Chest of Wonders
Looking around the room, Geralt's eyes are drawn by the chest placed next to the door. He considers it, hefting Roach's saddlebags in his hand. They are heavy, bursting with all kinds of old swords and bits and pieces of armour he has picked up along the way. Surely Roach will be happy to be rid of the extra weight.
There is the distinct possibility of coming back to find the chest looted. Crow's Perch, even with the Bloody Baron ruling it, is not exactly a safe place, or a rich one. But neither the quartermaster nor the smith have any coin right now for Geralt's treasures, to use a very optimistic word.
Geralt opens the chest and starts dumping swords and axes and gambesons and pelts inside. It really is a nice chest, spacious and sturdy, fitting everything with room to spare. Such a chest would look nice in his room in Kaer Morhen. And maybe help with how cluttered it is. The others all make fun of him for being such a hamster, piling up weapons and armour and supplies just in case. But they are also the first to ask Geralt in case they need something for repairs. He always goes to look, and more often than not returns with something useful from his hoard, trying not to look too smug about it.
The lid falls shut with a very satisfying snap, and Geralt turns to leave. And maybe it will even still all be here when he returns.
Geralt stares at the chest, possibly the only unbroken piece of furniture at the Rosemary & Thyme. Last time he'd been here, the place had been a busy brothel. Now it is home to all kinds of vagrants and people looking for a place to sleep.
Not the ideal place to leave all the things that are weighing down the saddle bags, but on the other hand not a great loss when something gets stolen. He looks up at the people milling about, and then down at the chest.
Oh well.
The lid swings back easily on well-oiled hinges. Huh. Someone already dumped a bunch of weapons and furs in there. And a gambeson. Just like the one he found back in Velen.
That he left in the chest at Crow's Perch.
The chest that, on closer inspection, looks very much like this one. And now that he is paying attention, Geralt recognises a few more items. He frowns, dropping it all back into the chest. Maybe someone brought it here? A strange coincidence but Geralt had seen stranger in his time.
With a shrug, he unearthes the swords and the battle axe from where they were rolled up in his pack and adds them to the ragtag collection in the chest. The lid closes with a snap, and the chest sits there, its polished wood gleaming in the dim light of a few candles.
Geralt cannot shake the impression that it is watching him. The lock has a very satisfied look. When he turns away, some of the people are watching both him and the chest.
'Stay away from it.' Geralt gives them his best growl before walking out.
When he comes back in the evening the chest is still there. So are the people, but nobody is coming close to the dais with the chest despite how crowded the room it. Everyone is pretending to be busy, but all eyes are on Geralt as he steps up to the chest and opens it.
Swords, pelts and the battle axe.
There's a collective gasp from his audience, and one man hovering at a very respectful distance. He's sweating, eyes flicking back and forth between Geralt and the chest.
'Please, Master Witcher, Iosif didn't mean anything by it. If you'd bring him back? We could pay?' He holds up a meagre collection of coins.
Careful questions paint a vivid and confusing picture for Geralt. Apparently the chest has opened for Iosif, but then it had swallowed him down and it had not opened for anyone else. Geralt doesn't turn around to check but he is sure that there is no room in the trunk for all the weapons and furs and a grown man.
On a hunch, he glares at the chest. 'Let him go. I have no use for him.'
For a few moments, nothing happens. Geralt is convinced he has to tell the people that they shouldn't have touched a witcher's chest, and he can already imagine how messy that is going to be. The rumours will sprout like mushrooms.
The lid opens so quickly it bangs into the wall, and Iosif is catapulted out of the chest. He lands heavily and scrambles away, whimpering and flailing. Geralt breathes a sigh of relief, trying not to let it show. He waves away the coins offered to him.
'I told you to stay away from it. Next time, listen to me.' There's a round of nodding and mumbled yeses from the crowd, including Iosif who is pale and shaking but otherwise seems fine. Turning to the chest, Geralt gives it a surreptitious pat to the lid, now firmly closed again.
The next day, he's riding across the wooden walkway east of the Seven Cats Inn when he hears the patter of feet. A lot of feet. Coming up to him fast.
Turning Roach around, Geralt has his hand on the pommel of his sword. He stops dead when he catches sight of the chest. It's sitting right there in the middle of the path, lid cracked open, looking for all the world like a perfectly normal chest.
Geralt stares at it. The chest does nothing.
With Roach pointed east again, Geralt rides on and immediately, there's the sound of feet scrambling after him. And a thunk when he turns around quickly in the saddle. He has only just caught sight of a worrying amount of pink toes, even though he couldn't say where they are gone now. The idea of turning the chest over to check is not a very attractive one.
The idea of having a chest to store all the things he picks up on his travels, however, is very attractive indeed. Maybe it's unwise to trust it, but if things go wrong, Geralt is out of a bunch of swords and armour he doesn't actually need. If it all goes well, he can get to his things where ever he is. It sounds worth it to Geralt.
"You want to come with?"
The chest opens its lid, radiating agreement.
"Alright. Why not. But no eating people, is that clear? Not even when you spit them out again after. I don't want any trouble."
The lid clicks shut again, and Geralt chooses to take that as agreement. He rides on, and the chest follows.
"What is that?" Yen's voice brings Geralt around the wooden divider, confused about what the problem is.
She's standing in front of the chest, hands on her hips and frowning at it in a way that would have courtiers scrambling to get away from her. Geralt has been the target of that gaze often enough. It's the one when things are not going Yen's way.
The chest seems content to simply sit there. But its lid is cracked the slightest bit. It's teasing Yen. Look at me. I'm just a normal chest. You can open me.
Geralt isn't quite sure who to be worried for more. Surely Yen could simply incinerate the chest, and he really doesn't want that. It's been his companion for some time now, and he's come to rely on it just like he does on Roach.
On the other hand, the chest has trampled various bandits, eaten at least three nekkers and a ghoul, and it has some way to simply turn up where Geralt is going to be. Most of the time, it follows him, but sometimes it's gone and then it's waiting for him at some inn Geralt didn't even have plans for staying in. He doesn't know how it knows, but he has stopped worrying when it vanishes. Presumably, it has things to do.
"It's a chest. I put swords and armour in it?" Geralt demonstrates by lifting up the lid of the chest. A jumble of swords and chainmail becomes visible. No trace, thank the gods, of the nekkers. Geralt doesn't know where they went and he doesn't wish to find out.
Yen fixes him with a look that might have vaporised a mere human but Geralt is a witcher and doesn't even flinch.
"Geralt. It has feet."
The temptation to point out that it does in fact have no such thing is enormous, but Geralt knows when not to push his luck. He drops the lid and gives it a little pat. As always, the wood is smooth and just slightly warm to the touch.
"I found it one day. It follows me around, and it always finds me. Very useful, but I don't know how it works. I don't think it likes being examined too closely." Geralt can hear the defensive tone in his voice. Yen has that effect.
He patiently answers all her questions - where did he find it, how fast is it, what's the furthest it has travelled to find him. There's no missing the fact that Yen is frustrated both by the chest and by what she probably thinks is Geralt's passiveness about it. Yen always needs to know what makes things and people do what they do.
But there are more important things, and they both head up to Kaer Trolde, leaving the chest behind in Yen's room.
A few days later, Geralt opens the door to Yen cursing, and a thump he's willing to swear sounds like she just kicked a chest. He rounds the corner and Yen is striding over to her desk, smoothing down her dress and flipping a strand of hair out of her face. Behind her, the lid of the chest creeps open. The bright pink of hundreds of toes appears at its bottom, and Geralt shakes his head at it.
With a quiet thunk, the chest closes its lid and pulls back its feet to where ever they go when they are not visible.
"What happened?" Geralt says the word to the room at large, carefully standing between Yen and the chest.
"It snapped at me, if you must know." Yen pointedly sorts through her papers, managing to slam down some flimsy pieces of parchment. There's a flush colouring her cheeks that Geralt finds very attractive, but this is not the moment to tell her that.
"That's odd. It's very well behaved, normally." He is sure Yen tried to open it. She has ignored it the whole time they've been here, but in the way Yen ignores things she doesn't want others to know she is interested in.
"Yes well. I— " Yen wavers, actually unsure about what to say, and Geralt uses the moment.
"You tried to open it." He doesn't make it a question.
"Yes! Of course I did! How can you not try to find out how it works, Geralt? Aren't you the least bit curious about that?"
"—not really? It's useful, and it seems to like being around me. And if it were dangerous, I think I would have found out by now. More dangerous than swallowing a monster now and then, I mean."
Yen stares at him and buries her face in her hands. "What kind of monsters?" Her voice is muffled, exasperation and curiosity fighting a battle.
"Couple of nekkers. A ghoul. It's been months, I haven't seen them again. But I didn't ask. It gives me back everything else when I ask, though." Geralt pulls up a chair next to Yen. "Leave it alone, please? Or, I don't know, maybe it will get used to you."
"Should I try to feed it swords? Or maybe a dress or two? Even a chest needs a balanced diet, don't you think?" Yen has softened. She's not admitting defeat, but it's a peace offering.
"It's worth a try. Can't guarantee you'll get it back."
"I'll make sure it's an older one, then." Yen gets up and picks a dress. It's a little torn at the hem, and splattered with mud. She folds it and this time, the chest opens its lid wide, allowing her put the dress inside. There is no trace of Geralt's things, and thankfully not of the nekkers either.
Yen closes the lid carefully and turns away. They both jump when the chest snaps open again. Inside is Yen's dress. It's clean, mended and smells faintly of lavender.
"Thank you." Yen gives the chest a little pat on the lid, resignation in her voice. Geralt knows it won't last. Yen has never met a secret she didn't want to solve.
The chest sits in the corner, pretending to be nothing special. The moment Yen's back is turned, it opens its lid and shows a giant pink tongue in a toothless smile.
Geralt does not mention it to Yen.