Noting her admiration, Dr. Yee asked, “Like it?”

“It’s gorgeous,” she breathed, unable to take her eyes off it.

Yee stepped closer. “Isn’t it, though? See the butterfly pattern?” he asked, pointing at the gold filigree that formed the shadow of a butterfly in the center of the chest piece.

Annja nodded.

“It’s the symbol of one of the minor houses of the Taira clan, who favored it for its elegant symmetry and delicate design. Unfortunately, they were wiped out by the Minamoto clan at the battle of Dan-no-ura in 1185 and very few of their arms and armor remain intact. It took me fourteen months of around-the-clock work to restore this one to the shape it is in today, but it was worth every second.”

She could hear the pride in his voice over a job well done and she knew that she had found a kindred spirit, at least when it came to an appreciation of history and the lessons they could teach.

“I’ve been meaning to add it to the Hall of Asian Peoples all week, but somehow, every time I go to do so, I find some excuse to keep it here a few days longer. Silly of me, I know, but I just love to look at it.”

Annja could totally relate.

After a moment, Yee finally tore himself away from his admiration of the armor and said, “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Please, have a seat,” indicating a chair in front of his desk. As Annja sat, he walked around to the other side of his desk to the room’s only other chair.

“Now, what can I do for you?”

Annja explained that in order to help support her time in the field, she occasionally took on privately funded work confirming the provenance of various items for museums, auction houses and the like.

“About a week ago I was asked to investigate a man’s claims that the katanahe had in his possession was of a unique nature, with serious historical value. He plans on auctioning it off in a few weeks and wanted to get a better understanding of the market value before doing so.”

“This is the weapon you mentioned on the phone?”

“Yes. I’ve never seen anything like it and I’m concerned by that. My knowledge of weaponry is fairly extensive and I can recognize many of the primary swordsmiths from the period, but this is one I’ve never seen before.”

Yee smiled. “Given the number of swordsmiths who have practiced the art through the years, it’s not surprising that you didn’t recognize one of the minor houses. There were literally hundreds of them, though they could all be traced back, eventually, to the big five.”

Annja had studied martial arts, particularly sword arts, long enough to be able to recite them from memory and she did so now, to show Yee she really wasn’t a complete novice. “Right, the Yamato, Yamashiro, Bizen, Soshu and Mino.”

“Very good,” Yee said, and Annja noted that he at least had the decency to blush at little at the professorial air he had assumed.

“The collector in question wouldn’t turn over the sword even temporarily for an independent examination, nor would he allow any photographs to be taken for fear that they would leak on to the Internet, but I took the time to recreate the etching and the meiby hand and I have that for you to examine.”

The meiwas the set of kanji characters on the end of the blade just above the hilt, the signature of the artist who created it. She’d tried to identify it through the usual channels, but hadn’t had any luck.

She took the page from her backpack that contained the drawing of the sword and passed it over to Dr. Yee. A little self-consciously he removed a pair of wire-framed glasses from his pocket, put them on and then took the drawing from her to have a look.

Annja watched as his expression grew more intent and he pulled the picture closer to his face for a better look.

His voice was tight when he asked, “This is the meiexactly as you saw it on the blade?”

As exact as you can be when the blade is trying to take your head off, was Annja’s first thought, but she didn’t say that. Instead, she replied, “The mark was worn and faded, so I’m not one hundred percent certain. Why?”

Dr. Yee looked up at her. “We’re faced with two possibilities here. If the mark is complete as it is, then I have to admit that I am not familiar with the swordsmith who fashioned it, either. That would mean he would have been a very minor player and would disprove your client’s claim that the weapon was of serious historical value.”

Dr. Yee got up and came back around his desk to stand next to her, holding the drawing so she could see it. “However, if we assume that the meiis, in fact, incomplete due to the condition of the blade and we add one little mark here—” he drew a single short line extending outward from the edge of the rest “—well, then, I’d have to say that not only is this sword of rather important historical significance, but it just might be the archaeological find of the century with regard to Japanese history. Never mind, for all practical purposes, priceless.”

Annja felt her heartrate quicken and it had nothing to do with the nearness of the good-looking doctor. “Okay, I’ll play along. Let’s say that I did miss that little mark. It is small, as you said, and it is in an area of the blade that is rather worn, so it’s possible that’s exactly what happened. What does that mean? Who created the sword?”

Yee straightened, a big smile on his face, as if he had just won the lottery not once, but twice.

“I’d bet my career that Sengo Muramasa fashioned that sword. And if he did, it isn’t just any sword, but the last sword he ever produced, the famed Juuchi Yosamu, Ten Thousand Cold Nights.”

As Yee pronounced the sword’s name, a chill ran down Annja spine. Totally appropriate, she thought, for the weapon that had nearly decapitated her. She didn’t know much about Muramasa. She’d heard the name, but she wasn’t sure where or in what context. She said as much to Yee.

“I’m not surprised,” he replied. “There was a definite campaign to eradicate his work from history and most of the references that survive today are so fanciful in nature that most think he is just a figure of myth and folklore. They couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Come on, let’s go down to the hall so I can show you a few things and I’ll tell you about Muramasa along the way.”

Yee went on to explain that Muramasa had been one of the most accomplished swordsmiths in all of Japanese history, second only to Soshu Masamune himself. Both men lived and worked in the Kamakura period. “In fact, there is a legend that a contest was organized between the two to see who could produce the finer blade. The contest was designed so that each man would dip his sword into a small stream with the cutting edge facing the current. Muramasa went first, plunging his weapon into the flow of the river. Anything and everything that passed by the weapon, from the drifting leaves in the current to the fish that swam in the depths to the very air hissing by the blade, was cut in two.”

They stopped for a moment while Yee negotiated locked set of doors with a pass card and a key ring, and the continued.

“Next it was Masamune’s turn. He lowered his sword into the water and waited patiently. Everything that came toward the blade was redirected around it, unharmed and undamaged. From the leaves to the fish to the air itself—all of them passed around the blade without resistance.

“As you can imagine, Muramasa was certain that he had won the challenge—after all, his sword had cut everything, and wasn’t that the purpose of a sword? He began to insult Masamune for his poor weapon. But a wandering monk had witnessed the whole affair and he offered his own conclusions. ‘The first blade is, of course, a worthy blade, but it is a bloodthirsty, evil blade that does not discriminate between who it will cut and who it will spare. The other blade, on the other hand, was clearly the finer of the two, for it did not needlessly cut or destroy that which is innocent.’”