Unable to help his friend in need, Harvey sank to a corner and gritted his teeth until pain took over his mouth. He was shamefully useless; nothing he did would help Evelyn's plight. How could he face Sigerson if she never came out? The mere thought hit him harder than a train as he buried his head in distress.
---
"I'm not showing my face unless I find that clue Bork left behind," muttered Evelyn resolutely, though nobody was present.
Those words from Blight still had never ceased to disappear from her mind—they were like a constant reminder of her inferiority, etched into her.
Throwing aside her hair and cloak in a hurry, she stared at the riddle again while trying to ignore the rapidly consuming steam, which had now soaked her from head to foot and threatened to burn her delicate skin.
At this rate, the papers will become useless because of the steam, so that puts me at a slight disadvantage. That clock in the side…
She went over to a clock built into the wall. Its hands were not moving, however, and seemed to be stuck at the twelve o'clock position. A stocky lever stuck out next to the clock. When she knocked on the clock, a hollow sound resounded back. She smirked.
This must be where the clue is hidden; the clock hands act as the passcode and when positioned correctly, according to the riddle, will allow this lever to work.
She tugged at the lever, which was currently firmly stuck in place.
So all I have to do to open this disguised vault is solve this riddle? Let me see… The time past noon… I'll have to move the hands manually… What if I just try every hand positioning? No… That would take too long… Alright, I guess, this riddle's the only way to open it.
She wiped her sweaty forehead.
This diagram labels each of the cogs having a power unit of one; this means all the cogs are equal in terms of power. Since Bork is well-versed in mathematics, it wouldn't be far-fetched to think the riddle could be interpreted in abstract terms—after all, what better way is there to hide the answer?
If the cogs are interpreted as their corresponding values raised to the power of the cycles, copper would be two to the power of the cycle number, iron would be four to the power of the cycle number as well, and gold would be eight to the power of the cycle number too.
Since the last cog follows copper's rule, it would be doubling its power with each cycle.
'It's power matches the three cogs united…'
Hmm… Either the three add up or multiply to provide an answer in doubles. The last cog would look something like 2 to the power of n…
In her mind, symbols, letters, and numbers flashed before her. It was like a jumble of puzzle pieces, flying around to be put into place.
Addition is unlikely since it wouldn't lead to a clear answer in that form, so the 'united' in the riddle refers to multiplication. Multiplying the three terms leads to the final cog doubling but with an exponent six times the original copper's cycles.
Her eyes began to blur, possibly because of the overbearing heat produced by the overbearing heat produced by the thick fumes of steam. Nevertheless, she clenched her fists to take control over her concentration once more.
The final line says 'the final cog stops cycling'. If you remove the cycling component from the component, all that's left is a number, 64. There's a cog here with a label of 64, isn't there? I could've sworn it was lying here just a second ago. Oh, here it is. The final cog.
A peculiar shaped cog laid on the table among a sea of others in front of her, tucked away neatly underneath stacks of soggy blueprints and diagrams. Engraved on it with miniscule lettering was the caption:
POWER: 64
She picked it up and, turning it around in her hands, felt every one of its many teeth.
So the final cog actually exists? If so, the imaginary cog mentioned must be a representative of something since the final cog joins together with it. The only problem with this is that an imaginary cog obviously doesn't exist, so what could it possibly represent? If interpreted as the previous cogs in a mathematical sense…
"Is everything good in there, Evelyn?" asked Harvey nervously, shouting to get his voice through the steel doors.
"All fine in here," she replied, hiding the fact that the steam had already been burning her for nearly a minute.
Blistering red lumps formed from the constant exposure to the deadly water vapour. Gritting her teeth, she ripped off the jacket, tightened it around her head, and created an opening to see through. It wasn't much, but at least her pretty face wouldn't be burned for now.
Back to the riddle. If I interpret the imaginary cog with imaginary cycles as a number with an exponent, it would be zero raised to zero… How could that represent anything? It doesn't even work in the first place, because the answer could be either zero or one… Hold on…
She jumped up and, ignoring the pain in her unprotected arms and legs, pounced on one of the many odd inventions in the room. Although it had many parts removed or modified, the object at her hands was still recognisable as a telegraph machine, its buttons all replaced by a mixture of gears.
Zero raised to zero indicates that the represented object is related to zeros and ones. What else could it be in this room but this telegraph, which uses binary code. According to my deduction, there should be somewhere I can insert this cog…
An empty slot opened itself to Evelyn's eyes. It was shaped perfectly for the cog in her hand and when she fitted it in and switched the telegraph on. At once, the machine sprang to life like the rest of the room, making the same metallic clanking noises. A modified chute produced a paper, spitting it into her waiting hands, which snatched it before the steam could destroy it.
Pasted on it was yet another cryptic message which read:
If you remove the degrees, the time will be revealed…
"The time?" muttered Evelyn. "Could it be referring to 'the time past noon' that was mentioned in the riddle?"
Looking down at the piece of paper again, she glared at the triangle displayed and as sudden as a bullet, the answer struck her. A protractor was quickly found, which Evelyn slapped onto the triangle. One of the triangle's angles was highlighted conspicuously—Evelyn shifted the protractor, capturing the measurement meticulously. Somehow, even with the moist air's dampening influence, the paper still appeared to be unharmed.
This paper is waterproof, meaning Bork designed it to be unharmed by the steam. I'm right on track then; he wouldn't wax a piece of paper for no reason. The angle marked out is the answer here. If I measure it, the remainder can be interpreted as minutes and seconds, so the line 'remove the degrees' indicates that the integer degrees should be removed, leaving only the minutes and seconds.
Clank.
The sound of scraping filled the room as Evelyn dragged herself across the room like an injured soldier gasping for life. Indeed, the thick steam in the air had condensed so much, it practically acted as a suffocating cloth and a red-hot sauna at the same time, but still, she would not let the blistering pain overcome her. The mission was intended for Sigerson, so if she was unable to accomplish it… the lingering sense of inferiority would never leave.
The angle is twenty and a half degrees, which means the time… The time it points to is thirty minutes… Thirty minutes past noon… No… I have to… I can't fall here…
Overloaded with the task of blocking out the pain, Evelyn's mind, exhausted as it was, refused to shut down, though the signs of fatigue showed themselves unwillingly. Reaching out with a shining pink hand using the last drops of strength she had left, Evelyn pulled the hands to the half-past-twelve position and yanked the lever. As the clock emitted a strange sequence of clicking noises, Evelyn murmured, "The steam should disappear and the entrance reopened soon enough. Bork would've wanted Will to escape with the message… I wonder what it is…"
The once sealed chimney's opening slowly yawned widely, expelling the steam as Evelyn had predicted. The clock swung open with a final clack. Evelyn peered into the vault and as she sank to the floor, the final ounce of strength sapped away at last.
The mission was complete. Inside of the vault was the fruit of her three harsh minutes of grueling endurance. The last thing she remembered before shutting her eyes were the panicky footsteps on the warm stone floor and a pair of ancient, worn-out boots rushing towards her.
---
"Is it time for breakfast yet…" mumbled Evelyn groggily, tossing around in her bed. That was something new. How long had she been lying there for?
"So this is what you say when you first wake up?" was the half-mocking, half-serious reply.
"Wha?"
There sat Sigerson dressed in his usual drab coat and scarf, looking at her with a rare mix of seriousness and humor. She blushed, her cheeks the same shade of red as her messy hair.
"Never mind that. What happened to the thing Bork left behind for you?"
Sigerson stayed silent; he gave his cousin a reassuring grin while pushing her gently back down to rest.
"You need to get some rest. Just look at yourself."
Raising her heavily wrapped arm, Evelyn admired the tidily patched gauze. Every inch of limbs were covered with the light brown material, giving her the appearance of an ancient mummy. Her face, however, was still untouched as before.
"By the way," said Sigerson, opening up a window to allow fresh air to flow into the bedroom. "You should thank Harvey later. He carried you all the way up the stairs in that workshop to the cab with that tiny body of his."
"I will—don't worry."
And then there was silence. Right before Sigerson reached for the doorknob, Evelyn sat up straight and asked again, "So what was the thing Bork left in that vault, Will?"
Sigerson gave a weary sigh.
"I guess there's no hiding it anymore, is there? Here, I'll show you."
He pulled out an ordinary brown envelope and took something out from it. It was… a photograph. Although the image quality was grainy and unclear, there was no mistaking the person in the center.
Blight stood among a sea of cheerful children in front of a massive brick building with the sign Asher's Hill Orphanage hung over the main entrance.
"This is…"
"It's a picture of one of his many orphanages, like the one we were raised in," said Sigerson, handing over the photo. She received it and glanced over it quickly.
"Are you sure this hasn't been edited or tampered with?"
"I"m sure it hasn't. I asked Mr Mansell to get it checked a day ago."
"A day? I was asleep for that long?"
"No more questions for now," returned Sigerson.
He patted his cousin on the head briefly before leaving the bedroom to rejoin the others for lunch.
---
A thick blanket of darkness covered the city, almost like a dark sea of shadows. High above were a group of gigantic zeppelins, hovering in the sky as a group. They almost resembled a vast nest of killer wasps moving viciously towards their targets, stings armed and ready to be unleashed. With their flapping sails on the side, they glided together as one, their shadows rippling slightly in the light breeze. The tide was changing; the momentum Grock had relinquished was regained. Death was coming to Revalty from the skies, instilling a kind of fear none of them had experienced before.