25 September 2012
8pm on a Tuesday night
Wolf & Lamb, London

"Right this way, Mr. Wilde," said the maître d' who began to lead the way through Salvador Falcón's latest acquisition, the fine dining experience that was the Wolf & Lamb of London. The hotelier could not resist covetous looks at the trappings of refinement. Falcón's initiative to embrace the new vampire law had been a smart one and Romulus Wilde would been keen to make the same moves for the Pendragon. But tonight was not about the hospitality business. No, tonight was about the business of attention.

They came to the curtained archway that acted as a portal to private city-view dining alcove. The maître d' announced him. "Mr. Romulus Wilde, sirs."

Barnabas Cuffe did not take his feet for their add-on, but did raise a finger in greeting. The little note which had informed the Daily Prophet's tyrant that Wilde was looking for him was still folded on the table by the untouched bread.

"Romulus, you know Henry Eastman, of course. And Peter Coffin," Cuffe said. Eastman was the American ambassador to the Ministry of Magic. Peter Coffin was with Gringotts. Romulus and Coffin were well acquainted, both being of Edinburgh lately, but Romulus had not met Eastman before.

"Good evening," Romulus said, making moves to shake hands of the other wizards.

Henry Eastman and Peter Coffin had already been acquainted with each other, albeit briefly through a negotiation in the prior spring. A shared fondness for cigars had been a convenient common language for the two. Truth be told, Eastman found Coffin's purist inclinations rather odd (unlike Cuffe's more sensitive, power-aligned politics, which he understood perfectly), but nevertheless they got on well.

Peter extended a handshake first; Wilde wasn't quite a neighbor, but he was pretty close to it, and a man like that was always good to know.

Henry moved later, having to file aside a page of notes on trade matters he'd meant to go over with Coffin if the opportunity arose.

"I understand your wife is one of ours," he said - ours being, as his omnipresent lapel pin showed - America.

"Well, sit down," Cuffe urged. He sometimes tired of Wilde's obvious pandering to those of higher status.

Romulus did so, and answered the American ambassador's asking after Esme. Back in the U.S., Esme (née Castillo) had more pull than here; it had been a set-back to find how little her family's status mattered among these old magical families.

"Yes, of Salem, Mass," Romulus said. That storied town, at least, conferred some clout. "She is looking forward to fall in Scotland. It reminds her of home. Always does."

If Henry had done his homework, he'll know Esme's connections to CAWW, that she was the daughter of a former stateswix, a congresswizard Bailwick Castillo.

"She is greatly distressed of late however. We've learned some disturbing news," he said. Wine had appeared for him, the glass anticipating his whim.

Cuffe moved a purple carrot around his plate. "Don't be coy. What is it this time?"

"A beloved aunt of hers was lost in the Second War. Her wand was never found. It was to go to Esme. They were so close, you see, and the wand was a masterpiece. The dire detail that is so troubling is that we believe it's been found. Under our noses for thirty years. Can you imagine?"

"Greyfriar," the ambassador muttered under his breath. The Hogwarts headmaster had made himself everyone's business with his scandal, and despite his sister's best efforts at reassurance, Henry did not sympathize with the man. He did, however, admire the way Greyfriar played the political game.

"CAWW can't let this slide," he said.

"The deaths of American citizens need to be fully investigated, you know that as well as I do."

He was performing a little bit - he was known as a good radio guy in crises.

Peter Coffin nodded along to all of it.

Romulus Wilde continued to hold the trio to his attention, taking his time getting to his ask. Despite the theatrics, Romulus saw he had Cuffe, at least for the moment. The old editor's gaze had stopped wandering, now he stared like a hawk.

"That's right," Romulus said after the ambassador played along, but then he realized he'd missed something. The Scottish hotelier was stopped up a moment, sure he'd heard the ambassador say the name of his quarry, which was not ideal, not ideal at all. If Eastman knew what was going on, that must mean, among other things, that Romulus was losing control of the information. He'd been rash.

"It was Greyfriar that took them. Now, I'm told they've been handed to the proper authorities already, but not a word's been uttered to the families. Far be it from me to accuse anyone of being..." (Romulus sat slowly back in the chair), "...a Death Eater, but certain questions need to be asked. The public has a right to know what's been kept hidden."

Cuffe laced his fingers together. "And you want the Daily &@@%'ing Prophet to shed the light. Imagine, though, a Greyfriar story with out 'werewolf' in it."

Cuffe seemed to find this funny. Romulus didn't appreciate that, so he pled to Eastman's sympathetic ear.

"He's a confirmed and seated Wizengamot Elder. Questions like these would be embarrassing -  the Ministry will bury it unless they're sure of powerful support."

Coffin gave Cuffe a wry look, clearly finding it funny.

Eastman was a lot less amused. He didn't acknowledge either Coffin or Cuffe directly, but instead looked to Wilde.

"We'll have none of it, you can be sure of that," he ruled. "Whether or not he's an actual Death Eater, Knox Greyfriar is complicit in 40 deaths, including Americans. He has got to go."

The gears turned in Peter Coffin's head.

"If the knife is wielded skillfully enough, we can affect what comes next," he floated. "The final note of Greyfriar's tenure will set public appetites for what comes after."

"Complicit in forty deaths? &@%^, old chap, you got there easily enough," Cuffe said with a cynical laugh. He sat back and started the ritual of lighting a cigar. Soon enough, the plates would clear themselves and there'd be more spirits.

Henry Eastman could conjure up narratives and connect dots with a frenzy and precision just as good as the people he represented. Cuffe wielded his newspaper with a little more subtlety, but seeing how quickly it could go from Wand to War was well illustrated.

"Of course, I'll need more," Cuffe said with a puff of smoke. The Daily Prophet had standards, so many of them.

Romulus leaned forward, looking a little dangerous. "I have all of it."

"But it can't come from you," Cuffe sniffed. Then he turned to Peter Coffin.

"You're with the school. What do you know about it?"

"Allow me to get my notes," replied Peter Coffin, seeming perhaps a little eager. Soon enough, a sheet of paper was levitating before his eyes, with his notes upon it.

"Greyfriar, our intrepid headmaster, told the Governors that he came into possession of the wands - absconded with them, he said - in 1981. He has held onto them since then, concealed them. The reason he gave was a fear of retribution, by the victims or by the Wizengamot. He said there would be attacks on, quote, 'any trace of grey'."

The lawyer's tone was precise, level without giving the impression of condescending. He had read before from meeting notes written only hours after the fact.

Eyes flicking from the paper to Eastman, Coffin then addressed the American.

"Ambassador, what do your sources tell you?"

Henry adjusted his necktie.

"My source is a friend of Greyfriar's. She's credulous; says he'd been a healer, pulled in with a bad crowd. But I think what you have is plenty for an opening volley, isn't it?"

Moreover, he hadn't been able to corroborate that Greyfriar had been a healer.

"Slippery &@%#, isn't he," Barnabas Cuffe mused in a puff of smoke that his wife Agatha would chide him for indulging in.

Romulus expected that Greyfriar would act out, but the old werewolf moved more quickly than Romulus had anticipated, even coming to the governors with more candidness than would seem wise given his situation. Romulus wanted to know how Eastman's connection was, but he could find out easily enough. The overlap between the circles of the old family wizard from the south and the American Ambassador had to be a fairly narrow sliver.

"If we don't act publicly, he'll work his own leverage behind the curtain on his own terms," Romulus said. "He'll get away with it."

"The people deserve to know, of course," Cuffe said drolly. "The Daily Prophet will serve as it always has, shedding light into the dark corners. Can't have corruption run amok, can we?"

Romulus Wilde accepted a glass of something thick and amber-gold. "You can't know how much it will mean to my Esme."

"The Congress will be very grateful," added Eastman, echoing Romulus's sentiment but on behalf of his government.

Peter Coffin could see the opening volley was all set, but he felt there was more to discuss.

"We'll have to plan the second strike," he reminded the others. "What we know is a fantastic opening, but we'll need to investigate to keep the pressure campaign going."

He didn't know who would volunteer the resources to go dig for more, but he knew it would be necessary.

Barnabas Cuffe didn't entirely agree with Peter Coffin's next steps. Blue smoke curled from the potent cigar.

"One whisper of the word 'Death Eater' and Carstairs will have to act," he said. Cuff and the MLE chief Sol Carstairs were on chummy terms. Cuffe's wife, the famous WWN star Agatha Pendragon, enjoyed Solomon's wife's photography and they had several framed and hanging in their home.

"We'll let those &%#$ing Aurors do the hard part and if we don't like what they find, they can be helped along," he said.

"Sit tight, run out the clock," Henry summarized what Cuffe proposed.

"We're not in a rush. They'll be reluctant to replace him during the year anyway, barring serious legal trouble."

He felt Coffin was in a hurry. Wilde as well. They were both younger men than he, with fewer intrigues behind them.

Coffin nodded, somewhat reluctantly. He would've been happier to act quickly and decapitate Greyfriar.

Barnabas Cuffe, like Eastman, sensed Wilde's eagerness and suspected there was more to it than this soppy story about loyalty to his wife who he depicted as some broken up frail thing on a fainting couch when Cuffe knew Esme née Castillo to be rather savage in an upstairs window kind of way. Whatever the couple were plotting exactly, Cuffe couldn't fully divine but since it suited him just fine, he'd take over the tiller if he could.

Rumors about Minister Glass were stirring as well, which was fine with Cuffe, too, as the pair had soured. Political shake-ups were opportunities if you got on the right ship on the right tide.

Romulus Wilde, of course, was not oblivious to Cuffe and Eastman's coldness. They were the elitist sort who sat so comfortably in power, keeping the gates. He's as soon dine with them at their fine table than see them gone, really. But he was not discouraged. It was the game he came to play. Blood and knuckles were for his lessers, but his betters required a finer manipulation.

He felt the time was right now to leave the others to their meal and get on with it. He had other matters to attend to this evening; hotels were a night and day business. Romulus downed the last of his glass, and stood up.

"That's my hour, gentlemen."

"Oh, going already," Cuffe drawled.

"No rest for the wicked," Romulus confirmed. "Keep owls,"[1] he said.

1.	Maybe a wixy way to say "stay in touch".