Chapter 5. The Hidden Realm Underground
Feigning a bend to pick something up, Newt caught sight of Duncan safe and sound, and his eyes lit up at once.
He hurriedly straightened up, and when he reached Tina, he gave her a composed nod, wanting to follow behind Duncan into the house.
But Tina quickly returned to her former position and blocked him.
Newt showed an embarrassed smile, his left hand rubbing back and forth unnaturally on his coat.
"Tina, we're a bit late coming back today, because, because..."
"Because of what?" Tina asked, her voice calm and level.
Newt's lips moved.
Even after rummaging through his mind, he found no suitable excuse, so he could only sigh and confess honestly.
"I received a letter when I went out today.
Something happened over in New York, so I took Duncan over to have a look."
"Just to have a look?"
"And rescued two Erumpents as well," Newt said.
"But don't worry, I didn't let Duncan go over.
He was in a safe place the entire time!"
Tina stared at Newt for several seconds, then said, "Then why didn't you tell me sooner and let me go with you, or do you think I'm getting old and would hold you back?"
"N-no, I absolutely didn't mean that, it's just..." Newt said reflexively.
Suddenly sensing something off, he widened his eyes and asked tentatively, "You don't object to my taking Duncan out?"
"Would it help if I did?" Tina snorted.
"Have either of you kept anything I said before in mind?"
Newt gave a simple, good-natured smile and said nothing.
So long as Tina wasn't angry because of it, that was fine.
"All right, go and eat," Tina said crossly.
"Next time remember not to be so rash.
Although the magical creatures in your case will protect Duncan, he is, after all, just a not-yet-enrolled young wizard.
Someone has to accompany him!"
"Mm-hm, mm-hm!" Newt answered repeatedly, like a merciless nodding machine.
Sitting at the dining table, Duncan sighed silently, a little regretful not to have seen Tina's grand scene of criticising Newt.
Newt, coming over, caught sight of this and rewarded him with an exasperated roll of the eyes.
After dinner, Newt and Duncan exchanged not a word, not even a glance, yet, as if they had agreed long before, they stood up almost at the same time and, with perfect tacit understanding, dashed towards a door in the corner of the room.
What lay within could only be described as filthy, messy, and poor.
Against the wall lay a jumble of battered brooms.
The floor was piled with planks of varying sizes that looked as if they had been taken from some ancient cupboard.
In the darkest corner at the back there were many little odds and ends one could not make out.
It seemed to be a storeroom abandoned for a long time and unused.
Newt deftly moved aside the brooms leaning against the left-hand wall, narrowed his eyes and, by the faint light, scanned the ancient wall.
He raised his right hand and pressed his finger hard against the third plank counting from the bottom.
A rumbling sounded at once, the wall before him suddenly began to tremble, and moments later the planks slid apart to left and right, revealing a dark staircase that led straight down.
This was a mechanism Newt had carefully designed, chiefly to guard against surprise inspections by the Ministry of Magic, for fear they would confiscate the magical creatures he kept.
Duncan followed behind Newt and stepped onto the somewhat damp stone steps, heading down.
The floating torches on both sides lit up one after another with their footsteps.
After a turn, the stairs became a level passage.
Once through, it suddenly grew bright ahead.
They arrived at a single-storey work shed built from neatly stacked stone blocks.
Various tools hung on the walls.
In the wooden cabinet on the left upon entering from the doorway were ropes, nets, and collection jars.
On the table to the right sat a very old typewriter, a pile of manuscripts, and a medieval bestiary.
Notes, maps, and several moving pictures of strange creatures were pinned to the wall in front of the table.
On the shelf beside it stood a row of potted plants.
Tablets, pills, syringes, and potion bottles made up a medicine cabinet, adjacent to a swaying, dried corpse.
Looking through the arched doorway at the left front of the work shed, one could see several paths leading off into the distance.
Gazing far, the scenery at the end of each path was different—some were rippling lakes, some dense emerald forests, some gathering stormclouds with lightning and thunder, and some with a blazing sun and clear weather.
Duncan entered the workshop and, inadvertently, saw a small figure beneath the cabinet on the left.
A palm-sized Niffler, its whole body covered in black fur and with a rather long snout, was energetically scratching at something.
Duncan stopped and bent to inspect, and saw that the Niffler was hugging a potion bottle in its arms, with a dangerous symbol printed on its side.
He immediately said in a deep voice, "Pro, put that back at once—that's not your toy!"
At the sudden sound of Duncan's voice, the misbehaving Niffler gave a full-body shudder.
Its round eyes like black pearls stared at Duncan for a moment, then it hurriedly used its sharp claws to frantically scratch at the metal cap on the bottle.
Yet for ages it failed to get it off.
But Duncan had already reached it.
A sorrowful look came into Pro's eyes; it gave a push with its paw, and the bottle wobbled and rolled deep beneath the cabinet.
Pro turned and hurriedly fled into the distance, intending to wait until Duncan and Newt left before coming back to continue its career of theft.
Only after it had taken a few steps did it feel an irresistible force at its neck, hauling it up into the air.
"You little thing, I leave you in the workshop for half a day and you're turning the place upside down!
You even dug out a locked potion bottle—do you know how dangerous what's inside is?
A single drop could dissolve your entire body!" Duncan said sternly, face set, adopting the air of interrogating a criminal who had committed a grave error.
"Speak.
Who helped you open the drawer?"
Pro let its limbs droop in dejection and swayed back and forth in mid-air with Duncan's movements, silently gazing off into the distance, the very picture of a salted fish unafraid of boiling water—do as you like; I won't say anything anyway.
"Oh?
Getting tough, are you?" Duncan arched an eyebrow and tapped Pro lightly on the head with a finger.
"Even if you don't say, I know it was Pickett who helped you with the lock!"
Pro's head shot up.
It blinked its round eyes in puzzlement, as if asking: How did you know?
"Hmph—besides him, which Bowtruckle would dare to help you pick a lock?"
After speaking, Duncan suddenly thought of something and looked around the room.
"Right—where's Pickett?
Where has he hidden himself?"
"Duncan, stop disciplining the two of them for now; let's go treat the Erumpents' wounds first."
Newt, well practised, rummaged a few bottles of milky ointment out of the medicine cabinet, waved his hand, and went out through the arched door.
"Coming, coming."
Duncan stuffed the struggling Pro into the side pocket of his clothes.
His finger hovered for a moment and then gave a gentle tap, just enough to poke back the little head Pro had sneaked out.
Then he quickly followed after Newt.
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