A streak of solving unfolds. He’s flying through the moves when something odd happens. There is a grinding of gears and the top third of the box lifts, revealing a polished copper disk mounted on a platform of wood. The disk glistens in the moonlight, revealing a graffiti of minuscule designs carved into the surface, tiny as capillaries. The pattern is complex and alluring, so intriguing Brink can’t look away. It is like an ancient tablet filled with an uncoded language, a kind of Linear B waiting to be deciphered.
