Peter was a timid kind of boy and almost curled
up in a ball when voices were raised. “Sorry, I didn’t realise,” he murmured as
he quickly replaced the lid.
Mrs Kipple smiled and descended the staircase
to engage in the monotony of adult conversation.
Peter continued to explore the odd shop and its
collection of curios. Placed carefully were
things on things, things in things, and many
things that were probably not even things at all! Peter moved a thick, maroon chenille curtain to reveal
a cyan leather chair
with a dusty box upon its padded seat. It was wooden with small enamelled symbols on the front section, was dark in colour, and
it opened up to reveal a cross-shaped compartment. Peter felt so sorry for the
worn, tired box that he decided he had to take it home; it would be ideal for
things of no importance. Walking quickly, Peter went through the shop to find his mother, who was sitting
in the parlour deep in idle chitchat. As
mothers do, she instinctively knew that Peter was about to ask for something.
“What have you found now?” she asked.
Peter produced the tatty wooden box. A little
pink tag on the side swayed on its thin silk thread; it was twenty-five pence
for the ownership of this item. Peter thought it was such a bargain that even
Mother could not refuse. After saying goodbye
to Mrs Kipple, Peter and his mother were soon
on their way, Peter with the scruffy-looking box tucked inside his coat.
As they arrived home, raindrops were starting
to fall on Peter’s head. They were fairly
large and landed with a splodgy sound as he removed his cap.
“Looks like we just got home in time; there’s a
storm brewing,” said Mother.
Peter went off upstairs to his bedroom, and
sitting on his bed, he opened the box to investigate. A display showing a large cross-shaped compartment in the middle, and four smaller surrounding squares gave a symmetrical
pattern. Uncovering a carpet of dust and the
smell of old wood, Peter saw on the front of the box three unknown symbols. The sides of the box were made up of
rough planks, and one seemed to protrude ever so slightly. Peter tried to push
it back, but it was very tight. Determined, Peter pressed harder, until his
thumb went a darker shade of plum, he heard the sound of a spring, and a hidden drawer swung open from the side. Inside was a
dark blue velvet pouch with traces of silver thread running through it, as fine
as a spider’s web glistening in the morning light. Peter could not believe his
eyes. It felt so soft, and it had a silvery-green
cord holding it closed together with a polished wooden bead. Eagerly he opened the bag and emptied the contents into the
palm of his hand: a silver ball, a pineapple chunk, and the most wonderful key he had ever seen. The key was made of beaten copper
with lilies swirling around it, and the number 402 was engraved in the centre.
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