"Come on, Dad!"  Graham begged insistently.  "We've been waiting since the end of the last chapter to see what's inside the box!"

"Yeah," the other Brooks kids chimed in impatiently.  "Open it!"

"Okay, okay," Michael said.  He held the leather-bound box in his hands, his fingers curled beneath its unlocked lid.  The elegant representation of the image of the ship's figurehead from the back cover of Kansas' Point of Know Return album embossed on the lid, along with the shrink-wrapped copy of the Masque album bearing its own anagrammatic code, had convinced him that the People of the Southwind had somehow been behind everything that he and his family had encountered over the last day-and-a-half since they had first found the mysterious message written in black-light ink next to the John Brown dummy where it had fallen to the stage during Kansas' concert in Culpeper the other night.

Having paused long enough to allow the run-on sentence in the previous paragraph sufficient time to bring latecomers somewhat up to speed with the story thus far, Michael began (finally, as far as his kids and wife were concerned) to open the lid.  Slowly he lifted it, step by step, inch by inch, just to savor the moment (and to drive his wife and kids nuts with anticipation).  As the sunlight streaming in through the window blinds fell upon its contents, all they could see at first was only a cloth-like material, evidently covering what lay beneath it.  Michael took a corner of it between his thumb and finger.

"It feels like velvet," he said, rubbing the material with his thumb.  "Very soft."

"It must be to cushion what's inside," Bev offered.

"Maybe so," Michael replied, lifting the velvet out of the box.  It had been folded over a few times, apparently to cushion the box's contents, as Bev had surmised.  Michael removed the rest of the material to reveal the treasure within.

"What the...?" Michael murmured.

"What is it?" Bev asked as the kids moved closer for a better look.  "Let us see, too, Daddy!" Emily said, standing on her tip-toes.

Michael looked at the object within the box.  It was black and cylindrical, about ten inches long.  Each end from its edge to about two inches in was slightly larger around than the central part of the cylinder, which itself was about three inches in diameter and bore five rotary dials around its circumference, each bearing the letters of the alphabet.  The device appeared to be made of wood and was adorned on each end with strange symbols carved into its surface and was cushioned beneath and on all sides in the box by the same velvety material that Michael had lifted off from it moments before.  Carefully he reached into the box and lifted out the object, which seemed oddly heavy for its size.  It looked for all the world like a small wooden hand-weight.  Or a pipe bomb, Michael thought grimly to himself, remembering his initial reservations about the package.

"Whoa..." Jeff whispered, letting out a low whistle.  "What is that?"

"Well, it's not the Holy Grail," Michael said, "although it does look like something described in Dan Brown's novel The Da Vinci Code, which you mentioned earlier, Jeff." his father replied.  "Unless I'm mistaken, this is a device ascribed by Brown to Leonardo da Vinci himself.  It's a cryptex."

"A crypt-what?" Bev asked.

"A cryptex," Michael replied.  "As Brown described it, it was a design that da Vinci supposedly came up with to safeguard important messages from falling into the wrong hands.  If you've ever heard of e-mail encryption, this would be a Renaissance method of accomplishing the same thing.  You'd write your message on a piece of papyrus--"

"What's papyrus?" Emily spoke up.

"Papyrus is a kind of paper made from plant material," her father answered.  "In fact, the word paper itself comes from the word papyrus.  Many of the oldest fragments of the New Testament documents that have been discovered were written on papyrus."

"Oh," she replied, still not really sure that she understood.

"Anyway," Michael continued, "you'd write your message on papyrus, roll it up, insert it into the cylinder, and close up the end."  He held the device up for them all to see.

"It's got all kinds of symbols on the ends," Katherine said.  "A bunch of short lines and 'greater-than' and 'less-than' signs, like on my math homework."

"It looks like a hand-weight," younger Michael said.

"Or a small barbell," Graham added.

"Or a pipe bomb!" Jeff said, a little too enthusiastically, his father thought. He's definitely watching too much Spike TV.

"No, it's not a bomb," his father replied, "but it is booby-trapped, if it follows Dan Brown's description.  See these dials?" he asked, pointing to them with his free hand.  "As with the box it was in, these dials serve as a combination lock.  These markings to the left and right of each dial indicate where to turn them.  Dial the right combination of characters and pull out the end, and it opens right up.  Dial the wrong combination, however, and try to force it open, or even just accidentally drop it on the ground, and you'll break a small vial of vinegar hidden inside."

"Vinegar?" Emily asked.  "What's that for?"

"If the vial is broken, the vinegar would react with the papyrus and dissolve it, destroying the message," Michael said.  "The protagonists in The Da Vinci Code had to decode a similar kind of device at the risk of destroying its contents.  Of course, they could have just stuck the thing into a freezer and waited until the vinegar was frozen before smashing it open without worrying about damaging the papyrus inside, but 'watching things freeze' isn't very exciting, literarily or cinematically speaking."

"How do you know all this, honey?" Bev asked, mystified.

"I read the novel," Michael replied with a smile.  "And I watch The History Channel."

Bev silently eyed the contraption in her husband's hands for a few moments, not fully convinced that it was harmless.  "So only someone who knew the combination could read the message," she finally said.

"Right," her husband said, "the intended recipient, with whom the sender would have worked out the password in advance.  Now, we don't know the password, but there is a freezer downstairs.  In da Vinci's day, of course, there were no freezers that a thief could have used to bypass its security system.  Listen," he said, turning the cryptex on end, "you can hear the vinegar in its vial."

The children listened as Michael turned the device on one end, then the other.  Curiously, they didn't hear any fluid moving.  "I didn't hear anything," Emily said.

"Hmm," her father said, holding the cryptex to his ear as he turned it on end and listened.  Now he could hear something moving, but it wasn't liquid.

"Strange," he said, turning it on end and listening again.  "It sounds like... sand.  Or maybe... powder... of some kind."  He held the device out in front of him.  "Maybe this is a variation on Dan Brown's description."

They all stared at the strange object in Michael's hand for a few moments.  Then, as before, Graham asked the obvious question.

"Well?  Are we gonna try and open it?"

Michael hesitated.  The box had opened easily enough without incident, but this device, this cryptex, was booby-trapped by design to protect its contents by making sure that only the intended recipient or someone who knew or guessed or figured out the combination could open it at the risk of destroying the contents.  Plus, whatever security system this cryptex employed involved not vinegar but some kind of powder.  Michael began to wonder if his initial apprehension about the package had not been misplaced after all.  Still, it seemed clear that whoever had "reserved" the package for him had intended for him to find it and discover its contents.

"I tell you what," he finally said to his wife and kids.  "I have no idea what the combination for this thing could be, but because 'P-O-T-S-W' worked for the box, I'll try it for this too.  Now listen," he added, getting that serious look again, "not only is this thing designed to have some kind of booby-trap, but this particular one seems to be full of powder or something, and you know what that means."

"No, what?" Graham asked.

"It means we're not sticking it in the freezer and then smashing it open, that's what it means," Michael said.  "It might blow up in our faces.  I'll try opening it, but only outside."

"Ooh," Jeff said, intrigued.  "It is a bomb!"

Bev walked over to her husband.  She wore a worried look on her face.

"Honey," she whispered, "you don't really think this could be a bomb, do you?"

"The booby-trap is only designed to go off if you try to force the cryptex open or drop it on the floor," he replied.  "I'll try the combination that worked before when we opened the box, but I'll do it very carefully.  Now, all of you, follow me."

Michael put the device back into the box, wrapped the velvet material around it again and lowered the lid without closing it all the way.  Just to be safe, he thought to himself.  He then stepped toward the door and opened it as his family fell in line behind him.  He proceeded to the landing at the top of the stairs, grasped the handrail and slowly started walking down the stairs.  Bev and the kids followed him, a few steps behind.  He held the box in his right hand, cradled against his chest like a baby, keeping it as steady as possible as he made his way down.  After descending one flight of stairs, though, Michael turned to his family and said, "You know, if this thing really were a bomb primed to go off at the slightest touch, Graham would've set if off when he was running back here with it after we got back from the music store.  If this thing really were dangerous, our klutziness would've already blown it up."

"Are you sure?" Bev asked, uncertainty in her voice.

"Look.  If this thing really were a bomb, our suddenly thinking that it might be a bomb wouldn't make it any more likely to go off than it had been before we thought it was a bomb and we were bouncing it around all over the place," he replied.  "Come on."

Michael started back down the stairs, this time at a more normal pace.  After a moment, Bev and then the rest of the of his family followed after him.
 
 

21

Michael stepped out into the sunlight outside Thompson Hall, the leather-bound box in his right hand.  As he'd expected, he'd made it down the stairs unexploded, though he knew his wife and kids would still be worried.  A moment later they emerged from the building and joined him on the walkway leading out to the Quad.

"I should go out in the middle," Michael said, heading toward the Quad's perimeter, "just in case it... uh... you know."

"Honey, I'm really worried," Bev said, coming up behind him.  "Shouldn't we call the police?  Or a bomb squad?"

"And you know what they'd do?" he asked.  "They'd evacuate the seminary campus and then blow up the cryptex anyway.  Then we'd never know what was inside.  And then after all that was over, they'd take us downtown and demand an explanation for what's going on, as if we even know what's going on.  Besides," he added, "as I said, the booby-trap, whatever it is, will only activate if I try to force it open.  I'll be careful."

Michael reached the walkway the formed the Quad's perimeter and turned to his family, who reached the walkway themselves after a few moments.  "Bev, kids," he said, "I want you all to stay right here.  I'll go out in the middle and carefully try to open it."

Bev still had a fearful look in her eyes.  Michael leaned over and gently kissed her.  "Hey," he said, "does it really make sense to think that someone would go to all this trouble with the secret messages and the codes just to put a bomb in my hands?  Don't worry," he reassured her.  "I'll be fine."

Michael turned and walked on, heading under the trees that lined the edge of the Quad and out into the open area.  He went over all the reasons he'd given his family for why there was nothing to worry about.  How much of that did he really believe?  He reached the center of the Quad and looked around.  There was no one else in the immediate vicinity. Collateral damage kept to a minimum, he thought to himself.  Gently he lifted the box's lid again.  The brilliant light of the afternoon sun reflected almost blindingly off the velvet as he carefully unwrapped the cryptex and removed it from the box.

He studied the device in his hands, the sunlight gleaming brightly off its polished surfaces.  He could see that the strange carvings were precisely engraved, almost as if they had been made by a precision machine.  The dials moved freely, as had the ones on the box earlier when he had opened it.  Then he had a thought: If this really were a bomb, would so much care and workmanship have been put into it?  Would it have really been wrapped in velvet and hidden in a leather-bound box if its only purpose were to blow up in my face?  Then he had another thought: Can you say, 'Unabomber'?

He looked back at his family, standing about a hundred feet away under a tree, and nodded his head toward them.  His mind was made up.  Carefully he rolled the first dial to "P," as he had the box's first dial.  Then he rolled the others to "O," "T," "S" and "W," as before.  When each dial was lined up with the markings on either side of it, Michael carefully grasped the ends of the cryptex and gently began to pull.

At first nothing seemed to happen.  He wasn't sure if it was because he wasn't pulling hard enough or if he were really encountering resistance.  But then he felt one end slip outward ever so slightly in his fingers, followed by a quiet click from inside the device.  Michael held his breath.  The end refused to budge any further.  He nudged it back in to where it had been before and gently tried again.  The end slipped out the same distance as before and stopped.  Given the workmanship of the dials and the carvings on the ends, Michael doubted that he would need force or WD-40 to open the cryptex if this were indeed the right combination.

He held up the device in his hand and exhaled.  Evidently "P-O-T-S-W" wasn't the combination, and in spite of his best efforts, he remained unexploded.  Michael smiled to himself.  In light of everything that had happened since the concert the other night, and having satisfied himself that the cryptex wasn't dangerous after all but was rather yet another clue in the mystery, he felt that he now knew who had left the first message for him to find and had directed him to the music store to collect the box and its contents.  Why, of course, he still didn't know.  He placed the cryptex back into the box, closed the lid just short of latching it and walked back toward his family.

"Dad!" Jeff yelled as Michael approached.  "You didn't blow up!"

"Nope," his father said, smiling.  "I'm afraid you'll have to wait for the actuarial tables to kick in after all before you can collect on my life insurance."

"Shucky-darn!" younger Michael said with a laugh.

"So it's really not a bomb after all," Bev said, relief in her voice.

"No, it's not," Michael replied, "although 'P-O-T-S-W' isn't the combination this time.  However, now that I know that this thing isn't dangerous, I think I know who sent it to us."

"You do?" Graham asked.  "Who?"

"Think about it," Michael said.  "The first message we found on the stage next to the John Brown dummy after the show the other night started with a string of numbers representing the precise moment of Kerry Livgren's conversion.  Then there were the anagrams 'Pop is a climbed rogue' and 'We tar,' which led us to Guiseppe Arcimboldo's painting Water, which had been used as the cover art of Kansas' Masque album more than thirty years ago.  That led us to the Budget Music store here in Richmond, where I was given the shrink-wrapped Masque album and this box.  The black-light message written on the album cover was an anagram for the word 'indefatigable,' the secret motto of the People of the Southwind, which also confirmed that the 'P.S.: Find Kerry Livgren' at the end of the first message was either a command or," he turned to his wife, "as you thought, honey, a plea to the People of the Southwind to find Kerry Livgren.  The song from which the People of the Southwind take their name is from the Kansas album Monolith, as is the song 'How My Soul Cries Out for You,' during which the John Brown dummy fell to the stage during the concert.  Finally we have this leather box with the Point of Know Return back cover image on its lid that opened with the combination 'P-O-T-S-W,' all of which has led us to this cryptex with all these symbols carved into it.  Since I'm still unexploded, I figure that it didn't come from anyone who was out to get me but rather someone who wanted to make sure that I would find the messages, figure them out and finally end up with the cryptex.  We still don't know what's inside it or how to open it, but I can think of only one person who would go to all this trouble to make sure that it ended up in my hands."

"Who?!" Bev and the kids asked in unison.

"Ryan Waldron," Michael replied.  "Grand Master of the People of the Southwind."