All in all, Richie decided not to thrash around blindly but to start preparing for trouble instead. To do that, he needed to acquire a variety of items that would help him survive in any situation.
If all this had been happening in the transmigrator's former world, he would have simply gone to a military surplus store and a camping outfitter. At the first, he'd have picked up decommissioned army junk—an outdated assault flyer, an ancient armored exoskeleton with repulsors, a pile of civilian weapons, and the like. The outdoor shop would have offered plenty of interesting options as well. For example, a hunting suit equipped with a holographic camouflage system (invisibility), or an automated security and alarm system with a built-in stun device designed for tourists venturing to colonized planets rich in wild fauna.
There was nothing of the sort in this world. Instead, it had magic.
Richard intended to cross a hedgehog with a snake—in other words, force wizards and cutting-edge engineers to work together so he could outfit himself with useful gadgets. But standing in his way like an immovable wall was the Statute of Secrecy.
He tried to come up with ways around it, and little by little, a plan began to take shape in his mind.
Madam Marchbanks' loud voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Dear boy, I'm finished here. It's time for us to go."
"Yes, ma'am."
Richard ambled along beside his mentor past shops that sold robes, telescopes, and strange silver instruments. The windows along the street were crammed with barrels of bat spleens and eel eyes, teetering pyramids of books, bird feathers and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, and globes of the moon.
In one window, several brooms were displayed—some of them rather futuristic in design.
Richard slowed to a stop in front of the display and asked his mentor in surprise, "Ma'am, can you really sweep with brooms like those? That looks wildly impractical."
Madam Marchbanks stopped and turned her gaze toward the window of the shop Quality Quidditch Supplies. A cackling laugh burst from the old witch's lips.
"Richard, what on earth gave you the idea that those brooms are for cleaning? The shop sign clearly says they're for playing Quidditch."
"Ma'am, it says 'All for Quidditch.' Given the abundance of cleaning equipment around here, I assumed it was another idiom. The way wizards call ordinary people Muggles, I thought maybe 'Quidditch' was their word for 'home.' The first thing that came to mind was a household goods store—'everything for the home.'"
"Oh-ho-ho, my dear boy, those brooms aren't for sweeping," the old witch replied, thoroughly amused. "You fly on them!"
Richard's eyes went wide. He was utterly stunned.
"Fly? On brooms?"
"Yes, yes. On brooms."
"On BROOMS?!"
"On brooms!"
"Psychos!"
The elderly witch laughed even louder. Tears sprang to her eyes. She conjured a handkerchief and dabbed at the corners, her cheeks flushed from merriment.
"You're not pulling my leg, are you, Tutor?" Richard asked distrustfully. "I understand I only recently learned about magic, but I cannot believe anyone would actually fly on a broom."
"Ahem—" Madam Marchbanks choked on her laughter. "Richard, remember the first thing I told you."
"Magic can do anything?"
"Yes. Magic can do anything!"
"And what—do all wizards fly on brooms?"
"All of them," the old witch confirmed with a nod. "At Hogwarts, first-years have lessons in flying on brooms."
"Uh…" Richard's brain promptly blue-screened. "That's madness. What, do you build antigravs into them?"
"I have no idea what 'antigravs' are. Sounds like something Muggle. Brooms are enchanted with special charms that allow them to fly."
"And you can't put those charms on something else? Basic logic suggests flying on a stick is uncomfortable. Especially for boys."
"For convenience, there are separate charms that can also be applied to broomsticks," she replied. "But in theory, any object can be enchanted for flight. Though the Ministry recently —about a hundred years ago now—banned the enchanting of Muggle artifacts. In the past, wizards flew on all sorts of things: shields, barrels, boats, ships, armchairs. In the East, they still fly on carpets. I even heard that Arthur Weasley once enchanted a Muggle carriage for flight. What's it called…? An… autobile?"
"Automobile, ma'am?"
"Yes, yes, that's right! Automobile," Madam Marchbanks agreed with her charge. "What an odd fellow that Weasley is!"
Richard realized this was the jackpot of the century. A flying car! That was something he absolutely had to have. Practically the same as the flier he was used to.
"Excuse me, Tutor, but didn't you just say enchanting Muggle objects is forbidden?"
"It is, if they end up in Muggle hands. Hm…" The old witch paused, as if recalling something. "Ah, I remember! My dear boy, I misspoke slightly. There's no outright ban on enchanting Muggle items. The ban concerns the use of enchanted objects in the presence of Muggles. Arthur lives in a magical settlement and made the thing for himself. That's the official position."
"And unofficially?"
"Well… Arthur happens to work at the Ministry of Magic. He's the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office."
"Mmm… I see. Mutual protection. Guard what you own… Ma'am, how can one contact another wizard?"
"Either send them a letter by owl post, or speak through the fireplace."
"Owl post?!"
For the umpteenth time that day, Richard's eyes widened to the size of cherry tomatoes.
(End of Chapter)
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