The CLAMP campus museum was an edifice of marble and gold, carved into existence by men who'd studied too much Ionic and Corinthian architecture for their own good. Dully, it gleamed in the streetlights, while long, slender banners hanging above each entranceway and limply advertised exhibits of blood.
Halloween was only a month away, and someone had conceived the crazy idea to commemorate famous murders throughout history to celebrate. Naturally, the exhibits had been heavily advertised and featured on local news broadcasts and magazines, which would be where Mother B had first seen the blade.
They'd been going on about it yet again that morning.
"Oh, I can't wait until you get that for us, darling Akira!"
"Yes, oh yes, it's just PERFECT - so shiny!"
"Shiny...."
Shiny. The reflections of the street lights in puddles of water and the tops of his shoes were shiny, too, but not nearly as sharp. Breathing quietly, Akira peered down from his rooftop post and made sure he knew where each of the police-officers-in-wait were positioned before making his move. Reaching up to grab the rip cord he'd attatched between the buildings earlier that morning, he gripped the handles tightly and jumped.
He made no more sound than an ordinary zipper as he flew over the heads of his would-be captors and straight onto the second-floor balcony of the museum. There was no time to waste; sneaking down the hallway, he approached the "haunted blades" exhibit, and as he went, he reviewed the history he'd learned regarding the particular dagger his mothers wanted him to steal.
On Sept 4, 1862, Shimazu Hisamitsu, daimyo of Satsuma, was on his way to Edo. Naturally, it was not permissible for anyone to overtake this procession, at least not without the proper forms of obeisance - but one Charles Richardson, a British merchant, was apparently unaware of this. Ignorantly, he had passed the party without so much as a bow; and immediately, he was killed.
There were guns used, of course; Hisamitsu was a very technologically advanced leader for his day and age. However, in the end, legend had it that a particular ancient blade had caused the death of the British merchant, and that blade - theoretically - was on display right now. It was also what Mothers A and B so dearly wanted.
It was ironic, Akira thought as he crept along the hall, that the death of that one foreign man led to the designation of the Hinomaru as the official Japanese national flag.
The Richardson Affair, as the incident came to be known, sparked war with England the very next year; and since the shogunate had ruled in 1853 that all Japanese ships were to fly the Hinomaru - a red dot centered on a white background - the British believed it to be the official flag of Japan. That belief simply spread from there.
"Like yeast," the boy said lightly to himself, and paused to peek out a window and make sure the police were still outside.
Only the still-pouring rain moved; lawmen stood, sopping, looking for trouble and completely unaware that trouble had already missed them. Satisfied, 20 Masks slipped inside the exhibit room.
"It's a fascinating blade, isn't it? They're utterly sure it was Hisamitsu's - and to think that they found it again in 1983 when that teenage couple murdered that taxi driver. But the real mystery is this: even though it was listed and described among their possessions at the time of their arrest, when the prosecutors tried to use it as evidence later, it had disappeared!"
Nokoru spoke in whispers, but his words still carried; pressed eagerly around him were the young girls who'd volunteered to come on the field trip. All of them were taking notes.
"How can they possibly tell where that knife has been? It's not exactly inscribed," Suoh commented dryly, arms crossed.
Nokoru looked delightfully menacing. "As a matter of fact, Suoh, my friend, this knife IS inscribed - with curses of blood and demons and nightmares, meant for the evil magic it weilded!"
There was the requisite number of "ooh's" and "aah's;" Suoh raised his eyebrow.
Nokoru continued. "Of course, to avoid scam, they've dated it, too; I've read the reports. There's no question it's from Hisamitsu's era, and given the inscription, it was the kind of blade used by his family."
A pause. Most students were frantically scribbling down what Nokoru said, and the rest were gazing at him worshipfully; naturally, Akira fit solidly with the latter.
"Wow," he said, leaning a little toward his tour guide. "How do you know all this, Class Chairman?"
Nokoru smiled. "A little knowledge never hurt anyone, Akira. And as a matter of fact," he said, immediately regaining the attention of his entourage. "This knife was RUMORED to be partially responsible for the madness of Shoko Asahara."
There was a collective gasp, shocked and high-pitched enough to garner more than a few curious looks. "The Aum Shinri-kyo?" someone cried. "Aleph..." whispered another.
"That's right," Nokoru said. "The man whose cult was responsible for the poison gas attacks of 1994 and 1995. He had this blade for a short while; in fact, it was listed among his possessions when he started his cult years ago. But then, he filed a police report that it had been stolen - and it wasn't found again until the illustrious matriarch of the Kanpai family passed away." He paused for effect. "There it was, among her heirlooms - and she was so afraid of the curse that she wouldn't even touch it herself. Blaming it for all the evil dreams she'd been having, she called for the police to take it away!"
Now, two weeks later, Akira crept through the hallway toward the knife in question. He could see it up ahead, well-lighted and guarded. The knife in question looked utterly harmless through the display glass. Ryusuke, naturally, was with them.
"Careful, men," the young man was saying, keeping his eyes peeled directly on the entrance Akira had not chosen to use. "He'll come through. Just you wait and see... he'll come."
Perfect. Just where he wanted them. Checking his watch again, Akira plugged both ears and waited for the inevitable.
A series of small explosions suddenly rocked the floor beneath them.
Ryusuke gasped. "What the..." Smoke, rancid and thick, began to pour from the airvents around the room. Gagging, Ryusuke was thrilled. it's HIM!" he cried, and completely sure of his conviction, tore toward the display case.
Unfortunately, he could no longer see.
Within moments, the police and their helper were all stumbling into one another, completely blinded by the smoke bombs and inadvertantly setting off alarms.
Akira secured his gasmask and crept quickly over to the display case.
A lot of funny rumors about you, mister knife, he thought at it quietly as he disconnected its alarm. Smoothly, he propped the display on its side and switched the contents with something similarly sharp he pulled from his pocket.
There was a crash behind him, and more alarms went off; it seemed the police were making a mess.
Well, you've brought SOMEbody bad luck, haven't you? he thought with a twinge of guilt, replacing the case and resetting the alarm. Wrapping the blade in a slender strip of leather he'd brought for that purpose, 20 Masks hid the whole thing in his cloak with the dexterity most people applied to tying their shoes. He left the same way he'd come.
The smoke cleared; it left no damage, no acrid smell, no injuries to eyes or lungs. A kind diversion; but Ryusuke still left unsatisfied because 20 Masks had gotten away - even if he had failed to take the simple dagger he was after.
The morning headlines ran the title in bold print: 20 Masks Finally Runs Out of Luck! Unfortunately, the evening headlines told a different story.
It had taken the museum workers four hours to clean up the wreckage and provide new display cases for all items; the substitute 20 Masks had left was not looked at terribly closely because the alarm for it had never gone off, and by one o'clock, the room was open again for viewing.
The reality of the theft was discovered first by an overweight seven-year-old girl the next day, but nobody believed her that the prettyshinything in the glass case was the same letter opener her father had in his office, even though it upset her enough that she burst into tears. One hour later, a pretty school teacher from Kyoto made the same observation and raised the alarm, and naturally, she was believed right away and received all the credit.
The seven year old went home and never forgot the lesson that life was unfair.