III-4
.
Aleph stared at him for several seconds.
"Keymaker?" she managed at last. "Neighbor?"
The old man's head bobbed in a small, self-deprecating nod.
"Well, fellow prisoner," he admitted. "I mean, er, you are a prisoner of the Merovingian's?"
Aleph hesitated. Surely this must be yet another trick, the most bizarre one yet. What more could the Frenchman possibly want out of her? But then again, there was no harm in answering since obviously the Merovingian already knew she was here. Unless—wait—damn it. She must not be thinking straight any longer. So she just nodded.
"My name is Aleph," she said.
For some reason, the Keymaker looked rather pleased by this information.
"I hope you are all right, Aleph," he said kindly. "It's a little difficult at first, certainly, but you'll get used to it."
"Um. Thanks."
"My cell is right across the hall." From the way he spoke, one would have imagined this to be a perfectly normal social call. "Would you like some tea?"
Aleph peered back at him, struggling to wrap her brain around his words. For all the world she could see no guile in the other's eyes.
"That's not the hall," she said eventually, raising a hand to point at the open door behind him.
"Ah." The Keymaker glanced back over his shoulder. "Yes, I thought I'd skip the hallway. After all, I expect the guards would not like us to visit each other, would they?"
"Skip the hallway?"
"Shhh." A stubby, oil-stained finger went up to the old man's lips. "Please. These walls are thick, but not completely soundproof—"
"Sorry." Aleph lowered her voice. "What I mean is..." She halted again. What the hell was it that she meant? "I mean, you just said you're a prisoner here, too?"
Another nod.
"So...How did you get in here?"
The other grinned, holding up a hand.
"I am the Keymaker," he stated simply.
A small metal object was nestled in his palm. To all appearances, there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about the key: had she picked it up in the street, she would have guessed it to be the key for a house, an apartment, an office, a million likely and unlikely places in the Matrix. It looked new, the surface of its body still shiny, the grooves sleek and unworn.
"I see," she said.
The smile of pride widened across the Keymaker's face.
"Shall we?"
Padding silently to the doorway, he beckoned her to follow. After a heartbeat of hesitation, Aleph complied wordlessly, all sorts of wild questions flashing across her brain. One step past the threshold, and her breath caught in her throat.
The build of the cell was exactly like her own, with the same walls and floor of rough-hewn stones, the same thick round pillars, the same vaulted ceiling above. But unlike hers, this one was not bare. A table was laid in the middle of the room, cluttered with hand tools and lit with a single lamp affixed to a long, flexible arm, already switched on. Next to it stood a machinist's bench, complete with fixed drills of several sizes, and a pair of plain wooden chairs behind the table. And the walls, the pillars, the sides of the furniture—every visible surface was covered with racks of keys. Keys of all shapes and sizes, some freshly minted of bright silver and steel, others heavy and dull, patina'd as if with ages of weather. She could not begin to guess how many of them there were.
"Come in, come in, please," the Keymaker chuckled, carefully pulling the door shut behind them. "Tea?"
Aleph did not quite manage a response. She took a few more steps into the room, turning her head from side to side. The old man pulled out a chair for her from behind the table, picked up a big, rusty tea kettle, and bustled over to a little stove at the far corner.
"What...What are all these?" she heard herself ask. "How did you get all these keys in here?"
"Oh, I made them, of course." The old man barely glanced up. "I am the Keymaker," he added, repeating his words of a short while ago, as if it explained everything.
"I see." That was a stupid question, thought Aleph. Her gaze followed the Keymaker as he puttered about, digging out two dusty and chipped mugs from a cupboard, then a tin of tea.
"What are they for?" she ventured again after a moment. "I mean—what doors do they open?"
The Keymaker's face crinkled into a vague little smile.
"Why, all sorts of doors."
"Such as?"
Coming back to the middle of the cell, the other pulled out another chair and sat down across the table from her.
"Well...I think of different kinds of doors, and I make keys for them." He furrowed his brows, as if not quite able to find the right words. "For instance, this one—" Reaching across the workbench, he picked out one key from the nearest rack, made of some kind of dark glossy alloy. "This one is for a lock in New York City. I visited there once, you know, by train. And in that big train station they have over there, forgive me, I don't recall the name—"
"Penn Station?" muttered Aleph. "Grand Central?"
"Ah, whichever. I spent hours walking there, one end to the other." The old man was beaming now. "So many doors there! Gates, stores, offices, janitor's closets...And the lockers! I close my eyes and I see them now, rows and rows of lockers, as clearly as if I were standing in front of them. And next to them, there was the office for the ticket sellers. Very pretty little automatic on the door. So I think of that, and make this—"
Aleph realized that she was gaping at him idiotically.
"You made a key for a door in a New York train station?"
"Ah, you're right, you're right. The lock was simple, of course. Not worth it in itself." He raised the key to the light, squinting at it with tilted head. It occurred to Aleph that he'd misinterpreted the amazement in her voice, but then he went on, "So I opened it to another city, naturally. Budapest, if I remember aright. That's more interesting, wouldn't you say so?"
"Budapest? Where in Budapest?"
"Oh, I do not know. I've never been there, actually." The Keymaker shrugged. "Maybe it is a store, or apartment, or house, somewhere in the city. That end was easy, too, but there were one or two curiously tricky points in the connection. Oh, quite curious, if I may say so myself."
"I see. But..." Aleph scrambled for an appropriate response. Something was nagging at the back of her brain, yet she could not seem to catch hold of it. "But wouldn't the people in the house or apartment or wherever find it, er, rather objectionable?"
The Keymaker blinked at her, as if he did not quite understand the question.
"I wouldn't know," he answered. "I haven't tried it, and, well, I don't suppose I ever will. But this one here..." Grinning, he picked out another key from the rack, this one tiny and with a diamond-shaped head. "This is for a lock I thought of, myself. The idea of a lock, really. What if the door is, oh let's say completely invisible, unless you are search for it already, and have the key in your hand? The lock looks at the key, the key looks at the lock, and they speak to each other. See here, these lines—"
Over in the corner, the kettle began to whistle. The old man laid the keys down onto the table and rose from his seat. Aleph sat and watched him cross the room, her mind spinning.
"So, um, this key you've made," she began as he returned with two steaming mugs of tea. "It's for a lock that doesn't actually...exist?"
"Oh, but of course it exists. I've worked it out in my mind." The Keymaker grinned again, half apologetic, half proud. "But certainly, there aren't many physical locks to work on around here, are there?"
"And this other one. You're saying it's for a lock in New York city, but if you open it—"
"There would be Budapest. Yes."
"But you haven't actually tried it."
"There is no need." The Keymaker's voice was confident. "I have done it correctly."
"But who would use these keys, then?"
"Why, no one, of course." The other shook his head. "I'm a prisoner here," he added after another pause, stating the obvious.
"Oh." Aleph had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being hopelessly obtuse. She took a sip of the tea, and looked around the room. The light from the skylight had faded completely by now. To every side, just beyond the circle of warm yellow light from the lamp, the keys glimmered and twinkled in the shadows like stars, and for an instant she had the strange sensation that they were being watched by a myriad of eyes.
"Why, then?" It was not exactly what she'd intended to ask, but somehow the question was out before she could check herself.
"Why?"
"Well, why do you make all these keys?" She lifted a hand to indicate the walls of the room, the pillars. "I mean, all those doors and locks you talk about, all those places behind the doors, you're saying these keys won't even come near them. No one will use these keys. So...What's the point?"
The Keymaker sat silent for a while, appearing to consider the question. The thick lenses of his glasses glittered with reflected lamplight.
"I suppose they're important to me," he said at last. "Doors and locks, and keys, they're, they're—" He stopped for a second, looking pensive. "Don't you think it would be a sad world without locks to open?"
Once more, Aleph did not quite know how to reply.
"I've never thought of it that way," she said cautiously. "But yeah, I guess it would be, without doors to pass through," she added after a moment. "Without the places behind them."
"Places behind them..." mused the old man. "Well, I suppose that's true, isn't it? That there are places behind the doors?"
"Yeah." Aleph nodded with a faint smile.
"They're important to me," repeated the Keymaker. "Beyond that, I'm afraid that I really cannot say. It's my purpose, I expect."
Aleph glanced up at him sharply, and for a fraction of a second, her vision blurred, and the world flickered before her. Then everything went back to normal.
"You are a program," she said.
"Why, of course." The Keymaker sounded surprised by her statement. It occurred to Aleph that he had not asked who or what she was. She should have been much more suspicious—would have been, had she still be human—but right now, watching his face, she was almost ready to believe that he really did not find it necessary to know. Curiosity got the better of her rapidly fading caution.
"How did the Merovingian imprison you here?" she asked. "How did he capture you?"
"Ah." The corners of old man's mouth turned up in a rueful little grin. "He came to me, and said he had a lock for me. One far beyond anything I ever saw before..."
His voice trailed off.
"What kind of lock?"
The Keymaker said nothing, but gazed off into space, seemingly lost in thought. Silence filled the air for a while.
"And you have a key for this cell, too," said Aleph.
The other laid his mug aside, and reached down to remove the key from the loop hanging by his side. Carefully, he placed it onto the table for her inspection. Or rather admiration, suspected Aleph.
"This one was different, you know. It took me a long time to figure out the mechanism the Merovingian has placed on these doors. He is possessed of extraordinary power." He nodded sagely. "And clever, very clever. There was a beautiful system of balanced codes, and triggers in the most unlikely places..."
"Wait. So you're a prisoner of the Merovingian's."
"Yes?" He sounded confused by her interruption.
"But you have a key to your cell."
"Well, actually, I didn't. I made the key today, when I heard you in your cell across the hall. You were making quite a racket...Ah, no need to apologize. But the guards..." He shivered almost imperceptibly. "The guards are out in the hall, and they are dangerous, indeed! So I thought I'd make the key to open directly into your cell. It's fortunate that the mechanisms on the two cell doors are similar, isn't it?"
"But you just said it took you a long while." Aleph felt her sluggish brain creak into motion. "You figured out the Merovingian's lock."
"Yes, and that is the most important part, isn't it?" The smiled widened on the Keymaker's face. "Once you've understood the lock, the making of the key itself is hardly interesting anymore. It is merely an...an—" He waved a hand, spending a second to seek the right expression. "Afterthought."
"Afterthought," repeated Aleph, the realized she was sounding far too openly incredulous, and tried to control her voice. "But you could make the key to open to...Oh, I don't know, say Budapest?"
"Budapest?" asked the other program, startled. "Why Budapest?"
"But you could get out of here."
"Why?"
"Because." She stopped, looking for a way to explain, then wondered why was it that she had to explain. "Because you're a prisoner here," she finished rather lamely.
"Well, that is true." For a while, the Keymaker seemed to consider this fact. "But really, I have everything I need here," he said at last. "There is nothing out there anyway."
Aleph debated with herself for half a second, then decided on the most point-blank approach.
"Can you make a key to the cell for me? One that opens to—somewhere else? Anywhere?"
The old man drew in a sudden breath.
"Oh, the Merovingian would certainly not like that!" He sounded frightened, and as far as she could tell, it was genuine. "And his guards. Even if you get away from this chateau, they will follow. They will find you, track you down..."
He made a little gulping noise, shaking his head. Aleph leaned forward in her chair.
"You can escape along with me," she whispered. "I can take care of the guards if we run into any."
The Keymaker only shook his head again.
"I, too, wished very much to escape when I first came here," he said. "But then I thought, really it's not so bad here, is it? I'm sure you'll soon come to see this, yourself. At least it's nice and quiet, and the guards stay in the hallway if you don't try anything. I can think here. There is another key I need to work on."
The last sentence came after a hesitation. It was brief, but Aleph noticed it. Several desperate notions ran through her mind at once, but she found enough presence to shove them aside. Lifting her head, she gazed up for a moment. The roof, too, was hung with a forest of keys on hooks, covering the vault except for the skylight, now dark. For a few seconds, she strained here sight, seeking the glow of stars beyond the glass, but could see nothing. It must be an overcast night out there in the Matrix.
"All right, let's not talk about escaping right now." She decided to try another tack. It would not do to push the other program too hard just now. "But...Can you show me how to make a key that opens this door to other places?"
The Keymaker said nothing for a while. He merely sat across from her, the untouched mug of tea in his hands, and watched her from beneath the visor of his cap. The light of his eyes was mild, by no means piercing, but suddenly Aleph realized, with a faint chill down her spine, that she had absolutely no idea what to make of it.
"We are prisoners here. We have all the time in the world," she said, keeping her eyes fixed upon his face. "Teach me."
"Are you good with your hands?" he asked at last, voice dubious.
"Um, well, pretty good." Aleph smiled back at him. "When I was a kid I always won at science fair projects."
"Science fair?" The old man looked even more puzzled than before.
"Nevermind. It's a human thing. But yeah, I'm good with them," she said, holding out both of her hands as if for his inspection.
"I cannot merely tell you how to make a key," he said softly, measuring her with his gaze. "Do you have patience?"
It was several seconds before Aleph answered.
"I do." She met his eyes. "Teach me," she insisted.
After another endless silence, the old man rose, and went around the table, so that he faced her across it. With a gesture, he beckoned her to come closer, and pulled down the swivel arm of the lamp, throwing a bright disk of illumination upon the center of the work surface. Turning aside and scanning the racks, he picked out one of the larger keys, and laid it down carefully in the middle of the circle.
"Lesson one," he said, leaning forward across the table. "A key is nothing more than code that seeks its rightful home..."