The Worm of the Ages and Other Tails: Six Short Fantasies Read Online Free Page B

and this one was a master. He said:—
    ‘Can I help you?’
    ‘It says  Cash for Treasures, Old and Rare, ’ said the kid, referring to the sign outside. ‘If you’ve got the cash, I’ve got the treasures.’
    The pawnbroker put on his best shop smile. ‘Well, let’s see what you’ve got.’
    The kid puffed his chest up about three sizes and started taking junk out of the bag. ‘For starters, here’s a genuine magic dagger, gold-wrapped hilt, cabochon ruby pommel—’
    ‘What power is it?’
    ‘Power? Uh, third, I think. Maybe fourth.’
    The broker picked up the dagger as if it were a dead rat, and gave it the fishy eye. ‘I’ll give you threepence for it.’
    ‘Threepence! You must be mad! The ruby alone is worth—’
    ‘Never mind the ruby. I’ve got a whole drawer full of these things. Can’t sell ’em. Can’t use ’em. Wouldn’t pare my nails with one. What else have you got?’
    The kid looked like he was going to argue, but he stifled it and reached into the bag again. ‘Your loss,’ he grumbled. ‘Well, here’s something you don’t see every day – a singing sword.’
    The pawnbroker shook his head. ‘Look over there.’ He jerked a thumb to indicate a display cabinet in a corner. Three swords of various sizes and a dirk, glittering with magic, were laid out on a bed of green baize. ‘Go on, open it.’
    The kid went over to the cabinet and opened the glass doors. The swords began to sing, largest one first, climbing the scale by arpeggios:
    ‘Longsword!’ – ‘Broadsword!’ – ‘Short sword!’ – ‘Dagger!’
    Then all together, in four-part harmony: ‘I… ain’t got no bodkin! No bodkin cares—’
    ‘Enough of that!’ snapped the broker, slamming the doors. The blades fell silent.
    The kid gaped and goggled. ‘A barbershop quartet of  swords?’
    ‘Yes, and a complete nuisance. The last owner couldn’t keep ’em quiet for five minutes. Said they kept him awake at night; and if he wanted to sneak past something, and dead silence was worth forty gold pieces a second—’
    ‘I get the picture,’ the kid said glumly. ‘Well, how about a genuine leprechaun’s crock? Straight from the end of the rainbow. Put any old metal in, get fairy-gold out—’
    ‘Really!’ The broker let on to be shocked. ‘This is a respectable establishment. Do you think I want  that  kind of business?’
    ‘I didn’t mean any harm,’ said the kid. ‘I didn’t think it would—’
    ‘That’s right, you didn’t think. Counterfeit is counterfeit, no matter what art it’s made by. Consider yourself lucky I don’t call the Watch on you.’
    The kid mumbled out three apologies and a grovel. ‘Anyway, I know you’re going to love this next piece.’
    The broker folded his arms on his chest. ‘Saving the best for last, eh?’
    ‘Well, yes, I hope so. Hang on, I’ve got it in here somewhere.’ The kid picked through a number of small pockets on the inside of his money belt. ‘Ah, here it is. A genuine Ring of Power!’
    He fished out a wee gold ring, set with a square-cut amethyst bordered with diamonds. ‘This came straight from a dragon’s hoard, and of old from the King of the Eastern Dwarves. Only seven ever made of this type. It was the heirloom of their house from the—’
    ‘Yes, yes. No good to me.’
    ‘I suppose you’ve already got one?’ the kid said acidly. He was beginning to lose his temper.
    ‘Three the Dark Lord has recovered, and the rest are in my inventory. Nobody’s looking for cursed gear, my boy. Have you got anything without a curse on it?’
    The kid reached for the bag again. ‘How about Excalibur?’
    ‘With or without scabbard?’
    ‘Uh, without.’
    ‘You sap! The scabbard is worth ten of the sword. That’s what makes it collectible. The finest named and pedigreed sword isn’t worth scrap metal unless it’s in the original packaging.’
    The kid looked positively downcast. ‘Then you won’t be wanting Durendal or Sacnoth,