Jareth paid off the driver and wearily climbed the steps to his front door. The adrenaline was wearing off, his leg was aching, and he was feeling tired and ready for bed.

He narrowly avoided stepping on a plain white envelope which lay on the floor, just inside the hall.

That was quick.

He took a second look and frowned. He was expecting the second half of his fee to be delivered, having successfully completed the job, but the envelope looked too thin, and besides, it was too soon. News of the assassination was only just making the rounds.

Awkwardly, he bent and picked it up, then peeled back the flap. As he had suspected, the envelope did not contain banknotes. Instead, it contained a message, inviting him to attend the Black Ram, tomorrow at noon.

The only signature was a single word, Gamer.

Jareth's lip twisted. That meant the message had come from his occasional employer, the Guild of Airship Mechanics and Engineers, known to friends and foe as GAME. The very same organisation which had recently engaged him to terminate Maurice Winthrop.

He tossed the envelope and its contents onto the hall table and made the slow and careful climb to his bedroom on the next floor. He'd considered moving all his things to the ground floor, but that smacked too much of giving in. He had to keep going, persevere, reclaim as much of his normal life as he could. Use it or lose it. And it was getting better, he was certain.

Not for the first time, he marvelled at the fact that his missing leg pained him more than the one made of flesh and blood. Phantom pain they called it. The physicians had told him he was lucky he'd only lost the part of his left leg from the knee. If the explosion had taken his leg higher up, at the hip, he would have bled to death. Though to be honest, feeling 'lucky' wasn't his primary emotion.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and eased off the prosthetic. Built of brass, he'd been told it was a miracle of modern engineering, all the cogs and cables giving him a full range of movement. Almost. At least he could walk again.

He placed the artificial limb carefully on top of the nearby dresser. Then he rolled into bed and pulled up the covers. The events of the evening spun through his mind, keeping him awake.

Did he really want another job? So soon after the last one?

Maybe he'd go to the Ram tomorrow, and maybe he wouldn't.

~~

Fog swirled hungrily around the streets, exposing the side of one building then the door of another. The signboard identifying the Black Ram was visible for a second before being swallowed once again and Jareth pulled his collar more tightly around his neck. He pushed open the heavy door and stepped into a smoky haven of warmth and firelight.

He scanned the room. Although it was early for lunch time, most of the tables in front of the bar were filled with small groups of men and women, digging into steaming bowls of stew. Others were seated on stools at the bar, hunched over glasses of ale. A young serving boy put a fresh log on the fire, sending sparks spiralling up the chimney.

Jareth began to wend his way through the tables toward the back. The bartender, a large man wearing a leather apron, caught his eye, nodded and slid his eyes to the right, all without stopping while pulling the next pint.

Gripping the handrail, Jareth climbed the narrow staircase at the rear and came out onto a balcony which ran around three sides of the room below. Small booths lined the balcony against the wall and the man Jareth had come to meet sat in the first one, nursing a mug of coffee. A small man, with plain, nondescript features, his dusty brown jacket and trousers rendered him as close to invisible as one could get.

He watched Jareth as he approached and his forehead creased in a frown.

"You're late."

Jareth shrugged. "I only made up my mind to come, an hour ago."

The man gestured impatiently to the bench opposite.

"Have a seat, man. There's no one else up here. I checked. We can talk freely."

Jareth slid onto the bench, wishing he'd had the foresight to order a coffee for himself on the way up.

"Sorry to call on you again so soon," apologised Gamer, not looking at all apologetic as far as Jareth could tell. "But it's important."

Jareth raised his remaining eyebrow and glared at Gamer with his good eye. The other one, the mechanical eye, remained fixed on a point just above Gamer's right ear.

"Not that they aren't all important," the other man hastened to qualify. "But this job is special."

Despite the fact that they couldn't be overheard, he lowered his voice. "Have you heard of the Alchemist's Stone?"

"You mean the fable? The mythical substance reputed to turn brass into gold? I'm sure every child has heard the story. What of it?" Jareth was puzzled.

Gamer was silent, as if he was trying to decide where to start. He had a very odd expression on his face and Jareth leapt to a startling conclusion.

He gave an incredulous bark of laughter. "You're not going to tell me someone claims to have found it! You are joking, right?"

But Gamer didn't look amused. He shook his head, irritated. "Of course not. I don't know why they ever called it a 'stone'. It's not an object, it's more properly a formula; a formula to make a compound, or substance, capable of transmuting base metal into gold."

"And I have a magic lamp I'd like to sell you!"

Gamer held up a hand. "Let me finish. Professor Thaddeus Maybury is a chemistry scholar of some repute. He runs a laboratory in the countryside, up near Ashvale, on the border with Mancuria. Officially, word has it that he is getting close to developing such a formula."

"'Officially'? And, unofficially?"

"That he has already succeeded."

Jareth pursed his lips.

"I can't believe you're taking this seriously. Sounds like a classic confidence trick to me."

"Maybe it is, but you can imagine the turmoil it would cause if it were true. Or even believed to be true. We have to know for certain."

Jareth sat back. "I'm sure you have many scientists at your beck and call, who will be able to verify the truth of the matter soon enough."

Gamer steepled his fingers. "I'm sure the Guild does. But that's not what we want right now. We don't want to send scientists to Ashvale, we want to send you."