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The crate was just big enough to hold the hay-bale; the bale protected three wooden boxes, each wrapped in plastic. The first box was oiled walnut, old, perhaps antique, bound by iron straps and sealed with wax. Inside: thick pink solid foam, hollowed out to cradle a gun made by a master craftsman who had never seen a gun.

There was something wrong with the stock - it was a little too long to be comfortable - the grain matched the walnut of the box. The right side was deeply carved in scrollwork. The trigger was made of polished granite and there was no safety, no hammer, no magazine or clip or bolt or break-action. The barrel was a solid transparent cylinder without chamber or hole in the blue-tinged muzzle, and it was full of sloshing liquid fire, bright as the sun on a misty morning.