The Musical Box

The Musical Box.

"Herbert Duchesne had been a minor government servant in India between the years 1806 and 1815. To all extents and purposes his tour was a success and it was a bad bout of malaria that forced him to return to England. His superiors were more than happy with his conduct, which according to contemporary documentation was exemplary." Mr. Dhowlat paused to stub out his cigar. The scowl on his face irked me intensely.

"Your tone of voice suggests that you don't hold the same opinion." I said pugnaciously. "Much as I am interested in the behaviour of my distant and long dead relations, I'm afraid that I'm rather busy at the moment. So if this interview is important to you, I will ask you kindly to get to the point."

If his look had been dark before, it was now reminiscent of a thunder cloud. Altogether disagreeable. There was an inward struggle for control, his great brown eyes bulged ominously and for the first time since our meeting, I was aware of the potential this man had for violence. I now realized with some regret that this man was dangerous. Fat, balding, with third world dress sense, perhaps even comical to the casual observer, but an ugly customer when roused to anger. All this was revealed in that split second in which I sensed his overpowering rage.

To my relief his face regained it's former composure.

"Mr. Duchesne, this matter is one of great importance to the both of us. I have traveled far and it has taken valuable time to track you down. I am not a wordy man and when you have heard my piece you can then judge for yourself whether or not the situation is deserving enough of your further attention."

"Very well." I answered, impressed by his eloquence. "I'm sorry to have seemed dismissive. Please continue. Can I get you a drink?"

"Please. Gin and tonic." He brightened a little. "Yes, I was saying that Herbert returned from his duty in 1815 and he retired shortly afterwards. He lived in this house, fighting off the malaria, and writing to supplement his pension. The malaria all but killed him."

"Excuse me, but I'm aware of all this." I handed him his drink and then sat down with one myself. "How is it that you are? It's not as if Herbert was a famous author. His books were hardly bestsellers. The family regarded him as an unfortunate; something of a heroic failure. We really don't know very much about him, nobody was that interested really."

Mr. Dhowlat nodded and continued, "I have studied most of his work. I myself have a fine collection of esoterica back in Calcutta, gathered from the dusty attics and junk shops of half the world. Believe me when I say that your ancestor's work was, and still is, greatly undervalued. Rest assured that this business is very important to me, and until it is concluded your very life is in peril."

I nearly choked."Now you have certainly gone too far. I don't believe a word of it. You can just pick up your bag and get out." I showed him the door. "If you come back here again, I'll call the police."

An audacious rascal to threaten me in my own living room. Mr. Dhowlat protested as he left, and the desperate look in his eyes moved me, but not sufficiently to change my mind. He did succeed in convincing me that I wasn't safe, but I could only believe that it was he who meant to do me harm. This must have been a source of some frustration to him for he waited for some time outside my house.As darkness fell he eventually moved off.

The following morning I found that a letter had been posted through my letter box. The contents of which made me think again, very seriously.

'My dear friend.

Allow me to apologize for my clumsiness yesterday. You have every right to a full explanation of my presence in this country and particularly in your neighbourhood.

I am most eager to trace and purchase an item for a client. Your ancestor brought many artifacts to England on his return from my country. To most people few of them would be of interest or value. On behalf of my client, I can however offer the sum of three thousand pounds for just one item. It is the ornate musical box, in silver, with the dancing Goddess figurine.

If this relic is still kept amongst the Duchesne family treasures and you are willing to part with it for the above mentioned sum, then please be so kind as to call me on the following number, day or night. 0171-536-9666

I await your call sir, and remain your humble servant,

Mr.S.Dhowlat.'

I knew the object well. It was indeed one of the more valuable of our family heirlooms. After a moment's quiet reflection, I made my way upstairs and paused on the landing to view again the item that had been the source of so many childhood fantasies and nightmares. I took it down from the mahogany display case with great care and carried it down to my study.

It really was an exquisite piece. The silver pedestal that housed the mechanism was delightful; richly ornate with stylized jungle vegetation, amongst which tigers, deer, monkeys and elephants could be seen. Men on horseback followed the frieze from this jungle on the left face of the box and out into some scrubland, there had been twelve riders in the jungle, only eleven emerged onto the plain. One rider was shown to be an able archer, two of the six lions that followed the party lay transfixed by arrows from his curved shortbow. A little further before them lay a great river, which must have been shallow, as boulders projected above it's turbulent swirls and eddies.

On the reverse of the pedestal the artist then depicted the brave warriors amongst rising foothills, forested and tranquil. This scene had always been my favourite. It held no hint of menace, the forest was sylvan and lush. The riders ate their last meal beside an idyllic waterfall. Beside them were sweet flowers, above them flew paradisiacal birds and finely detailed butterflies. In the distance loomed mountain peaks festooned with cloud.

On the right side, the last scene was a complete contrast to that which preceded it. The riders had reached a high mountain valley, lofty peaks stretched to the clouds. They had tethered their mounts to boulders that lay on a mountainside to the left of an imposing temple, hewn from and into the living rock of the cliff-face. The entrance was dark, being deeply recessed into the silver, a full inch and a half, at the back of which lay the key-hole to the mechanism.

Lying at either side of the doorway were the headless bodies of ten of the men. There was no sign of the eleventh. I had always supposed him to have been inside, deep in the bowels of the mountain, and as a child, had often imagined what the next scene in the frieze might have shown.

We did have the key to the device, but even so, to our immense disappointment we were never able to make the device work. It hadn't worked even as far back as my great-grandfather's time; the cog-works must have seized up a long time ago, and to our knowledge there is no means of gaining access to them in order to set them right again.

Despite the fact that it was inoperative, the device was still a magnificent work of art and was probably worth more than three thousand pounds. As for Dhowlat's death threat....well, I didn't hold much credence to that. He was obviously a treasure hunter and he was rather clumsy about trying to get what he wanted.

The hollow eyes of the Goddess regarded me with what can only be described as a beautiful malevolence. Everything about her stirred mixed feelings within me. Her pose was graceful and dynamic. She stood upon her left leg, her thigh gleamed powerfully. Her right leg was raised and bent sharply at the knee. Her torso was naked and superbly shaped. She had four sinuous arms. The upper pair were raised, her left arm crossing her body, her right held back to strike. Both of these upper hands held ornate and cruelly jagged swords that were finely inlaid and remarkably sharp. There blades were not of silver but some gleaming bronze alloy that winked wickedly in the light cast by my desk lamp as I moved it to a fresh and better angle for observation.

The lower arms were bent at the elbows, the right crossing her smooth abdomen, the left held out. Each lower hand held severed human heads, their faces fixed in expressions of horror and disgust.

Her neck curved gracefully, bearing a necklace of small skulls, those of naughty children I had been told, when I was myself a child. Just above the necklace was an incongruous blemish in the silver. The only fault throughout the piece.

Her face was beautifully molded and devoid of the thick lips and tusks that are sometimes seen in similar Hindu Goddess figurines. Her head dress was delicate and tiered, with flaps that concealed her ears, no hair was visible. Her whole form was attractive to me and so finely wrought and smoothly articulated that even the extra pair of shoulder blades did not appear to be a deformity, rather a divine advantage. They were beautiful and practical.

I wouldn't part with her for three thousand. I reached for the 'phone and dialled Dhowlat's number. My call was answered immediately.

"Mr. Dhowlat. I've read your letter and it intrigues me. I'm sorry that I acted hastily yesterday. Please come over so that we can discuss business."

"Ah. Thank you, Mr. Duchesne." The voice crackled. "I shall be with you right away." He hurriedly replaced the receiver.

Half an hour later it was a very different Mr. Dhowlat who rang my doorbell and entered with cordial greetings. He was more relaxed and a very much happier man.

"I am so pleased that you are amenable to my suggestion." He began as I showed him through to my study, where the musical box stood in all it's glory upon a coffee table.

" Why!" He exclaimed. " It is nearly three feet tall."

Without more ado, he rushed over to it and began to hurriedly examine the frieze, murmuring in a mixture of English and Hindi what sounded like lavish praise.

I looked on from the doorway, smiling at his enthusiasm, and then took a seat beside the table.

"Will you have a G and T, Mr. Dhowlat?'

"Ah yes, yes please." He said breathlessly, easing his considerable bulk into the chair next to mine. "This is what I have been looking for, for so long."

"Would you tell me a little about it?" I asked as I poured him a stiffish drink.

He gulped a third of it down and his eyes watered somewhat. "Well. Do you agree to sell?" He countered with a piercing gaze, alarming in it's sudden intensity.

"Yes, but not at your suggested price. You must concede that this is an artifact of great beauty and age. Even though the mechanism has seized up, it is still worth a good deal more than you offered."

His face darkened briefly and again I was conscious of an internal struggle. This time it seemed that his facial features blurred slightly for a fraction of a second, as if his outward appearance was superimposed upon something that had shifted momentarily, so allowing it's disguise to slip. It really was most disconcerting and I was heartily relieved when he regained his composure.

"Do you have the original key to it's mechanism?" He asked a little stiffly.

"Yes, I do. A fine key it is too." I retrieved the key from the odds and ends draw of my portmanteau. " Here it is and I'll wager that you haven't seen it's like before."

"You would win that wager, if I'd cared to have taken it." He answered, holding out a puffy hand for the key. " It is indeed strange. What a pity that it hasn't fulfilled it's purpose for so long."

"Yes. Ever since I was a child I have longed to hear it's music. According to my best knowledge, no-one ever heard it play, even way back when it was new to this house. It must be one of the finest effigies of Khali ever made."

"Khali? Oh no, Mr.Duchesne. This isn't Khali. Khali has six arms and is truly hideous to look upon." There was a derisive look in Dhowlat's eyes. "This is sublime, no, I believe that this is the sole survivor of her brood."

"Hang on. I thought that Khali ate all of her offspring when she was starving in the desert." I countered, proud of this snippet of knowledge.

"No, she ate all but one. While she was devouring the others, some of her daughters scattered, and one was caught by a lion and carried off to be eaten at leisure in it's lair. Khali's hunger was insatiable. She tracked her other children down and consumed them. It was a source of great anger to her that one child was still to be accounted for. A child that could grow up to avenge the slaughter of it's siblings."

" But it was killed by the lion anyway.."I interrupted.

" Please hear me out. The child feigned death, 'played possum'. No sooner had the lioness taken her prey to her den, than the baby clasped a discarded bone in one pair of hands and cut the creature's head clean from it's body. Since that day she specialized in decapitation and her name is 'The decapitator' for she had been given no other."

" Interesting." I conceded, "but why does she only have four arms when her mother had six?"

"Khali's husband was trampled to death at their mating. He had but two arms. She had six. The number of limbs was evened out in their progeny."

'That would seem logical." I said. "Do you know about the men in the frieze? I have always wondered who they were, they don't look like Indians do they?"

"They are not Indians. Legend tells of three Mongol princes who went in search of a sacred temple, high in the mountains of Assam and beyond into Nagaland. They took a small retinue of men with them, each a battle tempered hero in his own right. They overcame hardships and perils in search of a fabled treasure. One variation says that they died to a man, another that they chose to remain in the high mountains. At any rate, they never returned.

Another story claims that all but one of them perished on the quest, by their own swords or by others. One survivor returned to the world of men. He was fabulously wealthy." Dhowlat smiled and added. "He became a thorn in the side of his superiors, and was eventually tortured to death. He left a bitter legacy of death and destruction in his wake, for he was a powerful sorcerer."

"Allow me to refill your glass." I said, and I poured him another shot. " Do you believe that this artifact belonged to that prince?"

"It's of the period. It would seem plausible." He sipped his drink thoughtfully and then said something that under normal circumstances would have caused me to certify someone as a lunatic. These were not normal circumstances, you understand. "This is why I believe you to be in considerable danger. This device is magical and it isn't a benign form of magic."

Having witnessed the curious nature of Mr. Dhowlat's rage, I was already half convinced that if he wanted the box, then it must be unclean in some way. However, I was determined to probe a little deeper.

"It has been in our family for generations and done no harm whatsoever. If it is as hazardous as you say, why should your client want it so badly?"

" If you had only known how close you were to death every time that you tried that key." He rolled his eyes. "All I can say is that you have been very lucky indeed. Unfortunately, items that rely upon magic for their operation tend to become less reliable through age. In some cases the item just becomes too weak to be useful, in other cases the level of power remains constant. It has been known to actually increase, but the devices become progressively unreliable and unpredictable.

Remember, the sorcerer who imbued this device with power, needed it's services then and there, in fifteenth century Bengal. He didn't necessarily consider how it would continue to perform centuries after his own death or indeed, so far from it's place of manufacture. "

"It seems that your knowledge of magic is more extensive than one would expect from a normal procurator of fine art. Are you yourself a magician?" I fixed him with an immoveable stare.

"To level with you. I am a collector. I wish to add this piece to my own collection. Will you let me have it for six thousand?" he returned a stare that proved more durable than my own.

"On one condition." My mind was racing. " I wish to see the device in operation first. I want to hear it play, to see her dance."

Mr. Dhowlat sighed and shifted his bulk. "Mr. Duchesne. I can understand your curiosity but I assure you that this course of action is most ill-advised. It may even result in a fatality. My knowledge is insufficient to provide the necessary protection. This was designed for a single purpose. One task actually. The assassination of the most powerful of the mogul maharajahs. What we have here is a "Trojan Horse" of a sort. Given as a wedding gift. Who could resist the temptation of turning that key? Apparently it was successful."

"That's my condition." I stated adamantly. "You can take it or leave it."

"Well." Mused Dhowlat. " You leave me little choice but to comply. I am not to be blamed for the consequences of such action."

He took the key almost tenderly and inserted it into the right panel.

" Stand back, right back by the window, and don't distract me."

" Alright, don't worry.I said, excitement mounting within me as I retreated to the patio window. Dhowlat had his back to me as he turned the key. He then jumped backwards uttering some sort of Hindu prayer shout. He stood beside me his frame quivering. Nothing happened.

I stared at the statue, then glanced back to Dhowlat. Something dripped from his head to the carpet.

"What the..." I began but was cut short by the insistence with which he grasped my forearm. Slowly he turned his face to mine and I saw a thin gash running the length of his cheek, it looked deep.

"The power has festered and gained strength. I didn't even see her move, but move she did." He dabbed at his face with a handkerchief but he didn't take his eyes off the statue. I saw that the position of her upper arms was now reversed. Blood dripped onto the tablecloth from one of the blades.

"She is too powerful, I barely turned the key. I can't take her while she is activated. Dhowlat tried one of the patio windows. It opened obligingly and we backed into the garden.

"What happens now?" I queried. "Isn't there going to be any music?"

" To be honest with you, I don't know. I'm sorry but I think that it is not safe to go back into that room for a while. She has tasted my blood and after centuries of abstinence, I rather fancy that she's thirsty for more. I'm sorry my friend, but there's not a lot we can do."

"But you could start her up, why can't you deactivate her?" I was beginning to suspect that things were taking a turn for the worse. "Are you going to tell me that I may never set foot in my study again?"

"Calm down. Your distress can only excite her and invite further trouble. Why don't we repair to that pub down the road and plan a strategy. I suspect that things are not completely out of hand, not yet anyway. Shall we go?"

Reluctantly I followed Mr. Dhowlat to the bottom of the garden and over the fence. A short walk saw us to the taproom of "The Green Man." Where we ordered a drink each and a meal for myself.

"You really ought to get that seen to." The barman observed of Dhowlat's face.

"Yes, indeed I will." Answered Dhowlat. We took a table in the corner beside a fruit machine.

"How on earth did it slice you like that?" I asked.

" The movements of the statue merely mimic those of an invisible, but as you can see, extremely tangible extra-planar force. You could think of the device as a sort of demoniac puppeteer. I hardly turned the key at all. Think what would have become of me had she been fully wound." He shuddered.

"So, What do we do now? It's not such a bulky statue. I think that the most important thing is to get it out of the house."

Mr. Dhowlat's Handkerchief was sopping with blood. "My first move will be to get some stitches for this gash. Thank God for travel insurance and your excellent National Health Service. After that we will return quietly to the house and see if she has returned to her dormant state or not."

"Very well." I agreed "You had better go to the hospital right away. Do you have money for a taxi?"

"Don't worry. I'll be back in a jiffy. Whatever happens, don't go back to the house without me."

"Just don't take too long about getting your face seen to, OK? I've got to get up at half six for work tomorrow."

"I'll be as quick as I can. See you soon." He left hurriedly and I honestly expected to see him within an hour and a half.

Three hours later and my conversation with the barman was wearing thin. My patience was wearing thinner. I 'phoned through to Hatfield Park General Hospital and was informed that no-one of Mr. Dhowlat's description had checked in at emergencies. No, there had been no knife-wound cases today.

As there was no alternative hospital in the area, I immediately saw myself as a gullible fool. I paid my bill and left the pub. I was fuming. I pictured my house stripped of valuables, my study riffled, the housekeeping tin robbed and discarded in the rogue's hunt for instant wealth.

I covered the two hundred yards back to my house in record speed. By God, if I caught him, I would add to his facial discomfort. I'm not a particularly athletic individual, but I vaulted my garden fence with satisfying alacrity and stormed up the garden straight into the arms of the police.

I stopped dead in my tracks, gasping for breath, and surveyed the scene in utter disbelief. It was hard to imagine a scene of greater devastation. If someone had told me that the inmates of a lunatic asylum had been armed with chain-saws and ordered to run amok, I wouldn't have doubted it for a moment.

There were five police officers in the garden alone, two of them stood amongst the remains of my green house. The others stood around two sheeted forms on the grass. The material was heavily stained. The officers looked pale and jumpy and challenged me immediately. Seconds later I was in handcuffs.

Protesting my ignorance of the whole affair I was led through the shattered remnants of my study and living room, to the kitchen, where yet another body lay amongst the wreckage of the kitchen table and mountains of shattered crockery.

The police revealed its severed head. I had seen the deep brown skin colour of the corpse's hand and so I announced prematurely that I knew the man. He was a Mr. Dhowlat.

The sight of his head was all too much for my battered senses. I fainted in a heap and was able to escape the torture of reality, albeit for a short time. I recovered on a stretcher in a speeding ambulance, between two large and watchful young policemen.

After a medical at Hatfield Park, I was whisked down to the police station to face questioning. It was a long night and I told them everything I could remember. It was clear that they didn't believe my statement, but my alibi was cast-iron. I was jawing away in 'The Green Man' with the landlord, Henry Crompton and his wife Mary. I was held for a further day of questioning, during which I was thoroughly bombarded with the same questions. I also underwent two separate psychiatric evaluations. Their verdicts must have been favorable, because I was released with a caution, to try and pick up the pieces of my shattered life.

The story was all over the newspapers, local and national. Everybody loves a good maniac on the loose. It adds a potential danger to their lives which is all the more popular because it is presumed to be remote.

It was very decent of Mr. Arnison, my favourite neighbour, to respond to the sound of mayhem by calling round with his shotgun, such a shame that he was a victim of the senseless slaughter. I handled the press in the way that the police advised. I stressed the less supernatural aspects of the case and warned the public to beware of strangers and to report any suspicious looking folk in their neighborhood. The neighborhood watch program benefitted considerably from the martyrdom of Mr.Arnison and his eighteen year-old son Derek.

Several days later, I was visited by two handsome, but rather sinister young men who claimed to work for a special section of the British museum. They listened carefully to my account and then showed me a document signed by the Secretary of State that authorized the immediate confiscation of Herbert's entire collection. I complied, but refused to sign a variation of the Official Secrets Act. They just shrugged their shoulders and informed me that I would eventually receive a cheque for the approximate current market value of the surrendered property. They left me to the badly needed redecoration of my house.

I often wonder at the titanic struggle that must have taken place within my four walls. The origins of the scorchings and slashings on the walls, furniture and carpets. I know now that the man who called himself Dhowlat, was in some way capable of manipulating the forces that we call magic, and that he spent the last terrible moments of his life in vain combat with a far greater force. One that plays with men and more solid physical structures as an otter might play with a fish.

THE END

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