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awl back out on to the face again。
Sometimes the wasps will fly； or crawl upside down on the bottom of the circle of glass； sometimes they stay a long time by the closed…off hole in the centre through which they enter； but sooner or later they all choose a hole and a door which work； and their fate is sealed。
Most of the deaths the Factory has to offer are automatic； but some do require my intervention for the coup de grace； and that； of course； has some bearing on what the Factory might be trying to tell me。 I must pull the trigger on the old air…gun； if the wasp crawls down it； I must turn on the current if it falls into the Boiling Pool。 If it ends up crawling into the Spider's Parlour or the Venus Cave or the Antery； then I can just sit and watch nature take its course。 If its path takes it to the Acid Pit or the Ice Chamber or the rather jocularly named Gents （where the instrument of ending is my own urine； usually quite fresh）； then again I can merely observe。 If it falls into the many charged spikes of the Volt Room； I can watch the insect get zapped； if it trips the Deadweight； I can watch it get crushed and ooze； and； if it stumbles through to the Blade Corridor； I can see it chopped and writhe。 When I have some of the alternative deaths attached I can watch it tip molten wax over itself； see it eat poisoned jam or be skewered to a pin propelled by a rubber band； it can even set off a chain of events which ought to end with it trapped in a sealed chamber blasted by carbon dioxide from a soda…syphon bulb； but if it should choose either the hot water or the rifled length of the Twist of Fate； then I have to take a direct part in its death。 And； if it goes for the Fiery Lake； it is me who has to press the rod which flicks the lighter which ignites the petrol。
Death by fire has always been at Twelve； and it is one of the Ends never replaced by one of the Alternatives。 I have signified Fire as Paul's death； that happened near to midday； just as Blyth's exit by venom is represented by the Spider's Parlour at Four。 Esmerelda probably died by drowning （the Gents）； and I put her time of death arbitrarily at Eight； to keep things symmetrical。
I watched the wasp e up out of the jar； under a photograph of Eric I had placed face down on the glass。 The insect wasted no time； it was up on the face of the Factory in seconds。 It crawled over the maker's name and the vear the clock was born； ignored the wasp candles totally； and went more or less straight for the big XII； over that and through the door opposite； which snicked quietly closed behind it。 It went at a fast crawl down the corridor； through the lobster…pot funnel made from thread which would stop it from turning back； then entered the highly polished steel funnel and slipped down into the glass…covered chamber where it would die。
I sat back then； sighing。 I pushed a hand through my hair and leaned forward again； watching the wasp where it had fallen as it clambered about the blackened and rainbowcoloured bowl of steel mesh which had been sold as a tea…strainer but now hung over a bowl of petrol。 I smiled ruefully。 The chamber was well ventilated with many small holes in the metal top and bottom of the glass tube； so that the wasp would not choke on the petrol fumes； a slight odour of petrol could usually be sensed when the Factory was primed； if you put your mind to it。 I could smell that petrol as I watched the wasp； and perhaps there was just a trace of drying paint in the atmosphere； too； though I couldn't be sure。 I shrugged to myself and pushed down on the chamber button； so that a length of dowling slid down its guide of aluminium tent…pole and came into contact with the wheel and gas…release mechanism on top of the disposable lighter poised over the pool of petrol。
It didn't even need a few tries to catch； it went first time； and the thin flames； still quite bright in the early gloom of the morning…lit loft； curled and licked about the open mesh of the strainer。 The flames did not go through； but the heat did； and the wasp flew up； buzzing angrily above the silent flames； bumping against the glass； falling back； hitting the side of the strainer； going over the edge； starting to fall into the flames； then flying back up again； knocking off the steel tube of the funnel a few times； then falling back into the steel…mesh trap。 It leaped up a final time； flew hopelessly for a few seconds； but its wings must have been singed； because it was crazily erratic in its flight and soon fell into the gauze bowl and died there； struggling； then curling； then staying still； smoking slightly。
I sat and watched the blackened insect bake and crisp； sat and watched the calm flames rise to the mesh and fan round it like a hand； sat and watched the reflection of the little quivering flames on the far side of the glass tube； then at last reached over； unclipped the base of the cylinder； slid the petrol…dish toward me under a metal cover and snuffed the fire。 I undid the top of the chamber and reached in with a pair of tweezers to remove the body。 I placed it in a matchbox and put that on the altar。
The Factory does not always give up its dead； the acid and the ants leave nothing； and the Venus fly…trap and the spider give back only a husk； if anything。 Again； though； I had a burned body； again I would have to do some disposing。 I put my head in my hands； rocking forward on the small stool。 The Factory surrounded me； the altar was at my back。 I gazed round the Factory's paraphernalia of places； its many ways to death； its crawlways and corridors and chambers； its lights at the ends of tunnels； its tanks and containers and hoppers； its triggers； its batteries and threads； supports and stands； tubes and wires。 I clicked a few switches； and tiny propellers whirred down branch…corridors； sending air sucked down vents over thimblefuls of jam and down towards the face。 I listened to them for a while； until I could smell jam myself； but that was to tempt slow wasps to their ends； and not for me。 I turned the motors off。
I started switching everything off； disconnecting； emptying and feeding。 The morning was growing stronger in the space beyond the skylights； and I could hear a couple of early birds calling in the new fresh air。 When the ritual standing…down of the Factory was pleted I went back to the altar； looking round it at all its parts； the assortment of miniature plinths and small jars； the souvenirs of my life； the previous things I've found and kept。 Photographs of all my dead relations； the ones I've killed and the ones that just died。 Photographs of the living： Eric； my father； my mother。 Photographs of things； a BSA 500 （not the bike； unfortunately； I think my father destroyed all the photographs of it）； the house when it was still bright with swirling paint； even a photograph of the altar itself。
I passed the matchbox containing the dead wasp over the altar； waved it around in front of it； before the jar of sand from the beach outside； the bottles of my precious fluids； a few shavings from my father's stick； another matchbox with a couple of Eric's first teeth set in cotton wool； a