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It was a small golden jewelry box – expensive, sure, but nothing special. Normally, Tsuru wouldn’t be interested in something like this.
And yet, the Donquixote pirates have been hunting for it across the entire North Blue, and if Doflamingo wanted it so much, it was Tsuru’s duty to ensure he never laid his hands on it. She could already see the shadow of what this young pirate could become if left to roam free; at the age of twenty, he already held most of the North Blue in his grasp.
It only made the mystery box more intriguing. The Marines had a description – received from a terrified assistant of a fence whom the Donquixote pirates murdered for re-selling the jewelry box. The poor fellow was still stuttering at the mere mention of the name Donquixote.
Antique jewelry box, small, oval-shaped; solid gold with a picture of a seashell on the lid inlaid with diamonds and pearls; plays music when opened. Two pearls are missing and replaced with cheaper new ones; the left side is scratched.
Tsuru spent some evenings poring over art history books, and one of them mentioned that similar boxes were popular in Dressrosa about a thousand years ago and that they often had secret compartments where young ladies could hide love letters from their duennas.
Tsuru doubted Doflamingo hid any love letters there, but a secret compartment could store some other information crucial for the Donquixote pirates.
Meanwhile, Tsuru’s agents tried to trace the box’s history, but it appeared that most of the box’s past owners had no idea that it came from the Grand Line and did not value it higher than any other precious trinket.
Doflamingo obviously did. So much so, that he sent one of his Executives to the auction where the box was listed among the items. Tsuru could see him in the third row: a black-haired man in a sleek black suit and a colorful necktie. He did not have a wanted poster yet, and the owner of the auction house begged Tsuru not to destroy his reputation by implying that pirates were among his customers; he made regular generous donations to the Marines and was obviously terrified of Doflamingo, so Tsuru decided to play nice – for now.
The bidding for the box started, and Doflamingo’s man did not have a lot of competition – until Tsuru raised her own hand.
“One million berry.”
“One million berry to the lady in the last row!” the auctioneer announced, excited. Doflamingo’s agent looked over his shoulder and his lips tightened; he must’ve recognized her even in her civil clothes.
He turned back and raised his hand.
“One million five hundred.”
“Two million.” Tsuru countered easily.
The bidding continued, the crowd watching the two of them like a game of ball. Doflamingo’s man was sweating; pride of the North Blue or not, they were just a big fish in a small pond, while Tsuru had access to the full funds of the Marines.
“Five million,” she said, and after this, no counter bid came. Doflamingo’s man lowered his head, pale and stiff.
“Sold to the lady in the back row!”
***
Tsuru was sitting in her cabin that doubled as her office, rotating the jewelry box in her hands. It was even smaller than she had imagined, but otherwise looked exactly as described: gold, diamonds and pearls, a fine craftsmanship, scratched on the side. It still played music when opened – a slow romantic melody. All in all, it was a delicate thing for a noble lady. However, the box was quite heavy, and its main compartment seemed a little bit too small, confirming Tsuru’s theory about a secret mechanism.
The art history book on Tsuru’s table claimed that the usual way to open ancient Dressrosa boxes was a simple code that was ingrained in their design. When Tsuru’s fingers ran along the pearls forming the spiral of the seashell, she could feel them give a little. Could these be buttons? She counted them, and yes, the number of pearls aligned with the number of letters in the alphabet, plus three additional letters that were used one thousand years ago. Simple enough… except she didn’t know the code.
Tsuru put the box on the table and picked up the fresh report she received after returning from the auction. Her agents were able to trace the box’s history down to a little island in North Blue where the box seemed to have surfaced for the first time. The island used to be a member of the World Government but lost its privileges around twenty years ago, when its people became unable to pay the Heavenly Tribute. The box was sold to a traveling merchant by a local carpenter from the town of Corus, the report stated. We were unable to locate the carpenter, however, since the town does not seem to exist anymore. A shepherd showed us the location but refused to talk about it. We discovered some burnt ruins, and the earth appears to be salted.
Tsuru took the box again, hear chest aching. The code should be simple enough. What would a noble lady who had nothing to fear in her life use as a password? With a dark, heavy premonition, she tried the first thing that came to her mind: a family name.
The box made a melodious sound, and a little compartment at its bottom clicked open.
***
The sea was rough, and the wind was carrying the heavy rain clouds across the sky with frightening speed. Tsuru’s office was dark, illuminated now and then by the silvery glints on the iron frames of the portholes when the moon showed its face briefly. The ship creaked as it rocked on the waves, but otherwise, all was quiet.
The stillness of the office was barely disturbed by a soft sound. Then the wall itself came apart, a huge piece of it carefully sliced and taken out like a piece of a giant cake. Cold salty wind blew in, ruffling the papers on the desk; a tall shapeless form blocked the opening and entered the cabin. It crept to the desk, and the writing set clinked as the intruder rummaged through the contents.
Tsuru, who had been sitting in a chair in the corner of her office for hours, lifted the screen off her lantern, and a warm golden light illuminated the cabin. Doflamingo – because that’s who it was – froze like a cat caught stealing a sausage; his fluffy coat and the light reflecting off his slanted glasses made the resemblance even more striking.
“I’ve been expecting you,” Tsuru said, keeping her voice calm and not making any sudden movements. Doflamingo wasn’t smiling and did not reply with one of his usual witty comebacks; it was uncanny, to see him this serious.
“It’s not the box you are looking for, is it?” Tsuru asked softly. “It’s this.” She held a small oval piece of paper in her hand. Doflamingo’s fingers twitched; he did not attack, but Tsuru could feel the pressure emanating from him. He was alone in the bowels of an enemy ship, and she had something he wanted, but Tsuru was sure he would fight if provoked.
“You can have it.” Tsuru outstretched her hand, offering him the paper. “It’s of no use to the Marines.” The corners of her lips curved in a smile. “Congratulations, you made us waste five million berry.”
Cautiously, Doflamingo stepped closer to her and took the piece of paper from her. Compared to his big hand, it looked tiny. She couldn't see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but for one moment, Doflamingo’s face lost its severe angles, and Tsuru had to suppress the urge to look away. A foreign, unwelcome feeling in her stomach compelled her to ask:
“Do you want the box too?”
This seemed to take Doflamingo out of his trance. He put the paper in the breast pocket of his shirt and stepped back; his lips stretched in a smile – perhaps a bit more sincere than his usual ones.
“Keep it,” he said, speaking for the first time. His voice was hoarse. “You paid five million for it, after all.”
He jumped out of the hole in the wall and was gone, leaving Tsuru to ponder how she was going to repair the ship's hull and her own reputation as a stern Rear Admiral. Marines did not fraternize with pirates. Marines did not hand treasures over to pirates.
But then, Doflamingo’s treasure really was worthless to the Marines. It was just an old photo: a picture of a blonde woman in a Celestial Dragon garb holding two little boys on her lap.
***
When Tsuru visited the Marine Headquarters the next time, she gave the jewelry box to Sengoku’s adopted son. She saw him in the corner of the courtyard later, sitting with his knees drawn to his chest and the open box in his hand, smoking and listening to the music play again and again and again.