“Have you noticed the box?”
“What box?”
“That box.”
Seamus Draker points his pipe
In the direction of a small,
Ornate wooden box sitting upon
A low mahogany table
In the centre of the lounge.
Dante Ververs follows the direction
Of the pipe.
He takes a sip from his black teacup.
He studies the box.
Then Seamus.
Then the box again.
“I had not.”
“You have now.”
“Indeed.”
A silence follows.
The sort of silence
That only occurs when two gentlemen
Have encountered something which,
Until moments earlier,
Had been entirely unimportant.
It is beautifully carved.
Dark walnut.
Brass corners.
A tiny silver clasp.
No initials.
No markings.
No explanation.
It isn’t unusual
For curious artefacts
to appear at Nocturna.
Books arrive without owners.
Letters appear without envelopes.
Objects change hands
Without anyone admitting
Having brought them.
But this one…
This one is simply sitting there.
Seamus leans closer.
“Do you suppose
It is locked?”
Dante considers this.
“We mustn’t touch it.”
“Obviously.”
They both continue staring at it.
For almost thirty seconds.
“It might be dangerous.”
“Possibly.”
“It might contain something alive.”
Dante’s eyebrows rise.
“A small animal?”
“Something smaller.”
“A spider?”
“Too obvious.”
Dante considers the possibilities.
“A scorpion?”
Seamus shakes his head.
“Too aggressive.”
“A beetle?”
“Too respectable.”
Dante takes another sip.
“Then what?”
Seamus lowers his voice.
“A moth.”
Dante looks disappointed.
“Hardly mysterious.”
“Not an ordinary moth.”
“Naturally.”
The discussion has begun.
And neither man seems inclined
To stop it.
Dante Ververs places his teacup
Very carefully upon its saucer.
“I have two theories.”
Seamus raises an eyebrow.
“Only two?”
“For the moment.”
Dante points with one finger.
“First.
The box may contain
A nineteenth-century
Memory device.”
Seamus looks impressed.
“A memory device?”
“Yes.
There are accounts
Of mechanical cabinets
Designed to preserve
The final thoughts
Of deceased persons.”
“How?”
“Nobody knows.”
“Excellent.”
Seamus leans forward.
“And your second?”
“A miniature astronomical instrument.”
“Inside that?”
“Why not?”
Dante gestures towards the box.
“The Victorians
Were remarkably fond
Of making scientific equipment
Far more decorative
Than necessary.”
Seamus considers this.
“True.”
They stare at it.
“But…”
Says Seamus.
“Yes?”
“If it were an astronomical instrument,
Why would it be in a box?”
Dante pauses.
“Protection.”
“From what?”
“The stars.”
Seamus slowly nods.
“Very sensible.”
A pause.
“No.”
“No?”
“I don’t think it’s either.”
“Why not?”
“Because if it containe
The final thoughts
Of a dead person,
I’d expect it to weigh more.”
Dante blinks.
“And the astronomical instrument?”
“Too small to be astronomical.”
Dante considers this.
“That is not how astronomy works.”
“Nevertheless.”
Dante lifts his teacup.
“Rejected.”
The first two theories are dismissed.
Neither man feels remotely discouraged.
Seamus Draker taps the bowl
Of his pipe.
“My turn.”
Dante nods.
“Proceed.”
“First…a key.”
“A key?”
“An important key.”
“To what?”
“Something nobody has yet discovered.”
Dante thinks.
“The key to a hidden room?”
“Perhaps.”
“A forgotten safe?”
“Possibly.”
“A secret passage?”
“Now you’re thinking.”
Dante looks at the box again.
“And your second theory?”
Seamus lowers his voice.
“A tooth.”
Dante stares.
“A tooth?”
“An enormous tooth.”
“From what?”
“Something extinct.”
“How enormous?”
Seamus considers.
“About that big.”
He indicates a size roughly
Equivalent to a walnut.
Dante looks unimpressed.
“That isn’t enormous.”
“For a tooth it is.”
“For a creature?”
“Depends on the creature.”
Dante nods slowly.
“Fair.”
They sit quietly.
“The key,”
Says Dante,
“is problematic.”
“Why?”
“A key requires a lock.”
“Perhaps the box is the lock.”
Dante stops.
He looks at the box.
Then at Seamus.
“That’s actually quite clever.”
“Thank you.”
“Which means it is almost certainly
Wrong.”
“Naturally.”
The tooth is dismissed
For being entirely too dental.
The key is dismissed
Because neither man
Can identify what it might unlock.
Four theories.
Four failures.
The box remains completely silent.
A chair moves.
Miss Marmalade Bramblewick
Looks up
From her book.
She has been listening.
Not intentionally.
But Nocturna
Has a peculiar habit
Of making private conversations
Public property.
She adjusts her silver spectacles.
“What are you discussing?”
Seamus points.
“The box.”
Marmalade looks.
“Ah.”
She considers it.
“What’s inside?”
Dante smiles.
“That is precisely what we are attempting
To determine.”
Marmalade stands.
She walks closer.
She does not touch it.
She merely studies the grain of the wood.
The brass corners.
The tiny clasp.
“It may be a reliquary.”
Seamus brightens.
“Excellent.”
“Or,”
She continues,
“a specimen case.”
Dante frowns.
“For what specimen?”
“Something preserved.”
“A butterfly?”
“Possibly.”
“A moth?”
“More likely.”
Seamus looks pleased.
“I suggested a moth.”
Marmalade looks at him.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps it is a moth.”
Dante shakes his head.
“Too simple.”
Marmalade considers this.
“Very well.”
She looks at the box again.
“Perhaps it contains a letter.”
“Why would a letter
Need a box?”
“Because it might be a very important letter.”
“What sort?”
Marmalade lowers her voice.
“A letter which should never
Have been written.”
Silence.
Dante looks impressed.
Seamus looks delighted.
“Now that’s a box.”
Marmalade smiles.
But then she notices something.
“Except…”
Everyone waits.
“There is no dust around the clasp.”
Dante leans closer.
She is right.
The box is clean.
Recently handled.
“So?”
Asks Seamus.
Marmalade replies,
“Whatever is inside,
Someone has opened it recently.”
The mystery deepens.
From the adjoining room
Comes the sound of a chair scraping
Across the floor.
Vivienne Crumb appears in the doorway.
She carries a notebook.
She looks at the three of them.
Then the box.
“What’s happening?”
“Science,”
Says Dante.
“Absolutely not,”
Says Seamus.
Vivienne smiles.
“Then it must be interesting.”
She approaches.
“What’s inside?”
Nobody answers.
Vivienne studies the box.
“I have two possibilities.”
Dante smiles.
“Excellent.”
“First,”
She says,
“a preserved insect.”
Seamus nods.
“A moth?”
“Possibly.”
“We have established that possibility.”
“Then second…”
Vivienne pauses.
“A colony.”
Dante lowers
His teacup.
“A colony?”
“Bees.”
Seamus looks alarmed.
“Inside the box?”
“Why not?”
“Where would they breathe?”
“Through the wood.”
“And eat?”
“Perhaps they don’t.”
“Then they’re dead.”
Vivienne smiles.
“Possibly.”
Dante looks fascinated.
“A box containing
A preserved colony of bees.”
Vivienne nods.
“A very unusual one.”
“What makes it unusual?”
“They might all be the same bee.”
There is silence.
Seamus slowly turns
Towards Dante.
Dante slowly turns
Towards Seamus.
Marmalade
Looks delighted.
“How,”
Asks Dante,
“could they all be the same bee?”
Vivienne shrugs.
“I haven’t worked
That part out yet.”
Seamus smiles.
“Excellent theory.”
“Thank you.”
Marmalade leans forward.
“But I have a better question.”
Everyone looks at her.
“Why is the box on this table?”
Silence.
They look around.
The lounge.
The fireplace.
The books.
The tables.
The chairs.
The box.
Nobody knows.
Dante speaks quietly.
“That,”
He says,
“is perhaps the most troubling
Question of all.”
For the next twenty minutes
The four of them do absolutely nothing
Except stare at it.
They discuss:
Whether the box was Victorian.
Whether the brass was original.
Whether the wood was walnut
Or mahogany.
Whether a secret could be considered
Secret if nobody knew there was one.
Whether a dead moth could still
Have intentions.
Whether bees dream.
Whether keys have memories.
Whether letters can regret
Being written.
At one point,
Seamus suggests that the box
May contain another smaller box.
Dante suggests
That this smaller box
May contain another smaller box.
Vivienne suggests
That eventually they may discover
A box so small it contains
Nothing at all.
Marmalade quietly asks,
“Would that make
The smallest box the most mysterious?”
Nobody can answer.
The conversation has become too serious.
Then Seamus says,
“We should open it.”
Everyone looks at him.
“Absolutely not.”
Says Dante.
“Why?”
“Because if it is
Something extraordinary,
We may ruin the mystery.”
Marmalade nods.
“And if it is something ordinary,
We shall look foolish.”
Vivienne considers this.
“We already look foolish.”
There is a pause.
Then laughter.
Small at first.
Then considerably louder.
And for a moment,
The mystery seems
Almost forgotten.
Until…
The side door opens.
A young man steps quietly into the lounge.
Percival “Pip” Rook.
He looks as though he has been
Carrying something heavy.
Or perhaps simply carrying
Too many things at once.
He pauses.
Looks at the four of them.
Then at the box.
His expression does not change.
He walks over.
“Excuse me.”
Seamus points at the box.
“Do you know what that is?”
Pip nods.
“Yes, sir.”
Everyone sits upright.
“What’s inside?”
Pip picks up the box.
“Tea towels.”
Silence.
“Tea towels?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dante looks at Seamus.
Seamus looks at Marmalade.
Marmalade looks at Vivienne.
Vivienne looks at Pip.
“That’s all?”
Pip nods.
“Six of them.”
Dante stares.
“Six tea towels.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why are they in an ornate wooden box?”
Pip thinks for a moment.
“I don’t know, sir.”
He turns to leave.
Seamus calls after him.
“Pip?”
Pip stops.
“Yes, sir?”
“Who does the box belong to?”
Pip looks at the box.
“The kitchen.”
And disappears through the side door.
For several seconds nobody speaks.
Then Dante begins laughing.
Not politely.
Not quietly.
Properly.
Seamus joins him.
Marmalade covers her mouth.
Vivienne actually applauds.
“Six tea towels!”
Seamus manages.
“We suspected a dead civilisation!”
“A memory device!”
Adds Dante.
“A secret key!”
“A colony of bees!”
Vivienne laughs.
“An extinct tooth!”
Marmalade adds.
The four of them collapse into laughter.
Even Seamus has tears in his eyes.
Dante wipes his moustache.
“Gentlemen…
Ladies…
We have spent
Nearly half an hour investigating
A box of tea towels.”
“Six tea towels.”
Vivienne corrects.
This starts another round of laughter.
Eventually the room settles.
The box is gone.
The table is empty.
Marmalade looks at it.
Then frowns.
“Was it always on that table?”
Seamus looks at her.
“Yes.”
“I don’t think it was.”
Dante smiles.
“My dear Marmalade,
You have been listening to us for too long.”
She laughs.
“Perhaps.”
Vivienne closes her notebook.
“Six tea towels.”
They laugh again.
Then Dante raises his teacup.
“To the box.”
Seamus raises his pipe.
“To the tea towels.”
Marmalade raises her glass.
“To our complete and utter foolishness.”
Vivienne raises her cup.
“And to never investigating another
Ordinary object at Nocturna.”
They drink.
From somewhere beyond the side door,
There comes
A faint sound.
A small,
Wooden click.
Everyone stops.
They look towards the door.
Nothing.
Seamus slowly lowers his pipe.
Dante raises one eyebrow.
Marmalade listens.
Vivienne listens.
Silence.
Then Seamus smiles.
“Probably the kitchen.”
“Obviously.”
Says Dante.
They return to their conversation.
Nobody notices that upon the empty
Mahogany table,
Exactly where the box had been,
There remains a single loose thread.
It is dark blue.
And very slightly damp.
Nobody can explain
Why it smells faintly of lavender.
Or why,
when the clock strikes midnight,
It is gone.
