The Medici Dagger

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But for God and the bakers, all of Italy slept through the sultry August night and the moment of the great discovery—that is, all except the inventor, who stood back from the heat of his forging furnace, astonished, holding the cooling, practically weightless dagger in his palm. The piercing blade glinted in the orange light as beads of sweat gathered like berries on the hairs of the man’s strong wrists.

Placing the dagger point-up in a vise, the man hefted a sledge and struck the blade’s tip with full force. The hammer’s iron mallet split like a ripe melon. Using his extraordinary powers of reason, the man struggled to account for this miracle. There was only one answer. An incalculable ingredient had been added to his experimental mixture of metals.

Gazing skyward out his window, the genius contemplated another question even more profound. Would his incredible discovery be used for good or for evil? As he solemnly watched the molten sparks from his furnace chimney race toward the velvety heavens, the man from Vinci made his decision.

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