Schrättelehaus Bed & Breakfast
Plurs, a small magical village in the southern Swiss Alps
28 December, 2011
6:16 AM



The icy cold air outside had painted a lattice of frost against the window overnight, but the bedroom was still warm from the charms she'd cast the night before when Raizel finally built up the nerve to creep out from under the weight of the downy quilt. 

The magical village of Plurs was tucked into the shadow of the mountain, which meant that the sun here rose late and set early.  This time of year, when the snow was heavy in the mountain passes and the trails all turned icy overnight, there wasn't much use in getting too early of a start.  The monster that had been terrorizing the small town would still be there waiting for her, whether she left at dawn or just after.

But habit was habit, and there was no use sleeping in.  Raizel had descended to the bottom floor, cloak wrapped tightly around her, and gone to take her breakfast.  The meal was simple but filling, and it was good to have warm food inside her as she started her day. 

As she was just finishing up and getting ready to climb the stairs again, Raizel noticed that the innkeeper was setting out a second place at one of the other carved wooden tables.

"Do you have another guest today?" she inquired in polite German.

He looked back at her with a broad smile.  "Yes.  A blessing, having two of you at once," he teased, as he carefully folded a napkin, and then set it next to the plate. 

Raizel knew that despite the teasing tone, the innkeeper likely meant that; the village's plague had made certain that there had been fewer visitors than usual this autumn.  With winter now upon them, the inhabitants who made their living from Plurs' normally vigorous tourist trade had to be getting desperate.

Having another guest at the inn was not what she wanted to hear, though.  The goblins had been worried that Chrysopoeia or one of the other banks would send their own agent; that was why they had rushed her here so quickly.  But Raizel hid her frown, instead flashing the innkeeper an impish smile.

"I might have to meet him," she said, with a twinkle in her eye.

Her host laughed and gave her a wink.  "Perhaps," he said.  "If you happen to like tall Englishmen.  He's in the room at the end of the hallway if you'd like to say hello."

An Englishman.  Raizel climbed the stairs in a steady rhythm, her thoughts racing.  Chrysopoeia wasn't likely to employ anyone from the United Kingdom; most of the other European banks were the same, preferring to recruit local talent.  Could it be some other Cursebreaker from Gringotts?  She didn't like the thought that one of her rivals might have been sent here as well, but it would be just like the goblins to assign this sort of recovery mission to two of their employees and then not bother to tell either one about it.

Either way, she decided firmly as she reached the first floor landing, whoever it was that had come all this way to intrude on her mission, it was best to confront him head on.

The door to the room at the end of the hallway was still firmly shut.  A quick murmured Goleya gave her a look at the protective wards; whoever was staying there had taken care to add their own layer of insurance on top of the regular defensive charms provided by the inn.  The extra spells had been skillfully cast, but with a few sketched runes and a whispered spell, Raizel slipped past them and into the other guest's room.

Whoever the newcomer was, he wasn't expecting early morning visitors to his hotel room.  The bed was still unmade, a large leather satchel set on the floor beside it.  Raizel could hear the shower running in the bathroom, with a voice cheerfully humming along.  A beat later, the water was shut off, followed by the sound of someone climbing out of the shower.

There wasn't any time to snoop.  Raizel stepped back, pressing herself against the wall just next to the door where someone wouldn't be likely to see her.  A quick glance around the room showed that it was far too neatly dusted for her to use her favorite charm here.  Instead, she'd have to improvise.

The door to the bathroom swung open, and a lanky giant of a man stepped out, walking straight past where she'd tucked herself away against the wall.  From the back, he looked tall and lean, with light brown hair and small ears.  He was also completely stark naked, which gave Raizel a rather good look at both his well-shaped bum and the noticeable scar running across his lower back.

"Good morning," she said brightly in English as she stepped up behind him, pointing her wand at the back of the naked wizard's neck.  "It is too cold to wear so little. Although," she added bemusedly, with an arched eyebrow that he couldn't see, "I suppose you English are used to this sort of weather."

Christmas holidays had come and gone and Duncan was quickly thrown back into work. A tip had come after the rather successful - in his opinion - Boxing Day get together regarding a dragon in an unusual location and acting in a highly unusual manner. He had been asked to investigate mainly in the hopes of pacifying the dragon and sending it back to somewhere more suitable.

Getting everything put in order had taken a day and the trip was relatively cheap. Not many wanted to visit the Alps at this time of year, fortunately for him. Fewer people meant fewer complications and it definitely meant less risk to the Statute of Secrecy beyond the town of Plurs.

Duncan arrived at the hotel early evening and the innkeeper had seemed more than happy to accommodate him. The building was rather devoid of life. The Scotsman could only imagine that along with business being slow the innkeeper likely had been overcome with boredom.

As usual, whenever on a business trip Duncan woke early. The cold bite of air only bothered him until he started his morning workout. The routine kept him fit for any number of tasks he might be called to do. It also helped wake his body and mind far more efficiently than a cup of coffee.

After his workout he stepped into the shower, allowing the steaming hot water to beat at his body while he scrubbed it clean. The cold air that greeted him again when he finished came as a relief. Duncan used the available towel to dry off the majority of water before dropping it to the floor.

His first destination was his leather bag by the bed, but hearing a voice and feeling a wand on his neck he froze. The woman's tone and accent pricked a familiar cord in his memory. It was a couple of heartbeats after she finished talking that he was able to place it. Really, he shouldn't be too surprised that someone from Gringotts would show up. He didn't know yet whether to be glad or upset that it was Raizel Cohen.

"I'm a bit more used to it than most," he replied, turning his head just enough to see the edge of her outline. "But you should know that by now, Cohen. Mind taking off the wand?"

It only took Raizel an instant after her trap was sprung to realize two inherent truths.

One:  The innkeeper had been wrong.  It wasn’t an Englishman who had made his way to the afflicted village to serve as her rival after all.

Two:  The unmistakable Scottish accent that served as evidence for the first truth belonged to a familiar Scottish wizard.

The Cursebreaker blinked, quite nearly faltering.  But she recovered quickly, steadying her wand against the back of the much taller wizard’s neck as she considered her options.

It had been almost two years since she’d last been acquainted with Duncan McBoid.  The good news was that he wasn’t a rival.  The Scottish wizard had nothing to do with the goblins and their games, and although his interests occasionally worked against hers, it was always more by happenstance than by design. 

But McBoid also wasn’t exactly an ally.  The last time that their work assignments had butted up against each other, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms: in fact, ever since the incident with the Nifflers, Raizel had done her best to steer completely clear of both Rome and anything resembling a Muggle sewer.  Their run-in before that with the leprechaun colony hadn’t ended much better.  Of everyone whom she might cross paths with here in Switzerland, McBoid certainly didn’t have any reason to be helpful towards her.

Raizel paused, pressing her tongue against the back of her teeth as she thought, absently studying the man’s backside again.  (She wouldn’t make that mistake of not recognizing him from this angle twice.)  Then, finally, she gave an emphatic cluck of the tongue, stepping back far enough to allow the naked Scottish wizard to turn around.

“You are a long way from home, Duncan McBoid,” she remarked coolly.  She kept her wand in her left hand, twirling it in and out of her fingers — a reminder that one of them was armed and the other was still naked, even if the weapon was no longer directly pointed at him. 

Raizel arched a brow, meeting his gaze daringly as she gave him the faintest hint of a smug smile.  There was only one thing that could have brought Duncan McBoid to this village at this time, and they both knew it.  “Still chasing dragons?”

Cohen took her time with her thoughts and deciding he wasn't going to jump her before finally lowering her wand. Duncan turned fully to face her when she did, unashamed and unabashed at his bareness, purposefully placing his hands on his hips.

Cheerily enough given the situation he replied,“I like travelling. It’s always an adventure and I never know who I’ll meet or run into."

Raizel Cohen hadn't crossed his mind in quite a while. Then again, his jobs during the past two years hadn't involved any reason for goblin greed either. In some ways they were worse than dragons.

Having anyone break into his hotel room was not welcome or ideal. Being in a village that currently had next to no people Duncan had assumed he wouldn’t need his usual ward that alerted him immediately of tampering. He knew better than to make assumptions and this reaffirmed the lesson.

”Still chasing dragons?” the shorter witch blatantly asked.

“Only when necessary. Still chasing treasure, then?” Duncan retorted with a grin, letting her know they were on equal terms in knowing the other’s business. The gold and goods the dragon had been stealing had been included in the report one of his contacts had sent him. The more information he knew going into a job meant a better chance for success.

Treasure, treasure, treasure.  It was always the first thing that came to mind when anyone thought of Gringotts; the goblins had all kinds of treasure stored deep underground in London, inside the vaults and cavernous chambers of the magical bank.   Even treasure that currently belonged to other beings, they guarded zealously.  The location and acquisition of treasure was the primary reason that Gringotts employed mages as Cursebreakers: they were all mere agents that the goblins could send out into the world to find more wealth to bring back.

"Of course," Raizel said with a slight smirk.  There was no point in lying about that; lies worked best when they were about the little details, not the big truths that everyone knew.

She paused, considering the Scottish wizard more thoughtfully.  McBoid might not be an ally, but he was also resolute and straight-forward: the sort of man that she could probably trust, as long as their interests didn't bring them into direct conflict.  But, she thought carefully, there was no reason that they needed to be at odds this time.  She hadn't come here to bring home a dragon; whatever happened to the beast once she got what the goblins wanted wasn't her concern.  And Duncan McBoid was far more qualified than she to mollify something as horrible as a dragon.

"So I am here for treasure, and you are here for dragons..."  She tapped her chin, as if she were seriously considering the question, and then arched a brow at McBoid.  "Those two do not seem like they need to be mutually exclusive this time, I think."

"I agree. Especially since my dragon is probably guarding your treasure," Duncan retorted. Besides their fierceness and general bad tempers, hoarding and protecting treasure was what dragons were best known for.

Ideally the treasure should be sent back to those it had been stolen from. Which was an impossible dilemma unless all the items conveniently had a note stating who they belonged to. Considering the unlikelihood of such fortune, the witch could have it for her greedy employers.

Satisfied that Cohen wasn't going to get hex happy on him at this time, Duncan reached over and grabbed the clean set of clothes he had set out by his bag. As he began dressing (in no particular order) he asked, "You've already had breakfast, Aye?" Some people liked to eat breakfast before they took their bath. The Cursebreaker had always seemed the sort to want food first. Some days he agreed with the sentiment, depending on the previous evening’s activities.

At her acknowledgement Duncan gave a short nod. "Right. I can eat breakfast then while you finish getting ready. If that's agreeable with you, of course,” he said, fully intending to go down and eat no matter what her reply. With the rest of his morning routine finished, he could finally acknowledge how famished he was.

It was rather a shame that Duncan McBoid was so quick to start pulling his clothes on.  The Cursebreaker stepped back, one eyebrow raised bemusedly as she watched.  Of all the directions that this morning could have taken, encountering the Scottish wizard was not perhaps the worst outcome.

At his statement -- not a question -- she flashed him a ravishing smile.  Wizards were always so quick to start telling her how events would unfold.

"Twenty minutes," she told him as she turned back towards the door.  "I would hate to let breakfast get in the way of an adventure."

---

A little more than twenty minutes later, as the sun just started to peek over the top of the eastern mountain, they were headed out the door of the small inn and on their way to see the dragon.

It was a fresh, piercing kind of cold that morning, with occasional gusts of wind that seemed to cut straight to the bone.  Raizel had bundled herself up in layers of shearling and warm down, with a slick outer layer enchanted to keep the cold and wet out.  A knit cap was pulled low over her forehead, and a warm scarf wrapped to shield the lower part of her face from the chill.

The road was steep leaving the village of Plurs, and a fresh coating of powdered snow had accumulated on it overnight.  The pair was mostly quiet as they picked their way up the hill, climbing from the lower square framed by inns and shops to the higher slopes, which were dotted with increasingly expensive chalet-style homes.   These, Raizel knew, were the manors and holiday getaways owned by the Plurs elite.  They built their homes up high with an unobstructed view, overlooking the main street where the common folk went about their daily business, which was rather capitalistic of them. 

Most years, late December filled the chalets with seasonal activity, as the wealthy mages and wixes who owned them took their holidays.  But this year, much like the empty village below, the charming-looking homes had been left to stand a silent watch all through the Christmas season.  Their barren rooms were yet another victim of the dragon.

It was harder than it should be to climb the steep road; the newly fallen snow was easy enough to navigate, but the cobblestones underneath made for a slick, icy surface, making it challenging to get a grip even with their boots.  It would have been far easier to apparate to their destination, but here in the mountains, that could be dangerous.  The loud, sharp sound and quick shift in matter brought about by apparition had been known to trigger small avalanches.

Finally, though, they reached the upper rim of the village.  The chalets here were really more like manors, gazing down on the village below like medieval barons as they stood tucked among dark green pines trees, laced with snow.  At the corner past the last chalet, the cobblestones under their feet vanished, transitioning to an unpaved mountain path that turned sharply uphill.

Raizel stopped as she reached the edge between the road and the path.  Shielding her eyes with one hand, she squinted up the white mountain.  It was dotted with pine trees a bit farther, and then turned into a massive ivory expanse, rising and rising up to the gray sky.  But a closer examination revealed that it was not all smooth:  there were crags and ridges, subtle differences in the coloring of the snow all the way to a blue-gray smoothness near the distant peak.

"There," she said, her voice slightly muffled by her scarf.  She used a gloved hand to point at a spot just above the tree line, near the shadowy base of a steep moraine.  It was hard to make it out, but the shadows could have concealed the entrance to a cave.  "That is where your fire-breathing friend is supposed to be."

The Scotsman squinted and looked up along the mountain to where Cohen pointed. "That's a good spot for him. Unless he happens to be sound asleep sneaking up on him won’t be easy.”

Duncan hoped to come out of this encounter without any burns or being terribly maimed. His ankle length coat, boots, and gloves made of dragonhide would help with that dream. If his luck for the day did happen to run out, however, at least he knew a great healer who could help take care of it if not fix it.

Ideally he would like to sneak close enough to stick the dragon with a sleeping dart or two then wait in safety until they took full effect. A sleeping dragon wasn't completely safe of course. Sometimes the beasts moved in their sleep suddenly in response to a dream bruising or breaking the bones of an unexpecting handler. Sometimes they snored and sometimes that snoring included fire. Still, a sleeping dragon was safer than one that was awake.

Readjusting his scarf, his bag securely resting over his shoulders, Duncan looked back at his temporary adventure partner, "Shall we?"

At her response he began walking with her once more, gaze traveling over the lay of the land. Snow covered mountains like this one could be tricky, the smallest thing could cause an avalanche. Barbegazi[1] sometimes warned people of such events, but Duncan didn't know if any lived here or not. He wasn't exactly a regular to these mountains.

1.

Barbegazi