The Puzzler's Mansion (2 page)

There are three beakers. One holds 8 ounces and is full of water. The others are empty. One can hold 3 ounces, and the other can hold 5 ounces. None of the beakers have measurements marked on them, so unless a beaker is full, you can't accurately determine how much water is in it. Nonetheless, can you figure out how to measure out exactly 4 ounces of water?

(Answer,
page 241
.)

*   *   *

He was setting one of the beakers down when Mrs. Haider called out, “Winston,
what
are you doing?” Winston's reaction was to try to hide the beakers, which was dumb, since Mrs. Haider had already seen them. And it was even dumber than
that
, because in his haste to get the beakers back to the sink, he dropped two of them. They seemed to almost float downward, giving Winston plenty of time to gasp and wish himself back in time thirty seconds or so. Then they shattered on the floor.

Mrs. Haider was on him at once, a screaming typhoon of a lady. She asked very loudly why Winston was playing with the beakers in the first place. She wondered at the top of her lungs whether Winston had lost his mind. She yelled at him to grab a broom and a dustpan, clean up every last shard of glass, and then get himself down to the vice principal's office, where he would become Mr. Rothenberger's problem and she would no longer have to look at him.

Winston had never been in Mr. Rothenberger's “hot seat,” an orange plastic chair next to the vice principal's desk, and he hoped to never be there again. He received a withering lecture about school property and respect and values, and all sorts of related subjects, until Winston was ready to sign a solemn oath that he would never get in trouble again—not in junior high school, not in high school, not in college. Never. And then Mr. Rothenberger said, “I am going to have to call your parents about this, you understand.” Winston slumped in his chair. He had survived Mrs. Haider's screaming and Mr. Rothenberger's lecture, but there were more surprises ahead on this miserable obstacle course.

His father, thankfully, wasn't much for yelling. This evening he didn't seem to have a lecture in him, either. He only shook his head
and thought for a long time before saying, “Well, Winston . . . what are we going to do about this?”

“I don't know,” Winston replied honestly.

“That makes two of us,” said Nathan Breen. “I mean, you'll be paying the school back for the equipment you broke. That much is clear. And there will be a punishment. No video games or television during the week until further notice.”

Winston's eyes flicked down.
During the week
was an important concession. That meant he could still have these things over the weekend.

His father continued, “I don't know what to say about your puzzles. I know you love doing them. I know you love creating them. I have always encouraged that. I'm very proud of you, and I'm proud of this ability you have developed.” He paused long enough to sigh and shake his head again. “But it is becoming a distraction. Do you see that?”

It would have been hard to miss. “Yes,” Winston said.

“What do you plan to do about it?”

“I'm not going to do puzzles as much,” he said. That sounded incredible even to him. He looked at his father's face and sensed that more was needed. “And I won't do them in school anymore.” That wasn't very convincing, either, so he added, “Not during classes, anyway.”

His father stared at him as if trying to decide how much of this to believe. Finally he allowed himself a rueful little smile. “You have to decide who you're going to be, Winston. Your grades aren't as good this year, you're getting these notes home from your teachers—”

Just one teacher, Winston thought but did not say.

“—and now this thing in science class. That brain of yours is
everywhere but where it's supposed to be.” He gave a final, frustrated toss of his hands. “Only you can change that. Go do your homework.” And with that, Nathan Breen got up and went to his office.

Katie, in the kitchen, made a disgusted sound. She must have thought Winston would be grounded, or possibly banished from the house. “Oh, you got so
lucky,
” she called out.

She was probably right, but Winston didn't feel lucky.

The dreadful week ended and then it was Saturday. At last, Winston was allowed to watch television and play video games, but he found he didn't want to. He didn't want to solve anything in his puzzle books, either. He was trying to keep puzzles on a low simmer instead of a raging boil.

He wished he could get together with Mal and Jake, his two best friends, but Winston hadn't seen much of them since the start of school. Winston had shared classes with one or both of his friends since first grade—but this year, Mal and Jake had three classes together, while Winston's schedule didn't overlap with theirs at all. Not even for lunch! Worse, his two friends were off in their own orbits. Jake had joined the swim team and was over at the high school for practice almost every afternoon. And Mal had gotten a role in the school play and was busy with rehearsals. Winston was starting to feel like he'd been exiled to a desert island somewhere.

Summer had decided to put its feet up and linger into October. Katie was watching cartoons, and his parents were busy in their own grown-up worlds, his father doing paperwork in his office and his mother sorting clothes in the bedroom. Winston felt restless. He had to get out of here, even if he had nowhere to go.

A few minutes later, he was on his bicycle, pedaling into a warm morning breeze. Aimless, he headed toward the town green, and
from there he supposed he would go see Mr. Penrose. The last few times he had visited Penrose's Curio Shop, Penrose had taught him a few things about chess. Maybe he could get another lesson, or maybe he would just explore the shop's crowded shelves and its endless supply of fascinating bric-a-brac. At least he'd be able to talk to somebody.

Penrose greeted him like an old friend, and the two of them chatted about this and that. Winston, intending to ask for a chess lesson, impulsively asked for a game instead. Penrose brought out the board, and soon they were sitting quietly together, Winston with a cold soda nearby.

It didn't take long for Winston to realize this was a mistake. Penrose's black pieces performed in elegant harmony, while Winston's white pieces were like sixteen kittens tangled in a ball of yarn. Winston's army was soon shredded, and every possible move looked like it would only lead to further disaster. Penrose wasn't even paying attention to the board at this point. He read a magazine and occasionally rose from his chair to help a customer. Hardly a word had passed over the chessboard in the last hour, except when one man, holding a brass lamp he had just purchased, looked at the game, patted Winston on the shoulder, and said, “Good luck, kid.”

Winston shook his head. What had made him think he could win this game, or even be competitive, after five brief chess lessons? He extended a finger and knocked his king over, officially resigning the game.

Mr. Penrose offered a hand. “A good game.”

Winston shook it but said, “No, it wasn't.”

“Oh, now. Don't be hard on yourself,” Mr. Penrose said. “You handled the opening moves reasonably well. You tried to control the middle of the board. It's clear that you understand the basics. You
see when an opponent's piece is about to make a threat, but you don't always see when two pieces are working in tandem. And that's fine. It's early days, Winston. With practice, you will improve. I can give you some books if you wish to study on your own.”

“Maybe,” Winston said with a shrug.

Penrose understood that he had been politely rebuffed. “Or perhaps you would prefer this.” He reached under his counter and came up with a second chessboard—a smaller one, just six by six.

“What's that, chess for beginners?” Winston asked.

Mr. Penrose smiled and said, “Some people prefer to teach the game on a smaller board. I'm not of that mind myself. But I thought you might like a little chess puzzle.” He placed the board on the countertop, reached underneath again, and came back with a handful of chess pieces, all queens. Winston found himself intrigued.

“All you have to do,” Mr. Penrose said, “is put these six queens on the chessboard so that none of them are attacking each other. Which means, of course, that none can be in the same row or column, or on the same diagonal. Can you do it?”

(Answer,
page 242
.)

*   *   *

So much for not doing puzzles today. Winston took a few minutes to try out Penrose's challenge and was soon absorbed, sliding queens this way and that around the board. He'd been working for a while when the bell over the door rang and the mailman came in. A moment later, Mr. Penrose, flipping through the junk mail and catalogs, made a little sound, not quite a gasp.

“Are you okay?” Winston asked.

“Oh, yes,” Penrose said in a faraway voice. “Everything is fine.” He was gazing at a small red envelope. Now he reached for a letter opener.

Winston watched as Penrose became engrossed by the contents of the envelope. After a moment, he began sliding queens around the chessboard again, pretending to be interested in the puzzle even when Mr. Penrose said, “Huh!” as if some wonderful mystery had just deepened. Winston looked up again to find his old friend smiling cryptically at him.

“What?” Winston said.

Mr. Penrose raised a finger:
Wait a minute—I'm thinking.
After a moment, he went behind the counter and paged through a small, leather-bound book. Finding what he wanted, he picked up the phone and dialed.

Someone on the other end answered, and Mr. Penrose said, “Norma! It's good to hear your voice. It's Arthur Penrose. Yes, quite well. Thank you. Is he in?” There was a brief silence, and then Penrose said, “Richard! How are you. Yes? Oh, here, too. I'm glad to hear it. I wanted to ask about this invitation. Does it mean what it says? It's quite a departure from the usual thing. . . .” There was a pause, then Penrose laughed and said, “Well, I'm wondering if the guests
strictly need to be relations.” He looked at Winston and said, “I have somebody I would like to bring along. Oh, yes. Someone who will truly appreciate what you do. That's okay, then? Excellent. I shall see you in a couple of weeks. Of course, I wouldn't miss it. All right, then. Bye.”

Penrose hung up and sat down, as pleased as Winston had ever seen him. Winston had forgotten all about the chessboard. Mr. Penrose wanted to take him somewhere?

“A few weeks ago,” Penrose said, “you mentioned how you don't get to see those two friends of yours as frequently anymore. Those two boys.”

“Mal and Jake. Yeah,” Winston said.

“We haven't really spoken about it since then. But if I may say so, Winston, you seemed rather down about it. And you don't seem all that much improved even today.”

Winston frowned, and his eyes dropped to the chessboard. “It hasn't been a good time, I guess. Mal and Jake are busy. . . . School has been hard. . . .” He concluded with a shrug.

“Well, then,” said Mr. Penrose, “I may have just the ticket.”

“The ticket for what?”

“The ticket to distract you from your current raft of problems, of course.” He slid the red envelope across the counter.

Winston was amazed that his curiosity about Penrose's letter was going to be satisfied so soon. He picked up the envelope. It unfolded to reveal a single ornately printed card at its center:

You are invited to a weekend
of games, puzzles, and amusements
at the home of Richard Overton.
You know where that is, right?
Arrive October 21.
The games start October 22.
Bring the family this time, if you like!
But either way, show up.
Don't make me ask you twice.