Page 2 of The Diamond Thief
The second sword is called Seure and belonged to Sir Lancelot. An enormous sapphire designates it as his.
The next sword, Galatine, belonged to Sir Gawaine and bears a bright emerald.
The Sword of the Strange Hangings has a more questionable history, perhaps also being wielded by Galahad, but possibly used by King David when he killed Goliath. It is decorated with a yellow diamond the size of an almond on its hilt.
The other three swords have no names or lineage, but based on their locations and level of preservation, plus telling engravings by the forgers, they are regarded as additional swords borne by the knights of King Arthur’s Round Table.
Some would call them priceless.
Nonsense. Everything has a price.
And the buyers are still bickering. I’ve already been offered $140 million for all seven swords. That number will likely go up once I prove that I possess them.
I roll the jeweled hilts back into their felt case and turn to the vault. Even I cannot open the door with a simple passcode, fingerprint, or retinal scan. It requires a series of actions, done in precise order, assessed by a virtual reality monitor.
And a key.
I love keys.
“Begin sequence,” I say to the door and move into place.
“Sequence in three, two, one.”
The first is sixteen beats of a tango, followed by four turns in a quickstep. Then American Sign Language fingerspelling the name of my late mother’s lovely sister who died young. Finally, a recitation of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poem “Love Is Not All.”
And only my voice will do.
“Sequence complete,” the voice says, and the vault door light shifts from red to green.
Even then, if you hurry and open the door too quickly, a delay in the timer will shut the door once you go in and lock you inside. No one has ever gotten that far, but then, my success has continued to grow. One day, probably not too far off, someone will try to penetrate my bunker.
If they ever learn it exists.
I wait the prescribed amount of time and remove the ancient key from my breast pocket. It is made of forged iron and is rumored to have opened the gate to one of the hidden crypts of the Illuminati.
I love items with a mysterious history.
It slides in with a satisfying click, and the vault door swings open. I lift the collection of sword hilts and head inside the vault. My gaze falls on some of my favorite objects, those I have been reluctant to sell.
One of my beloved prizes is a tiara worn by the great Alexandra Romanov, the last Tsarina of Russia and mother to the mysterious Anastasia. Many of her crown jewels were sold at auction in the wake of the revolution.
I hadn’t bought this one, of course, but stole it during a fox hunt on an estate in Germany. It’s unlikely that the family there, so used to their surroundings littered with great and beautiful objects, even noticed I replaced it with a Disney princess crown.
I also have an ancient chalice rumored to have been the favorite of King Henry the VIII. I occasionally bring it out for a cup of wine, just for kicks.
The jeweled swords will reside inside a safe within the vault. Once they are tucked away, I head out of the vault and secure it carefully. My date for the evening will arrive soon, and I would like to be prepared for her upstairs.
What a fine, fine evening to be alive.
