aware that the intricate mechanisms of the human brain could
occasionally throw a screw. The Guild's members tended to be meticulous people, always in
pursuit of an inhuman accuracy, and this took its toll. It could cause problems. Springs were
not the only things that got wound up. The Guild committee were, by and large, kind and
understanding men. They were not, on the whole, men accustomed to guile.
Dr Hopkins, the Guild's secretary, was surprised when the door of Jeremy's shop was opened
by a man who appeared to have survived a very serious accident.
'Er, I'm here to see Mr Jeremy,' he managed.
'Yeth, thir. The marthter ith in, thur.'
'And you, mm, are...?'
'Igor, thur. Mr Jeremy wath kind enough to take me on, thur.'
'You work for him?' said Dr Hopkins, looking Igor up and down.
'Yeth, thur.'
'Mm... Have you been standing too close to some dangerous machinery?'
'No, thur. He ith in the workthop, thur.'
'Mr Igor,' said Dr Hopkins, as he was ushered into the shop, 'you do know that Mr Jeremy has
to take medicine, don't you?'
'Yeth, thur. He mentionth it often.'
'And he, mm, his general health is... ?'
'Good, thur. He ith enthuthiathtic for hith work, thur. Bright-eyed and buthy-tailed.'
'Buthy-tailed, eh?' said Dr Hopkins weakly. 'Mm ... Mr Jeremy doesn't usually keep servants.
I'm afraid he threw a clock at the head of the last assistant he had.'
'Really, thur?'
'Mm, he hasn't thrown a clock at your head, has he?'
'No, thur. He actth quite normally,' said Igor, a man with four thumbs and stitches all around
his neck. He opened the door into the workshop. 'Dr Hopkinth, Mr Jeremy. I will make thome
tea, thur.'
Jeremy was sitting bolt upright at the table, his eyes gleaming.
'Ah, doctor,' he said. 'How kind of you to come.'
Dr Hopkins took in the workshop.
There had been changes. Quite a large piece of lath-and-plaster wall, covered in pencilled
sketches, had been removed from somewhere and stood on an easel on one side of the room.
The benches, usually the resting places of clocks in various stages of assembly, were covered
with lumps of crystal and slabs of glass. And there was a strong smell of acid.
'Mm ... something new?' Dr Hopkins ventured.
'Yes, doctor. I've been examining the properties of certain superdense crystals,' said Jeremy.
Dr Hopkins took a deep breath of relief. 'Ah, geology. A wonderful hobby! I'm so glad. It's
not good to think about clocks all the time, you know!' he added, jovially, and with a soupçon
of hope.
Jeremy's brow wrinkled, as if the brain behind it was trying to fit around an unfamiliar
concept.
'Yes,' he said at last. 'Did you know, doctor, that copper octirate vibrates exactly two million,
four hundred thousand and seventy-eight times a second?'
'As much as that, eh?' said Dr Hopkins. 'My word.'
'Indeed. And light shone through a natural prism of octivium quartz splits into only three
colours?'
'Fascinating,' said Dr Hopkins, reflecting that it could be worse. 'Mm ... is it me, or is there a
rather... sharp smell in the air?'
'Drains,' said Jeremy. 'We've been cleaning them. With acid.
Which is what we needed the acid for. For cleaning the drains.'
'Drains, eh?' Dr Hopkins blinked. He wasn't at home in the world of drains. There was a
crackling sound and blue light flickered under the door of the kitchen.
'Your, mm, man Igor,' he said. 'All right, is he?'
'Yes, thank you, doctor. He's from Uberwald, you know.'
'Oh. Very ... big, Uberwald. Very big country.' That was one of only two things Dr Hopkins
knew about Uberwald. He coughed nervously, and mentioned the other one. 'People there can
be a bit strange, I've heard.'
'Igor says he's never had anything to do with that kind of person,' said Jeremy calmly.
'Good. Good. That is good,' said the doctor. Jeremy's fixed smile was beginning to unnerve
him. 'He, mm, seems to have a lot of scars and stitches.'
'Yes. It's cultural.'
'Cultural, is it?' Dr Hopkins
occasionally throw a screw. The Guild's members tended to be meticulous people, always in
pursuit of an inhuman accuracy, and this took its toll. It could cause problems. Springs were
not the only things that got wound up. The Guild committee were, by and large, kind and
understanding men. They were not, on the whole, men accustomed to guile.
Dr Hopkins, the Guild's secretary, was surprised when the door of Jeremy's shop was opened
by a man who appeared to have survived a very serious accident.
'Er, I'm here to see Mr Jeremy,' he managed.
'Yeth, thir. The marthter ith in, thur.'
'And you, mm, are...?'
'Igor, thur. Mr Jeremy wath kind enough to take me on, thur.'
'You work for him?' said Dr Hopkins, looking Igor up and down.
'Yeth, thur.'
'Mm... Have you been standing too close to some dangerous machinery?'
'No, thur. He ith in the workthop, thur.'
'Mr Igor,' said Dr Hopkins, as he was ushered into the shop, 'you do know that Mr Jeremy has
to take medicine, don't you?'
'Yeth, thur. He mentionth it often.'
'And he, mm, his general health is... ?'
'Good, thur. He ith enthuthiathtic for hith work, thur. Bright-eyed and buthy-tailed.'
'Buthy-tailed, eh?' said Dr Hopkins weakly. 'Mm ... Mr Jeremy doesn't usually keep servants.
I'm afraid he threw a clock at the head of the last assistant he had.'
'Really, thur?'
'Mm, he hasn't thrown a clock at your head, has he?'
'No, thur. He actth quite normally,' said Igor, a man with four thumbs and stitches all around
his neck. He opened the door into the workshop. 'Dr Hopkinth, Mr Jeremy. I will make thome
tea, thur.'
Jeremy was sitting bolt upright at the table, his eyes gleaming.
'Ah, doctor,' he said. 'How kind of you to come.'
Dr Hopkins took in the workshop.
There had been changes. Quite a large piece of lath-and-plaster wall, covered in pencilled
sketches, had been removed from somewhere and stood on an easel on one side of the room.
The benches, usually the resting places of clocks in various stages of assembly, were covered
with lumps of crystal and slabs of glass. And there was a strong smell of acid.
'Mm ... something new?' Dr Hopkins ventured.
'Yes, doctor. I've been examining the properties of certain superdense crystals,' said Jeremy.
Dr Hopkins took a deep breath of relief. 'Ah, geology. A wonderful hobby! I'm so glad. It's
not good to think about clocks all the time, you know!' he added, jovially, and with a soupçon
of hope.
Jeremy's brow wrinkled, as if the brain behind it was trying to fit around an unfamiliar
concept.
'Yes,' he said at last. 'Did you know, doctor, that copper octirate vibrates exactly two million,
four hundred thousand and seventy-eight times a second?'
'As much as that, eh?' said Dr Hopkins. 'My word.'
'Indeed. And light shone through a natural prism of octivium quartz splits into only three
colours?'
'Fascinating,' said Dr Hopkins, reflecting that it could be worse. 'Mm ... is it me, or is there a
rather... sharp smell in the air?'
'Drains,' said Jeremy. 'We've been cleaning them. With acid.
Which is what we needed the acid for. For cleaning the drains.'
'Drains, eh?' Dr Hopkins blinked. He wasn't at home in the world of drains. There was a
crackling sound and blue light flickered under the door of the kitchen.
'Your, mm, man Igor,' he said. 'All right, is he?'
'Yes, thank you, doctor. He's from Uberwald, you know.'
'Oh. Very ... big, Uberwald. Very big country.' That was one of only two things Dr Hopkins
knew about Uberwald. He coughed nervously, and mentioned the other one. 'People there can
be a bit strange, I've heard.'
'Igor says he's never had anything to do with that kind of person,' said Jeremy calmly.
'Good. Good. That is good,' said the doctor. Jeremy's fixed smile was beginning to unnerve
him. 'He, mm, seems to have a lot of scars and stitches.'
'Yes. It's cultural.'
'Cultural, is it?' Dr Hopkins
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