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like her trinket.”
    “Go ahead,” she said loudly. “Open the box. All that lies within the walls of that box are evils. Death, destruction, pestilence.
     The plagues of Egypt. The ruination of humankind. Go ahead,” she said again. “Unleash terrors upon yourself, it matters not
     to me. But I cannot watch.”
    She sounded remarkably like Mr. Nichols. Fielding shook his head. He’d never understand adults who believed in such fairy
     tales.
    “Perhaps she’s right,” Waters warned, his voice wavering with nerves. “The Raven did ask us to get the box, steal her key,
     and bring them back to him.”
    “You wouldn’t want to disobey your employer’s instructions,” she said.
    “We won’t know if her key is the correct one,” Thatcher ground out, “unless we try it.”
    “But she had all those books in her library. All of them were about this box. She knows something,” Waters said.
    “That’s right,” she agreed. “My library is extensive.” The last word came out in a yawn. “I might be a woman, but I know of
     what I speak.”
    “Your incessant chatter is grating on my nerves.” Thatcher hitched up his pistol and hit the woman hard on the head. “I said
     shut up!”
    Fielding gritted his teeth as if he had been the one struck. The woman’s head dropped and her body went slack, dangling from
     the manacles that affixed her to the wall.
    Thatcher dropped the necklace into his pocket and walked away from the woman. “We’ll wait in here for first light, then we’ll
     take her to the Raven and he can decide what to do with her. Waters, build a fire over there.”
    From his perch, Fielding watched the two men build a makeshift camp, complete with a fire and ratty blankets to lie upon.
     Once the woman came to, her arms would ache fiercely from being shackled in that position, but the knot on her head would
     no doubt hurt worse. She was so small, her body frail and limp. He forced his eyes back toward the men. Fielding kept his
     post for another hour, waiting for the duo to settle in for the night.
    Thatcher was unable leave the box alone, though. He went back and forth, picking it up to further examine it, then setting
     it back down and trying to fall asleep. Once more he picked up the box and held it close to his face. He nudged Waters with
     his foot.
    “Waters,” he whispered.
    The other man sat bolt upright. “What?”
    “Listen. Do you hear that? Do you hear the voices?”
    “Only your voice,” he said groggily.
    “Here, listen.” Thatcher held the box out to the other man, who, in turn, took it and held it up to his ear.
    A moment later Waters threw the box away from him as he sat up abruptly. Thatcher caught the box before it fell to the ground.
    “You heard it, didn’t you?” Thatcher said.
    “Bloody ’ell,” Waters said. “I heard my name.”
    Thatcher dug into his pocket and pulled out the woman’s necklace. The pendant caught the fire’s glow and cast flecks of light
     around them.
    “What are you doing?” Waters asked.
    “Opening it.”
    Thatcher pressed the metal pendant against the box, and a latch audibly released. Even from a distance, Fielding could hear
     it. He shook his head, certain he must have been mistaken. His own mind must be playing tricks on him from lying still so
     long.
    In one swift movement Thatcher popped open the lid. Both men sat for a moment looking around them, presumably waiting for
     the terrors to be unleashed upon them, but nothing happened.
    Fielding rolled his eyes. Damned superstitions.
    “There’s nothing in here,” Thatcher said.
    “Let me see,” Waters said. “What’s that on the bottom?”
    Thatcher dug his hand in, perhaps searching for hidden compartments, then pulled his hand back. “Nothing.”
    “What’s that on your wrist?” Waters asked.
    Thatcher held his arm up to the firelight, and a thin band of gold shimmered against his dirty flesh.
    “A treasure,” Waters said. “Give me the box.” He too put his