Dagger Magic

"I haven't got the exact proportions to offer you," Adam's voice continued, "but I would estimate this thing to be perhaps twelve to fourteen inches long, from pommel to blade-tip. The blade itself is heavy - almost more like a spear-head than a conventional dagger. The hilt reminds me a bit of a North American totem pole in miniature, with a succession of grotesque heads piled on top of one another. Each head seems to have more than one face. I wouldn't call the item at all attractive."

"I see," Julian said, at his pause. "I can't be sure without seeing it, of course, but it sounds not unlike a piece I picked up years ago at a bazaar in Katmandu. I'd like to have a look at mine before I commit myself to an opinion, though; I believe it's languishing on the back of a shelf downstairs. Can I ring you back? I'm afraid I'll lose you when the door closes on the lift."

"That's fine," Adam said. "You have Noel's mobile number, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," she replied. "Give me about ten minutes, and I'll get back to you."

While Adam waited for her return call, gazing distractedly at Peregrine's open sketch pad in his lap, Peregrine himself paced restlessly up and down outside the car. After about five minutes, still with no sign of McLeod, the phone gave a strident ring. Peregrine returned at once as Adam picked it up, leaning down to listen as Adam said, "Yes?"

"It's Julian, dear," came the expected silvery voice. "This dagger we're talking about - what would you say the blade was made of?"

Adam frowned. "I'm not sure; we're working from a sketch. Peregrine, what's the blade made of? Do you know?"

Peregrine shook his head. "Metal, I think. But I can't be more specific than that."

"He says metal," Adam repeated into the phone. "I don't suppose that's much help."

"No." Julian's voice sounded mildly frustrated. "Well, I can't be entirely sure, but judging from what's in my hand, I rather think that the object you're interested in is probably a Phurba."

"A Phurba"

"It's a Tibetan ceremonial dagger," Julian explained. "As symbolic items - which most of them are - they're usually made of wood, but the ones created for serious ritual use are supposed to have blades of meteoric iron."

"That's very interesting," Adam said, scribbling a note of the name at the foot of Peregrine's drawing as Peregrine looked on. "When you say 'serious ritual,' what exactly are you talking about?"

"That depends on the practitioner," said Julian. "I've read of some Buddhist sects whose adherents regard Phurbas as votive objects. They accord them the same degree of veneration or even worship that Buddhists give to holy paintings and statues, and believe that such an object represents a physical locus for the saint or deity it depicts. On the other hand, there's a more primitive school of Phurba worshippers whose practices hark back to the shamanistic traditions that predate Buddhism. Students of this school view Phurbas as ceremonial objects to be used in the execution of certain magical rites." She added, "I don't suppose you've been offered one of these for sale?"

"Not exactly," Adam said.

"I see." Julian's tone conveyed an immediate appreciation for the restricted conditions under which he was laboring. "Well, I'm certainly not an authority in this area, but I can put you in touch with someone who is. If you want to know more in detail, you should talk to my old teacher, Lama Tseten Rinpoche."

"I sincerely hope you aren't suggesting that I catch the next flight out to Tibet," Adam said with a smile.

"Not at all," Julian assured him with a chuckle. "Rlnpoche came to this country years ago. You can probably find him at the Samye Ling Tibetan Centre, down in Dumfriesshire."

Adam was familiar with the community's existence. "What's his name again?" he asked.

"Tseten," Julian repeated, and gave him the Anglicized spelling. "Rinpoche is the appropriate honorific. It's pronounced Rin-po-shay, and translates roughly as 'precious master.' The name Tseten means 'possessing long life' - a fitting appellation, I might add. He must be nearly a hundred."

"And you say he's down at Samye Ling?"

"He should be. He doesn't see many outside visitors these days, but I expect he could be persuaded to see you. Just mention my name. I'll warn you now, though, that you'll need an interpreter: Tseten speaks only Tibetan. If Tseten himself is unavailable, for whatever reason, I suggest you talk to Lama Jigme, who's a member of the same community. Jigme-la is only in his late thirties, maybe early forties, but he's Tseten's best student, and his English is excellent."

Adam added the name Jigme to the notes in front of him.

"Thank you for the leads," he told her. "I'll let you know how we get on."

"I shall take that as a promise," she replied. "Take care, my dear."

Adam was finishing the last of several more calls by the time McLeod finally emerged from the police station, tucking a thick sheaf of forms into an inside coat pocket.