Jareth woke the moment he heard Pol open the door to his room. He stayed motionless, waiting to see what he would do. His mechanical eye swivelled, following Pol as he searched the room. Its night vision function came in particularly useful at times like these.

He always pretended he had no control over the eye, that its function was purely cosmetic, but in reality, it was a marvellous piece of engineering, interacting with his brain so that he could use it to see... in a fashion.

He watched Pol conduct his fruitless search. Saw when he noticed the piece of parchment deliberately placed beneath his pillow, just in case of such an eventuality as this.

Jareth kept his breathing steady, certain as he could be that Pol's motives were investigatory rather than murderous. He waited patiently for the hand to come closer, then grabbed and pulled. Hard.

He supposed he should feel guilty about enjoying holding Pol so close to his body, but he didn't. He'd deserved it, he thought. He'd underestimated him and now he had to pay the price. Time to conduct some investigation of his own.

"Hello Flynt! When I asked if we could talk later, I didn't expect you to come to my bed."

He'd added that last bit deliberately, wanting to rattle Pol's composure. He wondered if Pol would have the cheek to lie and tell him he was here for an amorous encounter instead of spying. He half-hoped he would, and then maybe, perhaps, he would take advantage. It had been a long time since he held a man. And Pol was cute. He was relishing their contest.

He shifted slightly to get more comfortable and enjoyed the alarm flaring in Pol's eyes. He squeezed his arms tighter around his body, just to tease a bit more. But Pol surprised him.

"Stop that!" Pol ordered, in suddenly dry tones. "You know perfectly well that's not why I am here."

"Do I?" Jareth felt reluctant to let him go, though he knew it was inevitable. He'd made his point, he thought.

"'Tis common knowledge that you and your colleagues are here to see Maybury. I didn't intend any harm tonight, I just wanted to discover what I could about my competitors."

"And what did you discover?"

"That I suspect we are all after the same thing. Maybury's formula, to determine whether or not it's genuine."

"I see." Jareth had thought the same thing, he was only surprised by the fact that Pol admitted it out loud. "Where do you fit in, Pol Flynt? You're not from Eskia. Where do you come from? Kesmor? Mancuria?"

Pol was silent.

"I think, judging by your accent... Mancuria?"

Silence.

"Nothing more to say? Well then, I suppose it's time for you to return to your own bed," said Jareth and dropped his arms, allowing Pol to spring to his feet. Pol stayed standing beside the bed, as if uncertain what to do next.

"You know where I am if you change your mind," added Jareth, turning his head on the pillow and closing his live eye.

Pol paused on his way out, with his hand on the doorknob. "And Coppersmith? If I'd intended harm, you wouldn't have seen me."

Jareth listened until he heard the faint click of the door closing, then got up and jammed the chair up under the door knob. He didn't think Pol would return that night but if he did, he wanted a warning.

He thought it was likely Pol had visited Gifford and Fisher first, before coming to his room. If so, it was too late to do anything about it. Besides, he'd already checked for himself that neither carried evidence of anything that couldn't be discovered equally well by a simple enquiry, so he was not worried.

Pol may have had the last word tonight, thought Jareth with a grim smile, but whether he's as good as he thinks he is, remains to be seen. I accept the challenge.

He closed both eyes. Tomorrow, he would meet Professor Maybury, the man at the heart of his mission and his investigations would start in earnest.

~~

Jareth and his two companions arrived at the Hall gatehouse just before 10 o'clock the following morning. An old man, with white hair combed across his crown and wearing dark green livery, stepped out and opened the gate for them.

"Welcome to the Hall, gentlemen and madam. Please follow me," he instructed, locking the gate behind him. Silently, he led the way up the long gravel drive to the house. Shrubs and flowers sprouted either side, overgrown and rambling.

Even in daylight, the Hall appeared gloomy and forbidding. The stone it was built from was so dark it was almost black, and tall trees crowded around the building, cutting out much of the light.

Six steps led up to the front door, a solid wooden affair with a thick rope hanging down at one side. The gatekeeper took hold of the rope and gave it a firm tug. A bell clanged from deep inside and a minute later, a footman, wearing the same livery as the gatekeeper, opened the door.

"The Professor is ready to receive you. Please come this way."

Another dour retainer, thought Jareth. Not a smile or friendly question from either of them. He wondered if they were like that naturally or whether the atmosphere of this place had got to them.

The gatekeeper turned and left them without another word, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

The hallway was dimly lit, showing a faded red carpet on the floor and a series of wooden doors on either side, all closed. They followed the footman to the base of a carpeted staircase, rising up to the next floor, but instead of mounting the stairs, the footman turned to one side. A mechanical elevator complete with chains, levers and pulleys, was fitted into the wall. Elaborate brass curlicues decorated the exterior.

This was the first elevator Jareth had ever seen in a private residence.

The footman pulled open the gates with a proud flourish and gestured for them to enter.

Gifford hesitated. "Is it safe? Will it carry all of us?"

"Very safe, sir. This elevator can carry up to 2000lbs!"

"Fascinating," murmured Gifford, unconvincingly, "but if you don't mind, I might take the stairs."

"Sorry, sir, but we're not going up," apologised the footman, not looking at all sorry as far as Jareth could tell. "We are descending, into the basement, where Professor Maybury has his laboratory."

"No stairs?" persisted Gifford, eyebrows raised, as if he didn't believe it.

"Sorry, sir. The elevator is quite safe, I can assure you."

Fearing they might be there all morning at this rate, Jareth took the lead and stepped into the cage, followed by Ursula Fisher and then a reluctant Gifford. Finally, the footman entered, releasing the gates which snapped shut with a loud clang. A brass winch was set on one side of the cage and the footman began to turn the handle vigorously. With a small shudder at the start, which made Gifford gasp, the entire contraption moved slowly downward.