“Ephraim’s the only one who’d mind, and he’s not here to argue.” I laugh at that. As true as it might be, the portrait breathing down my neck says otherwise. I put it back where I found it and move to the window behind Ben.
He seems to notice my steps mirror his. “I gave them away, didn’t I?”
“Maybe,” I tease, but I’m already hunting for whatever is hidden here. The window itself is perfectly normal and the same as the two on either side. It takes me ten minutes of silent comparisons before Ben speaks up.
“I’ve not figured this one out, but I know there’s something there.”
“Why?”
“The pattern,” he admits.
I look again. Pattern…pattern…there! In the window casement are patterns that run up each side of the window. The other two windows share the same pattern, but the one in the middle is subtly different. Where the others have vine leaves trailing up, the middle window has grapes amid the vines. I run my hand over them and realise that on each bunch there is one grape more pronounced than the others. Four on either side of the frame.
I press firmly. Nothing.
“What have you found?” Ben shoots out of his seat and joinsme at the window. I grab his hand and run his palm over a grape cluster.
“Feel how it’s slightly bigger? More three dimensional than the rest.”
“Yeah. There’s one in every bunch like that, but they don’t do anything. I think it’s just years of accumulated paint.”
“Fine, but then it would be random, not one on each cluster.” Ben runs his hands over each of the grapes, climbing onto the windowsill to reach the upper ones. A thought occurs. The wood wouldn’t have been painted in Ephraim’s day.
“When were the windows painted?”
Ben doesn’t even need to answer; he understands my real question and pulls out a switchblade from his pocket. Knife clicking wide, he scrapes carefully at the lowest pronounced grape, cleaving the paint from the wood.
It’s hard to see, but there’s a clear line where the grape separates from the frame. He digs his knife in and pulls; the grape popping off and hitting the frame opposite before rolling onto the sill. Where the grape had been was now a hole ringed in metal.
“What the hell—?” Ben grumbles.
It’s all too familiar to me. “It’s a keyhole. We have locks like that on our windows in the Tower. You’ll need an Allen key.”
“Hex wrench key,” Ben clarifies. He moves to the next grape and removes it. “Another keyhole. This one looks bigger.”
“Assuming all the holes are different sizes, you’re looking for eight different keys,” I suggest. “Four, if the holes sizes are mirrored either side.
“How didn’t I notice this before?”
“You did,” I remind him.
“But the paint.”
It not hard to see he’s beating himself up over this. “I only guessed because of what you said. Teamwork.”
Where I thought he was angry with me for being the one tosolve it, I’m quickly disabused of that notion when he grabs me and spins me around in a tight hug. “Thank you!”
My tummy flutters when he presses his lips to my cheek before putting me down.
“No problem,” I mumble. “Uh. You said there were more?”
That sparks off a flurry of movement. “There are. The rug has a map.”
“A map?” I take a look at the rug. I don’t see a…wait…is that...? The maroon-coloured rug is dark and well-worn, so it’s hard to see at first glance, but there is a secondary thread in a lighter shade of red that is almost indiscernible. This second colour zigzags through the tapestry and wouldn’t be special at all, if not for the thicker line that curls in a way that all residents of Harrison know. The unmistakable ‘Y’ of the Harris and Esk rivers. The two rivers that feed our city.
“Do you see it?” Ben asks, coming to stand beside me.
I nod. “I see the Esk and the Harris.”
