"The borrower is slave to the lender." — Proverbs 22:7
The local branch of Gringotts was less like a bank and more like a fortress. Hit Wizards patrolled the perimeter with wands drawn, while Goblin warriors in heavy armour supervised from the ramparts.
Regulus and Hestia walked towards the main gate, their hoods pulled low.
The attention of every guard—wizard and Goblin alike—snapped towards them instantly. Regulus could feel the tension in the air; grips tightened on wands and spears. One wrong move, and they would be bombarded with enough spells to level a house.
Though such an attack did not pose a fatal threat to Regulus personally, he had Hestia to consider. Besides, Gringotts was their employer. It was generally inadvisable to make the person paying you feel threatened.
They were stopped by a Hit Wizard on commission. He was a rugged man, his face a roadmap of scars so terrifying that even his own wife would likely be afraid to sleep next to him.
"Take a hike, kids. You got no business here," the wizard growled, stepping into their path.
Regulus removed his hood calmly.
"I am here regarding a commission. I need to speak with the Head Goblin."
The wizard paused. He looked at Regulus—young, neat, aristocratic, and bearing none of the desperate, filthy look common to the Dark Mages of this settlement. If Regulus had looked like a local, that first sentence would have been the last of their conversation; the wizard would have stunned him and thrown his body into a trench without a second thought.
"You can't just waltz in here and demand to speak to the boss," the wizard sneered. "State your name and affiliation."
Regulus leaned in slightly and whispered a single word.
"Nostradamus."
The wizard blinked. He didn't know the meaning of the word—he likely thought it was a code phrase or the name of a powerful organization. But the confidence with which the boy spoke it made him hesitate.
He signaled another wizard to keep an eye on them and went inside to report.
Minutes later, the wizard returned with a Goblin in tow.
The Goblin was impeccably dressed in a pinstripe suit, though his features were as sharp and unpleasant as any of his kin. He looked at Regulus and Hestia with suspicion.
"Come in," he rasped, turning back towards the bank.
Regulus and Hestia followed him.
Once inside, Regulus noted that the interior resembled a wealthy wizard's manor more than a bank branch. A crystal chandelier hung in the foyer. A young human butler stood waiting to collect their cloaks. He looked nervous, his hands shaking as he took the heavy robes Regulus handed him, almost dropping them.
Regulus and Hestia ignored the clumsiness, but the guide Goblin glared at the human with pure contempt.
They were led into a vast, spacious hall. It mirrored the layout of the London Gringotts branch—high counters, Goblins scribbling in ledgers, the sound of weighing scales—but the atmosphere was darker, heavier.
They crossed the main hall into a private office at the back.
It was spacious, but sparsely furnished. There were no chairs for guests—a classic Goblin power move to make visitors stand. Behind a high mahogany desk sat an ancient Goblin with wisps of white hair clinging to his spotted scalp.
The guide Goblin did not enter. He bowed low to the ancient Goblin at the door and retreated, closing the heavy oak doors behind him.
Regulus and Hestia stood in silence, waiting.
The old Goblin looked up from his parchment.
"Do you realise what that name means, young wizard?" he asked. His voice was old and shrill, high-pitched like a nail scratching a blackboard. It made Hestia wince.
"Yes," Regulus replied smoothly. "We are from the School. We have come to discuss our mission. There is going to be a slight change in parameters."
The Goblin narrowed his eyes. "Since you are in Albania, I assume you are talking about the contract to capture or kill Patricia Rakepick. Is that correct?"
"Yes. There has been an interference. We can capture or kill her, but an unseen element has surfaced. Proceeding with the original plan will have dire consequences for the Bank."
"No change is allowed in a Gringotts contract. This is the rule," the Goblin spat haughtily. "But since you are here, I will spare a moment of my valuable time to hear about this 'unseen element'."
Regulus stepped forward, his posture relaxed but commanding.
"You do not need Patricia Rakepick dead. What you want is the artifact she possesses. We can retrieve the artifact. We may even be able to capture her. But we cannot kill her. And even if we capture her, we cannot guarantee her delivery to you without inciting a war you do not want."
Regulus paused, letting the words hang in the air.
The Goblin stared at him, unblinking. He motioned a clawed hand for Regulus to continue.
"When we were gathering intelligence on the target, we came across a powerful wizard. He was like a sleeping dragon perched in the market. He gave us a single warning: Do not hurt Patricia."
The Goblin sneered. "That sounds like your problem, wizard. Why would Gringotts voluntarily change the mission because of some local threat? Does this mean Nostradamus is incapable of handling a single target?"
Regulus didn't take the bait.
Nostradamus wasn't just a magical school; it was an institution that understood the deep currents of the world. Regulus had trained in diplomacy, a mandatory course for the heirs of Noble Houses.
"Nostradamus is more than capable of doing whatever it wants with the target. Do not question our competence," Regulus replied coldly. "I am merely here to inform the employer that they will face consequences if they persist in hunting her to death. In my personal assessment, the old wizard is someone the Bank absolutely cannot afford to offend."
Regulus dropped the bomb.
"In fact, he is here in this very market. He owns the antique shop in the alley."
As soon as the antique shop was mentioned, the Head Goblin's expression didn't twitch, but his pupils contracted sharply.
Regulus noticed the micro-reaction. Bingo.
He had been unsure if the Bank knew about the old monster living on their doorstep, but Gringotts' intelligence network was legendary. If anyone knew the true power players in this lawless land, it was the Goblins.
"What exactly did the wizard say to you?" the Goblin asked after a long silence. The haughtiness was gone from his voice.
"Capture her, steal from her, do whatever you want. But leave her alive. Those were the terms. And I believe that even if we capture her and deliver her to you... he will come to retrieve her."
"He definitely will," the Goblin muttered, almost to himself. He looked at Regulus with a new glint of respect. "You have prevented a costly war for the Bank today. Tell me your name, young wizard."
"I am Regulus Black, of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. This is Hestia Greengrass, Heir to the Most Noble House of Greengrass. We are from the British Wizarding Community."
The Head Goblin nodded slowly.
"The terms are amended. Retrieve the object. You are permitted to engage Patricia Rakepick, but her life is to be spared. Do not bring her here. We do not want him knocking on our doors."
…
Hestia and Regulus left the bank.
Regulus checked the time; it was around 2:30 PM. They still had an hour and a half before the rendezvous.
Hestia expressed a desire to see the magical creatures in the market. Since they were in Albania, the trade here was unregulated and wild.
Regulus escorted her to the beast market. The stalls were lined with cages containing creatures that were definitely illegal to trade in any legitimate country—baby dragons, lethifolds in glass jars, and venomous tentacula.
While they were looking at a crate of trembling Mooncalves, a sudden commotion erupted near the market entrance.
Shouts, the sound of breaking wood, and the flash of spells.
Regulus looked towards the source of the disturbance. Through the parting crowd, he spotted a familiar face in the chaos.