"What? Why not? You admired it yourself, and you'd normally be drooling at a chance to take something like this off the hands of somebody desperate to get rid of it," I asked Fixer.

Fixer's the best fence in the city. That is to say, he bought stolen goods, then resold them. As far as I'd known, he'd been able to shift anything that anybody brought to him. I'd never heard of him turning down anything before.

Fixer sucked air through his teeth, and actually looked embarrassed. He waved an arm to encompass his whole office, which was packed with, well, stuff. He was literally a packrat, after all. "You have any idea how much it costs to get an unidentified magic item tested and everything, so it's salable? Especially powerful ones, because then, hell, the wizard might decide he wants it for himself, and take it!

"Besides that, how do you intend to give it to me, anyway?" he went on, "It's not enough that it talks, the damn thing shocked me when I tried to touch it. And if it's as old as you say, either it's about to fall apart, or it's powerful. And you know what happens when rumors of powerful and rare items get out."

"Hey? Hello, I'm not an inanimate object here," the sword interjected.

"Yes you are. Shut up," I turned to Fixer, "That's why I'm trying to get rid of it. I've never seen you turn down a commission before."

"Well, people don't try and drop bloody thousands of year old magical artifacts on my lap normally. Look, I'd love to help you, if just for the profit margin, but the reason I'm still around is I know when to say no, and this is one of those times. I'm not touching that thing, it's just trouble."

I'd noticed. And he couldn't really hold it against me that the sword had shocked him when he tried to touch it, it hadn't done that any other time. But I could see this was getting nowhere, I'd wasted the hour, obviously. "Okay, fine. Just do me a favor, or else you probably won't be getting any commissions from me in the future, because I'll be dead. Don't mention this to anybody."

Fixer nodded. He meant it, too, at least in his own way. If somebody shelled out enough cash, he'd tell them, but hopefully nobody would have any reason to think of something like that. And hopefully by the time they did, I'd be rid of the thing. I re-sheathed the sword and wrapped it, before it could protest again, then left.

"You know, that well idea's getting more and more tempting," I commented, as I walked home. The wrapped bundle at my side emitted a muffled indignant squeak.

"You can't dump me down a well!"

"Why not?"

"You're the Chosen One! You recovered me from the hidden vault of the evil wizard! Only a true hero with the blood of worthy kings could have done so!"

I just looked blankly at the sword for a minute, then burst out laughing. It made various offended sounds during my fit, but I wasn't paying any attention. "Yeah, okay, good one. No, really, why not?" I asked, when I could breathe again.

"Only a true hero could have..." it began.

"No, only a thief could have gotten you out of there. And I know damn well I'm not qualified to be a hero, for starters, my family's alive. Well, except for kooky Uncle Lambert. At least, we think he's dead. Probably. Considering the explosions, anyway. But you never know. Anyway, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly built to run around dramatically smiting evil with magic swords, if you haven't noticed, you're as tall as I am, just about. No proper tragic past, no religious drive, no god-sent visions, none of that. Hero I ain't."

"Nevertheless, you can't be rid of me. You are the Rescuer, and so the Chosen One. You cannot escape destiny."

"Destiny. Right," I snorted, "Maybe it's your destiny to end your days slowly rusting and making sure that at least part of the population gets enough iron in their diet."

"You wouldn't!"

"Why not? All you've done is cost me a lot of work and headache, and all I've gotten out of it is a few lousy ancient coins. Not even valuable coins. So give me one good reason I shouldn't write this whole escapade off as a loss, with a satisfying splash at the end." I replied.

"You are the Chos..."

"Say that one more time, and I'll sell you to some guy with no appreciation of weapons, who'll use you for clearing weeds and trimming hooves for the next 20 years."

The sword replied, in a steely voice (yes, I know, but that's the best word), "I was created for one purpose, and I will fulfill that purpose. I was created to destroy the evil wizard..."

"Who's dead for over a thousand years," I put in.

"...to restore the rightful king..."

"Also dead for over a thousand years."

"...to the throne of the Empire of Mycheria."

"Which hasn't existed for over a thousand years. Think about it a second. Whatever happened, it happened a loooooong time ago. Nothing you can do about it, now."

"Then I shall restore the Empire to its former glories!"

"Uh...No. Try and pull that, and it's into the ocean, in a block of lead in a safe encased in cement in a crate wrapped with chains. There's quite enough power-mad nincompoops with imperial delusions around as it is, thank you very much."

"I am a magic sword," it explained slowly, like to a child, "I was created for a purpose, and I must have a purpose."

"Well," I said, "Why not take up a hobby? Like... uh... hmm... err... Use your magical vocal talents! No, wait. I think somebody already has a Singing Sword, and was going around being unpleasant to 'imitators.' Uhh... Well, okay, I'm stumped, for the moment. But you can think of something. Umm... What'd you do while you were locked up?"

"Slept."

"Besides that."

"I made up ribald poetry. This is my best, I think. 'There once was a man from Nantucket...'"

"Right," I interrupted, "Anything else?"

"Well," the sword said, sounding bizarrely shy, "I did do a bit of theoretical mathematics."

"Well, there you go."

"It's not very heroic though, is it? Besides, it's not really a Purpose."

"Oh, I dunno. Expanding the boundaries of knowledge, sounds like a fairly heroic purpose to me..." I extemporized.

"No, it just won't work. I need a Heroic Purpose."

"Can't help you then. Closest I have to anything like that is getting enough cash to avoid real work, ideally embarrassing a few stuffed up nobles or merchants with more money than sense along the way. Nothing to do with dragon slaying, princess rescuing, feuds between deities, reforming empires, or any of that sort of stuff. I've got quite enough interesting things and adventures to look at and do in the city. The wilderness gives me hives. I'm a city boy, and lifting things without getting caught provides plenty of adventures right now."

"Impossible. I have a Destiny. I must serve my Purpose."

I could hear the capital letters. And knowing the damn blade, it probably had some sort of trick to keep me from throwing it away, or at least make my life miserable unless I went along with its stupid hero stuff. How could I get rid of it, without it coming back to haunt me? Why'd I even have to find the stupid thing...

"Say..." I said slowly, "I have an idea..."