Chapter 3
Hank Sturgeon had been apprenticed to Mr Humdinger for almost twelve years now. It wasn't that his skills were lacking. Indeed, in many ways, he had moved way beyond the somewhat simplistic teachings of his master. Fixing this, repairing that, stopping the other from exploding every time someone turned it on, none of these things was what Hank wanted to be doing. He wanted to be inventing things, fresh new things born of fresh new thinking. The main reason that he had stagnated in his position was that Hank was a dreamer. He had always looked to the future and as a result the present generally got a good run up before kicking him firmly in the unmentionables. Somehow, though, Hank knew that there was more out there. He was destined for bigger things.
This particular evening Hank was working late. Mr Humdinger had already finished for the day leaving him to clear up the workshop. A job that was somewhat prolonged by the unfortunate incident when Mr Hobbleton had demonstrated exactly what the problem was with his multi-rotary-bladed hedge-trimmer. It had promptly exploded covering the workshop with a shower of various cogs, gears and its owner's blood due to a particularly sharp blade that had hummed through the air embedding itself in the wall via the most direct route. This was unfortunately straight through Mr Hobbleton. When he had finished cleaning up the last pool of dark, sticky liquid he sat back and reflected on what a tragic waste it had been. Oil of that quality was worth three dollars a gallon to the right person. It was at that moment that John walked in.
"Sorry guv, we're closed. Didn't you read the sign on the door?" Hank asked the newcomer. Turning to look at the sign, a small piece of card with open scrawled on the side facing into the workshop and closed on the other, John addressed the man.
"It says open as far as I can see."
"Ah, but if you look from outside it clearly says closed. The reason being that we are in fact…closed."
"But I'm inside now and it definitely says open", John replied. "So with that settled it's on to business" and before Hank could reply the man had marched over to him, grabbed his right hand and was firmly pumping it up and down.
"Now what I'm after is a man of action, a man of talent, a man who isn't afraid to grab a bold new idea, give it life and fashion it into the future. I believe that you're that man. What do you think?"
Part of Hank knew the man was crazy. He had a strange look in his eyes. Just humour him, he thought. Decline him politely and get him out of here as soon as possible.
"What was that about fashioning the future?" he asked.
"Exactly that, you and I are going to invent the most important contraption the Disc has ever seen. Now, let's have a little chat."
Looking back Hank wasn't sure why he had agreed to help the man. He was just so convincing. He had talked at length about his vision and about the huge opportunity he was giving Hank to get on board early. And so it was that Hank had agreed. Not only agreed to build the contraption, but somehow, and on this he was really unclear, he had agreed to do it all for free.
Hank worked through the night. He wasn't even sure exactly what he was making. His hands seemed to be working independently as though they knew what to do even if his brain didn't. Eventually, just as day was dawning, he stepped back and looked at what he had made.
It was a mess of metal compartments, some empty, some filled with various chemicals which Hank had conveniently found on a shelf at the back of the workshop. Strange, as Hank would have sworn they were empty when he had scraped the late Mr Hobbleton from them just a few hours previously. The compartments were connected by a series of different pipes with one lone metal tube extending from the back of the biggest compartment. Hank had no idea what it was supposed to do; he just knew it was finished.
Early the next day John returned to find Hank sat looking at the thing, a puzzled look on his face.
"Well it's finished. Whatever it is….." Hank told him his voice trailing away.
"Don't concern your self with such trivialities", John told him. "Come along to the Ankh Morpork Annual Show tomorrow and all will be revealed."
As John and his contraption left the workshop Hank felt a sudden regret. He looked around at the mess he had made and realised he had used a sizeable chunk of Mr Humdingers materials and had nothing to show for it. Why had he agreed? More to the point, how was he going to explain to Mr Humdinger, an exceptionally unforgiving and somewhat cruel man, where his materials had disappeared to? With this thought in his head, Hank ran from the workshop never to return there again.
