The Kensington Vault

            Elias raced through the streets, determined to arrive at the ICU to speak with his aged mentor one last time. The pair was part of a decades-old consortium dedicated solely to the resolution of the greatest puzzle made by human hands.
            The Kensington Vault had been known through the ages as a contraption of unparalleled mechanical mastery. Buried deep below the blue-blooded estate was what promised to be the very essence of infinite knowledge. Rumor had it that the original patriarch had discovered endless tomes hidden beneath an Egyptian temple while serving in the crusades. He realized the forgotten cache was none other than the treasure of the library in nearby Alexandria. Quietly spiriting the find back to England, he constructed this marvel to house its wonders.
            Prospering greatly in all manner of human endeavors, the Kensingtons maintained only one stipulation be passed on to the next generation, every man must have access to these riches as long as he rightly answers but one question: “Do you know the way to enter?”
            Dutifully passed on through only the heirs, just one answer would suffice. As reward for their diligently maintaining the repository, they were given free admittance, their success a testament to its enormous value. Throughout the centuries, only three besides family had ever conquered the riddle, and none of them applied it correctly to open the cryptic locks. For but five small levers were what separated any man from sharing what was traditionally reserved to only the direct Kensington line. These were what separated belief from knowing, for many men knew the words of truth but not the essence of what they meant.
            Elias burst through the doors, then rushed to join Jacob at his bedside. He had suffered a stroke of both good and bad fortune, the latter in the form of a blood clot in the brain. In his office, an epiphany came as he rifled through his papers, and the resultant excitement threatened to rob him of his just reward. Barely able to speak, he removed the tethered mask and pulled Elias closer still.
            Tears welled in both of their eyes but Jacob had to speak, for he felt death at the very door. “A … Bottle,” he gasped. “… message … in … A Bottle.”  He stared back at his young protégé, desperately hoping for some sign of recognition. There was none, only concern for his aged friend’s well-being. Jacob’s face became a twisted grimace as his life began to recede. With but one breath left within him, he chose his last word wisely, saying only “Delaney...” then he died.
            Elias paced the room frantically, attempting to measure grief against his duty to respectfully honor the fallen comrade’s wishes. If only they had more time. Clearly, many gaps to his brief utterance needed filling, for what had metaphorical bottles to do with the work of a cryptographer? “Message” seemed more in line with their field, but the name “Delaney” made no sense at all.
            Now at home, the pacing resumed, driven by this nagging sense that Jacob’s dying words rang bells in his memory, but their exact location continued to elude him. Armed with Google and a pair of crossed fingers, he entered Bottle+Delaney. Immediately, the connection to the estate was made clear, “A Bottle” was the name of an obscure piece of prose contained in the Kensington Archive.
            Several commentaries revealed that an ongoing controversy surrounded this single page of unremarkable literature. The piece wasn’t totally devoid of merit, but what gave many pause was its peculiar placement with the other notable selections. This archive was unique in that it featured no other literary works; rather, the collection was comprised solely of reflections of themaster’s thoughts on the subject of their works.
            Guttenberg’s scribblings, Newton’s doodles, along with DaVinci and Luther’s vellum post-its, the list spanned the greatest of all manner of thinkers, the latest from the current Lord himself.
            It was essentially a lament to the diminishing depth of the collective consciousness, which he believed had become rampant in the modern era. Kensington mourned a spray-cheese society encouraging insipid communication through blurbs of sound-bite texting. Mankind had become so enamored with living out loud that it had forgotten the allure of silent reflection and the monumental insights gained from listening within. People had little interest in unearthing a mystery through the classic means, preferring instant gratification over thoughtful sequential reasoning.
            This rabid impatience is what eventually drove him to acquiesce to the detractor’s demands regarding the inclusion of A Bottle amongst such noble works. Legend had it that the unexceptional piece had been written by the original founder himself, though there was no signature to confirm it. And this is where the keyword Delaney came into play.
            The current lord vehemently denied their insistence for removal, instead offering a compromise. In a bid to pacify their desire for the author’s notable pedigree, Lord William simply submitted a name … Byron Charles Delaney.
            The intellectual elite were enraged by his temerity, believing that the good lord so trivialized their valid concerns that he’d resort to practical jokes in response to an earnest request. A “Byron Delaney” never existed; at least not one sufficiently accomplished to fill their requirement.
            Unapologetic, Lord William never spoke again on the matter, and from Elias’ perspective that seemed to be the end of it. So why was it that this odd academic drama managed to capture the attention of so great a mind as Jacob’s?
            In his youth, Jacob had been privileged to be at the forefront of cryptanalysis as one of the legendary Boys from Bletchley Park. It had been their sole task to crack the code of Hitler’s Enigma machine and all of its possible permutations. Praised by Churchill and lauded by history, Jacob’s future was assured as his post-war assignment turned from the battle with fascism to the struggle for enlightenment.
            Ever pragmatic, the consummate strategist would view his impending death in practical terms. Given the devotion to his chosen profession, he wouldn’t waste precious breath on trivial platitudes. If Jacob Greene pointed a verbal finger at his deathbed, only a fool would dismiss it as fevered ramblings.
            Elias studied the straightforward piece of prose in the hopes of sharing his mentor’s vision. Surprisingly, the selection was quite well written, presenting a delightful cadence that rose and fell with the words that mirrored that sentiment. With highs and lows, ups and downs, the author described a castaway’s fluctuating mood as well as impressions of undulating waves tossing “a bottle” about, just beyond the shoreline. The marooned seaman wrestled with the notion of retrieving the glass vessel from the shark-infested waters, to his peril. Ultimately, the desire for contact outweighed his fears as he braved the brine victoriously.
            In an unexpected twist, the contents surpassed his hopes; the bottle was full of fresh water! The obvious moral was that when seeking to know … the gift of life was the reward.
            The following day, Elias set about the task of compiling Jacob’s notes for further study and posterity. Strewn across the floor was likely his most recent research, scattered when stricken by the fateful blow the night before. Elias was familiar with most of the work which consisted of detailed diagrams of the entry mechanism, as well as historical anecdotes on the vault’s construction.
            What drew his eye were the personal notes Jacob had jotted on common scratch paper. As important to discovery as any bound volume, Elias carefully collected the sheets with reverence. A curious sequence emerged from the pages, a type of progressive revelation to an ultimate conclusion. The focus began with the title A Bottle circled lazily in pencil. A winding arrow traced down below it where the name of the author was written. Elias could tell by the strokes that Jacob circled this entry slowly at first but continued with increasing force and speed. The final passes began to gouge the paper until abruptly ending with a snap of the lead.
            It was then that Jacob apparently saw what he sought, for fresh pencil marks reflected tenderness as the first letters of each name were gently circled, B … C then D. Immediately Elias could sense that an intellectual bridge had been gapped within him like the sound of a lock’s tumbler clicking though the safe was still sealed for the moment. In between the two entries, Jacob continued by writing only BCD boldly then trailing another arrow back up to “A Bottle.”  Coming full circle, Jacob had then underlined each letter of the title.
            The final page was the most telling as Jacob headlined with the English alphabet arranged from A to Z, beside each letter, a numerical value 1 through 26. Below it, the numbers were transcribed to each letter of A Bottle, 1 … 2 … 15 … 20 … 20 … 12 … 5. Elias saw the direction that Jacob was heading, a numerical code to open the vault, but how to bridge the gap between five levers and seven numbers still eluded him.
            Then it struck him: the numbers and the letters … BCD, Binary Coded Decimal! Lord William, it seems, had tossed academia a bone. BCD was a common coding system effectively using 1’s and 0’s to convey numerical values. Each switch position from left to right represented numbers of an infinite series, 1 … 2 … 4 … 8 … 16. Either in combination or singly, 1 through 31 could be displayed with each set of five, more than sufficient to portray the alphabet.
            Immediately, Elias made a call to the manor, then anxiously awaited a response. Lord William seemed ecstatic over this bid for the first attempt at access in his lifetime. He posed the age-old question. Elias responded calmly, “There’s a message in A Bottle.” Lord William shuddered, speaking softly he asked, “When can I expect you?”
            Elias arrived with nothing more than a handwritten notepad. The lord himself greeted the stoic cryptographer, then led him down to the coveted prize. Along the way, William engaged the determined Elias, offering condolences for the consortium’s loss. He revealed that he’d begun to lose hope that the riddle would ever be solved, voicing concerns that academia might demand the answer to this Gordian knot or threaten Alexander’s remedy should he refuse. He said, “How like modern man to prefer extracting Excalibur with hammer and chisel over merit.”
            In moments they were standing before the epic device in all its mechanical glory. It was a wonder of cast iron and steel, framed in massive oak timbers. Gears and linkage protruded from the Gothic façade, all polished with oil and great care.
            “Before you begin … ” William asked, “may I inquire as to your plans for this bounty?” Elias smiled. “Of course, Sir William, but you know the answer. The consortium promised full disclosure to the world as was likely your founder’s intention.”
            William choked, “Well said, young man … well said.”  Before turning resolutely to the panel, Elias added for the Lord’s benefit, “Sir William … Mr. Delaney sends his regards!”
            As each set of five was completed, the machine fed back confirmation by resetting the panel for the next course. Gears spun and linkage rattled as Elias and the world came closer to wisdom with every entry. The 1’s were up and the 0’s down as the ancient data stream flowed through the workings.
            The Honorable Sir William began to weep as the dream pressed hard against the cold metal door, ready for release. Whether the nations could withstand this sudden renaissance, he could not say, but regardless of how well it was received, The message in A Bottle brought life!