The Cypher

by Julian Rosado-Machain

  Knowing that Bolswaithe was a robot made it easier for Thomas to lose time in the shower, read, and test his new gadget. He was sure that the butler was just waiting patiently for him outside the door.

  He accessed the Internet to see if what the Doctor had said about his new decoding and translating abilities were true. He visited Mexican, Chinese, German and even Icelandic sites. He knew the sites were in different languages, but to him the words materialized in English. There wasn’t even a fraction of a second between the pages opening and the words appeared in English. Even the words printed in photos of street signs in Tokyo appeared in English. He chuckled when he visited a translation site but quickly grew bored when any word he picked appeared exactly as he had written it in the output window in any language he tried.

  There was a courteous rap on the door and Thomas guessed that it was time to leave for New York.

  “Come in,” he yelled.

  Bolswaithe respectfully peeked through the door. “Are you ready, sir? We need to head out.”

  “As ready as I can be,” Thomas said turning off the computer on his wrist.

  “Hold one second, Mr. Byrne.” Mrs. Pianova entered the room shoving Bolswaithe aside. She was pulling a cart loaded with books, binders, and school materials. “I have contacted your school.” She parked the cart in the middle of the room. “You are, from now on, being officially home-schooled and under my direct tutelage.”

  “So I don’t have to go to school anymore?” Thomas exchanged a smile with Bolswaithe who didn’t return it. Killjoy surely had something to do with the whole thing.

  Mrs. Pianova lifted an eyebrow. “This is the syllabus we will cover during your remaining years of high school.” She handed him a binder. The list of courses ranged from language, mathematics and science, to fine arts and music. A subset of elective classes showed Archeology, Speleology, Alchemy, Physics, and Taxonomy both natural and magical.

  “I’ve received transcripts from your school records.” Mrs. Pianova centered her gaze on him. “Much less passable than I would like, but I’m sure you’ll improve.”

  Thomas closed the binder. Rage welled up in his head. His grandfather had been kidnapped; he had almost been killed, and told that the future of humanity depended on him. Not to mention, he was tagged like an animal.

  “You know what?” Thomas said reaching his boiling point. “Screw this!” he yelled, throwing the binder on the floor. “Screw this company! And… screw you too!” he screamed at Mrs. Pianova. “I’m here to rescue my grandpa and that’s it! No more trolls and classes and reading weird books, you hear me! I’m finding my grandpa and then we’re leaving!” Tears of rage flooded his eyes and he sat down on the bed.

  Mrs. Pianova waited for a second and then sat down on the farthest side of the bed. “You’re a brave young man, Thomas,” she said using his name for the first time. “It certainly took you a long time to vent your frustration.” She stood up and picked up the binder from the floor. “We are your friends and this is your path.” She placed the binder on the cart and then placed a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “You’ll save your grandfather. I’m sure of it, and then you can both decide whether or not to stay with Guardians Inc.”

  Mrs. Pianova pulled on her dress. “Meanwhile, we will do our best to ensure that you reach your full potential. I promise that you can count on me for anything and I will not let you down.”

  She pulled out a leather bound book from the cart and handed it to Thomas. On the cover, “Return of the Nautilus” was etched with a detailed image of Nemo’s submarine. Jules Verne’s name was etched below. On the inner cover was a dedication that read: For a dreamer, whoever you are, signed by the author in 1876.

  “Your clearance is valid now,” she said.

  Thomas wiped his eyes and looked at her. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Pianova gave him a short-lived smile. “And now that that’s out of the way…” Mrs. Pianova clapped her hands twice. “Off you go. Don’t make Bolswaithe wait more than he needs to. We’ll talk more about school when you return, okay?”

  “Deal.” Thomas stood up and walked toward the door. He paused at the doorframe. “I’m sorry about… you know, what I told you.”

  Mrs. Pianova lifted an eyebrow and cleaned her glasses “I don’t remember what you’ve told me Mr. Byrne,” she said in her usual terse tone. “Would you care to repeat it?”

  “No,” he chuckled. “I’ll see you later Mrs. Pianova. Thank you, again.”

  ***

  Bolswaithe was already waiting for Thomas outside of the mansion and in front of a tiny car. The car was bright red with a yellow stripe running down the side and was barely big enough for the both of them.

  “So, we’re going to New York,” Thomas said as he entered the car. Bolswaithe closed the door and sat in the driver’s seat.

  “Yes, sir. You, me, and Henri.”

  He pronounced the name “Ahn-Ree,” as if he had a French accent.

  “Henri?” Thomas tried the name, but it came out too nasally. “He’s the intercom gargoyle isn’t he?” Thomas glanced to the back of the car. Maybe it was also larger on the inside like the mansion seemed to be, but all he saw was a tiny back seat.

  “That’s correct, sir, but he’s not technically a gargoyle. He’s a Grotesque.”

  “And what’s the difference?”

  “Grotesques are guardian statues while gargoyles have spouts to drain rainwater from a building.”

  “So they’re basically drain gutters?”

  Bolswaithe paused. “Basically yes, sir.”

  “Can I ask you a favor, Bolswaithe?”

  “Of course, sir.” The butler paused short of turning the ignition key.

  “Can you please stop calling me ‘sir’ every single time? I would like to consider you my friend.”

  “Would you prefer that I call you, Thomas, or Tom?”

  Only grandpa and his dad called him Tom, and he wasn’t ready to have someone else call him that.

  “Thomas will do, but not every single time or it would be just as annoying as ‘sir.’”

  “I understand,” Bolswaithe said turning the ignition. “I will use both sparingly.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “My pleasure.”

  They drove from the entrance of the mansion to the gated entry. Bolswaithe lowered his window and called out. “Ready, Monsieur Henri.”

  Thomas saw the Grotesque extend its wings and jump down from the column. There was a grinding sound as he grew in size and height and shook up dust he had gathered while stationed on his guardian post.

  “Hello, Thomas,” Henri said as he walked toward the car. He was really an imposing sight and his skin looked like granite. He even had veins of mineral running through his arms and torso. “How do you feel?”

  Henri towered over the car and Thomas had to look up to face him. He had decided to take everything he saw or heard at the mansion without thinking about it too much or he feared he’d go nuts.

  “I’m great, thank you. How’s, um… your knuckles?”

  Henri flexed his hand. “Trolls are toothy but soft,” he said. “I’m sorry about your house.”

  “No worries.”

  Henri walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. “You know I hate this, don’t you, butler?” he told Bolswaithe.

  “It’s the only way, monsieur.”

  The Grotesque pulled out something from the trunk and then slammed it shut. Thomas heard the car creaking as Henri climbed on top.

  “You might want to get out of the car, Thomas. In case the roof buckles,” Bolswaithe said as he braced the roof of the car with his arms. Henri’s clawed fingers went through the metal above his head and Thomas raced out of the car in a hurry.

  “This is embarrassing,” Henri said as he struck a pose over the roof of the car and unfurled a red and white flag with a picture of a can and the words “Spiftzer! Strong like a Rock!”

  “An energy drink?” Thomas contained a l
augh. “That’s your disguise. An ad?”

  Bolswaithe spoke from inside the car. “Spiftzer belongs to a Guardians Inc. satellite company. Dr. Franco uses cross-marketing whenever he can.”

  Thomas laughed and Henri glared at him. Thomas stopped laughing and approached the car. “I want to thank you for saving my life the other day.”

  “You’re welcome,” Henri said.

  “I was there too. I took care of the Voraxglobum.” The Grotesque on the other column turned his head. “I’m Jean Luc.”

  “Thank you, too.” Thomas said. “You guys are great. All of you guys are great!” he yelled at the other Grotesques along the brick wall and the mansion’s roof. Most of them turned their heads and nodded back. Even the ones by the highest chimneys were alive. It would really take an army to go through the mansion’s security guards.

  ***

  “I think it’s safe now,” Bolswaithe said. Thomas noted how the butler omitted saying his name and “sir.” He might be a robot, but he learned fast. Bolswaithe accelerated.

  “We’re not going to Brooklyn, are we?” Henri half closed his eyes as the car gained speed, his claw tightened on the little car’s roof causing the metal to groan.

  “We are going to the Ramble at Central Park,” Bolswaithe yelled through the window.

  “Take Columbus Avenue and then West 74th.”

  “I know, monsieur.”

  “Are we driving to New York? That’s on the other side of the country.” Thomas was confused.

  “We’re already there.” Bolswaithe turned left at the corner of the private road, and instead of coming out two blocks away from Thomas’s house in Carlsbad, they entered the busy streets of New York City. The little red car swerved easily through traffic and only a couple of people took more than a passing glance at Henri.

  Thomas opened his window and peeked out. The skyscrapers were real and the streetlights were just turning on. He checked his watch as the clock automatically jumped three time zones. Even the air smelled different than in California. He looked back; they had apparently come out from an alley between two buildings, the green street sign said, “Pervagus Road.”

  “How’s this possible?” Thomas asked Bolswaithe. “It has to be magic.”

  “It was magic decades ago. It has more to do with quantum mechanics now than with magic. Would you like me to tell you some of the equations?”

  Thomas raised his arms in amazement. “No thanks, I believe you,” he said. After everything he’d already seen, there were always more surprises about Guardians Inc.

  “Just remember that Pervagus Mansion is always two-and-a-half blocks to the left for those that want to find it and have the appropriate tag,” Bolswaithe said as he sped toward Central Park.

  The First Sign

  They entered Central Park through Transverse Road, and Bolswaithe turned right on a service road and into the most forested area of the park.

  “There’s our escort,” he told Thomas. Five men and a young woman were waiting at the end of the road. They were dressed in jeans, black leather jackets, and yellow T-Shirts with the logo of Guardians Inc. prominently displayed on the front. Each person carried a light-rifle, and two carried a black tote bag over their shoulder.

  Bolswaithe parked the car and they got out. Henri waited for them before climbing down with a powerful thrust.

  The leader of the escorts looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He had a dark five o’clock shadow and twiddled a little yellow cocktail sword in his mouth. A small earring in his left ear and vivacious dark eyes complemented a cheerful smile as he tipped his NY Yankees baseball cap at them. “Est que vous Henri? Comment Ça va mon ami? Comment Ça va!” He sidestepped Bolswaithe and Thomas and gave the Grotesque a high five. “Ce qui vous amène ici? Brooklyn un autre?”

  Henri let out a deep chuckle. “Stobene il mio amico, ma non Brooklyn.” Henri answered motioning with his claws at Thomas. “Sto avendo cura di queste pesone, è molto importante per la società, sapete? Questo è il Cypher.”

  At least Thomas understood the last word.

  “He doesn’t speak French or Italian gentlemen.” Bolswaithe interrupted their little reunion and they both turned to Thomas.

  “I thought Cyphers could understand any language,” the man in the Yankees hat said.

  “Anything written,” Thomas answered.

  “Ahh, I see… my bad.” He pulled the little yellow cocktail sword out of his mouth and hunched his shoulders. “I always imagined that the Cypher would be an old wrinkled man, or a hot, hot girl,” he said with a thick New York accent and extended a hand toward Thomas. He had such a carefree attitude that Thomas immediately liked him.

  Thomas took his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Thomas.”

  “I’m Tony Della Francesca,” he said nodding toward his group. “Vani, Piero, the pretty lady with the sawed-off shotgun under her forearm is Bella.” Bella clicked her mouth and leveled her arm at them letting them glimpse the two holes of a twin shotgun inside her jacket sleeve.

  “And these two guys over here,” Tony said as he walked toward the two remaining men who rolled their eyes as he approached, “are brothers. I’ll bet you five bucks that you can guess the name of one of them if I give you one clue.”

  “Andiamo Tony, gia abbastanza!” one of the men said.

  “He’s a Cypher! It’s a little field test, and you both shook on the bet, for life,” Tony scolded them.

  “We were drunk, Tony,” the other grumbled. “And it got old three years ago.”

  “Tatatata,” Tony shushed him. “Ten bucks, kid. What do you say?”

  “Sure,” Thomas answered. “What’s the clue?”

  The two men pulled out ten-dollar bills from their pockets with a dissatisfied grunt.

  “This big guy’s name,” Tony said tightening his grip around the man’s shoulder, “is Luigi.”

  Thomas let out a chuckle. “So you must be Mario, right?”

  Tony clapped and snatched the bills from their hands and immediately gave one to Thomas. “See boys? He’s really a Cypher!” Tony then led Thomas by the shoulder. “We are the Central Park watchmen. We keep humans and Mashcrits on their own side of the fence.”

  “Mashcrits?” Thomas asked.

  “Magical Critters, but don’t let them catch you saying that. They hate it. Piero!” He nodded and the lean man threw a couple of yellow T-Shirts at them. On the front of the T-shirts was the stylized Egyptian eye logo of Guardians Inc. “Neighborhood Watch” printed in bold letters on the back.

  “The company set up a police permit to let us roam Central Park at night with our flashlights. We’ve caught some real weird Mashcrits and a couple of human thieves too.” He led them through the park.

  “This looks like a forest,” Thomas said in awe. The trail they followed through the park entered through very thick vegetation.

  “Designed to look like one by Olmsted and Vaux since 1858,” Tony said, “with help from the chief of the fauns, Husseha, himself. This is the Ramble. We have the Great Lawn on the other side of the road and The Lake to the south. Here the Mashcrits can go out at night and have their fun. I prefer the East Meadow myself.”

  “And how big is this place?” Thomas pushed away a branch that almost whiplashed him as Tony walked by it.

  “The whole thing is almost 850 acres. The Ramble is just 38, but it’s like a forest isn’t it?”

  “Sure is.”

  “That’s how the Mashcrits want it. It gives them the chance to hide or run away if someone approaches.”

  “And how many… Mashcrits do you have here?” Thomas couldn’t resist asking.

  “Well, we deal with three basic Mashcrits types in Central Park. There are the Fauns that own the place, the Fae that come and go with the seasons, and the Drifters, some of whom we have to convince the hard way to leave.” He pointed with his thumb at Henri. “Big guy here knows about Drifters. Don’tcha?”

  “Werewolves in Brooklyn,” Henri s
aid from behind them.

  “They still haven’t fixed that place you brought down.” Tony gave the grotesque thumbs up. “Classic Henri.”

  “Lots of fun.” Henri chuckled. “Is Tinamra still mad?”

  “Oh yea, that lady wants to clip wings badly. Anyway,” Tony continued, “we have an understanding with Husseha, Chief of the Fauns. So when his sons began to act up, he called us, we checked out what was happening, and then we called you.”

  “So what exactly happened?” Thomas asked. They’d left an established path and were now walking toward a formation of rock over a small hill. The forest grew thicker around the hill and they had to use both hands to get through the vegetation. It was as if the plants themselves resisted their passing.

  “That’s what you’re here to find out, kid.” Tony tapped the rock using a gnarly twig he pulled from his pocket, and the rock opened up forming a tunnel for them to walk through. “Let’s go. Bella, keep watch,” Tony said as Thomas, Henri, and Bolswaithe entered the tunnel.

  Thomas felt like he was on the inside of a mole’s tunnel. The tunnel had been dug out by hand, or claw, and half-chewed roots sprouted from between the scrape marks on the walls. Rope lights ran along the sides and center of the ceiling.

  After a short trek, they arrived at a circular door guarded by two creatures in armor. Thomas could see two slender furry legs ending in hooves under their metal armor. Their helmets, however, were completely closed and antlers protruded from the back of them. They had slender arms with four fingers instead of five, and they carried a lance with ribbons tied under the blade.

  Tony spoke in a strange language, and the guard on the left responded in a shrilly voice. Tony pointed at Thomas and then at Henri as he spoke and he seemed to be slightly angry.

  The Fauns answered with a couple of short words, snorts, and crossed their lances over the door. Tony nodded and turned to Thomas.

  “We can go in,” he said looking at Bolswaithe and Thomas, “but Henri has to wait out here. They claim that half-breeds will pollute their flux well.”