The children's carnival in Starogorsk was held every year. It began in early August and lasted for a whole week. Children tried not to leave the city at this time. Those who were in summer camps or summer cottages hurried home.

However, as late as July, the multi-colored posters appeared on the billboards, on the stands, or even just on the fences:

“Girls and boys!

Your holiday is coming soon!

Anyone who wants to help prepare the Carnival and the Festive Parade, as well as concerts, competitions, rides and fun dancing around the evening bonfires

COME TO THE CITY PARK SUMMER PAVILION!

Everyone can find something interesting! We look forward to seeing you!”

“Oh dear, how childish!” Yurka muttered.

“Not at all,” I said. “High school students participate too. Was it bad last year? Above all, we’ll find out where the illuminations and fireworks will take place.”

Yurka muttered something again, but no longer arguing with me.

We came to a long pavilion where there were many people. They were dragging rolls of paper, bundles of flags and lanterns. It was really loud and chaotic. Dissonant fanfare sounds were heard in the distance.

I was immediately recognized by Marfa Grigoryevna, a feisty woman, who had worked in the park for many years.

“Ah, Helya Travushkin! It's good of you to join us. Thank you for coming!

Well, you're pretty good at painting, aren’t you? You drew such colorful artwork on our kites so wonderfully last year! And now we need to paint the shields of the magic guard. We need to draw emblems.”

Then she said to Yanka, “And you, boy, what can you do?”

Yanka was confused. He shrugged. I said, “He plays the violin.”

“Really?” Marfa Grigoryevna was very excited. “What luck! Vitaly Gavrilovich, come here! A violinist is found!”

A chubby man with funny eyes and eyebrows ran up to us.

“What? A violinist? Who! You?” He stared at me. “Ah, no, of course ... There you are! Very nice! What is your name? Yanka! Great, wonderful! Follow me, my dear.”

Vitaly Gavrilovich suddenly left Yanka and stepped towards Yurka, “And you, my friend, what do you play?”

Yurka looked at him with his mocking eyes and told him that he was playing a game of nerves. But Vitaly Gavrilovich didn’t get angry, “And how about drums? I don't think you can deny that you has just tapped Horner's Toccata for percussion instruments. The third part.”

Yurka raised his eyebrows and spoke with a calm grin, “I didn’t even know that it has three parts.”

Vitaly Gavrilovich had been staring right at Yurka for several seconds and then resolutely said, “Let's go!”

“Where?”

“To the rehearsal, my friend! I need drummers.”

I looked at Yurka with envy, because all the boys of Starogorsk dreamed of being drummers.

I was in a team of "artists".

We worked in a clearing behind the pavilion. The paint smelled disgusting, but I liked the work. Finally, when we had painted the twelve knightly shields, it was time for lunch. Everyone went on a break. I also wanted to eat, but I waited. Maybe Yurka and Yanka would remember me? Maybe they would drop in to find out how I was?

I sat on the grass by the boardwalk wall of the pavilion and began to clean the paint off from my hands.

“Helka,” Yurka said behind me.

I flinched and turned. I did not recognize Yurka. I mean, I did not recognize him at once.

In his new drummer uniform, he looked completely different from before - he was a completely different person. His face seemed unfamiliar and his ears stuck out in an unusual way. They had managed to cut his hair and now his tanned skin gave way to white above his ears and neck. It was noticeable that he felt shy in his costume with its shiny buttons and in his feathered beret. But at the same time, he was pleased that he had become a drummer.

“You look good,” I said casually.

Yurka angrily pulled his face and spat on the grass, “They dressed me like a clown.”

“Well, you got your drummer uniform, so be happy!” I said. “I would like to be a drummer too."

Yurka said shakily, "I asked them if you could also be a drummer. But now they have a full ensemble.”

“But what happened to your leg?” I asked Yurka.

It was as if someone had scraped a large grater along Yurka’s right leg down to the knee.

"Ah! I was running and I tripped and fell on that path where that stupid statue with an oar is standing.

"Before the parade it’ll heal," I said optimistically. I was trying to cheer him up.

"Before the parade, we need to do the most important thing," Yurka said. "We need to come up with a plan to somehow light the Sparky."

“Easily,” I said with sense of pride. “Leave it to me.”

The fact was that all of us, “artists”, were put on the magic guard team. Before the start of the parade and the carnival, we had to stand in silver helmets on the tower above the decorated arch. At the top of the tower the bowl for the festive fire was supposed to be set, like the cauldron of Olympic fire. Some of our guys had to go up with a torch and light the fire. I wanted to twist our sparkler with silver powder to the tip of my spear and bring it to the festive flame. I also wanted to persuade the other "guards" to light sparklers on their spears too - then no one would pay any attention to me. Everyone would think that it was planned.

I told Yurka my plan with a hint in my voice that while you were making your music there, I wasn’t wasting my time.

Yurka said with approval, “Your head really works! Just don't mess it up.”

I replied that if I was such a helpless muddler, letting Yurka do everything himself or letting Yanka do it. I nearly said to him "your Yanka."

But Yurka said peacefully, “I just wanted to warn you. But where is Yanka? He hasn't come to you?”

“He's not going anywhere,” I said. “Yurka, let's go to lunch.”

“Without Yanka? We agreed with him that we’d go together. I’ll go and see

where he is.”

“Well then, bye,” I said.

Suddenly I stopped caring about everything and about the Sparky, the holiday, and

about the fact that summer was the best time in my life.

However, by the end of the afternoon I was in a better mood. We gathered in the Henhouse. Gleb talked about his life in Kolych. Jeremy was singing something with his radio voice and drew the future Vaska on crumpled sheets of paper in the light of the lantern. Yanka looked over his shoulder and gave him some advice. Yurka was quiet and thoughtful.

Then the days passed quickly. I made guard armor and spears with silver plastic tips. Yanka was rehearsing with musicians on a far stage in a corner of the park. Yurka was practicing marching with drummers. He drummed really well. Many times I saw him walking on the right flank of the second line as they prepared for the parade. His drumsticks flew over the skin of his big red drum. Yurka has become used to his uniform. He was skilful, flexible and fast - a real drummer.

There were many drummers — twelve lines of eight each. There was not much room in the alleys for them, so the rumble of drums was heard in the streets. They marched around the city and then went back to the park. When they were walking the streets, people were being reminded that the holiday was coming very soon!

Eventually, the festive evening had arrived.

Effervescent waters of colorful fountains sparkled in the twilight of the park. We were the ”magic guards”, standing around a large torch in our foil helmets, with colorful shields and spears, near the plywood tower. The torch was a three-meter silver pole on which a patterned brass bowl was installed.

From that height, everything was perfectly visible to us: the entire main park area illuminated by searchlights; the ranks of the trumpeters in red capes; the spectators surrounding the square. The spectators’ ring was broken only in one place - where the exit from the main alley darkened among the trees. This was from where the drummers made their entry. Their straight rows were moving with superb precision. Feathers fluttered over their berets and their hands flew harmoniously over their drums. Their holiday march sounded like such fun!

The orchestra picked up their march, but not too loud, so as not to muffle the drums. After the rows of drummers was a column of children in carnival costumes and masks. Huge dolls (all kinds of magical beings, fantastic beasts and clowns), colorful flags and balls swayed above their column, but I didn’t look there. I looked only at the drummers and at a little boy - he followed them, at the head of the carnival procession. The boy was in a shiny red shirt, looking like a twinkle of light. He carried a torch with an orange flame in his raised hand. The flame was fluttering backwards like a flag in the wind.

I felt chilly, because right now, in a minute, it should become clear whether we would have a living spark or not. What if the spark would not light up? The march of drummers felt no longer fun, but tense.

If the spark did not appear, it would mean that there were no miracles in the world and Yanka’s Moon Song was a lie.

And one more thing… I believed that if we could create the Sparky, then we would have strong ties to each other – Yurka, Yanka and I.

I couldn’t wait.

The drummers approached the gate above which was our tower. Yurka was marching in the second line on the right and looking up directly at me.

The drummers disappeared through the gate and the boy with the torch remained in front of the tower. He ran up the ladder to our landing. It was as if a fiery butterfly had broken out of its cocoon then taken off.

He was such a good boy - a small one, about seven years old, but brave and cheerful. He had a smile all over his face and freckles on his nose.

”Hello!” he expressed while mischievously winking at us. He brought the torch to the firing wire. The fire jumped to the wire and slowly smoked its way along. The boy put the torch in a bucket of water and stood looking at the quick tongue of flame. Like moths, none of us could take our eyes off it. The fire reached the edge of the bowl, hid behind it. Then a fiery crown flashed over the bowl!

Somewhere else, something banged and clusters of rockets roared and soared above the black trees. Fanfares began to play. Distant drums echoed. The crowd screamed "Hurray!" The motley procession with flags, dolls and balls spread across the square had become a carnival dance circle.

The most important moment had finally come.

"It's time!" I said to the guys. We brought the tips of our spears to the edge of the burning bowl. Bengal fire stuck itself pointedly to every spear.

But why didn't they burn? Maybe they were damp? Suddenly the crackling lights flashed all at once. My Bengal fire burned brighter than the others! A dazzling ball appeared at the tip of my spear and clusters of white stars flew out of it like a constellation. But the white stars became less and less. Where was the Sparky? Why wasn’t it lighting up?

Green spots from the lights danced before my eyes.

No, if the magic Sparky were there, I would have seen it. So it was all for nothing….

image [https://avatars.dzeninfra.ru/get-zen_doc/271828/pub_65f842394f6c3b07fa5cce05_65f896ab477f931a6916bf4c/scale_1200]

“Look, there is still a little fire on your spear,” a clear voice came from beside me. It was the boy - the torchbearer. He stood next to me and looked up.

“Where?” I said and blinked.

“There,” said the Twinkle boy. "A firefly."

And I saw a barely noticeable bright spot at the tip of my spear. It was so tiny.

Was that for real?

It was ever so tiny.

I held my breath. Then I carefully tilted my spear and brought the blackened stick to my face. A tiny dot shone at its tip. But I moved my spear too sharply, so the stick jerked to the side, but the living Sparky was floating in the air.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I brought my finger to the Sparky.

It did not burn me, not did it prick. I moved my palm to it and gently closed my fingers. I hid the Sparky in my closed palm and felt a tickling warmth.

“Did you catch the firefly?” the boy asked in a whisper.

“Yeah,” I said in muted breath. My voice had dropped. Yet I was going crazy with joy.

The “magic guards” did not pay any attention to us. They were focusing on what was happening in the square. Explosions of fireworks were still flashing in the sky and colorful lights flickered in the boy's eyes.

“Thank you,” I said to him.

He was smiling and asked me, “For what?”

“So….” I said.

The boy suddenly said, “Hang on, I know you. You are Travushkin from our school. You came to our class and told us about drilling the Earth.”

True, I was with first-graders in the winter and I gave them a report about an ultra-- deep well project, where my dad worked. I had been terribly worried and almost did not look at the kids. I didn’t remember a single face.

But the face of the Twinkle boy was familiar to me. Very, very familiar.

And I remembered! The Twinkle boy was exactly like the boy from Jeremy’s picture. Maybe all this was no coincidence.

I said cheerfully, “I know you too.”

I put my silver helmet on his head. Then I left my shield and my spear on the floor and ran down to the square.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

The Sparky tickled me gently in my closed palm.

THE SPARKY

Yurka, Yanka and I agreed that we would meet after the festive procession in the clearing behind the summer pavilion. The clearing was imperceptible, hidden with lilac bushes and overgrown with tall grass.

There was no one there when I snuck into the clearing. It was dark. The space around me seemed warm and fluffy. A lonely distant lantern blinked through the leaves, but the stars spread widely in the night sky.

I sat on the grass and opened my fist. The Sparky shone brightly and joyfully, glistening in the dark. I moved my palm away carefully. The Sparky hung in the air; she did not fall, nor did she fly away from me.

“You are my darling,” I said to the Sparky in a whisper.

But suddenly rustling presented itself behind the bushes. I hid the Sparky in my fist again.

“Helka, are you here?” Yanka let out, showing up with his flashlight.

“Turn off your flashlight,” I said.

He turned it off.

“Look,” I said, while opening my fingers.

Yanka leaned toward me so close that I even felt his breath on my palm.

“What a miracle,” Yanka whispered. “It stings, does it?”

“Not even a little bit…. Hold it if you want,” I said.

I left the Sparky hanging in the air, and then brought Yanka's palm to it.

The Sparky sat on his palm obediently.

“It's warm,” Yanka said.

“Yeah. And now try to fling it to me. Let's check if she flies to me?”

“Well…. We can try.”

Yanka let the Sparky go from his palm, as if it was a tiny emerging butterfly. It drew a fiery line in the air and stopped in front of me. I put it on my little finger.

“It will not fly away from us,” I said confidently.

“Because it is ours,” Yanka answered. “It has our blood.”

Yurka appeared, clinging to the bushes with his drum and grumbling. We showed him the Sparky. He became silent and held it on his palm for a long time.

“It listens to us. It is alive,” Yanka said to him.

We stood in a circle in a dark meadow for a long time and threw the magic spark towards each other. It was flying between us like a tiny firefly.

Finally, Yurka said, “It’s a pity that we can’t test it right now. Anybody got something like a wheel.”

“We will test it tomorrow,” Yanka reassured him. “It's clear that the Sparky is so .... real.”

“But who will have it until tomorrow?” I asked jealously.

“You lit up, so you have it,” Yurka decided generously. “Yanka, do you mind?”

“No, I don’t mind. You’re welcome! But you can’t carry it in your fist all the time. Let's put her in here. I’ve brought something.”

He showed us a test tube, but much smaller than the one in which the magic powder was made. The test tube was as thick as a pencil and as long as a match. It was more like an ampoule.

“We’ll put it in here and close it with a plastic cork. ”

“But what if it suffocates under a cork?” I was worried.

“We will make a cork out of grass and it can breathe then,” Yanka said.

The Sparky hung in the air. We put the ampoule on it - as if we had covered a butterfly with a glass net. Yanka had made a stopper by rolling grass into a ball.

I, of course, decided not to postpone the test until the morning. Back home, I took out a model of the Barracuda race car from an old suitcase of toys. Previously, the toy car had an engine with trace elements, but I broke it a long time ago. But I had not thrown out the car; after all, Dad gave it to me.

The "Barracuda" lay on the floor with its wheels upside down, and I racked my brain: how to adjust the Sparky to the car’s axis? There was nothing to drill into the steel rod of the toy car with. I decided to hide the Sparky right inside the car’s wheel. I wanted to unscrew the protective cap on the plastic wheel and accidentally touched the ampoule with it. Rather, I had hardly touched the wheel, when the rear axle of the toy car roared into life. The wheels spun as if they were connected to a motor from a real racecar!

“Helya! What's that noise?” Aunt Vika shouted right outside my door. “It's time to sleep.”

“It’s okay, let him play,” my Mom said.

I was sitting on the floor, laughing. The car’s wheels were spinning more quietly - the ampoule with the Sparky was in my fist again.

For some reason, I imagined a happy Jeremy walking along the street, and in front of him there was a cheerful robot baby Vaska with his uplifted nose and a little boy in a scarlet shirt ....

A CLOWN

I woke up late. The sun shone through the birch trees. I grabbed the ampoule. I was actually worried there for a moment. What if the Sparky had died?

The Sparky was barely noticeable by daylight. You would think that it was just a tiny glaring streak in the glass. But as soon as I brought the ampoule to the Barracuda, the wheels spun furiously.

I said to the Sparky again, “You are my darling.”

An orchestra was playing in the park; the new festive day unfolded.

Yurka and Yanka came. Yanka was with his violin and in a yellow suit with Ascot tie. Yurka was in uniform with his drum.

“Well?” Yurka said impatiently. “I bet you have tried it out.”

I showed them gladly how the wheels of the Barracuda were spinning. Yurka perked up. Yanka broke into a smile.

Aunt Vika peered into my room, “Helya! Look, the boys are so beautiful. And you…”

“I'll give him the white shirt with stars,” my mom said.

I was happy. Not because there were shiny stars on the shoulders, like a skaderman* (* – a man, who is looking for new worlds with the starship team), but because the shirt had breast pockets with fasteners and I could put the ampoule with the Sparky there.

First things first, we ran to “the Henhouse”. We wanted to tell Jeremy and Gleb the good news! But nobody was in our carriage. A note hung on the rusty nail by the doorjamb, “I went to the store to get some paper. I’ll find you in the park when I have time. Jeremy didn't spend the night in the carriage, for some reason. Gleb."

Apparently, Gleb didn’t really believe that the magic Sparky would appear. He did not come to the park; he had the excuse that he needed to write many things before he forgot them. But where was Jeremy?

We had no time to guess; we were in a hurry to get to the park.

Various competitions and a concert were scheduled at the park in the morning. Yurka was supposed to be drumming at ceremonies in the stadium, and Yanka was to play the violin. We agreed that we would meet with Yurka at twelve on the lawn behind the pavilion. Than I went to listen to Yanka's violin.

The concert was held at a concert venue surrounded by high maple trees. There were many performances. They sang in chorus and solo, read poetry and did magic. A boy had a number with a trained fat gray cat who walked along a tightrope. Everyone had fun.

But the concert had been going on for a long time and people had been getting tired. The sun was high and burned their shoulders and heads. The audience began to be distracted and make a din. I was worried that they would not listen to Yanka’s playing.

It was noisy when he went up on stage. I was near to shouting, “Be quiet!” But Yanka did not wait for silence. He drew his violin to his chin. The violin sang tense and sharply, “Taaa, thata!”

Silence fell immediately.

Yanka played a popular song. The violin played as if it were talking. Some people even started to sing along. Yanka played several songs in a row. Everyone began to applaud when he finished his playing - at first not much, and then louder and louder. I applauded too, although, in truth, I liked it more when he played in our train carriage. But still, Yanka did well!

I went out onto the lawn next to the stage and waved at Yanka so that he would come towards me. But suddenly two clowns jumped on the stage. One of them was red and the other white. They were keeping Yanka on the stage.

The white clown waved his hands over his head and shouted in a high pitched voice, “Children! Attention! Children! Yanka played really well! He is awarded the honorary diploma and a present!”

Yanka was embarrassed. He was given a shiny sheet of paper and a flat red box, probably with sweets. He quickly lowered his head and moved his lips, apparently, giving thanks. Yanka left the stage. I waved at him again and said, “Come here!”

He noticed me and nodded.

But the clown shouted again, “Children! While our dancers are preparing, we will have time to reward some other kids! Helya Travushkin, come on up here!”

Who, me? What for?

“Helya! Children, is Helya with you?”

There were many of my acquaintances around. The children shouted to the clown, “Here he is”, and to me, “Helka, come on! Penny, run to the stage! ”

I shrugged and went.

The red clown clapped his wide hands, and the white one took my hand and joyfully announced, ”Helya Travushkin did a great job during the preparation for the holiday celebrations. Let's thank him for that!”

Why did he say that? Was I better than the others? Everyone worked, everyone got smeared with paint and glue. I wanted to say this, but the guys clapped again, and the clown shouted, “Helya Travushkin also gets a diploma and a present! Here is the diploma, but the present is very large. Helya, go over to that door and get your present there!”

I muttered, "Thanks", and went to the door at the back of the stage. I was terribly embarrassed, but also curious: what kind of present would it be? And the thought even flashed through me, “Maybe I really worked a little better than the others?”

There was a small room outside the door. But they didn’t give me my present there. There were girls who were changing their clothes for the dance. They screeched and kicked me out, but not back to the stage, but out through another door - into the bushes behind the stage. I picked myself up from the bushes and shook my head in shock. What was this? A carnival joke? ....

I got very angry. I crumpled my diploma and threw it into the bushes. And then another clown appeared from there. He moved quietly, even the twigs were not creaking. He was wearing a yellow-red hoodie and a mask. The mask was such a funny face, his lips extending into a broad smile and looking like a fat red crescent.

“Are you Helya Travushkin?” the clown asked with a buttery voice through his mask.

“What do you want?” I bristled. I was fed up with jokes.

“I need you, my dear!” the clown muttered in a delightful manner. “Come with me.”

“Where to?”

“To get your present, of course!” He took my elbow with his red plush glove.

I sighed and followed him.

The clown led me along a narrow, overgrown alley. Walking along together was a tight squeeze. The branches scratched me, but I was too embarrassed to say, "Let me go". We came to an old brick cabin. The clown pushed its wooden door inwards and said with his sweet voice, “Come in. This is our pantry for presents.”

There were no windows in the cabin; a white lamp illuminating from the ceiling. A long table lined with metal glittered under the lamp, and a silver-blue model of the Martian buggy “Centaur Super” stood on its far edge. It was not a toy, but a model, a copy - large, half a meter high. I saw the same one in the Museum of Stars when I took a trip to the south Cities Zone.

The clown pushed me to the table and said to me in a rustling voice, “This is yours ... It is controlled by your mind, by means of these devices.”

He deftly put wide leather bracelets on my wrists with black metal disks a little larger than a wristwatch. The bracelets were heavy....

“Come on, Helya Travushkin.”

The clown set me on a stool opposite the buggy model at the very edge of the table - so that my chest rested against it. He extended my arms forward and laid them on the table. The disks on the bracelets clanged against the metal.

The table was cold - its metal edge chilling my chest through my shirt. I started and looked back at the door. But it was closed.

“Listen to me, Travushkin…” the clown now standing next to the Centaur buggy. His mask smiled with all its might, as it might. It was unpleasant to see his wide, motionless mouth during our conversation.

“Concentrate, Travushkin.”

“I'm cold.…” I said.

“It's nothing. Just concentrate. Mentally command the buggy and it will move!”

I sighed and mentally ordered the Centaur, “Come to me!” I even imagined how it would move. But the Centaur did not move.

“It doesn't work,” I said.

“Oh, wait a minute!” The clown ran around the table bouncing. Then he jumped onto the table near the buggy. He opened the model cover.

“Yes!” he said. “Yes, it has no engine! Well… But it's not a problem for you, right, Travushkin?” His blue eyes sparkled strangely in the slits of his mask. The clown walked slowly towards me. He stood at my side and repeated in his fruity voice, “It's not a problem for you, right, Helya…. After all, you have the living Sparky.”

I started and jerked back, but the bracelets held my hands firmly on the table. Were they magnetized, or what?

“Let me go!” I said.

The clown whispered over me, “But you have the Sparky, right?”

“What do you care?!”

“You don't need the Sparky at all,” the clown said. “Neither do you, nor your friends. Give it to us.”

“To who?”

“Well… Give it to me.”

"What for?!" I shouted, trying to free my hands.

“Give it ... And we will give you a buggy. Not that one, but a real one. You can ride it to your school…”

"No!" I shouted, pulling away with all my might. But the bracelets held me in its death grip.

“Give it…We won’t do anything wrong with it. We just need it as a sample, a model.”

I tensed all my muscles and put my heels down. I jerked my hands so that they almost dislocated from my shoulders, but the bracelets weren’t even slightly moved. I was frightened.

"Let me go now!" I said fiercely and gritted my teeth so as not to burst into tears.

The clown shrugged and said with iron in his voice, “You can go, Helya Travushkin. But first give us the Sparky.”

Who was he? Was he insane? The ampoule was in my breast pocket. That psycho could just take the Sparky away from me.

The clown seemed to hear my thoughts. He said in a whisper, “You must give it to us yourself, there is no other way.”

“No,” I gasped trembling with fear and cold. The table was ice cold. I decided to be cunning, "Why can't you create your own Sparky? There is a recipe."

“We cannot, Travushkin,” he muttered, as if spilling sand. “There's something that resists us. We have the wrong chemistry. It was made with your blood…. Helya Travushkin, give us the Sparky.”

“But I haven't got any….”

“That is a lie! Give it away. It's very simple. Just say "I’m giving it" and it’ll fly to us. Just one word. Come on!” The clown held out his velvet gloved hand to me.

He leaned very close to me. There were dents, scratches and varnish stains on his mask. I saw his pale blue eyes, with pink streaks on the whites, moving behind his mask. The mask’s laughter was ruthless and dead.

“Go away!” I yelled. “Who are you?! Take off your mask!

“This is not a mask,” the clown said dryly.

And then I saw…. The corner of his red mouth moved and cracks ran through the varnish. His painted eyebrows also moved.

The clown held out his hand and dropped a bumblebee from his glove onto the table. I started feeling dizzy. I stopped feeling cold. It was a monster the size of a walnut. The bumblebee rose on its shaggy legs and crawled to my left hand. His legs creaked loudly on the metal sheet. I was close to screaming, “Don't! Take it! I’m giving it! ”

I gritted my teeth with all my strength. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. The bumblebee crawled onto my bracelet. Through the thick bracelet leather, I felt how heavy he was. The insect was crawling onto my hand with his terrible hairy legs. Such a horror couldn’t have happened in reality. I probably fell asleep!

And then the drums banged. The drum roll came from afar, from behind the brick walls, but the bumblebee shrank and rolled off the bracelet like a heavy nut.

The clown moved off the table and sat on the stool by the wall. He bent over and grabbed his knees. The clown’s mask was frozen in a grin of pain. I rushed out ....

The bracelets did not hold me. I ran to the door and kicked it. The door flew off its hinges and I ran out.

"Yurka!" I rushed through the bushes.

"Helya! What's wrong with you?"

I saw Marfa Grigoryevna. She was holding a huge inflatable elephant, ”Helya, we have been looking for you! Here is your present."

But I rushed to where the blue capes flickered behind the branches and the red drums rattled.

image [https://s.newslab.ru/photoalbum/6849/m/76543.jpg]

JEREMY’S LETTER

I caught up with some drummers. They were walking along by the alley from the stadium to the square. I ran along by the side of the road and suddenly saw Yurka.

I called his name, “Yurka!”

The drummers were beating the march so Yurka did not hear me because of the rumbling of the drums. I went next to him while panting. I pulled his short cape. Yurka lost his rhythm and looked at me angrily, “Are you crazy? Keep out of my way!”

I struck my throat with an edge of my palm, "I desperately need you!"

“Go to the clearing. I'll be right back. Go!” Yurka said.

I trembled again as if I was cold. I looked around. I touched my pocket: the ampoule with the Sparky was in place. I sighed, rubbed my wrists and went to our clearing. There I sat down on the grass and began to think how I would explain everything to Yurka.

Yurka came very quickly. He was angry. His leg was scratched and bleeding again.

“I tripped in the same place,” he said angrily. “Where that stupid statue with the oar stands Is this place enchanted, or what? Do you have a handkerchief?”

Fortunately, I had a handkerchief. My mother put it in my pocket in the morning. I silently held out my handkerchief to Yurka.

“Well,” Yurka said finally. I twisted awkwardly on the grass and muttered, “There some psycho. A clown.... He pestered me and said, "Give us the Sparky". He wanted to take it from me.”

“But you didn’t give it, did you?” Yurka jerked up his head.

“No, of course I didn’t! Only he did….”

Yurka interrupted me, annoyed, “Big deal, Clown! Why are you so afraid of him?”

He had decided that I was scared of the boy from River Fleet street! There was one harmful seventh grader named Clown.

“No, he’s not the guy from River Fleet! Someone in a clown suit,” I said.

Yurka wrinkled his forehead, “And how did this Clown learn about the Sparky? You probably chatted like a magpie.”

“You probably chatted yourself!” I lashed out. “Together with your Yanka!”

“You know what? Give me the Sparky,” Yurka suggested. “Ah, hell! This stupid drummer uniform doesn’t have any normal pockets.”

He lied: he liked his uniform. But he was not the same person as before. Not that angry, mocking kid, but still my best friend Yurka. He became different in his uniform ....

“I will not give you the Sparky. I‘ve lit it,” I said quietly.

But Yurka was not angry. He peacefully advised me, “Then hide it at home. At three o'clock bring the Sparky to our carriage. We’ll figure it out there.”

“Okay,” I muttered.

“Oh, Helka, Helka, ” he suddenly sighed.

I raised my eyes. Then I got up and said, “Next you'll be saying ‘Penny’”

Yurka smiled, “I won’t. Well, see you at the Henhouse.”

He laid my crumpled handkerchief on the head of the stone gnome and left the clearing. I thought for a while and slowly followed him. I just did not know what to do. Having gone about ten steps, I saw a drumstick on the path. I picked it up and shook it in my hand. The drumstick was very light.

Maybe Yurka had lost it?

I jumped into the alley and ran along the flowerbeds. Something caught my leg and I fell onto the gravel.

I jumped up ....

What could I have snagged down there?

There was nothing in the alley. It seemed to me that someone giggled. I looked around angrily, but there was not a soul around. Only the gypsum rower-gymnast stood on his pedestal painted white. He curved casually, leaning on his thin oar. He looked over the trees and - it seemed to me - cheekily smiled with his white lips.

“You bastard!" I was furious with frustration and pain. I threw the drumstick over my head into the gypsum statue. The drumstick flew strangely, winding like a boomerang, but it hit the target! The tip of the stick pecked the rower on his shoulder and he cracked!

Black cracks ran up the rower. The oar fell off together with his hand and pieces of plaster fell. A part of his neck fell out, and the iron rod appeared.

I blinked fearfully for a few seconds and then ran through the flowerbeds - away from the crime scene! The last thing I needed was that they caught me breaking sculptures like Jeremy ....

Who knew that this gypsum fool was so fragile?

image [https://www.rusf.ru/vk/pict/sterligo/golubjatnja_na_jeltoi_poljane_14b.gif]

I stopped at a fountain with some cast-iron flowers and stone frogs. I sat on the edge of the pool, pulled out my brown-stained handkerchief and cleaned the abrasions on my left elbow. I thought I was lucky, as I was not harmed as seriously as Yurka.

But what happened to the ampoule in my pocket? Was it okay?

The ampoule was intact and the Sparky was inside. Although it was barely visible below the sunlight. I quickly fastened my breast pocket.

Suddenly I heard a clear voice. “Travushkin!”

I looked around to see who was shouting. Next to me now stood the Twinkle-boy. He was no longer in the scarlet shirt, but a blue sailor suit. Still, I recognized him immediately. He smiled at me. I smiled back, despite the pain from scratches and bruises that were very painful. After all these troubles, I was very happy to see this cheerful and positive boy.

”Here’s a letter from Jeremy for you!” Twinkle said, holding out a sheet of paper folded into a quarter. "He met me and said, ”Do you know Travushkin? Find him, this is an urgent matter, but I waddle too slowly."

I understood Jeremy’s trick at once: he was probably eager to find out if the magic Sparky had appeared, but he didn’t dare go to the park, where he had once made a mess.

“Do you know Jeremy?” I asked.

Twinkle smiled wider, “Yeah, he’s made toys for me many times ... Ok, I have to go!”

“Okay. Thanks!”

What did Jeremy write? I unfolded the paper and saw the uneven handwriting of the robot: “Beware ofthem, theyare not human. Comeinto the carriage. I'll tell you, I’ve foundout everything. Jeremy".

I reread his note. I understood almost nothing, but again I felt a cold fever and uncomfortable. Jeremy never joked and never ever worried in vain. Something had happened.

It was not far from the park to the station. First - to the hill where the relay station was, and from there - down.

And then I ran!

BUT I WAS TOO LATE….

To be continued...