"It's a common misconception that the President had them specially crafted to fit the new nation's flag," says the docent. Sensing your disinterest, she leans in across the case. "It's genuine tusk. The same goes for the knucklebones."

You look up at last into her fiery eyes, your interest piqued. "Surely it's a replica, and they keep the rest elsewhere?"

"Nope. See the chipped edges? That's from when the Special Boat Service smuggled it out of the stormy sea, wrapped in a white sarong. As they made for the submersibles, the commanding officer was stabbed by a marlin in the heart, which gives rise to the red half of the flag."

"They never taught us this in social studies."

The docent shrugs. "Textbooks change, and all the past goes with it. The Malaysians still have their half -- though quite yellowed and not as well taken care of. It's said that Abu Bakar himself pried them from the jaws of the island's last pure-bred merlion, to cow the Dutch into submission."

"No kidding? That's a relief to know we didn't invent the regalia out of whole cloth."

She laughs. "No part of this is false. The knucklebones, now, come from a different route entirely. Hewn from the hands of a wild jinn, they were the prize of twenty generations of monkey-men until Yamashita won them in a fair game of dice. Sore losers, they let the general part with five in exchange for the right to erect a shrine at the centre of the island's heart."

"You lose me here -- I don't think we had monkey-men."

"For their betrayal, the postwar administration put them to the bayonet. Would have sided with the commies, anyway."

"Um, sure. How do you know all of this?"

The docent drums her acrylic nails on the glass, making a hollow, clicking sound. "Some of us have been around longer than others. Hard to forget, when you've been on the wrong side of the archives your whole life."