by J Jordan
“A young soldier found the pristine Jade Scar lying among decaying pottery in an ancient reliquary. He did what every Azerran soldier had done in 1931, when given the opportunity. The sword fit in his pack, its shape like a long candlestick. To him, the sword was another piece of loot, another treasure that would fetch him a proud sum back in his homeland. He would never know he held a sword as old as history. He would never know the true value of anything in his pack.
“The soldiers received news of Malo Taro’s surrender as the cold fall dove into winter. A month later, his entire regiment would surrender to the nearest Tambridesian patrol. A hundred starving Azerran soldiers would lay down their empty weapons before a patrol of eight Tambridesians. The Azerrans were stripped of their gear, and their loot was divvied among their captors. It was theirs to begin with.
“The young looter faded into obscurity, an intermediary between points of history, a dotted line. His name was overshadowed, left out of the tale, replaced by another young soldier. This one, a Tambridesian. Londo Asara.”
“Okay,” said Romney, “so who is Londo Asara?”
“Let me finish,” growled Cora.
“His name was Londo Asara and he did what every young Tambridesian would do at the end of the Great Nations War. He helped rebuild his country. The Asaras were stonemasons by trade, and Londo was the most promising of his three siblings.
“By 1939, Londo had helped rebuild much of Tambridan’s infrastructure. In those years, he gained renown for his work. His small company of stonemasons helped repair buildings and bridges, and restore cathedrals and statuary. In the historic city Hirna Alda, every postwar building has Asara’s signature stonework in its walls. In the years to come, the young soldier would become a household name.”
“He’s good at stones,” said Romney. “He’s hardworking. He’s loaded.”
“Yes,” said Cora, agitated, “all of those statements are true.”
“And he has the Jade Scar.”
“Well,” said Cora, “I was getting to that. If you would let me finish.
“The year was 1999 and Londo Asara had just overseen his last project. He had spent sixty-eight years as an expert mason. His company had transitioned into modern architecture in 1970 as times changed. In the coming millennium, it would need to change again. His company, Asara Stoneshapes, would shift its focus toward computers. It would become Asara Networks, the first Tambridesian internet company. Its newest executives looked toward new frontiers, in things like hypertext transfer protocol and webpage design. At that moment, they were waiting impatiently for the old fool to retire. Before he did, Londo would take a beautiful sword from a closet in his corner office and walk with it to the main floor.
“This new company was entirely foreign to him. He never understood computers. They were ethereal things, electronic and unnatural, all ideas and nothing concrete. Yet here was the new blood, staring into computer screens, developing databases and websites. Each of these new kids made the salary of three good stoneworkers. And in Londo’s opinion, they only worked half as hard as one. Londo walked among them anyway, looking for one in particular.
“He approached a young man, fresh from the university, staring feverishly at arcane words on his computer screen. This man was Kedro Kyro, a web developer from Lanvale, fluent in two languages, neither of them Tambridesian. The dull murmur of the room had softened, as Londo stood by the young programmer and waited. A few looked up from their work, only to see if anything would come of it, but then lost interest and returned to their work. Londo smiled. This was how it would be.
“Londo cleared his throat and presented the Jade Scar to the young man. When he finally turned around, Kedro took it and clung to it, mortified. His new boss had just given him a sword. He wasn’t sure if this was a time-honored custom or an old-school way of getting fired. Kedro had heard stories and he didn’t want to believe them. But Londo smiled and patted the young elf on the shoulder.”
“‘Ti chiamo custode,’” he says, ‘e così sei.’ Without another word, Londo left Asara Networks and never returned. ‘I name you keeper and so you are.’”
“Then this man becomes the keeper of the scar,” said Tykeso. “Or, in metaphors, the keeper of the scars of war. But why not give it to his son? Tambridesian lore is built entirely on familial connections.”
“Following the metaphor,” said Cora, “he has passed the scar of war down to the son. That part is correct. But, in typical postmodern fashion, the idea of son is subverted. Londo had no children, only his company. So his employees were kin.”
“But he’s just a computer programmer. There were no wars during that time. No armed conflicts, major or minor,” said Tykeso.
“But there was a war in 1990s Tambridan. Between tradition and progress, history and modernity. Londo, who was a veteran and a traditional businessman, passed the scar to Kedro Kyro, a poster child of the ’90s. Young, nervous, a fresh degree in the fledging science of computers. Londo passed the scar to Kedro. And now he will keep it and remember it.”
“So, is this all just made up, or does this Kedro Kyro guy have the sword?”
Romney had smashed the beautiful moment to pieces. Cora and Tykeso seemed to notice him for the first time. They were displeased.
“So,” Romney said, braving the new silence, “this Kedro guy is a real person, right? And he has the sword? Is he still in Tambridan?”
“I was getting to that,” said Cora. “If you would let me finish.”
“Is this going to be another history lesson? Because I’ve caught about half of what you’ve been saying. A little less than half.”
“I found it very interesting,” said Tykeso. “Please continue.”
“How about a condensed version?”
“Okay,” Cora said.
“The year was 2004 and Kedro Kyro was head of the web department of the Asara Computing Group, formerly Asara Networks. Kedro played a key role in establishing the company as a major player in the age of the internet. The Asara name had fared the transition far better than its competitors, but even then Kedro could see the writing on the wall. They would need to downsize soon to make it through the next quarter.
“Kedro was not on the chopping block this time, and he knew that, but something told him it was time. He had lived in Tambridan for five years, but still he called Lanvale his home. Yes, perhaps it was time. A week into 2005, Kedro was packed and ready for his return to Ontar.”
“He’s gonna give it to someone else now,” Romney said.
“He keeps the sword,” Cora snaps.
“So, the guy in the picture is Kedro. Got it. He moves back to Lanvale. Then what?”
“Kedro Kyro started his own internet business in Lanvale.”
“And then?”
“He did well.”
“Great.”
“He married, had a child, and decided to move his new family out of the big city.”
“All right,” Romney said, “where is he now?”
“He’s in Cresdale,” Cora said, “and it looks like he needs a college fund.”
Kedro Kyro wanted the best for his son, Milo. And the best always comes with a price. In this case, the price changed year to year, and never in the way he wanted it to. Kedro had been putting money aside for little Milo from the moment the child graced the world. He was preparing to send his only son to the great halls of Gonford’s Academy of Science. Milo would become a master programmer, a virtuoso of modern coding. But then Kedro did the math.
It is true that the halls of Gonford University have seen many of the greatest minds of our time. But those great minds had paid Kedro’s entire mortgage for one year of mind-expanding lessons. Milo would need four years, minimum. Maybe three, if he was good. Kedro turned to the next best thing.
Lanvale Prime was not bad at all. It had produced prolific brains, a few of which you would probably know. Some of these brains had even made contributions to society. But then Kedro did the math again. He was still sho
rt of a bachelor’s in computer science. But the price was manageable, so long as it didn’t balloon any further. Yes, he could close this gap, if he started making the tough decisions. The kind of decisions many refer to as “adulting.” Kedro would have to part with some old treasures from his glory days. Yes, Kedro would have to sever ties with the last vestiges of his bachelorhood.
“Like this Brave Knight Mina 1/8th Scale Bust,” said Cora, scrolling through Kedro’s online auction page. Mina was from a Tambridesian cartoon for young adults, known as anime. The sculptor had placed emphasis on several key points of Mina’s torso.
“Nice bust,” Romney said.
He looked to Tykeso for some kind of validation: masculine, brotherly, something. There was none. Cora was learning to ignore Romney when he did things like open his mouth, but the effort was still proving difficult.
“Please focus,” she said. “Down here. Toward the bottom of his profile page.”
It was listed between a box set of DVDs and another overpriced action figure. The sword was lying on a blue blanket, as clean and shiny as the day it was handed over. The flash of the camera had blown away much of the sword’s detail, but Romney could make out the green silks wrapped around the hilt. It was listed as “Jade Scar—Classical-era War Sword *AUTHENTIC*.” And the asking price was astronomical.
“He offers local pickup,” said Cora, “so we wouldn’t pay for shipping.”
“Fifteen thousand ON?”
“A good price for a Classical-era katana,” said Tykeso. “Pristine condition.”
“It is a piece of history,” added Cora.
“It is outrageous, is what it is,” said Romney. “Fifteen G’s for a sword? Does he even know it’s that old?”
“He knows it is called the Jade Scar,” said Cora. “Londo probably told him at some point. But I don’t think Kedro knows what that means exactly. Londo probably didn’t know either.”
“Okay,” said Romney, “maybe we could talk him down.”
Their next move was to write an email. Romney had invented an elaborate backstory about being members of the Ontaran Museum Authority, which Cora immediately shot down for two reasons: (a) they didn’t need a cover story, because it would be a simple trade, and (b) there was no such thing as an Ontaran Museum Authority.
“We need to show that we know what we’re talking about,” said Romney. “We convince him that it’s not really some lost relic. It’s a replica or something. Then he lowers the price.”
“You want to cheat this man out of college money?”
Romney smiled at Cora’s grimace.
“Money is not a problem,” added Tykeso. “We could make ten times that from Devon.”
“Do either of you want to pony up fifteen thousand notes? I assume he doesn’t accept Reymus bank cards.”
“He doesn’t list specific payment types,” said Cora.
“Then Reymus cards are out. We’ll have to talk him down.”
Cora would be a historian interested in purchasing the sword, and Tykeso would play the fellow scholar of Tambridesian military history, tagging along to assist her. They decided Romney would be her assistant, maybe an intern or something. That detail would work itself out, like all details involving Romney. Probably. Dr. Queldin was interested in Classical-era weaponry and found the sword’s design intriguing. Or, perhaps Dr. Tykeso would consider adding it to his extensive collection, assuming the price was right.
The reply to their email came minutes later. Kedro wanted to meet them at a taco shop in Cresdale.
The place was Al Taco Indigo, roughly forty-five minutes from Romney’s apartment. It was a nice establishment, despite its unpolished exterior and its faded sign. Really, it was a very nice place to eat. Some of the best tacos in Lanvale Province. Top ten, even. Possibly number six. But it wasn’t very busy at 4:30 p.m. Nor was it busy at 4:31 p.m. or 4:40 p.m.
Romney checked his watch again, to see if time was still moving. It seemed as though an entire hour had passed since he’d last checked his watch. It had been four minutes. Romney returned his gaze to the parking lot, in search of Kedro’s car. Whatever kind of car it was.
“The email said four thirty, right?”
“He is an independent business owner,” said Cora. “That’s a big obligation.”
Tykeso shifted in his suit jacket. Sweat was beading around his forehead, causing the fake glasses to slide down the bridge of his bruised nose. He flinched every time he pushed them back up. Romney gave Tykeso a pat on the back to make him feel better. The coat was getting damp.
“You look all right, Ty,” said Romney. “Just like a professor.”
“Agreed,” said Cora. “Very scholarly.”
“Thank you,” said Tykeso. Cora smiled back.
Romney caught a blue sedan from the corner of his eye. It drove quietly into the lot and parked along the southern corner of the taco shop. A familiar-looking elf emerged from the car, though a few important things had changed about his appearance. Kedro had the same slim figure of the young elf in the photograph, but now he sported a long beard that hung down to his chest. His once clean haircut had become a graying, frazzled mess. Romney made note of the braids in his beard, though he didn’t know their meaning. There wasn’t one.
Kedro was also wearing a stained T-shirt, cargo shorts, and a pair of leather flip-flops. Romney could tell the elf had come a long way from the Kedro Kyro in the picture. Working from home did that to people. Kedro looked bewildered around the parking lot, briefly making eye contact with Romney. Then he moved cautiously to the trunk of his car. He rummaged around for a few seconds, coming up momentarily with the small staute of a well-endowed fictional princess. Then he quickly exchanged her for a green, folded towel. Romney made out the shape of a hilt poking out from one side.
“Here we go.”
The two parties approached, the way most parties meet for an online exchange: friendly but cautiously. Romney led the pack, hand extended and smile in full. Kedro Kyro looked at Romney’s hand and nodded at it. Romney made note of Kedro’s eyes, sleepless and wild.
“Listen,” Kedro said unevenly, “it’s nice to meet you and everything, and I’m sure you’re nice people, but I don't know who you are or what you’re planning to do with this thing. And, at this point, I don’t care, man. I am done. Just give me the money, and the sword is yours. That’s it. I’m done with all of this crap.”
The group blinked as one person, now equally as bewildered as Kedro looked. There seemed to be a breakdown of communication from the very beginning. Romney gave Cora a sideways look, which she deftly ignored. Tykeso approached the man casually, in an attempt to reset the conversation.
“I am Dr. Tykeso,” said Tykeso, moving past Romney to shake hands.
“And I am Dr. Queldin, with OMANH. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Kyro.”
“Just Kedro,” said Kedro, looking at Tykeso’s hand. “And you can cut the act, okay? I know you’re not with any historical societies. I did my research. On all of you.”
The three associates lost their smiles. Romney could feel a sudden thrill in the back of his mind. How did everybody always know so much about them? Was there a website for personal information? Kedro held the towel close to his stomach and started glaring. He wanted an answer.
“Is that the sword, Kedro?” asked Romney, indicating the towel.
“There is no Dr. Tykeso, professor of Camerran military history,” he said, “and no Dr. Queldin on staff. No Balvances, past, present, or future.”
There was another pause, where Kedro seemed to fall deeper into his paranoid state. This involved cradling the bundle against his chest and watching the three with an increasing mania. Romney decided, right then and there, that the elf had some screws loose. Or, as he would put it later, Kedro was a hardware store lost in a tornado. It didn’t help matters that Cora and Tykeso were also frozen to the spot. He decided to take the initiative.
“Well,” said Romney, “you’ve got us. We’re not from any hist
orical groups. But we have your money. And all we want is the sword. Come on, Kedro, this should be easy.”
“But there’s nothing on any of you. Nothing. It’s like you’re—”
Kedro’s eyes widened at the new thought. The metaphorical tornado had just picked up a construction site. Mental screws were flying all over, with reckless abandon.
“You’re with the Shadow Cabal!”
The shout echoed through the parking lot and caught the attention of a passing soccer troupe. They paid no mind, as best as they possibly could. Romney took a step closer, his hand outstretched to comfort Kedro, and reaching ever so slightly for the Jade Scar.
“Okay, pal. Settle down. There’s no need for that. Just let me explain how this is going to work.”
Kedro Kyro fell silent, but not at ease.
“We want that sword, and you want our money. That’s it. There’re no shadows, no organizations, just two groups who want to trade. That’s it. So let’s just make the trade.”
“Okay, sure. And then you’re going to hunt me down and murder me in my sleep and take back the money. And then you’re going to enslave my family and erase my entire life out of every record. And you’re gonna make it all look like an accident! I know how you work.”
A new idea flashed through Romney’s mind. He smirked at it. Their old disguise wouldn’t work anymore. Why not improvise a new one?
“Mr. Kyro, please,” he said with a growing Camerran accent, as if taking on his true persona. “Modern currencies are trivial things to us. But we know what it means to you and your little boy. Milo, is it? He’ll make a fine scientist one day. Assuming we can come to an agreement here.