The Haunting of Pitmon House (20 page)

Now, Aceveda was trying to show her an umbrella, and she
wasn’t getting it.

“No!” the woman said. “Hold it like this. Look. Stop. Drop
into the River and look at it.”

Eliza let herself drop into the flow and looked at the three
foot umbrella she held in her hand. It transformed into a long, thin pole with
sections of metal that extended from it at odd angles.

You see, it’s not an umbrella,
Aceveda said.
What does it remind
you of?

She examined it closely: it had a handle at one end, and lots
of cut metal notches extending out.
It’s kind of like a key,
she said.
A
giant key.

That’s exactly right,
the woman replied.
But not like a little flat key. This
is a three-dimensional key, with all kinds of millings and grooves that extend
around the entire pole. And whereas a key is designed to unlock a specific
lock, this key is much more powerful, because it’s designed to pick any lock.

Eliza knew what the woman was telling her was important, and
she tried to clear the cobwebs from her mind so she could take it in.
You
mean it’s like a lockpick?

Exactly,
the woman replied.
This one was built by my great-great grandfather,
and has been tested and used many times. It’s almost ninety-seven percent
perfect. It’s one of the best.

And it’ll get through that wall?
Eliza asked.

They dropped from the River. “It might,” the woman replied.
“As with any lockpick, it doesn’t work by itself. It requires a skilled user,
someone who knows how to make it perform its function.”

“So legend shelves aren’t impenetrable!” Eliza said.

“Nothing is impenetrable,” Aceveda replied. “But a correct
legend shelf is nearly that for several reasons. The first is that a legend
shelf that is properly set up and maintained is extremely strong. The ones that
become susceptible to penetration are ones that were poorly executed, ones that
have some kind of weakness. Second, picks like this are extremely rare; most
people don’t even know they exist. I wouldn’t have shown this one to you unless
I thought you were the right person, and of course I put you under oath to keep
it secret. Third, having a pick means nothing. It must be wielded by someone
who knows what they’re doing. And fourth — probably most importantly — even
with all that, not all gifteds can pull it off. There’s an extra element that’s
required, something in your makeup that allows you to intuit the lock while
you’re using the pick.”

“I’m going to guess that you think I have that something?”
Eliza asked. “That’s what all the tests were about?”

“Yes,” Aceveda replied. “I can count on one hand the number
of times I’ve seen it in people. I believe you’ve got it; at least, that’s what
the tests say.”

Eliza felt the last of the morning’s fogginess leave her mind
as the import of what Aceveda was trying to communicate began to sink in.

“I’m going to show you how to use this thing,” the woman
said, “to get through that wall. Once I’m convinced you know what you’re doing,
I’m going to let you borrow it and use it at Pitmon House.”

“Wow, OK,” Eliza said, fully awake.

“Before we learn how to use it,” Aceveda said, removing the
umbrella from Eliza’s hand, “I need to show you something else first. Follow
me.”

She led Eliza through the house to the basement. It was
finished but empty. At the back of the large open space was a door, and Aceveda
led Eliza to it. Inside was a table, and on the table sat three large devices.
Aceveda walked up to one of them and looked down.

“Look here,” she said. “This is my legend shelf. Have you
ever seen one before?”

Eliza looked at the smooth, flat rock surface. It was large,
about three feet wide, and had a shiny black top. Thin red lines glowed on it,
slowly pulsing. It looked intriguing, and Eliza found herself drawn to it in an
inexplicable way. “No,” she replied. “I’ve never see one.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Aceveda said. “These lines show the
demarcation. I can adjust them by moving them.” She reached out and pressed on
one of the lines. It turned green, and she slid it an inch to the right,
releasing it. “There, just gained another six feet of protection! Reach under
here,” she said, pointing to the edge of the stone.

Eliza felt under the front and right surface. There were
buttons and dials there; she was careful to not activate them.

“You can change the view with these,” the woman said, “and
set up the layout you need.”

“What does it do, exactly?” Eliza asked.

“Keeps people and things out,” Aceveda replied, “when it’s
working correctly. If it isn’t, it can be a real problem.”

“You think that’s what I’m dealing with, behind the wall?”

“Granger and his son said they felt pressure, the closer they
got to it, correct?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a good indication a legend shelf is involved, and
that the demarcation lines have blurred. When you tried to pass through the
wall, you couldn’t, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“So it’s still operational, and still protecting whatever is
inside there, but something is wrong with it. How long ago was it abandoned?”

“Not sure exactly,” Eliza replied. “Decades, at least.”

“A lot can go wrong in that amount of time,” Aceveda said.
“For one of these to remain effective, it has to be maintained.”

“I’d like to learn how,” Eliza said, leaning over the
display, reaching for the controls under the edge.

“I can see you would,” the woman replied. “But we don’t have
time for that today. What’s important is that you realize what we’re dealing
with. This device is behind that wall, keeping you out. It shouldn’t be
infecting things around it, like your music machine, so that tells me something
has gone wrong with it. And if there’s something wrong, there’s something to
exploit. It’s much, much harder to crack one that’s functioning perfectly.”

“But it can be done?” Eliza asked, turning to look at
Aceveda.

“Well,” she said slyly, “you’re under oath, so I can tell
you. Yes, it can be done. That isn’t anything we want getting out, so don’t
repeat it. I have investments in the legend shelf market, and I don’t want to
see them erode. It’s best that everyone thinks it’s impossible, capiche?”

“Capiche,” Eliza replied. “But I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“The point of all this is my brother. Something about the automaton
infected him; at least, that’s what we think happened, because we got a match
on a Tapura. My friend, who was burned at Pitmon House, felt that if we could
dig up where the automaton came from, it would lead us to something that would
help Shane. If a legend shelf is malfunctioning, and responsible for infecting
the automaton before it was sold to House on the Rock, how does that help? Is
there something about the legend shelf that suggests a cure? If so, do we
really need to get to the legend shelf to pursue something that will help my
brother? Does it take shutting down the legend shelf to end his infection?”

“No, that won’t work,” Aceveda replied. “If the legend shelf
was responsible for corrupting the automaton, that’s a done deal, and the
automaton is operating off its own energy now. I would be highly doubtful that
shutting down the legend shelf would somehow resolve your brother’s condition.
It might explain it, but it wouldn’t end it.”

“That’s what I mean,” Eliza said, growing frustrated. “What
will end it? That’s what I need!”

Aceveda led her back upstairs. “Have you ever played with
mazes?”

“When I was a kid.”

“Then you know how they work. There are lots of twists and
turns. Some of them are dead ends. You have to keep going until you find the
way out.”

“But…”

“Wait,” Aceveda said. “I’m not finished with my wise analogy.
The entire time you’re in the maze, making the twists and turns, you know what
the goal is, right?”

“Yes, it’s to get out.”

“But just knowing that’s the goal doesn’t really do much for
you while you’re in the middle of it, trying to figure it out, right? You can’t
jump from the middle of the maze to the exit. You have to work your way there,
correct?”

“It seems like a highly simplistic analogy. It doesn’t really
relate to the complexity of what we’re doing.”

“The best analogies are simple ones,” Aceveda said, returning
to the study. “When you’ve reached the exit of the maze, what have you
created?”

“Created?” Eliza asked. “Created? Well, I don’t know. I made
it out. I created an exit.”

“Think about it!” the old woman insisted. “You didn’t create
an exit; it was already there, waiting. You started, you kept at it, and you
finished. What did you create? Imagine drawing your way through one, on a piece
of paper.”

“A path,” Eliza replied. “I suppose I’ve created a path.”

“Exactly,” Aceveda replied. “What’s the value of the path?”

“It’s a solution,” Eliza replied. “It’s how to solve the
puzzle.”

The old woman shook her head. “My god, you have so much to
learn.” She walked to the umbrella. “We’ll have to save the philosophy for
later I’m afraid. Right now, I want to show you how to use this thing.”

●

Eliza’s arm was aching. She’d been holding the metal rod for
a long time, suspended inside the mortar of a brick wall in Aceveda’s back
yard. She dropped from the River for a second, and was disturbed to see the
umbrella half embedded in the bricks, the wooden handle sticking out.

“I didn’t say you could drop out!” Aceveda said, and a stick
fell, hitting her on her hands. It stung.

“Will you stop doing that!” Eliza said. “I’m not a child!”

“Then stop fucking around and hold it correctly!” Aceveda
snarled.

“It’s heavy!”

“Not heavier than your heart will be if you let your brother
die! Now hold it!”

Eliza dropped back into the River and grasped the wooden
handle on the end of the rod. She lifted it a little, taking on its weight,
which allowed her to pick up on tiny sensations produced by the metal millings
and grooves that extended from its core.

A half an inch more,
Aceveda said.
Gently, and feel for resistance.

Eliza pressed the rod in slowly, her forearm aching. She felt
something touch on the right side of the rod.

Where on the rod is the resistance?
Aceveda asked.
The tip? The
middle? Where?

It felt like the tip,
Eliza replied.
On the right.

Angle down a degree and push to the left,
the woman said.

She adjusted the rod and continued. As each point of resistance
was met, Aceveda walked her through how to get around it. It felt as though
she’d been holding the heavy rod for hours.

I can’t keep holding it!
Eliza said.
My arm is about to give out!

You can let it rest if you find a spot with no pins,
Aceveda replied.
If you set it
down on a pin, we’re starting from scratch.

Eliza carefully rotated the rod and tried lowering it. She
felt something touch the rod near the handle, so she stopped and lifted it
again, rotating it to a new position. When she was happy with it, she lowered
it again. It rested.

There,
she said.

Try pulling on it,
Aceveda said.

Eliza took the handle and gave it a light tug. It slid out
easily.

It should have stuck,
the old woman commented.
If it comes out, you didn’t have
it right.

Damn!
Eliza said, and dropped from the River. The entire umbrella was in her
hand, the tip having cleared the brick wall. “We’ve been at this for hours.
Can’t I rest my arm for a minute?”

“Rest,” Aceveda said, turning to go into the house. “And
think of your poor brother, tied to the bed.”

Eliza sighed. Aceveda was ruthless in focus, driving her to
learn how to use the pick relentlessly, not taking any excuse and constantly
directing her back to the next thing to learn. She rubbed at her arm, trying to
soothe the pain, knowing that Aceveda was right; she needed to focus and learn.
She’d just never tried to do anything that was as hard as the task of working
the pick.

Aceveda returned with a tube and tossed it at her. Eliza
caught it.

“Rub some of that on your arm where it hurts,” Aceveda said.

“Is this some kind of special pain ointment?” Eliza asked,
looking at the little print on the back of the tube.

“Yes,” Aceveda replied. “It’s Bengay.”

Eliza turned the tube over. Sure enough, there was the logo.
It looked ancient.