The Mistress' Box

There it was, in the middle of the dirt road as they rounded a heavy-wooded blind corner. Sir Holtz's horse had to brake so hard, the knight nearly fell off.

“What the blazes!” He pushed himself upright again and straightened his helmet. Glimshade, his dragon traveling companion, flew down to investigate.

“What is it?” the dragon growled.

“Well...It's a box,” said Sir Holtz. “Can't you see that! Some blithering idiot has dumped their goods right here in the middle of the road...in everyone's way. I could have had an accident!”

“Sometimes you humans have no consideration for each other,” said Glimshade. “I wonder who it belongs to?”

Sir Holtz got down off his horse and went to have a closer look. It was a small wooden, iron-bound box, about two foot by eighteen inches. Burnt on the lid in large letters were the words DO NOT OPEN.

“No name on it that I can see, good dragon.”

“Perhaps the address is inside the lid,” suggested Glimshade. “You'll have to open it to find out.”

They looked at one another.

“After you,” said the dragon, politely.

Sir Holtz shook his head. “No thanks, I don't meddle with strange boxes. No knowing what might be in there.”

“You're scared!” Glimshade taunted.

“No, I have a well-developed sense of self-preservation,” said Holtz.

“You remember when we opened that bag we found at Ruftharven lake last year?”

Glimshade cracked a big dragon smile. “You mean the one containing a sleeping Dard inside; the one that almost ate your face off? Ha! Yes, my friend, I'll never let that one slip out of my memory.”

Sir Holtz didn't think it was that funny and scowled, “Yes...well...Anyway, we're nearly at Doralee Town. Let's take it with us, maybe someone there will recognize it.”

As they drew near the village, Glimshade flew ahead to wait for Sir Holtz on the other side. They had found that the presence of a dragon could cause a bit of a stir, and it was as well not to appear too friendly toward each other in public. There were many dragon-haters spread out across the countryside. Too many memories of the damage done less than a hundred years before by the now extinct dark, evil dragon clans.

The knight made straight for the village inn, the “Purple Goose”. As he entered, the box in his arms, the crowd of patrons inside fell suddenly silent. Starring at him intently. One or two ducked under the tables. Holtz dropped the box on the floor.

“Pint of ale, please,” he said, tossing a few copper coins onto the bar.

“Yes sir!” With trembling hands the tavern-keep pulled a pint. Holtz turned to survey the cowering patrons. He grew curious.

“Anyone know anything about this here box? I Found it in the road half a mile north of town.”

A quavering voice spoke from a corner.

“That be Mistress Burney's box.”

“Who's Mistress Burney?”

“Oh, a very respectable lady, she is,” said the tavern-keep. “No-one round here has a word to say against Mistress Burney. Isn't that right my fellows?” The tone in his voice sounded more like a desperate plea for agreement than matter of fact.

“Then can you tell me where she lives?”

There was a short silence. Everyone seemed to be avoiding his eye. He heard muttering of “I dunno . . . not one for callers . . . might not like it . . . he's not actually going to see her is he?....vile hag”

“Never mind,” said Sir Holtz, frustrated, “I expect the address is inside the box.”

When it appeared the knight was going to open the box the tavern patrons jumped out of their chairs and made for the door like the place was on fire. Some of them spilling their beer all over the floor and themselves.

“Hey! Hang on, there. OK, I won't open it. All I want to do is take her box back.”

The tavern-keep raised his head slowly up from the other side of the bar.

“You've not opened it, have you?”

“Of course not! It's private, obviously. Besides, I wouldn't want to witness a room full of spring flowers wetting themselves and soiling your floor.”

“Yes. Right. Well, you'll want to leave here and get on your way to her Mistress' house then. When you walk out these doors turn left and follow the narrow road. Then you'll want to bear left at the church, cross the cornfield and her place is on the other side of Bogles Wood, just past the gibbet. You can't miss it.”

“Thanks.” Sir Holtz lifted the box. “Bloody hell, it's heavy. What's she got in here ya think?”




The tavern-keep shuddered. “Don't ask!”

* * * * *

“Is this it?” asked the dragon, who had joined Sir Holtz again once they reached the outskirts of the town.

‘It was a small thatched cottage with roses round the door and hollyhocks in the garden.

“If we've followed the directions right. Why?”

“It all looks too good to be true. And there's definitely something funny about that box. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation at the tavern. Can't we just leave it on the doorstep?”

“Glimshade! Were you spying on me?”

“No good knight, just stretching out behind the tavern. You know I have excellent hearing.”

“Indeed! Well, personally I'd like to meet the lady,” said Sir Holtz. “After all the trouble we've been to, the least she can do is offer us a cup of tea and a slice of sugarbread.”

Clutching the box under his arm, he marched down the path and rapped smartly on the brass door knocker. The door opened at once.

“Why, it's the Silver Knight, come to bring my box back! So kind.” a husky voice murmured. “Do come in, please.”

* * * * *
Sir Holtz sat on the sofa, balancing a delicate porcelain cup and saucer on his knee. Mistress Burney sat next to him, a little closer, he thought, than was strictly necessary. She was a tiny lady of an older age, wearing a gown of red velvet which clung to her boxy shape. She was obviously a witch, you could tell from the crystal balls on the table, the cauldron in the corner, the shelves full of spell books and the framed certificate from Miss Emerod's Academy for Young Mages, Witches and Warlocks hanging above the fireplace.

“I'm so grateful to you and the dear dragon,” she said. “I wish I could have asked him in as well, but he'd never have fit in my little cottage.”

This was true. Not that the room was particularly small, but it was so crowded with overstuffed chairs and occasional tables covered in knickknacks there was scarcely room to move. So, Glimshade enjoyed his tea and ginger cake by the back door.

“How did you come to lose the box?”

“It was stolen. A robber baron by the name of Githro to be more precise. He's been raiding the homes of the meek and elderly in this region for months now.” She sighed dramatically. “Such wickedness there is in the world, to make off with a poor widow woman's only treasure!”

“Hmm. I wonder why he dropped it in the middle of the road?” mused the knight.

“Attack of conscience, perhaps. Another ginger cake? I baked them specially for you.”

“Uh...You knew we were coming?”

“Of course. I saw it in my crystal ball. My knight in shining armor!”

Holtz coughed. “I could do with a bit of a polish, actually.”

“And you never even tried to look inside. Weren't you tempted? Just the tiniest little peek?”

“It's none of my business what you keep in your boxes. I give you my word as a knight, I did not peek.”

“Such honor, such integrity. It is indeed a rarity these days.”

Sir Holtz blushed. “Just doing my knightly duty.” He placed his cup back on a low table. “Now we really should be going, it's getting late and I'd like to scout about town and see if I can find this Githro and put him out.”

Mistress Burney clasped her hands in dismay. “Going? Surely you wouldn't leave a frail, defenseless woman all alone? What if the robber baron comes back? And you won't reach the next town's inn before nightfall. After all your help, the least I can do is offer you a bed.”

Holtz was indeed tempted. Funds were getting low, and sleeping in the open did his rheumatism no good at all. Mistress Burney gazed at him, her leathery bosom heaving and anticipating his answer.

“Oh, all right,” he said.

Mistress Burney made up a bed in what she called her ‘annexe' – a disused byre built onto the cottage.

“I have my reputation to consider,” she explained. The knight assured her that he would be very comfortable.

She smiled. “I'll leave the door on the latch, in case you need anything during the night. Sleep well, good night.”

“You want to watch your step with her,” said Glimshade.

“Don't be silly,” said Holtz. “Very pleasant woman, for a witch. Go to sleep.”

* * * * *
The dragon awoke suddenly in the night, and peered round. He was alone. A line of light showed round the door leading into the cottage. Sighing, he was sorely tempted to leave his knight friend to his fate, but in the end he crawled to the door and put his eye to the keyhole. A black candle burned on the table, and the witch was stirring something over in a pot over the fire, singing in a low crooning voice that sent shivers up Glimshade's spine. Sir Holtz sat in his nightshirt, staring straight in front of him. In the middle of the floor was the mysterious box. Mistress Burney finished her stirring, and came over to the knight. She stroked his bald head gently, but he never moved.

“Such a fine specimen,” she purred. “A real gentleman, not like these rude peasants round here. I like a mature man, who knows how to treat a lady. Do you want to open my box?”

Sir Holtz said nothing.

“Go on, you know you want to. You've been curious ever since you found it. I don't mind.”

The knight rose, stepped forward, and even as Glimshade drew breath to shout “Look out!” he bent and lifted the lid. There was a blinding flash of pink light, a startled squawk, then the lid of the box snapped shut. The dragon blinked and Sir Holtz had disappeared.

Glimshade burst through the door, breathing fire. Though he stuck halfway through, he could still reach Mistress Burney. She tried a quick spell, but she was not quick enough. The dragon had her in his claws.

“You can't attack a lady!” she shrieked.

“Wanna bet?” snarled the dragon. “Sir Holtz is the chivalrous one, I'm the dragon. I eat old ladies when I fancy. Now get him back, witch, or I'll roast you right here and now.”

“All right, all right, put me down.” Mistress Burney straightened her dress then called out in a trembling voice, “Slaves of the Box, come forth!”

The lid opened, and out of the box climbed: an old man with a long white beard, a traveling salesman, two local townsfolk, a young female cleric...

“Where's Sir Holtz?” growled the dragon.

“Sir Holtz, please come out,” cried Mistress Burney. “I didn't mean it!”

There was a pause, then out came another knight, Sir Danditrot, closely followed by Holtz.

“Sorry,” he said. “We got to chatting.”

Mistress Burney threw herself at his feet, sobbing. “I didn't mean any harm. I only did it for the company, protection against the robber barren and a bit of help round the house. Don't let the dragon eat me! ”

Sir Holtz looked at the others. “What do you reckon?” he asked.

“I think she should be reported to the Witches Council,” said the female cleric, “they'll know how to deal with the likes of her for sure.”

Mistress Burney dived for the door, taking them all by surprise. She might well have got away, except that she tripped over the open box. There was another flash of light, and the lid dropped.

“Oh well then, that's sorted,” said Sir Holtz rubbing his hands together.

They set out again soon after. It was nearly dawn by then anyway. The two locals took the box back to the village lockup.

“We'll probably let her out in a year or two,” they said, “if she promises to behave. She was a useful witch before she started getting ideas.”

Sir Danditrot asked if he could tag along with Holtz in the hunt for Githro, the robber barren, as he had nothing better to do.

“You're welcome to come, of course,” said Sir Holtz. He sighed. “You know, I really thought she fancied me.”

“She fancied all of us,” said Sir Danditrot with a shudder.