5 October 2010

Ms. St Just,

I hope this correspondence finds you well.  I am reaching out, again, as some information has come to light about Mr. Lazarus Rippringham-Gomfrey.  I will be at Gringotts on Thursday, October 7 at 11 AM in order to speak with you. 

I regret giving you such short notice, but the information that has come to light may change the course of the investigation, and your perspective would help clarify some questions we have. 

Best,
Archer Radley
Senior Auror

The Ministry correspondence was an unwelcome surprise that found Josephine upon arrival.  There was a goblin, Nagnok, standing at her office door looking as disgruntled as a goblin could look.  His dark, bushy brows were furrowed above his small, black eyes and the hooked nose was pointing directly at her while he held the  envelope up in his gnarled fingers.  “Ms. St Just,” he greeted tersely, “the post arrived.” 

The post arrived whenever it liked, Josephine had almost commented, but she kept herself in check.  The goblin was quite senior in the bank and clearly his presence in front of her door was not a happy one.  “I will attend to it immediately,” she informed the goblin who continued to glower at her.  It was no secret that there was no love lost between the cursebreaker and her employers, though the goblins perhaps might think so.

“See that you do,” he cleared his throat and thrust the letter more forcefully toward her, and up, as though she hadn’t already looked down her nose at him – and it. 

Josephine was keenly aware of some of the things she was sure they didn’t want her to know, but she would play the game for now.  So, she plucked the envelope from Nagnok’s hand.  “I will.  Thank you,” she added, dismissively toward the creature and he snorted at her –in much the same tone. 

Flicking her wand (rather showily in front of the creature who could not have one), Josephine opened her office door and with a few steps essentially dismissed the goblin and took her seat behind the desk, only to open the Ministry official envelope and be left, staring at the message.

Whatever it was, it could not be good.  Stuffing the letter back into the envelope, she laid it on the desk before delving into the top drawer: reserved for pertinent information.   Files were locked away and she pulled out the case file on the object in question: the harvest mask.  Everything was here, including information from Rosier and Cohen's trip to Morocco in pursuit.  Josephine had her own information, and combined... Glancing toward the door, she hoped Eisenberg would be in quickly.  Training was about to take another, much more hands-on turn.

Magdalena had been shadowing a goblin, studying its handling of the wizard-woven magic that protected the deepest vaults in Gringotts. Magic that cursebreakers helped wrought just as they’d routinely helped to break it in other places. Protocol— the kind that was never broken— dictated that the bank’s creature keepers be present for her ventures into such territory. However much of that fortune belonged to wizards.

But it was the point, today: despite her dislike of the creatures, knowing how they did things was essential to her job. It was not enough to know what the customers knew, to watch the bankers scratch quills in their irksome manner and look down from their pillared chairs at pockets deep or barren. It was knowing how they protected the vaults, how reliant upon wizards they were, and how reliant wizards were upon them. It was glimpsing their magic, the sort they were too careful to demonstrate on a routine vault visit. It was knowing what they valued and in what order.

While she had become quite familiar already with the paths and traps down to the bank’s belly, those trips too were still educational. Each customer presented a new variable, each thing hidden in the vaults created a new bond between goblin and wizard… and cursebreaker. It was a gamble, often, the trust established. A fake trust, but the necessary kind.

One could not imagine the contraband, the one-of-a-kind treasures, the sheer amount of junk accumulated in this place. Magdalena had been hungry more than once to know the contents of a wizard’s magicked coin purse, the thing stored in a tiny bit of velvet that might hold more power or value than a whole level of vaults below it. The sorts of things that might still hold the residue of curses. But the goblins were respectful of their customers’ privacy. A confirmation of what she had grown up knowing, and ever a suspicion to the young witch. There was uneasiness in knowing how easily they might inspect a vault when the wizards were gone.

And yet, it was not so easy.

Much of her time here had justified Magdalena’s belief that the goblins would have little power without the wizards keeping them in business. If the opposite was also true— where money was concerned, and generally money was concerning— it was not the same. And Josephine’s presence always made the Dane feel like a proud predator; she longed to provoke one of the dour creatures, to push the wrong buttons just once and watch her mentor set them straight. And join in the fun.

But that girlish daydream, a luxury, remained in her head.

Her eyes glossed over an open office as turned a corner, having reemerged from the vaults. It might have been her imagination, but the goblins at ground level seemed to move with purposeful slowness. Another several (quick) steps and the witch was alone again. The decorum here was cold, lavish but never nonsensical, and even the curves seemed sharp. The marble she walked upon suited the girl, though her tastes leaned— surprisingly or not— toward the whitewashed woods and utilitarian charm of Scandinavian interiors. Breezy and hearty both, that was home. Chilly and cutting, though, was Magdalena.

Stairs broad as an ocean lead to yet more offices, these less trafficked by everyday customers. As she took them, the swiftness of youth on her side, she passed a grumbling Nagnok. Something in the way he eyed her caused a reflexive, unintelligible tightening of her grip on her wand. Magdalena didn’t change pace.

It was with the same sure foot that she made way to Josephine’s office, but the goblin’s demeanor had her bracing inwardly, the Occlumens’ composure. Three doors away and she began to cast the silent spells that unlocked the woman’s office; Magdalena was not expected to knock and wait demurely.

“Nagnok,” she said, as she stepped into the room, eyes trained on the woman. They fell like a daring broom trick to the file on the desk.

Josephine did not bother to look up for Magda’s entrance.  No one else knew the wards and they’d be changed as soon as the girl showed any sign of insubordination or lack of promise.  It was an honor to know the secrets to entry.  They could easily be taken away and replaced with a rather nasty curse if the wards were not performed correctly.  Josephine had not trained many, but when others crossed her doorstep they knew that punishment all too well.

So, she could be certain of who it was and the young woman’s voice confirmed it.  Josephine quite liked her for her unique way of speaking: curt, to the point.  It was as though Eisenberg had an allotted word count for a day and she never strayed from the limits placed on her vocabulary.  It meant she was a good listener, a skill the field required. 

Granted, her skills of observation were on par with pretty much anyone in the street.  They would have known that Nagnok had come and as Josephine surmised, they probably passed one another in the hall. 

Josephine’s green eyes flicked up from the papers in front of her and without a word, she efficiently grouped the papers together and followed with a sharp snap of the folder shut.  Her freshly manicured hands rested atop the file, making no move to stand or extend further greeting than an appraising nod at her – and her question/statement. 

Runing her tongue along the back of her front teeth before delicately licking at her bottom lip, sucking in a deep breath all the while.  “Yes, Nagnok,” she started simply before pushing her chair back a little.  “It seems we’ll be doing a little more travelling than I originally anticipated.” 

That was true, and Josephine’s mind was already moving.  If the aurors were coming here, she couldn’t imagine it would be much longer before they needed someone to take the fall, and Josephine could not guarantee her own safety in this matter, considering her role and relationship to the owners of this organization. She pushed herself up off of her chair, leaving the file on the desk and moved to the wall of the office, glancing over the sides of the books. 

Leatherbound spines poked out along with paper and vellum, some articles just printed on cheap, acid paper and carefully tucked into the fold as well.  Josephine’s library was functional, not aesthetic or impractical: it was a working place and her books on Western African magic and customs were on a reachable, and frequently used shelf.  “I trust you won’t have trouble studying while I make the arrangements?” 

If the papers Josephine loomed over held some invisible sheen, a temptation like the treasures many floors below their feet, Magdalena only stole a moment of the probably-sensitive stack. She couldn’t read their contents from her vantage point, and knew better than to be any more obvious in her attempt.

As she stepped closer, her eyes returned to Josephine, and this time Magda's brows lifted. “Where are we going?” She asked, not bothering to whisper about it. They needn’t worry about eavesdroppers in the witch’s office. The wall of spells was half the reason she had a job. And so even if Nagnok’s ugly head still danced in her mind, his ears were out of luck.

Her eyes slid back to the desk. “Is it something to do with those?” She felt at liberty now, and gestured toward the file. Much as she wanted to make a respectable impression— diplomacy had been instilled as readily as ruthlessness— she wasn’t obedient enough to skip the country without asking for more detail. Assuming they weren’t traveling anywhere within earshot of Nagnok.

She turned on her heel, casting her eyes over the finger-trafficked bookshelf, trying to decide what exactly she would be studying. Not the usual, she thought. (This job didn’t have a usual.) “No— unless you need me to help with the arrangements.” A bold offer, maybe, but Magda could multitask. She smirked a little, testing the water. “I can always read on the go.” Or maybe this was the go.

Her question would have to wait a couple of moments.  Frankly, Josephine was a little disappointed that Eisenberg didn’t realize she was hovering around her bookshelves, specifically her African books.  She slid a few of the books forward, titles Eisenberg would need, but she supposed she hadn’t actually pulled anything out yet.  It was a small detail, but it didn’t change the fact that Josephine half expected her to make the connection herself.

It wasn’t often that Eisenberg was asking questions.  She answered them based on whatever Josephine gave her to learn.  Thus far, Josephine hadn’t been disappointed so she supposed she could forgive the lack of observation in this particular case.  After all, it was a bit of a break in routine.

There was, though, a redeeming point when Eisenberg looked at the desk and saw the file.  Nodding to herself, Josephine was sated for the time being and licked her bottom lip, thinking carefully before she opened her mouth (as she almost always did).  “It does,” she answered in an even tone before finally tugging the books they needed out of the shelf.
 
Some of them, she’d even have to go over again it had been that long.  “The trail had gone cold, but some new information has… surfaced.”  It could have been a number of things.  Gringotts was a busy place, if something took too long, there was another adventure to take its place.  It just so happened that the harvest mask was now more important than ever, and Josephine had a vested interest in its return. 

“I’ll be working on the arrangements,” her voice might have been a little clipped, since she didn’t necessarily need Eisenberg to know much except the magic they were going to be dealing with.  “You can work on these,” she strode across the office and put the books on top of the file.  It was a hefty reading assignment, to be sure, “so while I’m attending to travel, you’re going to study.” 

“Pay attention to artifact curses, and dance magic,” Josephine instructed, “Make sure to read all of my notes in the margins as well. I will ask.”  It almost didn’t need to be said.  Almost.  Even as bright as she was, Eisenberg was still young and she still didn’t have the experience.  “You have.. at maximum a week to finish this reading.  You’ll want to read up on the file as well.”

Putting her hand on top of the stack, a clear signal to not take them yet, she looked at Eisenberg with scrutiny.  “But that doesn’t leave this office.”  She was perhaps never more serious with Eisenberg than in that moment.  “Any questions?” 

Magda might have missed the cue, but the books about Western Africa spanned a library’s worth of topics on that part of the continent— and plenty of the tomes were pertinent to the art of cursebreaking and its history, as much as travel. There were books on Guinea that would have been useful in Scandinavia, even. (Much as the Dane considered it her stomping ground).

When she picked up— late— on the expectation in her mentor’s stance, the realization finally hit. It was obvious. And so Josephine didn’t answer the question.

Magda felt a sting of annoyance at herself. But there were plenty of opportunities to make it up. The other witch was hardly petty, even if she wasn’t a coddler. “Where in West Africa are we going?” She revised, with the pointedness of someone clearing their throat. She knew the answer was in the file on the desk, but she refrained from diving toward it.

An old case. A cold case. One of Magda’s favorite words, cold. A trail St. Just hadn’t completed yet meant it was bound to be one of the more challenging. What better way to dive into the field of cursebreaking than to whack weeds off a wild, overgrown path?

She listened, obedient in an unblinking way. Even as her eyes showed a range of emotions, most of them chilly or tempting.

Magda got the point: her part of the prep work would leather-bound, entirely, and not in the most smoldering way. Still, there was a seduction to that kind of leather-bound, too. “I’ll be ready when you do.” Tests. Just like the old days.

She followed suit, but stopped short of looking like a thief. Or an overly eager puppy. Magda had seen plenty of those types, and knew they didn’t last long in places like this. Or where they were going. If she were marginally inclined to dive into the topmost book, read the table of contents, get a start, the file was still a devil on her shoulder. On Josephine’s desk.

Besides, Magda did have questions.

“How much do the goblins know, and how much of a disadvantage is it?” Her eyes resisted flicking to the door, instead leveled with Josephine’s. Obviously if the girl was going to be spending most of her night in here, analyzing the file because it couldn’t go home with her, it was a safe bet it was that lot who needed to be kept at bay. But perhaps there would be some extra information in the answer. History not in the official file. “And who tipped you off to the new information? Who are our allies?”

The test on visual cues had been passed.  “Burkina Faso, Mali, potentially Cote D’Ivoire,” Josephine replied easily.  “If your French is weak, you may want to practice that as well.”  Growing up in a Francophone household, Josephine’s grasp of the language translated very well into her work.  She wasn’t sure of Eisenberg, but it would just be another test.

Their profession was full of them. 

Durmstrang was famous for their prepared and competent students.  Josephine imagined she demanded the same, if not higher, level of preparedness than the girl’s alma mater.  “You don’t have another choice,” Josephine commented wryly, and moved behind her desk to take a seat.

It was the first time in the conversation that Josephine extended her hand to indicate the young woman could take a seat across from her.  The nuts and bolts of what was going to happen was… confidential.  Even that was an understatement.  Josephine would not be discussing it outside of her office. 

Especially with the goblins.  Einenberg asked a decent question.   “They know we are going.”  She paused, pursing her lips together.  “They believe we are looking at this case,” she tugged the other file out from underneath the pertinent one and placed it in front of herself.  “You’ll be expected to know this by this afternoon – before you leave this office.  It’s a simple track on a necklace – inconsequential.”  Sure, it was in a guarded location, but she expected Eisenberg would be able to handle that.  It was hardly even under the protection of spellwork.  Child’s play. 

“They are only to know this,” she informed her protégé, “everything else is for us and an unnamed client.”  The Ministry personnel who had approached her required absolute secrecy.  It was also to her advantage that she did not reveal too much.  “Consider this an intellectual exercise for yourself,” Josephine suggested, “as I am not at liberty to include you in… logistics.” 

“Frankly,” as though Josephine ever spoke to her trainee in any other way, “the less you know on that account the better.  When it becomes relevant, you’ll be informed.”  It was the polite way of telling her it was absolutely not her business and to do as she was told.  There was some form of diplomacy involved in all of this.  “Consider releasing any information a potential threat.” 

Josephine reorganized the files front and center for her trainee and let out a deep breath through her nose.  Much was at stake here: personally and professionally.  “I’ll leave you to studying.” She pushed herself out of the chair and walked to the door.  "Absolute secrecy."

Magdalena had not been to any part Africa, but she had done some preliminary reading on a couple of the places Josephine frequented most; it would have been a crime to start apprenticing under the witch without having done so. Still, even the Dane could acknowledge there was plenty to learn, plenty more to be read, and plenty that she couldn’t learn until she there to experience it. “My French is passable,” she said, in French. Thanks in part to her grandmother, who taught language at Durmstrang—and perhaps also out of spite for a certain French mouse. Being able to sneer, undercover, in the girl’s mother tongue (before using her tongue for wickeder things) had been satisfying.

Still, she wasn’t exactly fluent and was most accustomed to certain accents and paces. She knew dialects might differ heavily, could be even more removed than Danish was from Norwegian. Magda’s concentration of learned languages had always been Eastern European, for the convenience of her friends and classmates, and English because it was mandatory for so many things.

She might have bristled at anyone else telling her she didn’t have choice— albeit, subtly— but here she knew it was the truth and it was just another to grin in bear. Less grinning, more bearing. Magda made no reaction at all, which was confirmation.

Instead, her mind became a notepad, all sharp pointed and freshly dipped quill.

The goblins knew, and obviously wanted to know more. And the fact that Josephine didn’t want them to know any more made Magda a little more interested in studying, as instructed. She’d have other trips to help plan, and she could handle taking on the extra weight of a lie. If she wasn’t allowed to know everything, she would prove that she could handle it— beginning with breezy false tales for the Goblins. She could feel her heartbeat in her palm, as she thought over what it meant to hold onto threatening information. “I’ll see you tonight,” she guessed, looking for confirmation, but reasonably. Josephine was hardly accountable to her, and though she was in charge, her hours were her own.

If the magic was brewing, all stormy in Magda’s veins, she quelled it and took action: she began to carefully choose books, pull them from their slumber upon the shelves. It was a different sort of chaos contained within— history, murky claims, illicit trade— coupled with the beauty and richness of an entire stretch of the world, from nature to gold to language. A good, Swedish coffee sounded almost as appealing as the classified details on Josephine’s desk.