Tink tink tink... The little yellow screwdriver rang against the side of the Cora's mug as Father Nicholas Smithson sat silently in the rectory kitchen.
"Why so glum, Nick?"
Father Nicholas Smithson looked up from staring into his coffee mug to see his good friend walking in. "I was hearing confession, Gus."
"Well, it was your turn."
"I know, and I'm happy to provide the service. I still miss my parishioners in London, and this is a small way to be a part of the life of this community. But I'm afraid I may have to stop."
"Why?"
"Because it happened again today. Someone didn't want the sacrament; they had a job offer for Nicholas Smithson, expert on up-timers. "
"Again? I am so sorry Nick. It's so sad that people want to throw money at you. It's not like you were a Benedictine or something."
"They were demeaning the sacrament and the sanctuary of the church. Did not Christ himself overturn the money changers?"
"He did." Gus nodded, grinning.
"And when I do attempt to do research, I am pummeled with requests beyond what any man can do. It is not as though I am the only researcher in the library."
"Yes, Nick. But you are the only author of How Not to Think Like a Redneck. That may be the best selling book in Europe."
"I know. But it's silly. Brother Johann is as good a researcher, and the others just as good."
"Nick, they are good researchers, but you have found your place. You have a gift for putting the bits and pieces together into a whole that no one has yet quite matched. Then, there is your reputation. I see only one way to control this. You must rely on the invisible hand."
"Gus, I've already doubled my prices over what everyone else charges!"
"Then double them again. Eventually, you will drive the crowds away. Then, you can pick and choose the projects you want to work on."
"Double them again! I would be charging one hundred dollars an hour!"
"And if that's not enough, then you double them again. Eventually, the market will respond."
"Am I to be a prisoner of the Dark Science then?"
"Yes, Nick. A prisoner with an income which makes you able to do the things you want done. Oh that more of us would have such a burden."
Nick stared into his coffee cup: "Let's go get a beer."
Gus smiled. "Your treat."
"Excuse me, Father Smithson?"
Nick looked up. The library table was covered with 3x5 cards, stacked in complex patterns like a tarot design, some with colorful ink staining the corners. There were pencils and strings linking the cards into an odd network. Nick set the card in his hand back onto his stack. "How can I help you?"
"My name is Johann Rademacher. I am with O'Keefe's Septic Tank Maintenance Company."
"Yes?" Father Nick looked at him questioningly. "How can I help you?" He gestured at the chair beside him.
Johann sat down. "We have been looking to open additional markets for porcelain. We have been working with potters and designing mostly sanitary pottery, sinks and toilets. Now, we are wanting to move into 'higher tech.' Specifically, spark plugs. When we realized we needed help, we thought of you."
"Why me, Herr Rademacher? There are many researchers, and the library is open to all."
Johann pointed to the table. "This is why. Anyone can look things up in books, if they take the time. But few can do that." He made a sweeping gesture. "Your reputation is that you do not just research what the books say, you combine the bits and pieces into a whole which would not otherwise exist. We need your expertise. We have tried to make spark plugs. And we failed. We need you."
Nick sat for a moment. "You understand that I am busy? Your project is interesting, but I have work."
Johann smiled "We can pay. We are prepared to pay. Further, we will pay extra for you to agree to keep the resulting research private for a period of time. A year perhaps?"
Nick thought about Gus' recommendation. "One hundred dollars an hour, and a six month agreement of privacy."
"Done!"
Gus walked into the rectory kitchen. "I hear you turned in the spark plug report today."
Nick smiled and laid the check on the table. "I did."
"What was it then?"
"It?"
Gus smiled. "It. There's always an it for you, the critical bit that everyone had overlooked. What is it?"
"It's the seals, of course. It is simple enough to make the bolt, to drill it out, to slide the porcelain into it and glue it in place. But with the pressure and heat of the engine,the gases leak out and burn the steel away."
Gus sat silently.
"Oh, very well. You need to use three different materials. One is braised onto the ceramic and is a substance that wets the ceramic, another is braised onto the bolt and wets the steel, and then a third braising welds them together in a flexible manner so that the differences in expansion don't crack the ceramic. Anyone trying to do it in one or two steps is doomed to fail."
Gus smiled hugely. "Well, then. Another success for the great Smithson, and hope for another new business."
Nick sputtered.
"So, let's go get a beer." Gus nudged the check. "And you're buying."