Free My Dirty Little Book of Stolen Time by Liz Jensen Page B

the cool, smooth surface of the orb when a loud, shuddering noise – a deep dragging reverberation, followed by a whistling hoot – emanated from the landing. With a lurch of panic followed swiftly by rage, I recognized it as one of Fru Schleswig’s mighty snores.
    Satan’s underwear! More inauspicious it could not have been, that Fru Schleswig should choose this most crucial of moments to fall asleep at her duties, & flagrantly countermand my most precise instructions. As if to mock me, the snoring seemed then to deepen in pitch & heighten in volume, thunderously. O Lord! I had to silence it, for I knew it would be only a matter of time before the noise awoke the nervous & light-sleeping Fru Krak. So, quickly – and whimpering with frustration, I do assure you – I hastened out, casting only the quickest of parting glances back at the mysterious machine that I had now finally seen for myself
    I was mounting the spiral stairs & approaching the small landing where Fru Schleswig slept so raucously when I became conscious of a shaky light emerging direct from above, whereupon a huge quivering shadow then appeared which I knew at once to be none other than that of Fru Krak, clad in a preposterous pink balloon-shaped garment adorned with sea-horses, her head knobbled with hair-devices, hovering at the top of the stairs. There was no time to react, for only a fraction of a second later the shadow was followed by the nightgowned figure that cast it, its shaking hand brandishing what appeared to be a very ancient & rusted revolver.
    â€˜Halt right there & do not move a muscle!’ my employer threatened with a shaking voice. ‘Or I shall shoot your brains out!’
At this, the prone Fru Schleswig changed the rhythm of her snoring & twitched mightily before rolling to one side & snorting
suddenly into a confused but vengeful state of wakefulness.
    â€˜O no you duz notte!’ the old creature boomed, heaving walrus-like to her feet. ‘Yoo duz notte fryten me for wun minnit with
yer silly gunne!’
    How to keep her at bay? Then came a veritable brainwave.
    â€˜Fru Krak, remember you are not just a daughter of the esteemed Bischen-Baschen family, but a fine Aquarian Lady, too!’ I
called up the stairs. ‘Your horoscope is forever reminding you not to descend below ground level, if you value your moral
standing!’ And then, to Fru Schleswig, I hissed: ‘Quick! Follow me!’ For I knew that if we did not instantly rush to barricade
ourselves within the chamber, all was lost, for there would be no getting past Fru Krak & her pistol. Once in the Oblivion
Room, I imagined we would find another exit, perhaps taking us to a secret passage which led to a room elsewhere in the mansion
or even, if we were lucky, outdoors, enabling us to flee – but with Fru Krak now opening up her firearm & cramming its barrel
with three brass bullets the size of marbles, there was no time to lose – a realization which finally penetrated the consciousness
of Fru Schleswig, who burst into action, thundering down the stairs & storming hard on my heels into the Oblivion Room. Swiftly,
I leaped into the machine, hoping to slide shut the door to the contraption & lock myself inside – but Fru Schleswig was having
none of it, & fair wrestled me to the ground.
    â€˜O no you duz notte, yung lassy!’ she bawled, gripping the door & preventing me from closing it. ‘Do notte dreem of lokkin
out yor old ma! Yu think I am goin to let yu giv me the slyppe a second tyme you ar kwite rong!’
    And with that she came blundering & squeezing her way in, shoving her massive body through the wood & glass portal – bruising my ribs something terrible in the process – & crashing down on to the chaise-longue next to me, which groaned with her weight & threatened, for one terrifying split second, to topple. Frantic to right it, I put all my weight the other end, while she