Mr Hook's Big Black Box

Ferrari Delguessimo: The Sword Master

I think when you come to hear my story, the first thing you're going to think about is the swords. That's what everybody knew me for, even outside the society. So let's start right from the beginning.

My family was fairly well off, but we weren't just going to sit on our laurels and become old money. It was mostly my father who instilled the philosophy that as a family, our reputation would inevitably be based not on who we were or what we had, but on what we did. My uncle shared the same ethos, as did their father. It was the way our legacy had always seemed to grow. It also meant we didn't turn into a lazy dynasty holed up in some big old house, because our money was always out in the real world somewhere, doing things. Father saw himself as a patron of the arts; Uncle Gwilliam invested in business. There were returns, but money was only ever the medium for bettering yourself.

My father was a fencing master. He never had any doubt that I would follow in his footsteps, and as early as I could remember my life included lessons with épée and sabre. The first time I handled a read sword, one of the family heirlooms, I was eleven. But it wasn't just about duelling; my family wanted me to excel in every aspect of life. I went to a local school, but my education was supplemented by tutors to teach me more languages, a better understanding of the classics, the contemporary arts, and philosophy. I had a good start in life, so there was no excuse for me to fall short of my potential.

I didn't like it. I felt like I was pushed into mastering skills that would never be any use to me, and my childhood was sacrificed towards some ideal that didn't fit into the modern world. I thought I hated the family's philosophy, but in the end I'd adopted it without realising. Minds are weird like that, you never know what you're really taking in. When I was sixteen, I turned around and told my father I was dropping fencing. He was disconsolate, it was a family tradition I was breaking. Something they had done ever since it was classical fencing, a stylised form to practise for actual duels. I was breaking with tradition, he said, and I believed him at the time. I didn't want to let my body turn to flab, though, I still had the work ethic, and all those years had taught me that a healthy body supports a healthy mind. So I started studying something that would let me use the skills I'd mastered without following in the footsteps of my ancestors.

I learned iaijutsu, the art of the lightning fast draw, an artform in its own right. And from there I started to study kendo, and then other styles of oriental fencing. To me it was just a sport, but something like that can't be truly learned without some exposure to the culture that the style originates in. I started to study Japanese calligraphy too, another calling that my family would never even have recognised as an art.

So that's how I ended up in the society. I was the girl with the sword, joining the club that said they practised Kendo, and so disappointed when I found that Marco was the only serious athlete in the group. But when I saw how we all approached some vague idea of Japanese culture and history from different directions, our differences made us feel like a family. Like the way a family should with, everybody different but the whole greater than the sum of its parts. And when I realised that, I finally saw that Father had been supporting me all along. He had pushed me to succeed my whole life, and he was proud of me for doing that. He knew that switching to a style that worked for me was very different from giving up, he still wanted the best for me, he just wasn't able to offer direct advice when I was following a path he didn't know.

I'd had the epiphany a short time before the Box appeared in our room. I was more confident in myself now, because I felt like I'd found my place in the world. I still joined up with any group or organisation that could teach me more, could help me to be the best that I could be. But in my heart I had my distant family, and the strange group of misfits known as LUSARS. The friends who had shown me what it really meant to be a family, and would support me whether I was making progress toward some goal or not.

Martin Cheese was not a part of that family. I'd seen him watching me in the gym, and thought I might have a fan. Maybe he was interested in the sport too. But it didn't take long for me to realise that all he cared about was seeing a girl in form fitting clothes. He seemed to have some obsession with my skin, just because mixed ancestry seems to have given me a perfect tan. I'd started telling him in no uncertain terms to stay away from me, but the guy just couldn't take a hint. It's like you said, like he can't believe that a girl wouldn't be interested in him. I might have pushed back harder, but then he'd just shift his attention to someone less able to defend herself, and I couldn't have that on my conscience.

Okay, maybe I was overreacting. He just creeped me out, a guy whose ambitions were all things he could have rather than something he could do for the world, and he was so intent on getting those things without putting in any effort. And worst of all, some of the things he wanted to have were people. It just seemed weird to me, maybe just because I'd been lucky enough not to meet an entitled jerk like that before. Today he was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Pacing back and forth, like he was a predator lying in wait, ready to spring as soon as his target went towards the elevator.

"Hey, Ferrari!" he waved in what was almost some kind of salute as I approached, "There's something I wanted to ask you. Mind if we talk on the way up?" He gestured towards the elevator, where he'd already pressed the call button. I hesitated for a second, considered telling him that I always took the stairs. Or just giving him an affirmative answer and running to the top floor. It wouldn't be my fault if he couldn't keep up with me, after all. But then I thought that if he was in his pervert persona, there was a good chance he'd respond to rejection by preying on Montgomery instead. She tended to trust anyone, a bit childlike in that way, and I wouldn't want to sic Cheese on her. So I caught the elevator for a change, thinking I'd just have to put up with his clumsy attempts at flattery, or some half assed business idea, for three minutes. How bad could it be?

Bad enough that I soon regretted failing to castrate the man when he came up behind me during a live-blade practice the year before. Bad enough to leave him leaning against the wall, face glowing a striking pink shade in the shape of my palm. And bad enough that I was determined the next time he saw me, I would be armed.

"Learn some manners!" I snapped after him as I stalked off down the corridor. He didn't follow, unsurprisingly. And I could just hope that I'd left enough of an impression for him to keep his mitts off my friends as well. I opened the door to 420 and went straight to the weapons cupboard. We were covered under the fencing club's insurance, some technicality that Marco set up I think, so we had to go by the same rules. An actual katana, never to be swung around, ornamental swords for those who wanted to dress up, Marco's bokken and my shinai, they were all kept in the same cupboard, locked because the law considered some of them to be weapons, and the terms of our insurance required all swords to be securely stored together.

I barely noticed that Monty and Kris were standing around a huge crate in the middle of the room. I wanted my saya, because the weight on my hip was just a little comfort when I was stressed. I don't know if you noticed, but I was always more comfortable carrying it. Half the time there wasn't a sword inside, but I could still feel that it was there. A piece of history, and a symbol of my quest to find an interest that didn't come from my ancestors. And if Cheese tried anything like that again, it would be in my hand and across his throat before he knew what hit him. I know as anyone else how much a sturdy length of wood can bruise if you strike fast enough. The saya wasn't a weapon, the law was sure about that, but the gilt and lacquer didn't make it any less effective if I had to hurt someone.

I laced it onto my belt, and felt complete again. It wasn't really a weapon, I knew I would never use it. But the fact that I could if I had to was reassuring. Cheese wasn't too aware of his surroundings, and the jerk probably wouldn't even notice that there wasn't a blade inside.