The Cypher (3 page)

“Yes, it is.”

“Can I set up an interview for tomorrow?”

A longer pause. “I shouldn’t say this but if you really want the job you should come in today. There’re a couple of people already scheduled tomorrow.”

“Well, uh, sure, where’s your office?”

“I can give you directions. Where are you?”

“At home,” Thomas blurted and the girl giggled.

“I mean what street?”

“Mulberry Tree Lane. On Carlsbad.”

“That’s great, you’re just two blocks away.”

“You’re on Sycamore?”

“Well, two and a half. Just drive left from your house and two and a half blocks away and you’ll see two brick columns and the private road on your left. The street name is Pervagus Road. Just follow it until you reach the mansion. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Great, what’s your name so I can put you on the list.”

“My name is Morgan Byrne,” he lied. “I’m seventy two years old,” he added.

He expected another pause but the girl answered immediately, “You don’t sound seventy two.”

He heard Grandpa’s car pulling up the driveway. “But I am,” he said. “Does it matter?”

“For the job? No. You can be ninety eight or say… fifteen and you’ll still get it.”

Grandpa opened the front door. “I’m home,” he yelled.

“At what time should I come in for the interview?”

“It’s five and a quarter, let’s say in fifteen minutes?” the girl said.

“Great, thank you very much.” Thomas hung up the phone just as his grandfather entered the kitchen.

“I brought some hummus,” Grandpa said as he lifted a bag from the supermarket. “And popcorn.”

“That’s great Gramps, but we’ve got to go.” Thomas grabbed the grocery bag and placed the hummus in the fridge.

“Go? Where to?”

“Your interview,” Thomas said pushing his grandfather out the door.

Pervagus Mansion

Finding the two columns wasn’t hard at all. They both wondered how they had missed them before. They were right there — two brick columns between two houses marking the entrance to Pervagus Road. The brick wall extended to where the road opened up after the properties in front.

The wall was topped with black cast iron, and small stone gargoyles sat on top of each column. The road ended at a large iron fence and they could see a huge brick mansion beyond.    

Thomas felt like he was in front of a postcard taken from an old European castle. The stone gargoyles sitting on the columns by the fence were huge and looked ready to pounce down from their posts should the need arise.

The mansion looked like those Thomas had seen on T.V. or in movies. It belonged in old countries like England or France, not in Carlsbad, California, and especially not just two blocks away from his house, on streets he skateboarded through almost every day.

“Ready?” His grandfather lowered the window and extended a hand toward the ringer. A sign read,
“Welcome to Pervagus Mansion,”
and an Egyptian eye symbol was etched in a metal plate – the same eye that was on the ad.

Thomas felt like the gargoyles perched on each side of the gate were analyzing them. A chill ran down his spine.

“Wait,” Thomas said. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “What do you think about this place?”

“What do you mean?” Grandpa said fixing his glasses.

“It’s two streets away from the house,” Thomas said. “How come we’ve never seen it?”

“Don’t ask me. You lost the remote for three days under the couch.”

“That’s different.” Thomas peeked at the gargoyles. They seemed to be waiting for an excuse to move. “Just look at this place…” he said, his voice trailing off as he leaned forward, taking a peek at the side of the mansion. The buildings were surrounded by trails and fountains, and then opened to a forest beyond. The mansion felt out of place and Thomas tried to remember how far the rows of houses extended to the sides and back of the mansion. From this angle, he was completely sure that the mansion grounds reached at least as far as his backyard. Even beyond. “Do you think it goes all the way to the beach?”

“So? Wealthy people love the beach, and these guys are definitely wealthy. It’s just a big house.”

“Big? This thing is huge.”

“It’s just an interview, Tom, and you set it up. I can take you home if you want.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Do you?” Grandpa asked tilting his head in a way that made Thomas feel like a little kid.

“No.”

“Then let’s do it.” Morgan checked his watch. They didn’t have time to spare.

“I don’t know, gramps,” Thomas stopped him again. “I don’t like it.”

“Why?  Morgan seemed amused. “Because of these guys?”

He glimpsed at the gargoyles above them. The statues resembled a bat and a devil, their wings extended, covering their bodies, but their claws dug deep into the bricks and their tails curled around the column. They were different though, the one on the right was a little fatter than the other and its horns were more bull-like.

“I just don’t like it. Can we try somewhere else, please?” The ad in the paper had seemed a little strange, and now that he thought about it, the girl on the phone had also been too eager to get him in for an interview.

He didn’t feel threatened, just anxious, like when his mother taught him how to ride a bike, or the first time he jumped on top of a skateboard. She’d always encouraged him to try new things, but she’d always been big on safety too.
“You don’t just rush into something because everyone does it or it looks nice, Tom!”
She drilled him every time she could.
“Stop, if only for a second and think, what could happen?”

This definitely felt like one of those times.

Morgan sighed. This might be the best chance so far to get a job, but he couldn’t just dismiss Thomas’s opinion. Especially since Thomas had set up the appointment.

“I guess there are other opportunities elsewhere,” Grandpa said as he put the car in reverse.

“Morgan Byrne.” A grainy voice startled them.

The voice was coming from the gargoyle, its eyes glimmering. Surely from a hidden intercom and camera inside.

“You’re almost late,” the voice continued. “Park right at the entrance. You’re expected.”

Suddenly, the wrought iron gates opened. A large fountain sat in the middle of the patio, and more gargoyles on every corner of the roof and by all the chimneys. A circular stained glass window of the Egyptian eye took up the entire front of the mansion.

Morgan patted Thomas on the shoulder. “We can’t just leave now, can we? We are expected,” he whispered mockingly.

The moment to wait and think was gone.

“Maybe we can reschedule,” Thomas whispered back but grandpa dismissed him with a little nod.

“Why don’t you take the car and wait for me back at the house?” he said.

Thomas couldn’t leave his grandfather. “I’ll wait for you in the car,” he offered.  

“The interview is in ten minutes, and I can’t keep the gates open forever,” the gargoyle blurted. “Are you in or out? Should I cancel?”

The mansion itself didn’t look scary, just big. More like a castle than a house, and its grounds completely out of proportion for the neighborhood, but if Grandpa, who’d lived in Carlsbad forever, didn’t think it was strange, then how could he sabotage this chance? Making up his mind, Thomas disregarded the ominous feeling growing in his belly. He exchanged a look with his grandfather before accepting to go in.

“In,” Morgan told the gargoyle. He turned toward Thomas and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said, “it’s just like a little adventure.” He smiled then drove through the gates.

The gates closed immediately behind them. If Thomas or Grandpa had seen how the Gargoyles followed their movements as they parked, they would have run away.

An Ancient Puzzle

A tall, grey-haired butler opened the main door. He was dressed in a customary, impeccable black outfit Thomas had seen in movies and T.V. shows, and he spoke with a slight British accent. “Welcome to Pervagus Mansion, gentlemen.” He nodded politely. “My name is Bolswaithe. I’m the mansion’s head butler.”

“Nice to meet you, Bolswaithe. I’m Morgan Byrne and this is my grandson, Thomas. I’m here for a job interview.”

“I know, sir. Please, follow me.”

The interior of the mansion was very ornate. Marble statues and precious wood abounded inside. The waning light filtered through the stained-glass window, and the two circles of intricate symbols and ancient letters surrounding the Egyptian eye seemed to dance.

A double staircase ran from the foyer to the second floor. In the middle of the room sat a marble sculpture of a man chained to a rock and an eagle biting into his stomach. Morgan and Thomas stopped in front of it, marveling at the precision and beauty of the sculpture.

“Prometheus Bound,” Bolswaithe offered.

“Beautiful work,” Morgan said. “Who’s the artist?”

“Michelangelo,” the butler said. After a few moments, Bolswaithe walked down the hallway, Morgan and Thomas trailing closely behind.

From outside, the mansion seemed large, but from the inside it proved to be huge. The ceiling in the foyer was at least forty feet high and it was supported by white marble columns that looked cut from a single stone.

Long hallways opened on each side of the foyer. The right hallway had a lot of traffic – people bustled out one door and into another, traveling along the corridor and disappearing. Colored tags dangled from their necks and a couple of workers wore colored jumpsuits.

 The butler led them through the left hallway. The corridor was lined with doors and large mirrors. Large crystal chandeliers lit up the corridor, and the ceiling was painted with scenes from ancient history and mythology.

One of the paintings was the pyramids of Giza as they were being built by humans and what looked to be jackals and camels walking on two legs and dressed in flowing robes. One of the camels was talking with what appeared to be the pharaoh as they overlooked the construction.

It was followed by the painting of a Chinese armada being sunk by a group of elongated dragons. On top of one of the dragons rode a man in full samurai armor, his sword catching a lightning bolt.

All scenes depicted humans and magical creatures, either working together or fighting side by side against a common enemy. There was one of General Ulysses S. Grant receiving a bag of papers and maps from a humanlike fox wearing a simple blue stripe across his torso.

The scenes would have been fit for a children’s book had they not been spectacular in form and color. Thomas paused recognizing one of the scenes. He pulled out from his wallet the two dollar bill his father had given him for luck. He unfolded the bill and checked it against the scene on the ceiling. It was the Declaration of Independence, with three additions that were not in the bill. Instead of the drum and flags hanging on the wall in the back of the room, there was a four-winged blue and white bird, its wings extended. On the right side where the bill showed only a tablecloth was a row of smaller chairs with animals sitting on them. A fox, an otter, and what looked like a beaver, sat with their legs crossed. A young man, dressed in long robes, stood beside a gentleman on the far right. His hair was long and un-coifed and reached almost to his waist.

Thomas stopped looking for differences and picked up the pace seeing that the butler continued walking without him.

Halfway down the hallway, the butler opened a door on the left. “You can wait in this room, young sir,” he told Thomas. “Would you care for refreshment?”

“No thanks,” Thomas answered stepping into the room.

“Very well.” Bolswaithe turned to Morgan. “This way, sir.”

Grandpa squeezed Thomas’s shoulder and winked. Then he followed the butler out of the room.

Thomas stood in the room, afraid to move. The room was spacious but it didn’t have any windows. Old furniture was arranged around a T.V. set encased in wood, old portraits hung from the walls, and a roman-style bust sat in each corner.

The anxiety he had felt in the mansion was slowly being replaced by curiosity. In Fullton, he’d been to rooms that looked just like this one. His grandpa kept many things at home that he considered treasures. Grandma’s bell and little spoon collection, grandpa’s patches and uniforms from when he was in the Marine Corps. Even some of his dad’s toys and comic books from when he was a child, each one stirring a memory too precious to discard.

This room was like that, a room full of memories.

Who chose the plaid furniture? When were the portraits painted and who were the men depicted in the busts? What T.V shows were the owners’ favorites?

He zeroed-in on the old T.V. Maybe that could tell him something more about the mansion’s owners.

Thomas walked toward the T.V. and turned a knob. A little click sounded from the box, but the screen remained blank. He crouched and read the dials: one dial was the on/off switch and the other was a dial numbered from zero to two hundred.

He tried the switch again but nothing happened. So he tried the dial, which only clicked with every number he turned. After giving it a couple of turns, he gave up.

On top of the T.V. sat a small pedestal holding a black and gold cube that he hadn’t noticed before. It seemed to have just materialized when he was distracted with the dials.

The surface of the cube was painted with gold filigree and shapes that seemed out of order, jumbled, as if someone had mixed it all up. Lines crisscrossed the surfaces of the cube, as if scrawled by a two-year old.

But there was something there on the surface. The more he looked at it, the more he could discern shapes, lines that probably belonged to an eye, or a leg, or a tree.

“It’s an Atheliol.” Bolswaithe startled him from the edge of the door. “An ancient puzzle. You might want to try it while you wait, young sir. It might be a long interview.”

Thomas checked the cube and chuckled. It didn’t look that old. It seemed made out of metal. Apart from the golden filigree, it was completely smooth, not a blemish or scratch in its surface. A brand-new chromed car bumper would look old beside it.

Thomas looked back at the butler – like the mansion itself, he wasn’t scary. Just oddly perfect for his job, as if he had been born and trained forever to fill the stereotype of the English butler.

“Go ahead,” the butler encouraged him. “I’ll be back with water.”

When Thomas heard his footsteps grow fainter, he hesitantly picked up the cube. He half expected to receive a little static shock from it, like the one he had learned to avoid after walking on his grandpa’s carpet and touching the doorknob. But nothing happened.

The surface was warm to the touch and completely smooth. He couldn’t even feel the filigree painted on the surface. It was as if the gold lines were embedded on the Atheliol. He had played with a Rubik’s cube before and he’d even learned to finish them after his mom had showed him the little tricks used to solve it.

His mother always finished the Rubik’s cube in less than a minute. Thomas watched in awe as his mother’s hands, lithe and delicate, fiddle with the cube, twisting and turning, until each side was the same color. And, as always, his mother would wink, then toss the cube into Thomas’s lap.

“Betcha an ice cream,”
she always teased him, and Thomas had decided to learn and beat her at her game.

He had learned, first by himself, then by asking her for help.

But he had always lost the ice cream.

Thomas sighed. He missed his mother. It had been eight months since his parents disappeared. He held the Atheliol in his shaky hands. His mother would have loved it.

He touched and pressed the cube; not only did the pieces moved from side to side like the Rubik, but the whole cube changed shape with just a little pressure. He got scared for just a second as one of the corners flattened itself under his touch. He checked for Bolswaithe and pressed the corner back into shape. When the Atheliol returned to its cubed-shape without a crack or bend, he realized that it was designed to change shape.

He began to see a picture taking form as he moved and turned the pieces. An arm appeared, a horn, the tail of a horse. As he found the patterns on the filigree and pressed them closer to where they needed to be, the cube changed shape until it became an elongated diamond.

Bolswaithe entered the room and left a pitcher of water on the center table. He didn’t pause to talk and left immediately. Thomas didn’t seem to care; he was engrossed with the cube, as if he was in some sort of trance.

He realized that the larger pieces could be split anywhere he touched them, and he focused on trying to make larger pictures by finding the missing patterns in the filigree.

Where was Grandpa? It seemed that he had been in that room for a long time. Without the Atheliol, he would have been bored out of his mind

He’d never been as fast as his mother. Not even close. The last time she had timed him, he had spent more than seven minutes solving the cube.

He wasn’t tournament material, but how many people could claim to have solved a Rubik’s cube? He checked the Atheliol in his hand, the lower part was still a diamond, the upper had at least seven sides, and only some of the pictures were half complete – an armored warrior, a horse rider charging with a lance, the long wall of a fortress.

He assessed that he was less than halfway through and he thought for a second about leaving the thing alone, but stopped.

Maybe mom would have solved it already. She wouldn’t have been defeated by it.

He pressed on.

“A snack, young sir?” The butler stepped into the room again. This time he brought a sandwich and chips. Thomas felt his stomach growl and realized that he was a little hungry and he’d already drunk half the pitcher of water.

“Thank you,” Thomas said. “Do you know how much longer the interview’s going to be?” He felt as if he’d spent at least a couple of hours in that room.

The butler glanced at the Atheliol. “Not much longer I guess, but I can interrupt it if you want.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you.”

“Very well,” Bolswaithe said stepping out from the room.

The butler was sneaky. He gave the impression of being concerned in his comfort but uninterested about his progress with the Atheliol. How had he known he was hungry? The sandwich looked great, as if pulled out from a commercial. He took a bite while pushing the filigree on the Atheliol with one thumb. The long diamond shape was gone and with it the pointy ends.

He marveled at the flavor of the sandwich. The butler could easily be a chef somewhere instead of a servant in the mansion.

Thomas left the Atheliol on the center table and he took another bite of the sandwich. He was sure the pictures were complete. They depicted a battle between ancient soldiers and mythological beasts. They looked like old Greek or Roman drawings he had seen in history class.

What really nagged him was that the whole thing didn’t look perfect; the angles broke the pictures’ flow. It looked better than when it was a cube, although it was no longer in the shape of a cube. Some of the sides poked out in different directions unevenly.

He pressed the Atheliol, twisted and turned at least seventeen sides, and it wobbled as he set it on top of the table. It wasn’t solved yet, but the pictures seemed to flow better into one another.

He finished the sandwich and wondered how much longer he needed to wait? Perhaps they’d asked his grandpa to do some medical tests. He was getting impatient. He began to dislike the room. It started to smell funny, like musty old basements. The feeling of curiosity and familiarity he felt before was being replaced with exasperation, like when he tried to remember a song or tune or the name of an actor and he couldn’t.

The Atheliol should be finished already. The pictures were complete. What more was there for him to do? He was done with it and with the room.

Except it wasn’t. The Atheliol seemed to be mocking him. There was more, a little detail he hadn’t figured out.

He picked up the Atheliol again and pressed the corners. He was sure that changing the shape would solve it. As the corners gave way under his hands the Atheliol turned into a sphere, and the feeling of exasperation disappeared completely. Thomas was relieved, the splinter off the finger, the little rock taken out from the shoe.  

“Done!” he said. ”That was easy.” The pictures flowed perfectly into each other. He placed the sphere back on top of the pedestal with satisfaction.

With a soft hum, the Atheliol began to rotate and as it gained speed, the pictures began to tell a story, like flipping drawings on the pages of a notebook.

“The battle of Troy,” the sneaky butler offered from behind Thomas. “Good work, young sir.”

On the Atheliol, soldiers charged a wall protected by mythical beasts. A warrior jumped over the wall and fought with a Minotaur that held captive a young girl. Once the Minotaur had been vanquished, the girl handed out a parchment to the warrior and the Atheliol stopped spinning as it returned to its original form. Thomas pursed his lips. If he remembered correctly, there was a horse involved at the Battle of Troy. The Atheliol didn’t show a horse at all.

Bolswaithe mumbled as if he’d read his mind. “They forgot the horse.”

Before Thomas could respond, his grandfather walked through the door. “Ready?” he said holding a manila folder and sporting a big smile.

Once outside the gates, Thomas turned to his grandfather. “What took you so long?”

Morgan shrugged his shoulders. “I just filled out a questionnaire and talked with the head librarian. Strict lady, I think she’s Russian.”

“You talked with her for three hours?”

“Tom.” Morgan checked his watch. “It’s just 6:01. Half an hour. Is that too much for you?” He shook his head and got into the driver’s seat of the car.

As Thomas entered the car, he couldn’t believe it had been so little time. It had felt way longer.