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Jon didn’t mean to hide in the charity shop. He had meant to be following Tim, to see what he got up to and if it had anything to do with murdering Archivists, but then someone had called out to Tim and Tim was turning to talk and Jon had to dart into the charity shop so he wasn’t noticed.
And the woman at the counter gave him a look so he went to look around. He didn’t really plan to buy something, but then he noticed a small wooden box. It seemed to have dragons carved into the sides, with red glass accents on the sides. There was a latch with a small padlock on it, but as he turned it over he saw no key taped to it anywhere. And he heard something inside it. Instantly he was curious on what was inside. Shaking the box he could hear it moving, but it wasn’t making a sound he identified. It wasn’t particularly heavy, and didn’t sound like there were multiple pieces. Just one item rattling around, sounding maybe like a coin? Or something of that sort? Or maybe it was a shell? A key? It could be the key to the box inside it!
Damnit, now he really wanted to know what it was inside.
Well, since the clerk seemed to still be watching him (what, did she think he was going to steal something? From a charity shop?!) he would ask her about this. Walking up he set the box on the counter. “This is locked.”
“Mhm.”
“Well, do you know what’s inside it?”
“No.”
“And the key . . . ?”
She shrugged, and Jon scowled a little. Fine. If he wanted to see what it was, he would get it. “It doesn’t seem to have a price, do you know how much it is?”
The woman rolled her eyes at him and then picked up the box, looking at it. “£20.”
“What?” Jon gaped at her and then looked at the box. It was nice enough for a charity shop, but that seemed obscenely expensive for a secondhand box he couldn’t open that could have trash inside it.
“£20. If you don’t want it, I can put it back.”
He should say to do that. He should. But . . . but he really wanted to know what was inside it. And a glance outside showed Tim was long gone, so his evening was now going to be free so . . .
“Fine.”
Once he was home Jon didn’t immediately have a go at the box. He put up his coat, checked his work email on his phone and pulled leftover pizza from the refrigerator—he had realized if he ordered a pizza on Sunday he could have leftover meals readily available for the rest of the week, and they were easy to grab if he was on the way out to break into say, Gertrude’s flat. Jon didn’t bother heating it up, taking a bite of the cold pizza as he finally brought the box to his coffee table and sat down. Looking it over gave no more clues than before. The back had the same pattern as the front, though without the lock to distract it looked almost like the red glass pieces were eyes watching him.
He tried not to think too much about the feeling of being watched as he took the padlock in hand. It looked like a cheap one, but was surprisingly sturdy—luckily years of working at the institute had taught him how to open all manner of locks. He fetched a spare padlock and smacked them together, the locked one popping open easily.
Jon took a moment to feel smug before removing it and then opening the inside.
It . . . wasn’t what he expected, though he still didn’t know what he expected. It was a curved oval, about the size of one of his tape recorders—why was that the first thing he thought to compare it to?—and a pastel pink that faded to purple then blue. It reminded him of a shell, though it didn’t seem to be from anything he recognized. The inside of it was smooth, the outside had slight groves on it, and seemed to be worn.
Turning it over in his hand, he finally shook his head. Looking in the box to see if there were further clues, he noticed there was writing carved into the lid. Leaning closer he muttered the words aloud as he read them: “I wish I wish with all my heart to fly with dragons in a land apart?”
He suddenly felt dizzy, and fell back on the couch. The wallpaper in his flat seemed to be moving and there was a flash of color . . .
And then Jonathan Sims was gone.