A Pound of Flesh

Chapter 24





He reached out his hand to feel the cold surface of the blade shining against its velvet casing on the wall. Where it had come from he did not know but it looked like something from an oriental fairy story, one where heroes fought against dark-skinned warriors, overcoming them despite unequal odds. His lips parted slightly and he ran his tongue across the edge of his teeth, savouring the remembered taste of blood in his mouth. The other weapons shone dimly from their places on this wall, the only illumination coming from a few well-positioned lights set into the ceiling.

The big man turned slightly to glance at the wall next to the half-opened door. These dark wooden cases contained guns, he knew that, but such mechanical weapons would never give him the same thrill as these ceremonial swords. Guns were part of different stories; shoot-outs in the Wild West or duels between foppish men with lace at their wrists and haughty demeanours. But these blades shaped and chased with delicate traceries, some with fine bone handles, created for him a magic all of their own. These were a real man’s weapons; scimitars, cutlasses and broad-swords that could subdue an enemy or hack to pieces anyone who tried to thwart his desires.

A sound from the next room alerted him to the presence of other people. It was not forbidden, his coming here to stare at the collection arrayed on the walls of this room, but there was a feeling of unease within the big man as he stood there, hands by his side now like a guilty child who fears being caught for a misdeed he had committed only in thought. Taking a step back, he waited for the inevitable entry of the man who was the owner of these wonderful things.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ the man said as he entered the room. ‘Thought I’d heard something. Everything all right?’

The big man gave a grunt in reply, nodding his head vigorously.

‘Okay, don’t be too long in there, will you? There’s plenty of work to be done in the morning, remember.’

As the door closed behind the owner of these magical swords, the big man sighed deeply then frowned as he regarded the wall once more. That broadsword hanging up there above the others was not quite flush with the horizontal line of its scabbard so he took a step towards the wall, reached up and removed it from the twin display hooks.

His fist closed around the hilt and he brandished it once, twice, hearing a faint swish as the blade cut through nothing but dusty air. Closing his eyes, the big man imagined the chain mail protecting his body and head, heard the sound of battle cries as his men charged against the foe then raised his arm, ready to enter the fray.

Blinking, he saw that he was still clutching the huge sword aloft but there was no one there in the room but himself. Slowly he lowered it once more and replaced it reverently on the wall hooks, careful to balance it perfectly between them.

Taking a step back, he bowed towards the weapon. Then, as though some sort of ceremony had ended, he stepped towards the door, switching off the lights as he left the armoury behind in its cocoon of darkness.