Mr Hook's Big Black Box

Dwayne Carlisle: Safety

"I'm not sure the Box would fit in there, though," Ferrari hazarded. She was being optimistic, there was no way the Box would fit into a wall-safe like that. The panel behind the painting was about the same size as the foot of the Box, and being coffin-shaped the foot wasn't the widest part. On the other hand, there was no visible join around the edge of that panel, and no hinges. So I could guess that the locks weren't positioned on the actual door. The safe itself could be elsewhere; her dad had got it from a company well known for the more complex high-tech solutions, after all.

Monty placed her palm on the panel, and a green glow slowly scanned across behind the glass. Totally cosmetic, of course, the device scanned using electrical impulses, but it looked impressive. Then she keyed in an identification number on the keypad, and leaned forward to press her eye close to the lens. There was a beep, a flash of four green LEDs, and a heavy clunk from a hidden mechanism. Monty stood back and smiled, waiting patiently. The sound in the background was just a whisper of metal sliding against metal, a perfectly balanced mechanism. And then the safe swung open.

It was behind a shelf unit, which seemed to be hinged at one side. The whole piece of furniture moved, including every ornament and trinket on the shelves, and behind them we could see the edge of the door as it swung ponderously open.

"That's not a safe!" Marco said exactly what I was thinking, and I suspect the others were too, "That's a bank vault!"

"Technically no," Kris corrected, "If it were a bank vault, then the house would need to be a bank. However, I think the word 'vault' is an accurate description."

The vault door was approximately square, five feet on a side, and looked to be made of metal several inches thick. Neat circles along the edge had to be the steel bolts that we'd heard withdrawing. I had to wonder what Mr Darwin could own that would justify that kind of protection. I didn't need prompting, I stepped inside as soon as the door was open wide enough. It was a tiny space, but not too small to contain the Box, I thought. It was maybe the size of a large toilet cubicle. A bit larger, maybe, because there was room for five of us to stand inside while only feeling a little crowded. There were shelves along the walls, with a couple of boxes on them, but pride of place was given to a table on which was a display rack.

It was clearly designed to hold a set of Japanese swords, the traditional daisho, but this one held only one sword, and its saya on the lower mount. It gleamed as the lights slowly came on. It was beautiful.

"Daddy's sword," Monty grinned, "That's what the safe was for. I don't know if it's just the money, or if it's got some history. When I was little, he showed it to me and said it was the most valuable thing he had until I came along. I asked to play with it, because the other kids were playing pirates and Indians, and I thought having a real sword would be so cool. But Daddy said no, I wasn't ready to touch it. He said I could hold the sword when I'd proved that I was worthy of it and knew how to treat it with care. I had to learn how to wield a sword before he would even let me lay a finger on it."

"Seems fair enough," I couldn't think of anything less inane to say. But Monty always loved telling stories, and she was barely paying attention to what anyone else might say. She continued.

"So I went and started taking kendo classes. Money wasn't an issue, Daddy's a lawyer who made enough because he was good, and Mom had her inheritance, which had just about been enough to give her and her sisters a comfortable life. So anything I wanted to learn, I could, just so long as it wasn't shameful or common. Mom decided that I was going to be an heiress, so I had to grow up with the right kinds of skills and the right attitude. But kendo was a noble art, kind of like fencing, and she didn't mind me having lessons too much. But, well, I was never really that good. And I quickly started reading the stories, history and fantasy, and the ones where it all runs together and you're not sure if it's supposed to be real or not. Magic, and honour, and that's kind of how I got to you guys. Samurai was the closest I could find to people who might enjoy the same things I did, you know? So I guess in a roundabout way, this sword introduced me to my friends. I'm glad Daddy showed it to me, even if I won't be worthy to inherit it."

We told her it was a beautiful story. That she'd be worthy of the sword, even if she didn't wield it herself. That we were so glad things had worked out like that. And then before it got to the point where we just felt we were repeating ourselves, we went back out of the safe to try moving the Box into there.

I was pretty sure it would fit, standing upright beside the door. But getting it there was a whole other matter. It wasn't so heavy without the crate, but it was still too much for one person, especially someone like me. And there was an inch-high lip around the vault door, which meant that the Box needed to be tilted back to go under the lintel, then lifted so the bottom could go through the door, and then turned around in a really tight space. Without even needing to ask everyone, Marco and Ferrari took responsibility for lifting the Box, while me and Monty looked on from the edge of the utility room and offered what we thought might be helpful advice. It probably wasn't that useful, but I felt like I should be contributing, so I felt like I had to come up with something vaguely constructive to say.

All the time, I was running through scenarios in my head. It's a terrible thing to admit, but I was still wondering if I might get inside the Box before it was locked away. I was looking for answers, looking for questions, that might lead other members of the group into private conversations. I could ask Monty to go up to her room and bring something, maybe, like a pen or her sketchbook. I could suggest one of the others there was something they might need, or I could suggest that Kris speak to Marco about what he'd seen of Spenser's men in that parking lot. I could see a dozen ways to get one of my friends out of the basement. Or I could get two of them to want to talk in private,so they'd leave the room where everyone else was. In my ideal situation, they'd leave after putting the Box in the safe, and Monty would already be upstairs so she wouldn't have locked the door yet.

I saw a dozen options, but every one faded away as soon as I started to pursue it. I don't know what they were, ephemeral ideas that didn't stand up in real conversation. I'd never been that good at manipulating people, and it turned out I really didn't have the skill to separate my friends from the very thing we were all supposed to be protecting. I finally gave up when Monty grabbed two handles on the safe control panel, or maybe they were levers. And the door began to ponderously drift closed. It took nearly three minutes before the safe was actually locked, but as soon as it started to move I knew that I'd missed my chance.