wilkin's face flushed red below the spreading black eye of an earlier blow and taking one short step, he planted a foot with remarkable precision, causing the larger boy to drop to the bare slates of the classroom floor with a thud. Retching horribly, with his hands clasped between his legs, there was a groan of shared anguish echoed by the rest of the boys in the class, who winced in sympathy.

A powerful hand grabbed Wilkins by the collar and he was lifted bodily off the floor and slammed face down over the teacher's desk. As the other boys in the class watched, some with sympathy, some with glee, the cane was applied repeatedly with practiced ease.

"You again, Wilkins?" The headmaster's voice cut through the punishment, and Entwhistle stayed his beating, his breath huffing with exertion, breath pluming like a steam engine in the cold of the Victorian school room.

"Why is this boy lying on the floor covered in blood and clutching himself Mr. Entwhistle? A misplaced adverb perhaps?"

"Er... no, headmaster. Wilkins beat him up."

"That wisp of a boy beat up the captain of the school rugby team?"

"Er... yes, Dr. Edgecombe."

"And the reason for the beating?"

"Belfer suggested that the old lady who lives by the canal was a witch, headmaster."

"And your reasoning Belfer?"

"I'm sorry, headmaster?" The bloody rugby player struggled to his feet to face the gowned figure.

"Why did you suggest that Mrs. Miggins was a witch, young man?"

"She's got a cat, sir. A black one. And there's always funny noises coming from her sheds out back."

"And that makes her magical? Mrs. Miggins is a curious old lady Belfer, but she's not a witch. There is no such thing as witchcraft, although she is a remarkable scientist." The headmaster paused and looked over the top of his spectacles at the other boy. "And you decided to defend an old lady's honour, young Wilkins?"

"Yes, headmaster," said Wilkins, his eyes watching the headmaster intently for signs of a way out of his continued beating, as he rubbed his backside. "She's my friend."

"Indeed. Well, I suggest you defend your friends with the sword of words rather than the fist of idiocy in future. Do you understand Wilkins?"

"Yes sir, sorry sir."

"Your behaviour over this last term has been far from ideal, young man. Mr. Entwhistle is going to wear out his cane on your derriere if you continue to bounce around this school like a kangaroo. You need to calm yourself, or there will be trouble. Do I make myself clear? You, young man, have a remarkable brain in your head. Use that instead of your fists."

"Yes, sir."

"How many Mr. Entwhistle?"

"I'd completed twenty headmaster."

"Twenty more please..."

~

The boy walked slowly along the canal, his backside a painful and ignominious reminder of the beating. He skirted around the saggy-hinged gate and wandered around to the back of the cottage past the delightfully haphazard gardens and spreading herbs. The bubbling of what sounded like a massive kettle came from one of the sheds and he veered toward it with a grin of anticipation.

"Good evening Mrs. M," he said as he stuck his head around the door. "How's the experiment with Bernard goi... oh boy..."

A huge shadow loomed over the boy and a massive hand reached through the steam toward him, a hissing, clanking, and graunching metal form lumbering toward him. "I hope you've been a good boy," boomed a voice.

"Er... well... I..."

A more feminine voice came from the far side of the shed, and the metallic hand dropped with a hiss of steam. "Oh Charlie, not again."

"They insulted you, Mrs. M, said you was a witch."

"Oh Charlie, you don't have to defend me."

"You're my friend," he said hotly tears springing to his eyes.

The diminutive woman bustled over and grabbed him in a hug, lifting his chin to inspect his eye. "And I am yours, but you don't have to fight for me. You need to use this." She tapped him on the head. "And I know your headmaster says the same thing, Brian Edgecombe's a good friend of mine too you know."

The boy decided to change the subject. "I see you got Bernard working, and the voice is brilliant."

"Yes, he's rather lovely, isn't he? I need to take him out and test him walking about a bit, but he's managed well in the confines of the barn."  

A red light blinked on one wall and she frowned. Tapping a button, a small brown screen flickered into life and she peered into it. "It seems we have company."

"Belfer and his cronies," said the boy, his voice soft.

"Ah, I see. So what are you going to do about it?"

His eyes rested on a crowbar and he hefted it, dropping it almost instantly as the old woman rapped him across the knuckles with her walking stick.

"I said think boy, use your brain, not your fists, and certainly not my favourite crowbar."

The boy rubbed his hand and flexed his fingers, splaying them to mimic the eight-foot-high metal figure next to him. He grinned.

"Mrs. M, may I borrow Bernard?"

The old lady grinned back and handed over a box rich with dials, levers, and cogs. "He's all yours, you know how the controls work, you helped make most of them after all. Bring him back clean please, and no fighting."

"Yes ma'am. We're just going for a little walk along the canal path toward the school, just to give him a test run like you said. I won't get him dirty. Now, which button is it for the loudspeaker again?"

The End

~

Well, I haven't written a story this quickly for a while. This one is also done on a series of prompts. It had to be Steampunk (loosely), include a hyper kid who always causes trouble, have a character that is accused of witchcraft and start with the opening line "He hadn't seen anything like it in twenty years of teaching."

Today (1st August 2013), the Wattpad team have been having a write-a-thon, trying their hand at writing stories to prompts, in the finest traditions of the smackdowns and other competitions done on Wattpad by the community. They decided to have their own challenge amongst the staff, many of whom are phenomenal writers in their own right and very kindly invite me to join in. I got less than a day, in fact, I hacked this one out in 2 hours, so you'll have to excuse its brevity or any mistakes. Fun though. I do love a bit of steampunk...