DRAGON IN A BOX

DRAGON IN A BOX

Written by Bob Liddil

Birtwhistle was travel worn and dusty, disheveled and unkempt, puppy-eyed and starving when he walked through the double swinging doors of the Black Boar Inn. He reeked of sweat and bog mud and bowel gas from too few baths and fewer meals. But his overall demeanor was one of dignity, despite the handicaps of his poverty.

As the little man entered, the noise level in the tavern dropped to a whisper. This was partially due to a normal everyday suspicion of strangers and partially due to what he carried under his arm, a medium sized highly polished exquisitely engraved brown wooden box.

Birtwhistle cleared his throat with a rasping sound that suggested he might be contagious and said, "All I have to my name in this world is this box. I will not tell you what is inside, but I can promise you that you will not be disappointed if you buy it."

A scurvy knave in the back of the room piped up and shouted, "I’ll give 1 copper for it!" A second shouted, "I’ll make it two!" The room burst into laughter. But then, a third, sitting at a table close to the bar said, "Here, let’s have a look at it," and reached out to collect it.

Birtwhistle gave it up willingly. It was beyond superb in its craftsmanship. Colored a deep rich shade of walnut, it shone like a gemstone, reflecting the light from the windows and the candles inside the tavern off the luster of its finish. The lid attached to the body of the box by three - not two but three- highly polished brass hinges and secured at the front by a finely worked latch which double locked, but required no key to open.

Carved into the lid, carefully worked deeply into the wood, was the image of a dragon, wings unfolded, and its head raised in anger to the skies. On each of the two ends were renderings of the same dragon, identically head carvings of a contemplative worm, seemingly deep in thought. On the front, the dragon was depicted in the sky, wings stretched to their fullest, tail curving out behind. Far below could be seen the hills and trees of the delta land. On the back of the box, was carved a dragon on land, facing a swordsman to its front, blade drawn. Its eyes were fearless as it faced this ancient enemy.

To his touch, the finish on the box was as satin. To the eye it was as glass. The rogue who examined it immediately lost some of his brashness as his eyes and hands spoke to him of its true value.

In a loud voice, the rogue said, "I bid 100 in gold." That silenced the laughter completely. A low overtone of discussion replaced it.

A leather-clad swordsman arose from his seat amongst those in the rear and called out, "Pass it back here."

It was done.

There arose a new swell of comments as the box passed toward the rear of the tavern, a new hand touching its smoothness, a new eye regarding, close up, its beauty, until finally, it reached him who’d called for it. It captured him immediately and he said loudly, "500 in gold!" setting off a flurry of activity.

As the box passed from hand to hand, the bidding increased. Each bidder in his turn fell under the spell of its rare beauty. By the time it returned to Birtwhistle, more than 900 in gold and a stout horse had been offered.

"Your kindness is overwhelming," said Birtwhistle, "I will be able to live for a long time on the proceeds from this, the sale of my last remaining treasure."

He accepted a pouch containing the agreed upon coinage, then bought a round of drinks for the lot of unsuccessful bidders. Forthwith, Birtwhistle departed the tavern in good cheer, leaving his box in the custody of one Gadlin the dwarf. But before doing so, the two of them had a private chat, during which instructions for the care of the box and its contents were disclosed. It was a conversation that brought a thoughtful smile to the dwarf’s face. Then, As quickly as instants pass, Birtwhistle was gone, and with him, a fine stallion which Gadlin had recently obtained in settlement of a debt.

Some of the scum in the back of the tavern were annoyed at Gadlin having outbid them None of them had the nerve to challenge him directly - that was a good way to end up carved into pieces by a sharp sword. No, they began to heckle him, cautiously, mind you, for no one wished to anger him.

Someone shouted, "Hey, Gadlin, what’s in the box?"

Someone else said, "Yeah, what’s inside, I’d like to see."

Gadlin caught that one in an withering stare, then motioned for him to come up to the front, which he did – with great reluctance, not wanting to be the one to berserk that particular dwarf.

"You wish to know what is in the box?" questioned Gadlin.

"Uhh. Uhhhmm. . .uh, yeah, I uhh guess so. Yeah."

Gadlin placed the box on the table facing the luckless rogue, pushing it fully to arm’s length away from him, and said, simply, "Open it then."

The rogue, who was known to have once apprenticed to a magician, reached out to unlock the box, but stopped short of touching it. Beads of sweat began popping out on his forehead and face. Finally, he stepped back from the table a step. "Nnno," he stammered, suddenly quite disarmed.

"But I thought you wanted to see what’s inside," the dwarf said coyly, "I thought you all wanted to see what’s inside." He added in a louder tone, "Surely you can’t be afraid of the contents of a box so small."

"Stand aside, lightweight!" a rough hand shoved the rogue away and who took his place was the swordsman, who had made his way to the front of the tavern. "I’m not afraid of any box"

"Then open it," Gadlin said, "but do so carefully, so that only you receive the full effects. We wouldn’t want any to be wasted on bystanders."

Those sitting at tables near Gadlin’s rose, chairs scuffling, and moved away. The swordsman’s eyes darted around, as he watched them retreat. Then, with bravado he exclaimed, "Nether hells! Are you all women?"

He lifted the box, two handed from the table and shook it next to his ear, so as to hear what was inside.

"I would do that gently," cautioned Gadlin quietly, his face never changing expression.

The swordsman paled, replaced the box on the table and blustered, "Well, who needs to see the inside of a stupid box? Not me!" He turned away and stomped through the swinging doors, out into the street.

Someone else rose to take his place. A bold lad, not yet bearded and known to still be living at home, came forward to face the box.

Gadlin said casually, loud enough to be heard, "100 in gold says that he doesn’t have the nerve to face the contents of the box.

"I’ll take some of that action," someone said. "So will I," said someone else. The youth grinned broadly that so many would have such confidence in him. He shook his hands and his head to loosen himself up. Just as he was about to make his move, Gadlin said, "One question, boy."

The youth blanched at the word "boy" but let it pass. This was Gadlin, after all. He was no fool.

The dwarf continued, "Who is your next of kin?"

The lad blinked and said, dumfounded, "What?"

Someone in the back of the room shouted, "Your momma! How do we find her to tell her you’re dead?"

Gadlin smiled knowingly.

Twice, the youth attempted to will his hands and arms to open the box, and twice he faltered. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. With so much riding on him he could not consider failure. But in the end, he could not bring himself to do it. His shoulders drooped in defeat. Finally, he just turned away and slunk back to his chair.

Gadlin collected 700 in bets.

Then the big burly barkeep came out from behind his counter and strode confidently over to the dwarf’s table. A chorus of wagers immediately filled the air, all of which Gadlin accepted.

His nearly toothless mouth was spread wide in a grin, as though he knew a way to defeat whatever lurked within. He placed each of his huge hands on opposite ends and rotated the box so that the hinges faced toward him and the lid would open toward Gadlin.

The dwarf instantly dived to the floor. So fast were his reflexes, that anything coming from the box would have missed seeing him completely and immediately gone for whoever was sitting behind him - if that person had not also followed Gadlin to the floor. In fact, within seconds, the barkeep was the only one in the entire tavern not kissing sawdust, an absolute guarantee that what or whoever was inside the box would see only him.

His grin disappeared. He let go of the box as if he’d been bee stung. Looking all around, he then backed away from the dwarf’s table and the box. Returning back to behind the bar, he had decided that anything capable of putting Gadlin the dwarf on the floor certainly was too dangerous to let loose in his saloon. After all, there was a living to be made.

For the next two hours or so, Gadlin (who had resumed his seat) collected wagers large and small from all comers. He amassed, in this length of time, a considerable bag of gold. The dwarf was thoroughly enjoying himself, completely confident that no one could raise the courage to open the box when, for the second time that day, Birtwhistle entered the tavern.

Quite a different Birtwhistle entered the Black Boar Inn than had done so previously. Here was a shaved, bathed, lightly perfumed Birtwhistle, outfitted in fresh (and I might add stylish) togs. He was now no longer the picture of a pauper, being in possession of the remainder of Gadlin’s 900 in gold (less the cost of visiting the clothier, the bath house, the barber and a certain lovely Lady of Accommodation).

"I will wager," Birtwhistle said to Gadlin, as a now absolutely silent crowd looked on, "600 in gold and a good horse, against that box, that I can open it without the contents doing me any harm at all."

There came a chorus of disapproval over which Gadlin shouted, "You’re on!"

The rustle of comment amongst the onlookers fell back into quiet.

Birtwhistle came forward to Gadlin’s table and stood before the box as so many others had. Carefully, he unlatched the opposing catch locks, and then slowly, painstakingly, began to raise the lid.

Those nearest by, first shrank back, so as to avoid the contents’ wrath, then leaned forward to get a look at what wasn’t killing anyone. As the lid came fully open, those who could see, let out a collective sigh of relief and surprise. True to his boast, no harm had befallen Birtwhistle.

Then someone blurted out in utter astonishment, "By the gods. It’s EMPTY!"

"Wait just a gods cursed minute!" The swordsman who’d been humiliated earlier found his voice and courage at the same instant. "When you came in here this morning, you said there was treasure or something worth something in that box!"

"Yeah, you lied to us!" growled another. A chorus of discontent swelled up.

"Now, wait a minute" said Birtwhistle, "What I told you earlier was that whoever bought the box would not be disappointed. Is that not true?"

Thinking about it, they grudgingly admitted so in a general mutter of affirmation.

"And it was Mr. Gadlin here - " Birtwhistle gestured toward the dwarf. " He was the one who bought the box, right?"

Again affirmed.

"Mr. Gadlin, sir, are you in any way dissatisfied with the performance of the box or unhappy at its contents?"

Gadlin hefted a bag containing nearly 1800 in gold coins, jingled it and said mischievously, "Nope. I doubled my investment in half a day’s time. I’m done with the feed bill that grass burner of an extra horse, and I’ve had a better laugh than on any other day I can remember. I’m satisfied."

"Then all accounts are settled," Birtwhistle concluded. "Agreed?"

No one offered further objections Birtwhistle snapped the lid down on the box, then tucked it under his arm and then, bidding the dwarf and all others in the tavern farewell, he departed, leaving the double doors swinging behind him.

For a moment or two there was a ferocious silence. Each individual in the crowd mulled over the events that had taken place and his role in them. Suddenly, Gadlin the dwarf leaped to his feet and shouted to the barkeep, "Dark ale for

Everyone my friend!"

It was a well-known fact that the dwarf seldom bought drinks for anyone but himself. No one in attendance that day could ever recall hearing him laugh as loudly or with the good cheer and gusto shown as he paid for the first and second rounds of the afternoon. That scruffy lot drank a toast to the stranger and a second to Gadlin. For who better than they could appreciate the work of a good con man.

Outside the Black Boar Inn, Birtwhistle sat motionless in the saddle astride his new horse, listening to the merriment within. The dwarf had been a good sport. He’d followed his instructions to the letter. There were no angry voices, no recriminations inside the tavern. Nudging the mount into a walk, he tugged gently on the reins, guiding him westward, along the road out of the town. He felt great relief to be departing at such a leisurely pace. Not always did things work out this well.

From an inside pocket of his new togs came a rustling sound.

Birtwhistle said, "Shhh, not yet, my pet, in a moment. You’ll be home soon. Quiet now."

The struggling only became more insistent. Birtwhistle sighed. He fetched up the box from where it had been lashed to the saddle, lifted the lid and said, "Quickly then." He opened his cloak slightly so that whatever was inside could come out more easily.

A rainbow colored form burst out into the sunlight amidst a miniature cry of pure glee. On powerful tiny wings it hovered in front of the man for just a second, then shot into the sky, darting back and forth like some insane hummingbird. It looped and soared in an orgy of freedom after having been cooped up so long, then settled slowly earthward, landing on the edge of its box. Looking expectantly upward at Birtwhistle, it cocked its head slightly to one side.

"I guess we’re far enough from prying eyes," the man sighed, "at least for a little while." He nudged the horse again to pick up the pace

The little dragon spent the rest of that afternoon basking on Birtwhistle’s shoulder in the warm sun as they moved steadily toward the setting sun, away from the Black Boar Inn.

This story originally appeared in Marion Zimmer Bradly's Fantasy magazine.

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