Jareth leant closer and his mechanical eye swivelled slightly, appearing to focus on the man sitting opposite. This discussion was not at all what Jareth had expected. He was still waiting to hear exactly what Gamer wanted. He lowered his voice.

"So, you want me to go to Ashvale and track down this formula? What for? To steal it? Won't it come into the Guild's possession anyway, when Maybury sells it? Surely the Guild is wealthy enough to buy such a thing."

Gamer gave him a curious look. "But why should he sell it? Far more likely to make use of the formula himself. He would have a steady source of income for life if he used it sparingly."

Jareth sat back. "I suppose so. But why do you want me to steal it? I can hardly slink in and out, unnoticed; I am far too distinctive. I might be overlooked in town, but in a small village, I would stand out like a wolf among sheep." His hand went automatically to the stiff leather patch on his face. It covered his left cheek from his mechanical eye to his jaw. A patch of red scar tissue remained visible along the jawline where the leather ended, allowing him to move his jaw to talk and eat. He could also smile if he had to, but the result was usually alarming rather than reassuring.

"True enough, but that's not what I'm asking. We don't want you to steal the formula. No, your job is to destroy the formula, if it exists, and prevent Maybury from creating another."

Jareth was puzzled. How could he stop Maybury from recreating his formula? That sounded impossible, unless...

"'Prevent' him? How? The only way to prevent him from recreating his formula would be to take care of him, permanently. Is that what you mean?"

Jareth thought it took a lot to startle him these days but he had to admit he hadn't seen that one coming. As far as he knew, Maybury had committed no wrong, no crime to warrant his removal. He was a scientist. All he done was try and turn a fable into fact, and possibly get rich, hardly deserving of a death sentence.

Despite his profession, Jareth didn't consider himself a murderer. Rather, he saw himself as an executioner. The people he targeted were guilty of violent crimes, murder or worse, even if they hadn't actually fired the pistol themselves.

"Is that really warranted? What has he done that threatens the Airship Guild so badly?"

Instead of answering, Gamer got to his feet and walked along the balcony, checking once more that no one else was there. When he was satisfied again that they were alone, he slid back onto the bench.

"I may have misled you. It's not GAME who is offering the contract. This one comes direct from the Goldsmiths' Guild. If Maybury succeeds in creating a working version of the Alchemists' Stone, their entire livelihood will be threatened. Gold will lose its value and be worth no more than the brass it replaces."

Jareth drummed his fingers on the table. The more he heard, the less he wanted this job. This sounded purely a business matter, not one for his special talents. "I can see how that would be a problem for them, but surely, they can resolve it financially. Explain to Maybury that gold needs to be created sparingly. After all, he would stand to lose as much as anyone if gold flooded the market. Offer to pay him an annuity as an incentive."

To his surprise, Gamer smiled broadly.

"You've jumped ahead of me. That's exactly what the Guild wants you to offer. An annuity in return for destroying the formula."

Jareth frowned. That wasn't quite what he'd said.

Destroy the formula? He thought Maybury would scorn such an offer. Creating an Alchemists' Stone (or compound) had been his life's work, taking years of his life and destroying his professional reputation in the process. Now that he had finally succeeded, if that was indeed the case, how likely would it be that he would consent to its destruction? Not at all, in his opinion.

No, his first reaction had been the right one. He didn't want this job. Jareth placed his hands on the table, preparatory to sliding out.

"Sorry, Gamer. But this one doesn't interest me."

Gamer stayed where he was. "There's just one more thing, which might change your mind. The Goldsmiths aren't the only people interested in this formula. The Guild would prefer that the formula didn't exist at all, but the worst outcome would be if someone else got hold of it. A rival organisation, or even a foreign power. I hear the Royal Family in Mancuria is struggling for funds. I'm sure they would like nothing better than to seize the Alchemists' Stone and produce their own gold."

"Is that likely? What have you heard?"

"Nothing definite," admitted Gamer, "but if our spies have picked up the news that Maybury has succeeded in his experiments, you can be certain that others have. You might feel squeamish about removing Maybury, but I'm sure you wouldn't hesitate to dispatch a foreign agent, if he posed a threat to Eskia."

Jareth drummed his fingers once more. This did sound much more like his kind of job. Battling a skilled rival was far more appealing than slaughtering a defenceless scientist.

"But there's still the problem of my appearance. There's no chance of keeping my presence hidden, I would have to go there openly, with some sort of credible cover story."

"True enough," repeated Gamer, as if he had already considered this. "The Goldsmiths are sending two representatives to Ashvale, purportedly to visit Maybury and discuss his progress. You could accompany them, as their assistant. They depart tomorrow, on the Northern Express."

That was tempting. He'd always longed to take that particular trip but had no valid reason to make such a lengthy journey, now he'd have the perfect opportunity.

"All right. I'm in. When can I meet these representatives?"

"They are lodging at the Golden Horn. Reginald Gifford and Ursula Fisher. Mention my name, I told them you might be calling round." Gamer smiled. He put his hand inside his coat and drew out a small pouch. "Your usual fee? Half now, and the rest on completion. Pleasant journey."

'Pleasant journey' indeed, muttered Jareth under his breath as he hailed a steam carriage to take him to the Golden Horn. Why did he feel as if he had just been culled? All that rigmarole about stealing formulas and killing Maybury had led him precisely to this point.

Exactly where Gamer had wanted him from the start.