The King of the Cogs Read online

  “Come on, Luke!” he shouted. “Time for a haircut!” and leapt out from the car, making his way across the village green towards a small glass fronted shop with a red and white barbers pole painted on both of the bright wide windows, and the small red front door as well. I hadn’t expected the professor to lock the car door of course, but I had expected him to close the car door. Maybe this was what my job was actually all about, following him round closing doors after him! Reflecting upon this I closed mine and making my way around the car I shut it for him, before following him at a brisk pace across the village green.

  Depressingly, the sign above the barbers seemed to be of the same pun filled area of shop naming as all other barber shops, and was called, “Mullet Over”. I have absolutely no idea why barber’s shops simply have to have a pun in the title. “A Cut Above”, “Cliptomania”, “Hair Today Gone Tomorrow”, Though I do have to admit a rather sneaking admiration for the one I had once seen called, “The Grateful Head.” Mostly however it is completely beyond me. Maybe it is some kind of hairdressing tradition? Who knows? I caught the professor up. He was stood outside the barber’s shop, his nose more or less pressed up against the glass window. He tutted loudly to himself, muttering, before pulling the paper from his jacket pocket once again and studying it carefully. He barely noted my arrival, but thrust the paper at me.

  “Is this cell here blue, Luke?” he enquired, and I had a look at it.

  “It is.”

  “Quite irregular!” he muttered loudly, taking the spreadsheet from me once again. “Yet there are three people waiting to get their hair cut!” he said almost in disbelief. I peered through the window and yes, there did seem to be two men seated on the chair beside the entrance. Two hairdressers were busy cutting the hair of a further two customers. One was a small short woman, the other a tall-ish blonde man dressed in skinny jeans and tight T shirt. He was snipping away flamboyantly at the person seated in his chair, hair flying here and there. From time to time he would stop, wave the scissors or comb about, talking to the mirror and then continuing. This routine was quite mesmeric. Almost as if he was dancing. I thought that maybe he looked a little older than his clothes would suggest though. In fact, he looked a little like at least two of the members of Erasure. In fact, the only reason he did not look like all of the members of Erasure was because I was not entirely sure how many member of Erasure there had actually been.

  “What is the spreadsheet for, professor?” I asked as he pressed his nose up against the glass again. Inside the shop the tall man finished cutting his customers hair and with a flourish pulled the cover from him, almost dancing behind him with a mirror to show him the cut at the back of his head. The professor tore his attention away from the shop and pushed the spreadsheet into my hands once again.

  “Years of observation and recording.” he said, pulling a purple pencil from his pocket and re-colouring the 9.45am slot from blue to purple. “Every time I pass this shop I take careful note of the number of people waiting for a haircut and depending on the number waiting record it on the master sheet her, old boy.” he said, putting the pencil back into the depths of his pocket. It was the first time he had called me that, but it would certainly not be the last. It never stopped being irritating though.

  “So blue is good, and red is bad?” I asked and the professor nodded furiously.

  “Indeed.”

  “But surely it changes all the time?” I asked and the professor actually looked disappointed.

  “Not at all.” he said. “The conjunction of required haircuts is a constant that can only be affected by the availability of said cuttees. Clearly there is an aberration of some kind. I shall check this with my master sheet back at my office.” He looked disappointed, and folded up the sheet and put it in yet another pocket. “Never mind. Still, let us enter.”

  “We could wait a little.” I said.

  “Indeed we could, Luke. Hence the existence of my recorded data in the first place.” He opened the door and made to enter. “Nobody likes to wait for a haircut, Luke.” he sniffed and entered the shop. I paused holding the door open as a younger man in a “Regulus Telecom” T shirt exited bearing a brand new haircut. He smiled his thanks and went on his way. Grimacing at the professors back - he hadn’t even noticed the departing customer, never mind holding the door for him - I followed him through the door and took a seat.

  By now the male hairdresser was snipping away at his new customer, and the girl was pulling the cover off her current one. That left one more for her and then we were next. I had thought that I didn’t really need a haircut, but seeing as how I was there I may as well get it done. Especially if I was being paid to get a haircut. The professor seemed to settle into the manner of most men waiting for a haircut: complete lack of eye contact, reading a paper or fiddling with a mobile phone. The professor did the former though he did at one point pull the spreadsheet from his pocket, peer at it closely before tutting very loudly and then putting it back into his inside pocket.

  This drew the attention of the male barber, who looked the professor up and down once, sniffed and then turned back to face the man whose hair he was cutting in the chair, talking to him through the mirror. “Twenty-five years in show business!” he exclaimed loudly, before continuing talking to the captive customer. I couldn’t quite make out what else he was saying, but I did notice the man in the chair squirm from time to time. The girl next to him was well into cutting her customers hair by now. She paused, looking for something below the mirror.

  “Have you got the clippers, Les?” she asked and the tall male barber made a dramatic bow and plucked the clippers from below the counter before passing them on to the girl, who was still looking for them below her side of the counter.

  “Here we are Sandy.” he said, passing them to her. The professor tutted loudly and Les gave him a look that should have killed, but Wingnut was completely oblivious, and just carried on glaring at the two hairdressers. Eventually Les seemed to decide to ignore him and went back to talking at his customer. Sandy finished before Les and so once done the professor was more or less hopping from foot to foot and once she asked who was next he shot into the now vacant chair and asked for a trim. In my opinion Les seemed to have been taking his time so that Sandy was the first to finish, and once the professor was safely ensconced in her chair then he seemed to suddenly finish with his customer and then it was my turn.

  Les settled the cover over me and looking at me in the mirror asked me what cut I wanted. I settled on a short trim too, and Les picked up his scissors and began. There was a short pause as he began snipping at my hair and then he paused, caught my eye in the mirror and said loudly, “Twenty-five years in acting! Who would have thought it?” Wriggling in my chair slightly I sighed inwardly, caught his eye once again and replied,

  “Really?” and then we were off.

  Ten minutes later we were both stood outside the barbers. I’ll give him his due, Les did a good cut, but I had been subjected to a very precise and exacting account of his long and exciting career in amateur dramatics, the people he had worked with, what he referred to as his stage reviews and so on. I was just nodding in agreement towards the end but he kept checking I was listening by catching my eye in the mirror. There was only one interruption to the listing of his long and illustrious career which was when the professor’s cut was done and he left, calling to me that he would wait outside until I was done. Les watched him leave in the mirror, the professor bending over just behind me to retrieve his spreadsheet which had dropped out of his ever expanding jacket pocket and once the shop door closed behind me he poked me on the shoulder.

  “Did he not like his hair?” Les asked, staring wistfully into the mirror in front of me, clutching his bright yellow comb like a dagger.

  “No idea.” I said. “I guess not. He has after all just had it cut.” In all truth when I had seen the professor leave the barber’s chair his hair did not actually look any different at all.

 
“Yes.” hissed Les impatiently, “But he had it cut yesterday.” He paused, the comb held up against cheek like firmly as if trying to draw blood. “And the day before, come to think of it.”

  “I think he’s a little eccentric.” I whispered and Les raised an eyebrow, preparing to return to his acting credentials.

  “I’ll say.” he finished, and we were back on to the subject of his thespian tendencies.

  Eventually we were done however, and after coughing up a relatively reasonable couple of quid for the haircut I joined the professor who was standing outside patiently waiting for me.

  “Where now?” I asked, and the professor pointed across the green to the furthermost of the small shops that were arranged around the grassed area in a horseshoe shape.

  “Guided tour.” he said. And off he went. I followed.

  “This is the nearest village by far from the office.” He said as we walked across the green. He stopped and pointed out the shops in turn. “Handy to know who does what. There is the barbers of course, as you have seen. Then over there the local butchers. He does a nice jellied pork pie.” He smacked his lips. “Very tasty. Mr Loin runs that.”

  “Loin?” I asked, smiling. The professor didn’t seem to be phased at all. “Yes. His predecessor, Mr Joint was a nice man too.” I felt my eyebrows slowly rising. “Then there is the coffee shop over there.” He pointed in the general direction of a small colourfully painted shop outside which sat several small tables. Tully’s was the name on the sign above the door, and apparently according to Wingnut their sandwiches were extremely good. Appropriately this was stated on a large chalk covered sandwich board outside the shop. The soup today was tomato. “Mabel is the lady who is the proprietor there.” he continued. “Very good with mayonnaise. Then there is the general store over there which is run by Mr Hinnerty. Sells everything, Luke.”

  “Everything?” I laughed.

  “Indeed. Try him. You’ll see.” he tapped his nose conspiratorially. “Always good for a spot of Helium three in a pinch. Saved many an experiment.” I smiled broadly, not entirely sure whether he was joking or not, whilst at the same time being completely baffled as to what helium 3 actually was. Maybe it was the stuff they put in balloons to make them float.

  “I will indeed try him out.” I said, intrigued. We came to the end of the green and now found ourselves outside the local pub. It looked just as traditional as you could imagine it to be. Thatched roof, broad wooden door, which was of course firmly closed at the moment. Small sweet shop like windows obscured the interior but I thought that I may possibly pop in for a pint over the weekend. A large traditionally painted pub sign hung high over the entrance, and although it was painted in a traditional manner, the pub was rather oddly named, “The Gym and Splint”.

  “Odd name for a pub.” I said aloud, and the professor grimaced at the pub sign above our heads. “Looks nice and traditional.” I mused, and the professor continued to sneer at the sign. Dragging his attention away he strode forward, heading towards the cafe, and then abruptly stopped, pointing at the pub sign.

  “Nice beer garden.” he considered, “Though the pub sign itself could do with a little work.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” I asked. True, it did picture what seemed to be a plastered leg and a set of dumbbells, but apart from that it seemed to be okay.

  “The spacing on the sign is all wrong.” he said. I glanced at the sign. It looked okay from a distance - I certainly hadn’t noticed a flaw with it but up close it looked like the words, “Gym and Splint” were very unevenly spaced. The word “and” seemed afloat in the middle of the two other words. The professor sniffed loudly and we moved on.

  “Tea!” shouted the professor and we made in the direction of Tully’s. When we entered a bell sounded above the door and a long strip curtain parted at the back of the cafe by the counter, around which I saw a large portly woman peering at us through the curtain. “Morning professor!” called the woman who was presumably Mabel, and the professor raised his hand in greeting, taking a seat just inside the door. Trade was obviously quiet as we were the only customers in there. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” she finished, and the curtain drew closed again.

  “Very good teas here.” said the professor as I took a seat facing him. The table was covered in what appeared to be a plastic red chequered cloth. Salt and pepper pots sat in the centre of the table, between which was sandwiched a small hand written menu. I took it up and had a look at it. It seemed to be the usual kind of stuff: beans and bread were available in various different permutations. “Just tea for me.” said the professor as Mabel appeared beside the table.

  “Me too.” I agreed. It hadn’t been that long since yet another grease laden breakfast in the work canteen, and I wasn’t hungry at all. Mabel nodded and made her way back to the counter.

  “Well that is the tour over.” said the professor, rubbing his hands together. “All amenities covered. It’s a bit of a walk from here to the base though. Just ask Bridges if you require a pool car. Plenty available.” I nodded enthusiastically, hardly believing my own ears. This was getting better by the day! Free petrol now!

  “Thanks.” I mumbled as the tea arrived and the professor leaned back as Mabel placed the steaming cuppa in front of him.

  “Excellent!” he exclaimed. “Thank you, Mabel.” Mabel assured us it was no problem and then returned back to the counter. The professor turned his attention back to me. “So what do you think so far, Luke? Learnt Much?” I spluttered on my tea.

  “Well I know where the canteen is.” I laughed, and the professor smiled. “And the Green Light room was as well.”

  “Ah yes.” smiled the professor, wriggling slightly in his chair. A new customer came in and took a seat on the other side of the room, glancing at the menu as he sat down

  “But apart from that, not much at all. Nobody seems to be particularly keen to actually advise me of a few things, really.” I said with a deliberate air of disappointment. The professor looked puzzled.

  “And what may they be?” he pulled a pencil from his top pocket and began to tap it against the pepper pot.

  “Well two things mainly. The first is what my job actually is, and secondly what it is that we do at the office. Nobody seems to want to tell me.”

  “Ah.” The tapping stopped, but the pencil remained in mid-air, pre-tap. “Well the answer to the first is obvious. The sales department have shall we say a certain predilection to buggering up their work stations in all kinds of interesting and vaguely unnerving ways. You are here to convince them to desist to do so. It is why our technical support department is so small. Most things are relatively easy to fix.”

  I nodded at this. Seemed pretty standard stuff.

  “You are also here of course to help me.” I looked puzzled. “Make sure I keep up to date with all correspondence, be where I am actually meant to be.” He paused slightly as if considering if he had missed anything out. “Make sure I don’t fall down any mine shafts.” he concluded with a laugh.

  “Have you ever fallen down a mine shaft then?” I smiled, and to my surprise the professor stopped to think. He looked at the ceiling, almost as if racking his memories for anything that involved a mine shaft.

  “No, I don’t think so.” he finally said. “Still, you can never be too careful, I should imagine. Nasty things, mine shafts you know.”

  I nodded slowly. “Indeed. So how about what the office actually does?” I continued.

  “Well that is a little more difficult.” The pencil remained in mid-air, but his other hand now rubbed his chin. The tea seemed to be forgotten. I leaned forward a little in anticipation. The professor seemed to be having difficulty in summarising exactly what it was he was apparently in sole charge of. He began to tap the pepper pot again, and then seemed to reach a conclusion. “We are here to ensure that nothing happens.” he said, and picking up his cup, took a large sip of tea.

  “Nothing happens?” I asked incredulously. He nodded.
/>   “Preferably.” he smiled. I felt myself getting angry.

  “Is anything in danger of erm… happening?” I asked. I noticed my voice sounded a lot testier than it had done before.

  “Oh yes. Indeed. All the time, in fact.” the professor concluded emphatically. “Quite so.” He noted just how confused I looked. “Let me put it another way.” he said, pausing to consider a different approach. “We deal with events.” he said, and sat back seemingly pleased with himself at reaching this conclusion.

  “Events?” I sighed, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Professor, that’s just like saying that we deal with “stuff”. It doesn’t actually mean anything. It certainly doesn’t get me any nearer to understanding what you do here. Can you be more specific? These things that are in danger of happening, is there anything in particular?” I asked. The professor looked as if he was struggling to think of anything at all. Then again, I was beginning to get the impression that this was usually the case.

  “It is quite difficult to explain without compromising your induction you see, Luke. We are working very much on the basis that we are warming you to the job, as it were.” I had absolutely no idea what he meant by this and told him so.

  “Give me a break, professor. Or failing that, give me an example.” Wingnut leaned back in his chair and threw his head back, staring at the ceiling. He began to tap on the pepper pot again. A minute passed. Two. Mabel had by now served the other customer, and was glancing suspiciously at our by now empty cups from behind the counter.