Subtle villainy

I ran the vacuum-brush over the tracings in the surface, clearing away the last of the scattered filings, and stood back to review my work. The inscription looked right, but it wouldn't be the first time I'd botched a₂ and not realized it until well afterward — not that anyone would likely ever have noticed, but it was the principle of the thing.

As far as I could tell, however, it was correct, and the namcub was complete. I allowed myself to believe, for a moment, that it was perhaps the only functional namcub ever — but no, surely some Assyriologist had said in jest, to a friend, "You will not understand these words;" and it was no more than that, really.

❧❧❧
Some weeks later, a story in the paper caught my eye. A local man had been injured by swinging his mass-produced ornamental sword, which had snapped under its own weight, shattering along a line in its engraving. The company had disclaimed all responsibility, pointing out that the documentation with the blade clearly stated that it was for display only, not for actual use, including practice or demonstration purposes; and that any warranty would have been voided by the after-purchase engraving done on it.

(The namcub had read, in translation: "When swung, this blade shall break." I allowed myself a smile, and moved on.)