‘Here,’ he says, handing her a small, brass cylinder. Around its circumference there are reliefs of bulls and long grasses. ‘Open this.’
There appears to be two lids, one on either side. Both are locked shut. A pair of horns protrude from one end, a snaking tail from the other. Some kind of puzzle.
‘What’s in it?’ she asks.
A small smile. ‘I don’t know.’ He gestures back at the pile of looted jewellery on the table, gold and gemstones glittering in the lamplight. ‘But of all the things in that vault, only one of them wasn’t listed in any ledger.’
She pulls out a knife and threatens the cylinder with it. He stays her hand. ‘Maybe try something a little less forceful first, eh?’
She shrugs and he leaves her to it.
She rattles the cylinder, naturally. Doesn’t jangle. Then she puts it up to her ear. At first she thinks she hears hissing. Then, after a moment, she realises it sounds like an exhalation. Coming from inside the cylinder. A low, breathy snort, like that of a large animal.
Paddy Dobson
14th January 2022