“What if they managed it?”
“Then I would be no more.”
She didn’t say, ‘I’d die.’
Lee frowned. Suddenly, to be her hero was the only thing he wanted to be.
“So, what do you want me to do?” he asked.
Tamsyn explained exactly what she wanted.
Chapter Eleven
After a few weeks, Matthew almost forgot about the women’s visit. There were two reasons for this. The first was that when he checked online to see if Tamsyn had surfaced he discovered that not only that she had returned, but she was off on some cockamamie quest to find some golden orb that was supposed to grant the holder unimaginable power. It seems that she had lost interest in any torque or sword.
He realised that this character was a gamer, and for a brief period she had coincidentally mentioned items that really existed. Clearly, that had passed and her true colours were now clear. She was another empty-headed and vacuous geek who did not have any place in his world.
Indeed, he promptly forgot all about the game, and moved his attention to more serious aspects of existence.
That was mistake number one.
The second reason was that he had received an email purportedly from a Russian collector and dealer of antiquities; specifically weapons.
The dealer/collector had the user name of Igor. He was not one he had actually dealt with before, but in his little world, word got about quickly, so it was not unexpected.
Matthew occasionally auctioned off weapons that he accumulated of which he already possessed similar examples. He only had so much room, so when better examples came along, he snapped them up and sold off inferior versions, often for similar prices. A couple of these found their way into the hands of the nouveaux riche Russian millionaires.
Occasionally, he located a finer example of one he already possessed, or indeed, a new weapon that he yearned after. If the price was right, he’d buy it, and, as yet, had not been disappointed.
Igor was advertising two swords and a battle axe of the Saxon period and style. Photographs on the web made the swords out to be very similar in design and general condition to his Saxon sword.
Indeed, although the photographs were restricting, he could just make out similar inscriptions on the blades, and they bore an uncanny resemblance to the markings on his sword. The photographs were too low resolution for him to get a decent look.
To possess three was very tempting, but as others were in existence, the current owner may have some idea as to the meaning of the inscriptions.
He sent personal message to the buyer to indicate he was interested and would like any information in relation to the inscriptions, and sat back to await a reply.
He was certain that these men came by their money through dubious means, but this did not concern him. He became wealthier at their expense, so why should he worry about where they got their money?
He did all his business through an on-line specialist weapons auction company with the ambiguous name of SWC on the black-Internet, an eBay for Instruments of Death, if you like. There was no hint as to what the initials stood for. He was aware that they also sold modern weapons, so one could buy a dozen M16s, a stinger missile or a few crates of Glock pistols. He thought it might be possible to buy a second-hand tank, as long as one had enough money.
He was, however, not interested in modern weapons so did not allow himself to be distracted by irrelevances. The company was based off-shore, a euphemism for ‘paying taxes to nobody and based somewhere else’. There were risks, but so far there had been no problems. He was logged in under the user name of Brutus, the same name he used in his RPG. All transactions were confidential and linked through to a virtual bank account of a similar type to Paypal, in that one used it as a go-between from your own bank and the vendor/vendee account.
Matthew was confident it was a secure and anonymous as one could get.
That was mistake number two.
“Bugger me!” said Lee to himself. “He’s fallen for it!”
He immediately picked up his phone and called Tamsyn.
Tamsyn was in the guest house, laying the tables for the evening meal. She pulled out her ringing phone and looked at the caller details.
“Hi.”
“It’s me,” Lee said unnecessarily. “He’s replied stating he is interested. He wants to know about the inscription. What do I say?”
“Leave it a couple of days. I’ll email you a response.”
“What if he checks the photos and finds they’ve been photo-shopped?”
“He won’t.”
“He might.”
“Trust me; even an expert would have difficulty telling that they’re not originals.”
“Where did you learn how to do that?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do.”
“Okay, then you don’t need to know.”
“I do.”
“Lee, I don’t want you to know.”
“Oh, okay. What happens if he checks my IP address?”
“I’ve relayed your IP through a shadow IP in Moscow.”
“How?”
“Lee, just accept what I’ve done. After this is all over, I might tell you.”
“Oh, so what happens now?”
“As I said, we let him stew for a couple of days, and I’ll send you a message to transmit to him.”
“And then?”
“We wait and see. He’s not stupid, so we need to get him well on the hook before we can reel him in.”
“Remind me, why exactly?”
“He has something that doesn’t belong to him, so I intend relieving him of it.”
“The sword, right?”
“The sword.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know. He hasn’t bought it, but he found it and it was taken by an ancestor of his.”
“Are you sure?”
Tamsyn closed her eyes and felt back through the ages; through the essence that was immortal, that of Tamsyn of old - she who inhabited her soul.
“I’m sure; this man is the direct descendant of Brandt, the Saxon warrior who stole the sword from a child.”
“Who was the child, Tamsyn?”
“The heir to the Kingdom.”
“Arthur’s child?”
Tamsyn laughed.
“Arthur who?” she asked.
“King Arthur.”
“Which one?”
“Huh?”
“It doesn’t matter. Look, I have to get back to work. I’ll send you an email in a couple of days, okay?”
“Okay. Is there anything else I can do in the meantime?”
“No. Just get out more.”
“What?”
“You heard. Bye.”
Lee sat staring at the dead phone.
Get out more?
Who the hell was she to tell him to get out more?
He glanced at the closed curtains, the darkened room and the glow of the monitor, the crumpled bed and the host of empty crisp packets. He glanced at his watch to see it was three in the afternoon. He had lost track of all time. His mum was at work, and he just existed in this little bubble of his own making.
He stood up, walked to the window and opened the curtains. The summer sun streamed in, and he closed his eyes for a moment.
He stood there, looking at the view of the garden. The grass needed cutting, he thought. He opened his window and then made his bed, clearing away the vast majority of clutter and discarded food and drinks packs.
Laura arrived home at six fifteen. As always, she walked up the short path to the front door. Long before she bought the house, the previous occupiers had lost the front garden to enable the parking of a car in the space it used to inhabit. There was a garage, but with all houses of this age and size, the cars that would fit it were somewhat limited. Yes, her car would fit, but she couldn’t open the door once she got it in the garage.
These days, Lee’s Suzuki was in the garage, so she parked on the road, as that way she knew she’d keep the space in front of her home free. She opened the front door and frowned, as there were strange and unexpected aromas emanating from the region of the kitchen. After putting her keys and bag down on the chest in the hall, she went to the kitchen.