The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four

by Daniel Lawlis

  If what this man was saying was true, he felt like he just might have found more than an answer to his boredom. He felt he might be about to embark upon one of the greatest projects of his life. And that was what made him feel so foolish. He knew nothing about this man. And even if he could afford a good sword and could pay for lessons, that in and of itself did not necessarily spell adventure. But he could sense there was a fire in this man’s soul, and he found it contagious.

  As if Mr. Simmers had somehow sensed Pitkins was having doubts, suddenly, large stacks of Sodorfian currency were being placed on top of Pitkins’ table.

  “Tell me when to stop,” Mr. Simmers said calmly.

  “Easy there, Mr. Simmers,” Pitkins began, with a smile, “you’re talking about buying a sword, not a castle. Having said that,” Pitkins then smiled again, “I think that ought to cover it.”

  “Money’s not everything to me, Mr. Simmers, but your willingness to part with it shows me that you’re serious, and that’s what means the most to me.”

  He noticed Mr. Simmers’ eyes were studying him carefully.

  Pitkins continued, “For what you’ve given me, I’ll make the best sword . . . not in the world but for you. I’m a firm believer that perfection in this art is only fifty percent knowing how to make swords. The other half is knowing how to read people. Please, step this way,” Pitkins encouraged.

  Pitkins brought him towards a wall adorned with nearly fifty swords. “But another factor is knowing what the sword is going to be used for. You’re under no obligation to be honest with me. But the more honest you are with me, the better your sword will be.”

  “As you say,” Righty began, with cunning eyes, “I’m from The Land of No Swords. Thus, it wouldn’t behoove me to walk around with a sword on my hip. It has to be concealable. Absolutely concealable. I’m an expanding retailer, and I have to make frequent trips to Sivingdel. There are a lot of bandits in some parts of the city, and I got ambushed just last week.

  “One of the guys had a sword. It was the most frightening experience I’ve ever had in my life. I survived because he didn’t know how to use it very well. But while I was busy dealing with him, some of his accomplices hit me from behind several times. They left me with a left-foot shuffle I still haven’t gotten rid of yet, and I’ve had headaches nearly every night since as well, thanks to being hit over the head with a club.”

  Righty didn’t like divulging this mostly accurate information, but he sensed Pitkins was telling the truth when he said that the more information he knew the better the sword he would make.

  “Do you have any kind of fighting experience?” Pitkins asked.

  “Is all this information confidential,” Righty asked, his eyes piercing like spears.

  “You’ve got my word on that,” Pitkins responded, and his countenance convinced Righty.

  “Bare knuckle boxing,” Righty said calmly.

  “Are we talking a couple fights at the bar over the last ten years or something beyond that?”

  “Professional. I made it to the championship years ago.”

  Pitkins grabbed a medium-sized sword from the wall and handed it to Righty.

  Pitkins then unsheathed Carlos. “Copy what I do,” he told Righty, standing next to him.

  Pitkins leaned back into a defensive stance with the sword over his head and tilted down at an angle. Righty copied the movement reasonably well. Suddenly, Pitkins lunged forward with a quick downward stroke. He watched as Righty then copied the move.

  Next, Pitkins changed his two-handed grip to a one-handed grip and then, with the sword facing downward, made a circular movement. Righty copied it satisfactorily.

  “Try this one,” Pitkins said, handing Righty a heavier sword.

  They went through the same series of movements. Righty seemed to have no trouble.

  Pitkins then exchanged the sword for an even heavier sword. He noticed no detriment in Mr. Simmers’ ability to use the sword, even on the one-handed portions.

  Although Pitkins had noticed the man’s massive muscles in spite of his loose-fitting clothing, he still found himself surprised at the man’s upper-body strength.

  “Use this one,” Pitkins said, handing Righty the largest sword he had ever made, one he had long considered a waste of time, as no customer could adequately handle it. And although Pitkins wouldn’t have readily admitted it to anyone, he himself could not.

  Pitkins was shocked when he noticed no detriment in Righty’s ability to copy the movements, and in fact he was now copying what he had previously seen without need of further example, and it seemed his technique was improving considerably even during this short practice session.

  Pitkins was a firm believer that the perfect sword was neither too light nor too heavy in its bearer’s hands, and he now realized that for this customer he was going to have to make a sword that dwarfed what he had once thought of as an oversized weapon and a colossal waste of his time.

  “I will make you what you need, Mr. Simmers,” Pitkins said. “I’ll need one month. Would that be satisfactory to you?”

  “I’ll need something in the interim to practice with,” Righty said. “What about this last one here I practiced with? I kind of like it.”

  Pitkins couldn’t have heard better news. Not only was this customer purchasing two swords, he was purchasing a sword he could have sworn would sit unused in that shop until he retired.

  “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Simmers. Normally, I would sell a sword like this for around $40,000 falons, but since you’ve paid me $100,000 upfront for a customized sword, I’d part with this for $5,000 falons.” Truth be told, Pitkins wouldn’t have had to be pressed too hard to part with it for $1,000 falons due to his frustration with selling the weapon, but on the other hand, while it hadn’t been tailored for any particular individual, it was still a top-quality sword.

  “I’ll agree to that on one condition, Sir Pitkins,” Righty said.

  Pitkins groaned inwardly, expecting to hear something he couldn’t possibly accommodate.

  “While I wouldn’t mind boldly wearing the sword you’re going to craft for me on my hip for all the world to see and be on notice, that won’t exactly fly in The Land of No Swords. It’s going to have to be somehow concealable.”

  Righty had caught Pitkins at the right time. At any other time, Pitkins would have doubled or even tripled the price for such a request. He had only done this once or twice, and it was going to push his technical skills to their limit, perhaps beyond it. But this was precisely the kind of challenge Pitkins yearned for at this time.

  “Your wife won’t know you’re wearing it,” Pitkins said smiling, hoping Mr. Simmers was aware the ring on his finger was in full view and that he was not making suppositions.

  Righty glanced at his ring finger and grinned.

  Then, he held out his right hand. “Sir Pitkins, you have yourself a customer and a deal,” Righty said.

  Pitkins shook his hand and then handed him the accompanying sword sheath and a belt to go with it. Righty handed him $5,000 falons. While the Sodorfian currency was different, there was a reasonable amount of trade between Selegania and Sodorf, and most vendors could make currency calculations and accepted falons.

  “I’ll be back in one month, Sir Pitkins,” Righty said.

  “You’ll have your sword ready, Mr. Simmers.”

  Righty stepped outside the shop and began heading towards the nearby forest where Harold would be waiting for him. He felt about as confident in his ability to use a sword as he did a fiddle, but he nonetheless felt nearly intoxicated by the powerful feeling of having six feet of razor-sharp steel a hand movement away. And he was certain of one thing—he was going to make that weapon an extension of his body.

  Chapter 37

  Righty soon found his new meeting place with Tats to be a lot more convenient. There were no more ambushes with brutes announcing their fraternal relationship to a man whose head Righty had caved in with his bare knuckles. It was just bus
iness, and Righty couldn’t be happier. His knee was almost completely better now, his store clerk was working like a horse, and genuine business was starting to really take off there. He was underpricing the competitors, and the business could barely keep up with all the demand.

  He was meeting with Tats around three times a week and walking away with $100,000 falons in his pocket each time, so needless to say, about the only problem he had now was what to do with all the cash. He decided on a diversification strategy. He began burying a considerable amount of it in the woods inside empty barrels that he brought home from his store, and he took the rest to the bank. He had first met with the president of the bank and explained in no uncertain terms that he would be sourly disappointed if his money were ever to be lost or misplaced or if the quantity was ever revealed to anyone. The president seemed to take the hint and convinced Righty no such catastrophes would ever happen.

  Righty felt the time was nearing when he needed to start expanding his legitimate businesses with the real money he was making, or he would have too much cash to handle. While he realized this was a line of work where there was always going to be a certain amount of money-burying, his ambitions were far too great to be constantly burrowing in the ground like a dirty rodent. He wanted a legitimate business empire, even if it got its initial push from dirty money.

  But he knew Ringsetter just wasn’t the right place for that. There would be too much gossiping. Too many people who knew too much about his past. Mr. Wilson, for example, just might wonder whether his meteoric rise in wealth had something to do with those seeds he supposedly returned.

  No, Sivingdel would be the place. He had a legitimate story—at least one that could pass as such to complete strangers. He had a successful retail store and had decided to expand. That much was already true. And in Sivingdel, they wouldn’t need to trouble themselves with questions like, How did a former lumberyard laborer ever afford to buy a retail store in the first place? And how did he then turn such a profit as to start opening up new stores all over as if there were nothing more to it than opening up a door?

  He knew the time was at hand to take up Mr. Hoffmeyer up on his offer regarding accounting services. So far, he was just doing a few tricks on his own—inflating prices and decreasing costs on paper. In reality, he was barely making a profit on his store, but on paper he was making enough to at least account for the money that he was putting into the bank. The excess was going into the ground.

  Hopefully, Mr. Hoffmeyer’s accountants could do an even better job, but he had read enough on the subject to know that no matter how clever the accountant, the more money to clean the more legitimate business there had to be. With the way things were going, if he wanted to be able to put even half of the money he was making into the bank, he was going to need to open up a couple of new stores fast, each equipped with top-notch accountants trained in falon scrubbing.

  Although trips to Sivingdel and back, watering his Smokeless Green plants every night, planting new plants several times per week, checking up on the store (Robert was a clerk on paper but practically ran the store, as Righty was so busy with his other engagements), visiting the bank, and burying money in the ground more frequently than a pirate made for a busy schedule, Righty had one other major project in his life.

  He had hidden the monstrous sword out in the forest, and every morning he spent at least three hours copying the movements Pitkins had shown him. He had also found a book in the library with illustrations of sword-fighting techniques and was practicing these as well, hoping he wasn’t ingraining himself with bad techniques.

  Chapter 38

  As the last several days of the month deadline that Pitkins had promised wound down, Righty realized he felt a bit of the same nervousness as he did before his Oscar Peters fight and some of the wild excitement he had as a kid whenever he discovered surreptitiously that his upcoming birthday was going to involve a spectacular present. While the reason for the excitement was obvious, the nervousness had to do with a fear that perhaps Pitkins would let him down.

  He had felt an instant liking for the man. He seemed strong, direct, competent, and transparent—all things Righty highly valued in any business relationship. Nonetheless, he felt that what Pitkins had promised verged on the impossible. Harold had told him Pitkins’ skill at crafting swords was known far and wide as being without equal, but Righty’s gut told him this might have been the first time he had ever attempted to craft a fully concealable sword. He feared that Pitkins’ intentions may have been sincere but that his desire not to lose a customer might have caused him to overestimate his own abilities.

  Anxiety over a potential letdown led to the inevitable worrying over just what Righty would do about it. Harold had warned Righty before flying him to the City of Sodorf that if anything eclipsed Pitkins’ sword-craftsmanship abilities it was his proficiency in using the weapon. Thus, squaring off with this man wasn’t exactly high on Righty’s list of top ten things to do.

  On the other hand, he would be damned if anyone—master swordsman or not—would pull one over on Righty Rick. Would Pitkins refund his money if he failed to deliver? This was eating at Righty throughout the month but had become particularly bad during the last week of waiting. He couldn’t see how a sword could be concealed to the degree Pitkins had promised—that his wife wouldn’t even notice it.

  If it came to combat, Righty hoped he got the party started with a couple well-placed punches, because Harold didn’t exactly seem the type to exaggerate anything, and Righty didn’t think it wise to see if this was Harold’s first such instance.

  Thus, when the big day finally came, it was with great trepidation that Righty got up at about 6 a.m. and went out to the woods and got on top of Harold. Harold was an observant little devil, and he smirked after one look at Righty’s careworn face.

  Harold got as low to the ground as he could and extended a wing, which Righty used as a ramp to get on top of Harold’s back. Harold had already consented—not without some grousing—to Righty placing a leather strap around Harold’s torso, which at times Righty held onto lightly and at other times gripped for dear life, depending on how Harold was flying.

  Off they went, and a mere two hours later Harold landed inside the closest portion of a wooded area near Pitkins’ shop. Fortunately, this meant only a fifteen-minute walk for Righty.

  Righty felt himself growing more and more apprehensive as he approached, but he kept moving onward. After what seemed like an eternity, he opened the door to the shop. He didn’t see Pitkins anywhere, so he rapped his powerful knuckles on the door, although he was already inside.

  A few moments later, Pitkins came out smiling.

  “Mr. Simmers,” he said warmly.

  “Sir Pitkins,” Righty greeted.

  “Well, let’s cut right to the chase if you can pardon a pun,” Pitkins said, grinning.

  Righty felt his anxiety level drop a couple degrees.

  “I put the finishing touches on your companion yesterday,” Pitkins said. “I always believe in making the customer satisfied, so I’ll need to know your preference. Would you like to see your companion at business size or at hide-it-from-your-wife size?”

  Righty paused for a moment. Both were equally important, but he supposed he’d better see the more difficult feature first.

  “I’ll go with the latter.”

  Pitkins nodded, turned around, and disappeared behind a door in his shop.

  For a moment, Righty thought he better look out the window to see if a particular sword smith was hightailing it out of there like a thief in the night, but he decided to at least continue pretending he was calm.

  Pitkins came walking back into the room. He had removed a jacket he was wearing. He was wearing a long-sleeve shirt, pants, and tall boots.

  “Care to guess where it is?” Pitkins asked.

  Righty suspected the boot, and if that was the case, he was going to be pretty irritated, since he didn’t always wear tall boots.

&nb
sp; “Well, I guess the boots would be too obvious a guess,” Righty said.

  “Indeed,” Pitkins agreed.

  “How about you pretend I’m here looking for trouble and you’ve got three seconds to pull it out before I attack?” Righty said and gave a sincere grin, realizing the hypothetical scenario may have been a bit intense to use on a man Harold reminded him several times during their trip today could cut him into small ribbons.

  Righty wasn’t even entirely sure what he saw, as he had never seen a man move quite that fast in his entire life. Pitkins had reached behind his head, as if he were combing his hair, and suddenly produced what looked like a fearsome dagger.