Chapter Two #2
And then I notice it: a faint shift in the movement of some of the attendees. They’re stopping and checking their phones almost in unison. It’s like a government alert went out with news of a catastrophe. My own phone buzzes, and I pull it out. There’s a text from an unknown number.
A player has solved the kickoff puzzle. The Enigma Challenge has begun for all who have entered.
I retreat to the wall I was leaning against. I check my phone again, as though that holds more information, but there’s nothing.
Who is this? I text to the unknown number.
There’s no answer.
I wait, watching a few more people check their phones.
Are they all playing the game too? We must have all been sent the same text.
A wash of satisfaction courses through me that I was the one to start the Enigma Challenge with the right answer.
That feels good. If I don’t find out what the other five puzzles are and I’m deleted from the game, that’s fine; I won’t be in Madrid for much longer anyway.
No biggie. I check the time again; it’s almost ten. My session is going to start soon.
I head up to the second floor and turn to the doors of my session’s room. They’re the heavy kind, the type that require heaving in order to open, and I’m glad for the kindness of another attendee holding the door open for me.
Dr. Devlin spots me and comes over to shake my hand.
“Lovely to meet you, Dr. Wilder,” he says. “I’ve been looking forward to presenting with you. You’re quite the talk of the conference.”
Instantly I worry that Eric has been bad-mouthing me, but that wouldn’t serve him, given that it would reflect poorly on him. “Oh?”
“Yes, I’ve just come from a meeting with Dane Seaver, and your name came up.”
Dane Seaver. “About what?”
“All nice things.” Dr. Devlin smiles. “He said he’d heard about your research.”
This isn’t quite “the talk of the conference,” but I’ll take it. Eric would have a coronary.
“Of course, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing,” Dr. Devlin says with a laugh. “Seaver has a reputation for being a bit—”
“We’re just about ready, Dr. Wilder,” the session organizer says, swinging past us and pressing a slide remote into my hand.
Most of the chairs in the room are filled.
Dr. Devlin nods at me and goes to find his seat, even though I badly want to know what reputation he thinks Seaver has.
I only know Eric’s opinion, having never met him myself.
I step up to the podium as the session organizer dims the lights and the audience chatter quiets.
I’m nervous as I open the session but soon fall into my stride as I warm to my research.
I start with a general overview of cipher types: Caesar, Patristocrat, pigpen, homophonic, polyalphabetic, columnar transposition, and abbreviation.
I present case studies on the Playfair cryptogram used by Dorothy L.
Sayers in her 1932 crime novel, Have His Carcase, Rudyard Kipling’s Patristocrat puzzle in his 1902 Just So Stories, and a 1957 text that makes the intriguing, if unlikely, argument that Francis Bacon wrote William Shakespeare’s plays, based on a number of ciphers used in the works.
I notice people jotting notes and nodding along, which I take as a good sign.
I wrap up with my ideas on how literature has contained codes for centuries, and the ways in which authors sought to write coded messages within fiction.
The applause is a balm to my researcher’s soul as I move to the back of the room so Dr. Devlin can give his portion of the session, which focuses on his own area of specialty, comparative literature, and his experience cracking codes in texts recovered from the English Civil War.
“As we end today’s session,” Dr. Devlin says once he’s finished, “I want to address the rumors you may have heard about a competition called the Enigma Challenge. It’s apparently found only at this conference, and it requires one person to solve a puzzle in order to start it off, after which there are five puzzles to solve.
I’m told the entrance kiosk is on the lower level by the stairs, and anyone can enter.
The prize is rumored to be cash—millions, if you believe it.
But word to the wise: If you enter, you have to play or risk being deleted.
” Dr. Devlin gives an exaggerated little shiver that produces a smattering of laughter in the room.
“Sounds creepy. Beware the puzzles you solve, folks. Thanks for attending this session.”
As the attendees gather their belongings and start to file out, I consider what could be so creepy about dropping out of a game.
But the part about the prize being millions?
If the rumor is true, that would be life changing.
If I win this game—and given I’ve apparently kicked the thing off with that cipher, I figure I have a chance—then I could help Christine update the house and we wouldn’t have to sell it and suffer the heartache of severing the last link to our parents.
No matter how complicated our relationship is, I hate not being able to help her with house upkeep when we both own it.
With the prize money, I could help financially rather than ineffectually cringe when I listen to her vent about crumbling plaster and uneven flooring.
And then we might actually talk about other things.
Dr. Devlin comes over to shake my hand. “I’m always interested in hearing about your research, Dr. Wilder.
I have to get to a meeting, but please keep in touch.
I’d like to see what else you produce.” He departs the room, and I take a moment to steady myself.
Having him as a contact is important, especially if I want a tenure-track position—if not at Chessmont, then elsewhere, maybe even Harvard.
I take a deep breath and push at the heavy door, but it closes before I make it out, crunching my backpack between the door and the frame.
“Here. You’re caught.” A deep, low voice is next to my ear, and long, black-clad arms reach next to me to pull the trapped backpack out of the door. I catch a whiff of something pleasantly masculine—woodsy and citrusy, maybe.
I look up to see the American from the knife fight. He’s still obscenely handsome. I take my bag from him and move out of the way of the door although no one is around. He looks impeccable in his blazer. No one would guess he’d been rolling around on the ground fighting someone.
“I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier,” he says, holding out a hand. He smiles, the curve of his lips causing a major distraction in my head. “Dane Seaver.”
“Ah,” I say. Of course he’s Dane Seaver. His hand is firm and warm, and a hint of that smile is still in the corner of his eyes. “I think you already know who I am.”
He nods. “Dr. Wilder. Apologies for this morning’s excitement.”
“Who was that guy?”
Dane shrugs. “Never got his card.”
“A little early in the day for that kind of thing.” My mind is racing. Dane Seaver is playing the game.
“I try to schedule my attacks for later in the day.” His tone is dry, and while that little smile is admittedly distracting, I’m definitely on alert now; I don’t know what he wants or what he’s doing here.
“Dr. Devlin said you mentioned me,” I say.
“Right.” Dane nods. “You’re under Eric Howland’s grant.”