Dusty's 8th adventure - Part 2

Read the start of this story Here <-- click

No title yet, sorry. Working on this in between Zack's story, Bouncer and a few other projects... as well as the mentorship programme.

As ever, FIRST DRAFT spelling, grammar, punctuation etc will not be changed or altered until I go over it as a whole after the story is finished.

HOWEVER, if there are any plot-holes, things that don't work or even suggestions on something I may use, please feel free to pipe up and let me know.

I don't really want 'good post' comments, but rather genuine replies and advice etc. I always appreciate those.

The second part of Dusty's 8th Adventure.

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Mr Robinson’s forehead crinkled at Ben’s offer. He looked down at the cup of tea on the table and then he looked at Colleen and back to Ben.

“No. This time it’s not for a day or so. I have to go away for about a month. I haven’t been well, you see, and I need…” he paused. “I need treatment this time.”

Both Ben and Colleen nodded as though they understood.

“I wondered,” Mr Robinson said. “I wondered if Dusty would come and stay at my house for a month?” He looked at Dusty.

He didn’t quite smile but Dusty didn’t think he seemed quite so curmudgeonly as before.

“Pets?” Dusty said. “What sort of pets?”

“I think you’ll get on well with these pets,” Ben said. “They’re a little unusual.”

Dusty smiled at her grandad’s hint. Then she looked at Mr Robinson. “Good, I like unusual pets. When do you leave?” she said.

“As soon as I have the arrangements sorted. I can go anytime,” he said. “The sooner the better.”

Dusty agreed to pay Mr Robinson a call in an hour or so. She had chance to run the errand she had been on her way to when Mr Robinson called round, and it would give him chance to get home, packed and sorted for his trip.

Dusty knew where he lived and after running the errand and having a coffee and a chat at a friend, Ange’s house, she called in on her way back home.

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Dusty knocked on the back door of Mr Robinson’s house.

He called, “It’s open!” and Dusty went right in.

She walked slowly through the hall because everything about it fascinated her. Almost every wall had a couple of ornaments, trinkets, nick-nacks – dust catchers as her grandmother called them. They were all delightful to look at, but she was fascinated by the vast collection of walking sticks.

He had hundreds of them. They stood on shelves that lined the walls. Some stood upright and others lay across the shelf under it. Each had a little brass hook screwed to the wall to keep it in place.

One, right at the end of the hall, stood in a glass cabinet. Dusty wanted to go and study that one, but Mr Robinson called to her again.

“Dusty? Are you coming in?” he said.

“Oops, sorry, be right there,” she said and hurried through the hall to where his voice had called from.

“Now, Dusty,” he said when she got to the small but neat kitchen. “I know you’re not the type to gossip, but I need to ask you to keep it quiet about my pets.”

“It goes without saying,” Dusty said with a reassuring smile.

“No visitors, please,” he said.

“Of course,” Dusty said.”

He nodded and smiled in return. “You’ll need this stick,” he said, handing her an ornate walking stick. “Please keep it with you at all times.”

Dusty frowned. “A stick?” she said, taking it from him. She studied it, turning it over in her hands. It felt quite heavy, probably made of hardwood. The designs were not as complex as the stick that Mr Robinson used, but they were intricate enough and burned into the wood, then polished to a deep sheen.

She felt like hefting it to feel how it could be used as a weapon but held herself in check.

Mr Robinson nodded and he smiled when she finally looked up at him. “Trust me,” he said, smiling.

He took hold of his usual stick and opened a door at the opposite end of the kitchen.

“Come on,” he said, walking forward. “Come and meet my pets.”