Page 30 of Storm of Bells
My eyes flicked to the rest of the message.Wait a moment…
I frowned. Dictation? What the heck did hemean?
For one moment, I had a mental image of achiropractor in a white coat approaching me and saying, ‘Well now,let’s get those bones set, shall we? And then we’ll engrave abusiness letter into them.’
No. Not even Mr Rikkard Ambrose would usehuman bone as writing material. After all, paper was much cheaper.Besides….I had a niggling suspicion that, whatever a chirographerwas, it didn’t have very much to do with any bone, except the oneMr Ambrose would work me to.
I can take it! I can take whatever he throwsat me and more!
Determined, I grabbed the poker and marchedtowards the crate. Shortly afterwards, the sound of cracking andsplintering wood filled the office.
‘Damnit! Give way, you bloody thing! Giveway!’
Crack!
‘Finally!’
One side of the crate split open and fellaway. Wiping the sweat from my face, I threw an anxious glance atthe clock in the corner. Only five minutes left to Mr Ambrose’sdeadline.
Pulling the wooden debris aside, I peeredinto the shadowy crate. The sight that greeted me was like nothingI had ever seen before.
‘What the heck…?’
Reaching inside, I pulled out the metalcontraption that looked like a mixture between a church organ andtorture instrument. A ring of tiny, glinting metallic hammers rosefrom the centre of the contraption. Each hammer was connected by astring to a single wooden disk. I noticed that letters wereengraved on the disks. Frowning, I leaned forward to read.
‘Q-W-E-R-T-Y,’ I deciphered. ‘Whatthe…?’[11]
Grabbing another piece of paper, I scribbleda message and shoved it into the tube.
Dear Mr Ambrose,
Who the heck is Qwerty? And why does he sendyou nonsensical machinery?
Yours truly,
Miss Lillian Linton
The answer arrived in under half a minute.
Mr Linton,
You have exactly two minutes and thirty-twoseconds to make sense of the nonsensical machinery.
Rikkard Ambrose
Well, I didn’t really expect it to be that easy, didI? Striding back to the machine, I checked for Qwerty’s last name.When I found it, my eyes widened, and I double-checked, just to besure. But I’d been correct. So next, I went and checked MrAmbrose’s calendar and contact book for any mention of a Mr Uiop.Nothing. Nix. Zilch.
It was only when I went back to studying themachine and reached the names of Mr Uiop’s partners, Mr Asdfgh Jkland Mrs Zxcv Bnm that I began to develop some doubts in regard towhether I was dealing with a manufacturer’s name.
At least I hope that’s not what it is.Because if it is, I’ll have to hunt down the parents of poor Zxcvand hold them responsible for their crime.
Cautiously, I reached out across the machineto touch one of the engraved wooden disks. It moved under myfinger. I pressed down, and—
Thwack!
‘Aaah!’
Jumping back, I just barely avoided gettingmy nose sheared off. Something metallic had flashed past my face,missing me by inches. Skittering back, I cautiously circumventedthe table until I stood directly in front of the engraved woodendisks. No…the keys, I realized, for that was what they were. Keyslike on a piano. Only…a piano made music. This thing, on the otherhand…
