Title taken from Sergei Prokofiev's "Dance of the Knights" from Romeo & Juliet.  I might recommend listening while you read (it's fun classical music!).

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 Josephine was looking forward to this part.   

She’d left Magda behind in their lodgings, pondering the curses on the necklace they were sent to retrieve.   She was under specific instructions to not touch it, though Josephine supposed she would figure out whether or not that had happened pretty quickly upon returning to the villa. 

Josephine might have been questioned its extravagance of the villa they were staying in, but a friend had offered it and who was she to say no?  It would also hide the inexplicable happenings of right flashes and loud noises from the eyes and ears of muggles.  Generally, magic was a part of most Ivorian lives, but it was traditionally based and not generally of Western tradition, the magic of colonialism and conquest.   

Being in this part of the world, Josephine had read more than her fair share of history books, both muggle and magical, as in these communities, they were not always such separate things.  They influenced each other greatly. Very different from much of Europe, where secrecy laws had developed out of their own catastrophes. 

She was just glad that she could also make her way fairly unnoticed at this point as well.  The overwhelming atmosphere was celebratory anyway. Fętes des Masques was going on and bonfires, dances, and celebrations went well into the evening. 

The long shadows cast by the streetlights helped provide Josephine with the cover she needed to make it across the short distance down the road.  They were not far from the center of Abidjan, but they were far enough that vegetation created any number of dangers. 

Josephine kept her wand poised by her side and clutched the strap of her bag a little tighter to her shoulder.  Its contents were, at this point, the most precious thing in her care.  Trainees could be replaced…

It wasn’t long before she approached the gates of the estate, she put the tip of her wand into the lock and it popped open.  She could always count on Marat.  Slipping through the gate, she wordlessly flicked her wand and the lock and gates clicked shut behind her.  The path illuminated as she walked, a foreign plant (Josephine knew very little of foliage) whose bulbs shone as the leaves peeled back.  She’d have to remark about hiring such a smart horticulturist. 

Everything was really expertly done, though she expected no less of Marat. 

The glass doors swung open as she stepped in front of them and Josephine strode across the threshold.  As long as she was in position of the parcel, Marat held no cards.  It was once they exchanged that caution would be exercised. 

She could smell him, spice and wood hit her almost immediately, before she could hear him.  “Ms. St. Just!” his voice boomed from the top of the stairwell.  Josephine’s ears guided her eyes and Marat stood at the top of the stairs in two of the three pieces of a suit and a brown cigar lodged between his fingers while the other hand held a clear drink.   Ah, she should have known.  “How is the villa treating you?  Cozy, I trust?” he lifted the glass and tipped the rim toward her before taking a generous sip. 

“You certainly know how to leave a welcoming present,” she replied looking displeased.  The serpent curse on the door had been a… warm welcome.  Naturally, Marat threw his head back and laughed before he began descending the stairs. 

A thin trail of blue-white smoke followed him and Josephine turned slightly as the stairway curved and he followed it along, “I thought it would be a fitting welcome for your apprentice.”  His smile was toothy, like a snarl.  “I trust she handled the task?” 

Marat knew her too well.  “I was given the pick of the litter, so to speak,” Josephine returned, easily.  “But, I’m sure none of that really concerns you, does it?” she asked with the raising of one eyebrow. 

“Without the snowdrop here,” he commented sarcastically – probably a jab at her trainee’s Northern heritage, “I suppose it isn’t.  Why’d you leave her behind?  Afraid I’d ignore you?”  Marat fancied himself some sort of charmer and then took a long draw from the cigar. 

“Eisenberg,” for her already knew all of this, thank Leandre for that, “is otherwise occupied.  The official business,” she raised both of her eyebrows and shifted her weight so the pack she was carrying fell further forward, though she still kept a tight grip on it. 

Marat exhaled; a plume of smoke engulfed the room, twisting around above their heads in thick tendrils.  “No time for pleasantries?” he mocked offense before hopping down from the step and motioned her further into what could only be described as a mansion. 

Josephine fell into step quickly behind him.  “I’ll have a few papers for you to sign before the exchange,” she delivered in as smooth a tone as one might recount what they had for breakfast, “getting into the vault was no easy feat without the appropriate paperwork.” 

Marat glanced at her skeptically, “I do not see how my note didn’t satisfy the needs of the little beasties.”  His lip curled when he spoke of the goblins.  Josephine could not blame him. 

“Consider it the favor I will be doing you when the time comes.” 

He frowned at her, but her expression didn’t change.  “Very well.” 

They ended up in his library, lined to the ceiling with books and decked out in a style that, if you didn’t have a careful eye through the rest of the house, you might miss the hints to Algeria that are just… so clearly displayed in the library.  At least a quarter of the books were written in Arabic, Josephine knew in his private collection there were Phoenician and Ottoman Turkish texts hidden away. They were the things Josephine would kill (quite literally) to get her hands on. 

Unfortunately, for the most part, Marat proved himself useful and Josephine so hated the… labor required to kill and thieve.  “You know I’ll require seeing the mask?” Josephine asked. 

“Patience, Ms. St Just!” he scolded and brandished his wand.  The gold covered handle caught light between his long, curved fingers and glinted with each turn of his wrist.  The combination of spells was long and complicated.  She was not disappointed by the care he took in storing her prize.  When he finished, a section of bookshelf shifted forward and into the center of the room, revealing a doorway.  “Flair,” he explained with another toothy grin and shifted his shoulders and chest forward to gain momentum before taking a step to the lead. 

Again, Josephine fell behind and stood straighter, more alert.  The passage was dark – solitary candles lit the way down a circling staircase, “how medieval,” she commented under her breath and continued down.  The case ended in a cool, dark room, though she could tell the floor was carpeted under the heel of her shoe.  Marat waved his wand and light came up on a collection. 

Treasures of local and international interest were stored in this room.  Josephine was familiar with this space.  With its contents.  The passageway changed most of the time, but this room seldom did.  She’d moved more than one of them in the past.  Some of it was new.  “Who’s doing your favors these days, Sebastian?”

“Don’t worry,” he rolled his eyes at the question, “I merely can’t afford you anymore.”  Josephine laughed and strolled away from her host, more comfortable in this space.  Her eyes looked to every case, quickly surveying. 

“There are some very dangerous things in here,” she commented, eyes flashing with interest at each item, before settling in front of it. 

Marat followed along appraisingly, strutting in pride.  These collectors, always strutting like the overgrown, featherless creatures that were dragons.   Glorified magpies.   “Aren’t there though?” he cut across the floor and made his way to a lit case in the back. 

The curled iron set against the stained wood were impossible to mistake.  Remnants of paint from the era in which It was made still flecked the rough surface.  “The fetes provided a good cover for this piece, no?” her eyes did not leave the object.

“Yes, quite fortuitous for me, I’d say,” Marat looked at her with eyebrows raised.  “Enforcements will be disposed with its handiwork for a while, I’d say.”  Josephine did not press, though it was clear Sebastian would like nothing more than for her to ask. 

Luckily, she was sure a newspaper would cover it, if Sebastian were proud of it.  She’d pick up the leading French paper in the morning.  Instead, she slung her own pack around and undid the ties that kept it closed.  The pouch fell open and Josephine reached in, retrieving the papers.  “The last bit of my business,” she assured him and shifted her fingers so the quill poked out from behind the stack. 

Marat produced a pair of reading glasses from his pocket, giving her a strong long before he put them on.  Apparently his self-esteem would be wounded if she commented, so Josephine remained silent.  “A moment, you understand?” he was obviously only asking out of courtesy and Josephine nodded, motioning her hand toward his workstation. 

“I’ve always loved that desk,” she commented off-handedly.  The strutting, hoarding dragon tripped over his shiny, dress shoe clad feet.  Josephine just smiled as he waved his hand – another order to not comment – before sitting down at the desk.  He flicked his wand, turning on the lights above the desk and held up the parchments. “You’ll see they’re completely standard,” Josephine put forward, though she knew he would read them anyway.  The grunt he gave in response only confirmed her suspicion.  She let him go about reading.  Josephine had no rush and nothing to hide.   

If only it didn’t take him dozen hours to read.  In the meantime, Josephine retied the pack and adjusted it over her shoulder, turning her attention back to the rotating mask in the case.  She’d been promised the case it came in – additional wards to ensure it didn’t cause any unintended damage on the final leg of its journey. 

A twisted path it had taken, assuredly.  It took skill to get something like this for that long… “These are all in order,” Marat announced and Josephine turned her head in time to see and hear the quill scratching across the page. 

“Don’t forget the other,” Josephine instructed. 

Marat switched between the papers in a fumbling motion.  She smiled again.  The ink slithered onto the page from the tip of the quill and it was done.  “In case the beasties are wondering,” he stood up and extended the rolled parchments. 

Josephine plucked them from his fingers and extracted the clear case from her bag.  The garment inside was folded to museum specifications.  Josephine liked to preserve the integrity of the item, particularly if it was a garment.  The rich, gold embroidery popped against the deep, royal blue of the silk. 

“Ah! Just as I remembered,” he reached for it, but Josephine pulled back.  His look was questioning, until the dawning of reason set over him.  Marat quickly flicked his wrist and the wooden case, carved with protective runes in bright colors.  It was very much a relic of its culture. 

“Stand back,” his voice took on an uncharacteristically serious tone and Josephine took his word.  A step back she took and watched in awe as he flicked the case open on the floor and then removed himself by several feet before he slowly and methodically levitated the mask into the case and then snapped it shut. 

Josephine pointed her own wand at the case and held out her other hand to lower Marat’s wand.  “Just my own insurance,” she looked at him with an expression just short of accusation and locked the case with a quick colloportus.  Marat held up his hands as though he were being apprehended (as if that would happen).

The exchange, after the point she didn’t immediately invert upon getting the case (she wouldn’t put it past him), was simple.  The case was summoned; she handed over the clear box with the silken object inside. 

“A pleasure, Ms. St Just,” he beamed, practically clutching the box to his chest.  “I’ll show you out?”  It seemed everyone was happy with what they had and business was over.

She nodded and like that, they were headed through another tunnel and back through the library to the foyer, away from the room that Josephine could have spent hours in if not for the heavy weight in her hand.  The pack on her back now only contained the vault permissions.  She wouldn’t dare trust the mask anywhere but her hands. 

It was a quick walk back to the villa anyhow.  There was very little here that would surprise her. 

“Enjoy the rest of your stay, St Just,” he put his left hand behind his back and waved the wand so the doors would open.  “And pleaes, at the end of your stay, let me know if the Rippringham-Gomfrey estate purchase was a wise one.” 

Josephine paused.  “Wise? No.”  She frowned.  “And probably not worth the price either.”  She backed toward the door and turned at the last moment before disappearing back onto the bioluminescent plant path.  As the doors closed behind her, Josephine heard laughter growing faint and then the click shut before silence…