smallhobbit

They had returned from Amsterdam to Brussels, following their detour when Jim Moriarty had spotted Mycroft Holmes on their original train.  It hadn’t been an entirely wasted journey – Jim now had several ideas for van Gogh paintings he rather fancied for his birthday.

“Yes, we will be in Bruges tomorrow, but we’re making a detour to Ghent today,” Jim replied.  “I have a fancy to add to my weapons.”

“I thought you might be looking for another golf club.”

“No, I want a sword, a nice sharp one.”

“Then why am I carrying a golf bag?  You don’t play golf.”

“Because a sword hidden in a golf bag will attract a lot less attention than walking around Belgium with one in a scabbard.”

“Which, ahem, shop, are we going to for your sword?”

“Gravensteen Castle has a number, so I shall be able to take my pick,” Jim said.  He’d done a number of discrete internet searches before settling on where he would look.

“I thought you said you wanted something sharp, don’t they blunt them in case of accidents?”

“Of course.  But even the Bard was aware this didn’t necessarily happen.”

“The Bard?”  There was a long pause while Seb tried to remember where he’d heard the name.  “Like in The Hobbit?  I thought he was a bowman.”

“No, the Bard of Avon.”  Jim watched as the cogs slowly whirred in Seb’s brain.  Finally, he took pity on him.  “You know, William Shakespeare, England’s greatest writer.”

“I don’t think he can help.  He’s been dead four hundred and,” Seb counted on his fingers, “four years.”

“Correct.”  Jim was occasionally surprised at the odd things Seb knew.  The trouble was they were rarely very useful things.  “However, sometimes they were deliberately left sharp.”  He wondered whether it was worth explaining the plot of Hamlet, then decided that could wait, if Seb had been in Hamlet’s shoes, Claudius wouldn’t have made it to Act 2.  Instead he said, “So for now, we’re doing a spot of shopping in Ghent, some business in Bruges and then we’re off home.”