“Which was…?”
“Could I keep a secret. He didn’t want to tell me anything about the job’s particulars until I swore I wouldn’t tell anybody what I was doing or where I was going. Most especially where I was going. He didn’t even want me telling the man at the train station—not even to buy a ticket. In fact, he said he’d already got me one under an assumed name, so wasn’t that convenient. And I had to admit it was. The ticket was to Eyford. Though, I did notice it was for rather late that night. I wouldn’t even arrive at the station until 11:15. Colonel Stark said he’d come from his home in his carriage to pick me up. I suggested that if he was going home in the interim, why shouldn’t we both go together, right now.”
“And what did he say to that very reasonable suggestion?” I asked.
“He seemed rather upset by it. He said no, he’d got it all figured out. Whoever came to help him must be an orphan and a bachelor with no friends and no business partners who came in the dead of night without telling anybody where they’d gone and without truly knowing themselves.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “And this did not seem at all peculiar to you?”
“Well… peculiar, yes. But not really a problem, because how many friendless, wifeless, partnerless, parentless hydraulic engineers could there be in London? I was beginning to realize I could probably name my price and that was quite nice, because I hadn’t made very much money in the past few years.”
“Right. So did he finally tell you what he wanted?”
“First he snuck up on my door, then suddenly flung himself out into the hall to make sure we weren’t being spied upon. There was nobody. So he asked me to swear I would say nothing of the job to anybody. I told him I already had. He said to do it again and make him believe it. So I said, ‘Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.’ He said that would be sufficient, though if I did indeed stick a needle in my eye it would have to be removed before I performed my services, for he did not wish any crushed-up needles to jam his machine.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head.
Mr. Hatherley continued, “Finally he told me what he wanted. In his home, he kept a large hydraulic press to make The Juice. The thing had got out of order and he was very worried. If he didn’t get it fixed right away, he might have to eat some food, he said, which was against his religion.”
“And which religion is this?” I asked.
“Do you know something odd? It was also called The Juice.”
“Right. Of course. Please continue.”
“He said he thought I could probably fix it in an hour. I was on the point of telling him I’d do it for twenty pounds, when he suddenly offered me fifty guineas if I’d do it all just as he requested. Well, since fifty is more than twenty, I said I would and bid him good day. Then there was nothing left to do but sit around and reflect on my change in fortune until it was time to get on the train.”
“Which you did?”
“Yes. By the time I got to Eyford, the station was nearly deserted. But there was Colonel Lysander, waiting with his horse and carriage. Oh, and it was beautiful. Why, I thought only people like the Queen rode around like that. All painted a deep red with brass lamps and fittings. The driver in fancy dress. And the horse—this perfect chestnut stallion without a hair out of place. Stark said I’d have plenty of time to enjoy the carriage, for it was a seven-mile drive to his house. But to me, it felt more like ten or twelve.”
My eyebrows went up again. “Then why did the horse seem so fresh after coming out to get you, do you think? Did you happen to observe where he drove you?”
“No. Colonel Lysander pulled all the shades down tight, so I could see nothing.”
“Do you remember any particular turnings?”
“Oh, there were plenty of them. Hundreds, I should think. Sharp ones. Every time we turned, I bumped my right shoulder against the side of the carriage, and I think I got quite the bruise. We drove and drove and drove, until we finally arrived at his home.”
“Ah! Can you tell me what it looked like?”
“I’m afraid not. Not the outside, anyway. We pulled nearly up to the door, you see, and the colonel wasted no time dragging me inside. It was richly furnished, all in dark colors. There was a strange, metallic odor. I’d never stopped to think of what a house might smell like if you lived there but never cooked, you know? He led me right into the sitting room and introduced me to his two companions—each as shrunken and skinny as he was. There was a man named Ferguson, whom Stark said was his clerk and manager. And then there was Stark’s daughter, Magerzart.”
Hatherley gave a little sigh as he said the name. I’ll admit it surprised me. I was willing, in the interest of gathering every useful clue I could, to let the story unwind how it may. I’d been patiently waiting for the moment it
