"Were you close?" asked Lucy. "He never mentioned anyone quite like you."
The woman's gaze seemed to drift off to another place and time. Through her warm smile, she replied, "He saved my life more times than I can count."
"He did what?" Lucy asked as her eyes grew large once again. "What do you mean?"
The woman snapped back to the present, "Granddaughter? You're Lucy! I'm sorry, those are not my stories to tell. My sincerest condolences." With that, the older woman pivoted and started to walk away, each step faster than the last.
Lucy called after her, "Wait! Who are you? Why did you say that? How do you know me?" Lucy followed the surprisingly swift elderly woman. She had almost caught up with her when the woman took a left turn behind a large crypt marked with strange carvings of animals and letters she didn't recognize.
"Who are... you?" Lucy called out as she made the turn, but no one was there. The woman had up and vanished without a trace. Lucy dropped to her knees and pounded the ground with her fists causing the mud to splash and squish between her fingers. The mysterious crypt seemed to become interested in her. The eyes of the animals all shifted toward her, watching her, waiting for her. As her anger built up, she thrust her hands to her sides and unleashed a rage-filled, deafening scream. "I just want answers!" she shouted. At that instant, the eyes returned to their normal position, and all was quiet again. Lucy stood and dusted herself off as best she could. She had too much rage, but she knew where to channel it. "I know one person that has at least one answer for me. Here I come, Martin."
She knew that the manager of the memoriam, Martin, knew something, he just wasn't sharing. She was determined to find out what.
AS SHE ENTERED THE doors of the memoriam, the little brass steam bot came whirring over. "Good day, we are sorry for... Alert! Lucy Ducit! Alert!" Bells were ringing, and lights were flashing. Behind a large burst of steam, the little bot scurried behind the counter leaving a trail of oil and water in its wake.
"Where is Martin? I need to speak to him!" Lucy demanded as she pressed against the counter peering down at the bot.
"I'm right here, dear. Have you come with sufficient payment to have your grandfather's marker altered? Or is there something else you need?" Martin asked, a sly grin peeking from behind his greasy mustache that he twirled with his fingers. He seemed to keep his gaze firmly on Lucy.
"No. I've come for answers. Who paid to have the keyhole and that blasted symbol put on his marker? And what does it even mean?" she demanded, pounding her hands on the counter and scaring the little bot hiding behind his owner so badly that it started leaking again, a full puddle of oil running out onto the floor. It quickly left the room.
"Keyhole? We did no such thing, but if we did, privacy is upheld by the laws of the Countess herself. She protects..."
"She protects the slime-balls that deal in Shadow Gems for her. Wait... you're one of them! You're a Talfair! How can you work for the Countess?" Lucy said in shock as she backed away searching for the door. "I want no dealings with you."
"Yes, my darling, I am a Talfair, and I know what you are now, little Reaper," Martin said, his voice low and raspy as he leaned down to look her directly in the eyes. "Oh, this is lovely. You don't know. I should have sniffed you out the first time you entered my door. The Countess will surely reward me for your name."
Lucy ran for the door. "You can run, little Reaper, but you can't hide who you are!" Martin shouted, his laughter followed Lucy out the door.
Lucy staggered through the doorway, turned down the street and kept running. What did he call her? A Reaper? Thoughts ran rampant through her mind. Lucy had no idea what a Reaper was, but she was sure she wasn't one. Street walkers jumped out of her way, and bots made noises she was sure were foul language, and to top it off she stepped in gum somewhere between the butcher's shop and the park. Her chest heaved, and her heart pounded as if it were trying to escape. She dashed down an alleyway and then paused to try and catch her breath. Her lungs burned from the cold air being forced in at such a rapid pace. The blood rushing through her brain caused her ears to ring loudly, but that wasn't enough to drown out her thoughts.
If the Countess wanted her dead for being whatever a Reaper was, then she was as good as dead already. She bent over at the waist still gulping down deep breaths, not noticing the stench coming from the trash bins on either side of her. She concentrated on deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth. Her eyes remained closed as she struggled to keep her head from spinning. Something bumped against her shoe and she looked down to see a shiny brass ball lying in front of her. It started to vibrate and buzz. When it stopped, a bell rang, and another white envelope popped out from a slot on the top of the ball.
"Really? This again? Come on!" she said snatching up the envelope. The little round bot let out a puff of steam and played a cheerful tune before rolling away. Lucy tore open the envelope and found yet another piece of the faded yellow paper. "What else could it be?” she said aloud in a disdainful tone, and then thought to herself. “I'm starting to think someone is playing with me.” The anger rose in her belly and erupted from her throat as she screamed “I'M NOT IN THE MOOD FOR GAMES!" After a 10-second meditative breathing session, she looked down at the paper, which read, 'Come to.' "Well, let's add it to my collection," she said shrugging. Lucy folded the paper and shoved it into her pocket along with the other pieces. Sitting down on a pile of boxes, she ran her hands through her brightly colored hair. "Am I going insane?” she wondered aloud, “No, surely I’m cursed. That's it, cursed or something. Why else would I lose the only person in the world that cared about me, then have the most powerful woman in the world want me dead? All for something I haven't a clue about! I don't understand..."
A woman’s soft voice filled her ears, "Then maybe you should be educated in the things you don't understand."
Lucy jumped forward, stumbling over a couple of bags of old cans and day-old sprouts. Looking up, she held her hands in front of her face to try to shield herself. "Please, don't hurt me!" After a moment of not being hit, mauled, or sliced to bits, Lucy moved her hands and saw the woman standing over her.
"Why on Earth would I hurt the granddaughter of the one and only Conrad Otto?" the woman asked, extending a hand to help Lucy up.
"It's you! The one from the graveyard!" Lucy said in shock. "How did you know my grandfather? Today has been extremely hectic, and eventful in ways I'd like to forget. I would appreciate a straight answer from someone, for once."
The woman looked around. "Here is not the place, and now is not the time. You will know where to go soon enough. I will be in touch, Miss Lucy Ducit." With that, she turned and started walking straight for the dead end of the alley. She pulled a brass disc from her old brown side purse as she walked. Lucy was watching in utter confusion as the woman turned to face her and dropped the round, metal sheet onto the ground. A series of beeps rang out, and it grew to the size of a garbage can lid. The woman smiled, and then she stepped onto it. Suddenly, eight tiny cylinders sprang from the surrounding edges. Steam rushed from each cylinder as the woman began to lift off the ground.
Lucy ran toward her. "Can I at least get your name? Please... I just need some truth to hold onto in this chaos," she pleaded.
The elderly woman flashed another smile and said, "Stan. My name is Stan."
Lucy watched as Stan flew up and out of sight. On the bottom of the flying disc, something familiar caught her eye. "That same symbol! What does S & R stand for? Is Stan the one that put that on Gramp's marker?" she thought to herself.
She felt confident that answers would be coming, and Stan would help her. At least, she hoped Stan would help her.
3 The Package
Peeking around corners and hiding behind boxes, Lucy took care to avoid being seen she made her way back home. When she arrived at her door, she discovered another envelope with her name on the outside pinned close to the peephole. She pulled the note from her door with a huff.
<
br /> "How many of these am I going to get?" she said ripping the envelope open. Again, another torn piece of faded yellow paper. "Let's see what this one says, shall we?"
As she unfolded the parchment, she read the words aloud. "His secrets now"
Lucy’s mind raced, “Whose secrets? Who is this referring to?" she huffed in frustration. "I'll show Stan these pieces and see if she can tell me anything about them."
After entering her apartment, Lucy stuffed the paper in the same back pocket as the other three pieces. Just as the door shut behind her, a buzzing came from her rear end, and the vibration startled her.
"Hey! What's going on back there?" Lucy shouted as she started slapping at her back pocket.
She quickly unsnapped the button of her jeans. Kicking and squirming she pulled the pants off and tossed them against the wall where they fell in a slumped pile on the floor.
"What’s going on? Why are you moving?" she screamed at the pants from behind the sofa. Then she heard a bell sound from the smoldering garment, and in utter shock, she said, "How in the world did that get there?" Sticking out of the top of the pocket was a folded, full sheet of faded yellow paper. "That's not possible. Paper can't grow back together. Get it together, Lucy; you're losing it." When she was sure the event was over, she moved closer to investigate the new paper. Though it didn't stop her from carrying a rolled-up copy of Steam Bots for Dummies, just in case. With her left hand, she gently pulled the paper from the pocket ready to smack whatever had just assaulted her jeans. "Easy in there. No one wants to hurt you," she said to the now silent jeans, figuring that whatever had caused the strange event must still be in there. But on closer inspection, she found the pocket to only house the sheet of paper, so she tossed the book back onto the table.
What was once four random pieces of paper, was now a full sheet. On this sheet of paper was the message in its entirety. "Come to Fifth Avenue and East Eighty-Second. He wants you to know his secrets now.” "I've lived in New York my entire life, and nothing worth anything has been a part of Fifth Avenue since the early 2000s! Why would I want to go there?" She turned the paper over to the back and noticed a small watermark on the lower right corner. She walked to the window and held it to the light. There it was, in plain sight. The now familiar intertwined S & R. "This has to be from Stan! It has the same marking as both her flying disc and Gramp's tombstone. But why would she go through all of this hiding?" Standing there in amazement, she realized suddenly that she was displayed in front of the window, without pants. "Oh, God!" She dropped to the floor and slowly reached up to close her blinds.
AFTER A HOT SHOWER and change of clothes, Lucy sat at the table looking over the letter again. She turned the paper over to inspect the symbol and then flipped it back to the front to look closer at the words and lines. Tearing a small piece from the corner, she laid it on the table. "Let's see you do your thing," she said as she laid the rest of the paper beside it, but not touching. Sure enough, the small piece slid to the letter like a magnet and mended the tear. "This is just... just impossible. Whoever made this is a genius!"
She picked the paper back up. "What does this symbol mean?" she thought. "Surely Stan's not working for the Countess... No. If she was, whatever I've gotten myself into, she would have arrested me already or I’d be dead."
Lucy jumped to her feet as a loud knock boomed from her front door. Quietly, she slid with her back to the wall, making her way to the peephole.
"A courier? A human courier? For me? Human couriers are only for the wealthy and the important,"
she whispered.
Lucy slowly cracked the door open making sure the chains were still locked and in place. "I'm sorry, there must be some mistake. You must have the wrong address."
She had started to close the door when the courier said, "Lucy Ducit? The paperwork says you would try to refuse, but this is your name. Am I correct? We’re not in the habit of making mistakes here at UPS (United Personal Services). You have to accept this parcel, or I don't get paid."
Lucy peeked through the crack of the door, under the chains. "Show me the package." The courier sighed heavily and held the package up to show her. "That's Gramp's handwriting," Lucy said in shock. She slid the chains from their locks and opened the door just enough for the package to fit through.
The young man held up a clipboard with an ID scan attached. "Just hold the pen sensor and smile at the pretty purple light.” The pen flashed a fluorescent light, and the currier snidely said, “Now, was that so hard?" She handed the pen sensor back through the crack but just as he almost had a hold of it, she dropped it to the floor and slammed the door shut, locking it just as quickly.
"They don't pay me enough for this! That's why we shouldn't come to this part of town," he mumbled as he walked away.
She walked back to the table and carefully opened the sides to avoid tearing the writing on the front. "What is this?" she gasped as she lifted a box from the packaging. "This is gorgeous! I have never seen craftsmanship this detailed before," she thought to herself. She examined every side of the box that lay before her. "This is extraordinary, Gramps had to have paid an engineer a lot of money for this." The box she held in her hands was extremely intricate. Light and dark brass gears fit together as if they were formed from the box, not attached to it. No bigger than a shoe box, but much heavier. The brass looked worn, but intentionally made that way. She saw scratches on the side that resembled knife marks. "Did someone try to open this?" she thought as she felt the indentations.
"I don't see a latch on this thing," she mused aloud. Trying to be careful, she turned the box over in her hands looking for a keyhole, buckle, or some way to open it. "I must be missing something. Think, Lucy, think." Lucy sat the box on the table and looked harder at the scratches hoping to see an opening. "Another dead end," she huffed. "How do you open a lock that doesn't have a key?" She stared at the mysterious box, concentrating on the gears to one side. She soon noticed that they connected to several smaller gears, which, in turn, all led to a dial in each of the four corners. Each one consisted of numbers ranging from zero to nine.
"What numbers would Gramps use to lock away something important?" she mumbled behind her hands that were rubbing her face. "There's his birthday..." she thought. Turning the knobs to 1973 and holding her breath, nothing happened. “Mom’s birthday!” She twisted the knobs again, and still nothing happened. "What about..." then it hit her. "Something important, of course!" she squealed. She turned the dial on the top left corner to the number two. Moving over to the top right corner, she stopped at zero. Next was the bottom left corner, this one she spun to the number three. The last one, the bottom right, Lucy turned the knob stopping on the number nine. "There, 2039 the year I was born."
All the gears dropped and locked into place. Slowly they turned, tooth in groove, round and round, exposing the center as a key popped up. Lucy turned the key to the left and heard pistons releasing pressure, unlocking all around the edges. She opened the box to find a simple, brown leather book. No markings or lettering. Just an old, worn journal with a single frayed leather strap wrapped around it. Lucy picked the book up and untied the strap.
Opening the front cover, she saw handwritten text that read, "This is the secret and private journal of Conrad Otto, Synod of Reaping. Date: 12 October 1994. Today my eyes were opened to my destiny." The next page had the same intertwined S & R symbol she had seen on his tombstone and the flying disc. "Synod of Reaping? Reaper! That's what that jerk, Martin, called me!" She hastened to close the diary and stood back from the table. She wrung her hands together as sweat started to bead on her forehead. She was having trouble catching her breath, and her heart raced. "What were you a part of, Gramps?" she said as the yellow piece of paper caught her eyes again. "Fifth Avenue and East Eighty-Second. I need to find Stan."
Lucy took the piece of paper and her grandfather's diary and put them into her backpack. Running out the door, leaving everything behind, Lucy headed for the heart of the slum
s of New York... Fifth Avenue.
Out on the street, Lucy hailed a steamer cab. The large, bright yellow cab pulled up in front of her. Steam rushed out of the exhaust as the husky driver rolled down the window and asked, "Ver to?"
"Fifth Avenue and East Eighty-Second, please," Lucy replied.
"Nyet. Zat's no place for leetle girl. You pick better place," he demanded in a thick accent.
Lucy dug into her front pocket and pulled out some cash. "No, I need to go to Fifth and East Eighty-Second."
The driver expelled a huff of hot air out through his thick, burly mustache, mumbling words Lucy was sure she didn't want to know. Gears turned, weights moved from side to side, and the door dropped like a drawbridge. As Lucy settled into the backseat, she could see the driver's picture ID and name displayed on the dash. "So, your name is Jemison?" she asked trying to make conversation.
"Yah, Jemison Alexeev. You surrre you vant go to Fifth Avenue? Not much zerre," he replied.
"Yes, I'm meeting someone there, so I'll be all right...” she said confidently, to which she added “I hope," under her breath.
It didn't take as long as Lucy had thought to arrive at Fifth Avenue. There was never much traffic anymore on this end. The steamer cab pulled up in front of a huge building with three large archway windows. The middle one had what looked to be doors boarded up. The architecture was charming and had large steps leading up to huge columns. The building was a modern-day castle styled from forgotten days. Even now, as it sat there covered in graffiti and with trash blowing everywhere, it still commanded respect. Lucy handed Jemison his money before she exited the cab.
"You vant I should stay?" he asked trying to convince her.
"No, thank you. I'll be fine. Thanks for the concern though," Lucy replied as she hopped out of the cab. Jemison leaned out of his window and handed her a card with his information on it.
The Key of Knowledge Page 2
