I Opted to Continue
crawling all over me- there were a good many inches of him
- healthy squid population
- must train their eyes
- “Put your chapstick away.”
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I opted to continue affecting utter nonchalance. I handed the card back and said, “It’s not signed. What’s it to us, anyway?”
The Baron’s lips curled into a nasty smile, making it feel like frozen caterpillars were crawling all over me. “You probably think I want you to rescue the poor bastard. No. I need to make sure he doesn’t come back. With your position at that very fortress, you’re ideally situated to help me with that.”
I scratched my chin, as if mulling it over. It was plain that the Baron knew I recognized the handwriting. He wasn’t taking the bait on that. But, equally plainly, he didn’t realize the message was in code. My problem was that I couldn’t pin down exactly which code it was. The mention of a t-rex costume could signal the use of the Fossil Cipher, in which case the aerial photo was the real message and all the other text should be discarded. Knowing who had penned it, I was inclined to believe as little of it as possible — there were a good many inches of him, and every one a liar. For instance, the Jurassic costuming statutes are almost never enforced, which the Baron probably didn’t know.
But the other candidate code couldn’t be ruled out. I noticed how the “W” in “Winter” on the face of the card lined up perfectly with the “W” in “wedding” on the back, which suggested a far more complex style of encryption. I would have no hope of cracking such a message without knowing, among other things, if the nearby waters held a healthy squid population.
In neither scenario was it very likely that the writer was actually at Enigma Fortress, but as long as the Baron didn’t figure that out, he’d happily arrange for me to get home.
Brandita cleared her throat, and the Baron patiently awaited whatever she had to say. She appeared nervous about it, but finally she mumbled, “Those who want the truth must train their eyes to see it.” And then she crossed hers.
While the Baron tried to cover the awkwardness by reminding us about proper cold-weather lip care, I covertly studied the postcard again. By allowing my eyes to defocus slightly I discovered the “truth” that Brandita had been talking about. The photo was a stereogram, hiding a symbol. This was the real message, and it chilled me.
The failure of my disinterested facade made the Baron look again at the card himself. He gasped, then turned his gaze to us. “Put your chapstick away.”
bonus points for using them in order