The Autumn Prince

6. Antiquities

The locker was empty except for an ugly, bulky tarp in the far corner and a faint, musty scent that roused an unpleasant bit of nostalgia.

Hidden behind the hospital where I spent months after my first seizure was a tiny arbor, peppered with maples and sugar pines and the sound of fat little finches. Orderlies took patients there for fresh air, where riding mowers didn't fit between the trees and the ground had never been blessed with a rake. The smell of decaying leaves was more distinctive than strong, but it soured what should have been a wholesome experience, giving a fledgling teen, whose life had just been demolished by fate, one more reason to despise the world.

The plastic tarp looked old and over-used, it's sheen completely worn away, and as I drew near, I noticed an old, hemp rope, the source of the smell, binding it around whatever lay underneath. A quick tug at one of the loose knots pulled it free, and my heart skipped a beat as I drew back the covering to reveal a large trunk, about the size of a cedar chest, intricately carved and inlaid with thick knotwork and reliefs of trees, animals, and a few human-like heads.

A variety of light and dark woods were so masterfully assembled that I couldn't tell where one ended and another began. Its black hinges and sturdy iron bands were just as expertly crafted, but what drew my eye was a broad disk at its front, fashioned from the same black metal as the bindings into a wild, bearded face that seemed to grow out of a tangled forest.. It bridged the trunk's seam with wide, staring eyes, a mane of leafy hair, and a mouth shaped around an 'O' shaped hole, as if it were blowing.

I let out a low, involuntary whistle of appreciation and ran my hands across the trunk's surface, which felt more like stone than wood, certain it weighed almost as much as I did. I tried lifting the lid, but it stubbornly refused to acknowledge my efforts.

The chest alone represented a fortune, even I could see that. Was this Miss Gold's gift? If so, there had to be a catch.

Catch. From habit rather than compulsion, rhymes formed in the back of my mind. Hatch. It wouldn't open. Latch. Because it was locked. Locks had keys, and so did I.

With a thrill of excitement I quickly retrieved the envelope and emptied the last of its contents into my hand. The old key had clearly seen hard times while the chest remained pristine, but it was obviously made from the same metal as the disk. I peered closely at the face and put my finger against its mouth. The hole was just about the right size, so I carefully slid the cylinder of the key into it and pushed until I heard something click.

The rest of Miss Gold's note came into sharp focus. I rotated the key to the left and there was a ticking sound like winding a clock. Then I pushed in again until some mechanism stopped me, then I turned it to the right. Tick, tick, tick, click! Out another quarter inch. Click. A final turn...

There was a hiss of air and the lid lifted a fraction of an inch. I tried retrieving the key but could neither turn it nor pull it out of the mask, so I let it be. I was right about it being heavy, but it opened easily as if rigged with a spring or a counterweight and I let out the breath I'd been holding.

The chest was full but not with treasure. A thick bundle of wool lay folded atop a strange assortment of items that left me with more questions and no answers.

Immediately beneath the cloth was a short club made from some exotic wood with twisted, pale and dark striations, about a foot long and thick and gnarled like a root. It had been polished to a shine and it weighed more than I expected, but if it was anything more than a cudgel or a doorstop I couldn't guess its purpose.

Next in line was a shallow, wooden bowl, heavy like the stick and equally inexplicable. Inside the bowl lay a flat, gray stone about three inches across, worn smooth with a hole slightly off-center, tied to a leather cord.