The Last Clue on the Footbridge

The wooden footbridge over Kessel Ravine is the only way to the research plateau. It has one problem. Its lock thinks it is a puzzle.

Inge arrives at the west end at six in the morning. She carries a sample case and a plan. She is a soil scientist, and she has waited two years for this measurement. The plateau has a layer of dark earth that nobody has studied. Whoever records it first will have a paper, a prize and a reputation.

A gate of dark timber blocks the bridge. Beside it, a small screen glows on a post. A message scrolls across the glass.

"Bridge control is in safe mode. Solve the crossword to continue. Both ends must agree."

Inge reads the message twice. She taps the screen, and a grid of white squares appears. Only half the clues are visible. The others are missing.

"Both ends," she says out loud. "That is ridiculous."

Across the ravine, far away, someone shouts. Inge shades her eyes. A small figure in a yellow jacket stands at the east gate. She knows that jacket. It belongs to Fatou, a rival scientist from another institute. Fatou has beaten her to two grants in three years.

"Good morning, Inge!" Fatou calls. Her voice carries easily across the gap. "Are you stuck too?"

"I am not stuck," Inge shouts back. "I am waiting for the screen to load."

"The screen is loaded. Mine shows the down clues. Yours must show the across clues. The gate wants both of us."

Inge says nothing. She does not want to need Fatou. She wants to cross the bridge alone, sample the soil alone and write the paper alone. But the screen does not care what she wants.

She scrolls through the across clues. There are seven, and she knows five answers at once. The first is simple: a seven-letter word for a long fall of water, which is CASCADE. The second asks for a sticky sap from a tree, and she types RESIN. The squares fill in with a soft chime.

Across the ravine, Fatou lets out a cheer. "That worked! My letters are changing!"

"Mine too," Inge admits.

They work for twenty minutes. Each woman reads a clue aloud, and the other answers if she can. They argue about a word for a type of rock and decide on SHALE. They argue about a word for "to measure depth" and decide on SOUND. It is strange to be so close to someone and still be so far away. Inge begins to hear how quickly Fatou thinks, and she does not enjoy it.

After half an hour, only one clue remains. The last square flashes on both screens.

"Seven letters," Inge reads out. "A person you work with, not against."

There is a long silence across the ravine.

"I do not like this clue," Fatou calls.

"Neither do I."

"It is a trick," Fatou says. "The answer is obvious. It is PARTNER. P, A, R, T, N, E, R."

"I can count," Inge says. "But look at the screen. It says my panel accepts only the odd letters. The first, the third, the fifth and the seventh."

"Mine accepts only the even ones," Fatou says. "The second, the fourth and the sixth."

Inge looks at the screen again. The message at the bottom reads: "Enter all letters within ten seconds. Each end holds half the word."

"So we must type at the same moment," she says slowly.

"And we must trust each other to type the right letters."

Inge looks across the ravine. A sudden gust of wind makes the bridge creak. The water at the bottom is a thin white thread, very far below. For the first time, she sees what the gate was designed to do. It does not test whether she is clever. It tests whether she can stand next to someone she does not like and still do her half.

"All right," she says. "We do it once, and we do it carefully."

"On three?" Fatou asks.

"On three. I will count out loud."

She puts her finger over the first key. Her hand is steady, but her heart is going fast. She takes a breath.

"One," she says. "Two. Three."

She presses the P. Across the gap, nothing answers. Fatou is still looking for her key.

"Wait, wait!" Fatou calls. "I was not ready!"

The countdown ticks from ten to eight to six. Inge hurries to the R. Fatou presses the A far too late. The order of the letters is wrong, and the screen blinks twice. Then the line of green turns white, and the word disappears.

"Fatou," Inge calls. "You are one letter behind me."

"You are going too fast!"

"The gate wants the letters in order," Inge says. "I type one, you type one. We cannot both rush."

They look at each other across the ravine and, at the same moment, they both start to laugh. It is a short, helpless laugh, the kind that comes when a plan falls apart.

"Let us start again," Inge says. "This time I will say each letter out loud before I press it."

"And I will say mine back to you," Fatou answers.

They reset the screens. Inge reads each letter slowly, as if she is teaching a child to read. Fatou repeats it and then presses her own. When Inge says, "Fifth letter, N," Fatou says, "I have the sixth. E." The ding rings across the gap, one after another, a quiet line of notes.

At the seventh letter, Inge pauses.

"R," she says.

"R," Fatou answers.

They press together. For one long second, nothing moves. The wind drops. The creaking stops. The screens turn green.

"Bridge unlocked," the message says. "Thank you for your cooperation."

The gate swings open on both sides. The two women start to walk toward the middle of the bridge, slowly at first and then quicker. Inge's sample case thumps against her back. Fatou waves a hand in the air like a flag.

They meet at the exact centre of the span, where the planks are wide and old. Up close, Fatou has dark circles under her eyes and a smudge of ink on her cheek. She looks as tired as Inge feels.

"We could write the paper together," Fatou says. "Two names, one measurement."

Inge thinks about the prize and the reputation. Then she thinks about the seven letters and the ten seconds.

"Alphabetical order?" she asks.

"I come first," Fatou says. "F before I."

Inge grins. She offers her hand, and Fatou takes it.

Behind them, the east gate swings shut, and the latch drops with a short, clean click.