"Then I might genuinely be single for life," Earl said dryly. "What's in that letter, anyway? You've been staring at it ages."
"Edward said I should keep this letter on me," Cohen said, folding the letter into a small square and tucking it into his pocket. "He said he wouldn't interfere with my decision..."
"Mmm-hmm?" Earl prompted.
"Mmm-hmm what? Just keep it on me, alright?" Cohen said. "The triggered tracking charm on it won't set off – it'll give him a bit of peace of mind, I suppose."
"Right, I'm off."
Cohen packed his things, only taking his trusty leather pouch with a few changes of clothes, daily necessities – and a massive pile of food.
No matter how long this fight took, Cohen planned to take some extra time to wander around afterwards.
Dumbledore had agreed to the longest leave of absence possible, a week – not using up this free holiday would simply be a waste of life.
"Watch those chaps in the trunk for me while I'm gone," Cohen instructed Earl. "Don't let them—"
"What do you mean?" Earl suddenly looked wary. "What do you mean, 'watch those chaps in the trunk'?"
"Just what it sounds like, don't let them get out and mess up Hogwarts, or Dumbledore will definitely take drastic measures," Cohen said. "Don't worry, they won't eat you. Haven't you two become rather chummy by now?"
"You're going alone?! Leaving me at school?!" Earl demanded. "No way!"
"This isn't the time for a touching 'battle comrades' act. Whether you're there or not won't really affect the outcome—" Cohen waved him off.
"Who cares about your safety? I want to claw that blighter who bullied Frando myself!" Earl fumed. "How dare he pick on my friend? I'll put a few nasty curses on him myself..."
"Aren't you afraid of dying?" Cohen raised an eyebrow.
"Would you watch me die?" Earl turned his head away.
"Yes," Cohen said seriously.
"..."
—
In the end, Cohen still allowed Earl to come along – because Cohen needed someone to chat with. Otherwise, the journey following the thin thread between Frando's body and soul would be a bit too boring.
Since he could only see the direction of the thread but couldn't pinpoint an exact location, Cohen couldn't just Disapparate directly to the destination. He had to make one short Apparition after another, constantly adjusting his direction.
It was a somewhat troublesome task for Cohen, and for Earl as well – because Earl had to fly around in the sky, keeping up with Cohen's continuous flashes of Apparition.
"Is this the place..."
Cohen and Earl finally stopped near a secluded lake. An island could vaguely be seen in the centre of the lake, and Cohen's current location was a dock.
He had just circled the lake with Frando's body, and the direction of the soul thread kept pointing towards that strange island, which seemed to have a building on it.
The location must be right.
The grey, gloomy weather, combined with the deserted lake and island – this was simply the perfect place for... well, something unpleasant.
"Why didn't you just Apparate straight onto it?" Earl asked, tilting his head.
"Obviously, because there are limits on Apparition over this lake," Cohen said. "As for what sort of odd things might happen if I did try to Apparate, I've no idea."
"Then we'll just fly over," Earl said. "It's not like you can't—"
"Shhh." Cohen shushed Earl. "Act like a regular bird – someone's coming this way."
The direction Cohen indicated was the end of the small path connected to the dock. The winding path was hidden by a thick forest, and now a group that looked like a tour group was approaching the dock.
There were six people in total. Whether the guide or the tourists, they all seemed to be Muggles judging by their soul strength, except for one male tourist wearing a white shirt and a handlebar moustache.
This person's soul strength... well, he was a wizard.
"Hiss..."
Cohen watched the unfamiliar man from a distance, letting out an inexplicable sharp intake of breath.
"What's going on? Do you know him?" Earl, unable to contain his curiosity, quietly asked Cohen – they weren't too close yet, so a quiet word or two was fine.
"Nothing. Just be a good owl. I'm going to start blending in with this tour group now," Cohen said seamlessly.
"Why are you playing games again—"
Earl's words were cut short as Cohen squeezed his beak.
"This island in the centre of the lake is the Rust Inn!" The Muggle guide had already led the five tourists to the dock. "The front desk there already confirmed by phone; someone will row a boat specifically to pick us up..."
The Muggle guide noticed Cohen on the dock, and the owl next to Cohen, which wasn't very common during the day.
"Are you lost?" The guide leaned down and asked kindly. "Do you need me to contact the police for you?"
"No need, I'm waiting for the boat," Cohen said, his gaze sweeping over the tourists behind the guide.
There were three men and two women among the tourists, dressed differently, but none seemed particularly old – a man in a suit around fifty, a young man in his twenties, two young girls whispering to each other, and the middle-aged man with the handlebar moustache wearing the white shirt.
"Waiting for the boat?" The older man in the suit frowned, his voice sounding very stern. "Where are your parents? Why are you staying at such a remote tourist hotel alone?"
"Dad, it's a holiday, don't make that face you use on employees..." the young man quietly reminded him.
"Travelling," Cohen said. "Nobody says minors can't travel on their own."
"Oh, what a cute child!" One of the girls who had been chatting enthusiastically came over to Cohen's side, vigorously rubbing Cohen's face – as if sudden maternal instincts had kicked in.
Perhaps it was the reverse effect of the Unicorn bloodline on women without magical resistance...
"Hey, hey, hey—" Cohen quickly dodged the girl's hand.
The other girl seemed to agree with her friend and also wanted to pet Cohen – but Cohen dodged them all.
They'd only met a minute ago, and these two were a bit too lacking in boundaries...
"Miss Beatrice and Miss Beatrice, don't scare the child – his parents might be staying at the inn, or they'll arrive shortly," the guide pulled the two girls back – the identical names made Cohen realise they might be sisters.
Now that he looked, they did seem to resemble each other quite a bit.
"Mr. Reid, how much longer until the boat?" The mustachioed man, who hadn't spoken yet, asked the guide.
Cohen could see the mustachioed man glancing over at him occasionally, but then immediately looking away as if avoiding Cohen's gaze.
"It should be soon—" The guide, Reid, looked at the watch on his right wrist. "Three o'clock... Oh! Here it comes!"
Reid looked at his watch one moment, then the lake the next, and finally saw the shape of a small boat on the seemingly misty lake.
There was a dark figure on the small boat, its head looking like it was wearing an irregular head covering.
Only when the boat approached the dock did Cohen see what the boatman looked like.
Blimey, what is this? Rusty Lake...
Cohen muttered under his breath.
The person on the boat was wearing a lifelike crow's head mask and an old black suit.
"Coo-coo-coo—" Earl let out a few uneasy calls towards Cohen.
Of course, Cohen could see the problem Earl could, and he saw it even more deeply—
For example... the boatman standing before them had no soul.
"Board the boat, seven residents," the crow-headed boatman said.
"Is this some kind of themed inn?" The younger of the Beatrice sisters asked curiously.
"Can I get your contact information?" The older of the Beatrice sisters asked the crow-headed boatman, seemingly casual.
Tch, women...
She must have only been interested in the boatman's sturdy build and magnetic voice.
"Working hours," the crow head reminded them with great professionalism.
But Cohen's attention wasn't on the Beatrice sisters' flirting with the crow head, but on the crow head saying "seven residents."
Cohen had already determined that the person with the silver key was on the island. So what was this performance on the outside?
Didn't this soulless crow head recognise him?
Likes games, does he?
Interesting—
Cohen followed the tour group onto the boat. The small boat was packed full; even Earl had to stand at the stern.
This wooden boat, which looked quite fragile, steadily carried the weight of eight people and one bird, and yet no one questioned its capacity.
"Hello, I'm Cohen," Cohen deliberately moved closer to the mustachioed man, who was clearly startled by Cohen's sudden approach.
"Ah!" The mustachioed man said nervously. "Gregore, Greg Burton."
"Alright, Mr. Burton."
Cohen raised his eyebrows.
"Have we met before?"
"No, no we haven't," Mr. Burton adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Young Mr. Norton."
"I haven't told you my last name yet," Cohen said.
"Ah – well, perhaps... perhaps... I might have seen you in a photo a colleague had?" Mr. Burton seemed to finally come up with a reasonable excuse. "I don't know if you know her – Ms. Rose from the Times—"
"That's my mum," Cohen said. "Are you her colleague?"
"Yes, yes," Mr. Burton swallowed. "I'm in the same office as her now..."
"Oh~"
Cohen nodded thoughtfully.
"What a coincidence – speaking of which, what do you think of my mum? Isn't she lovely?"
"Lovely," Mr. Burton quickly replied.
But he seemed to realise this assessment wasn't quite right and immediately added, "Pity she's married..."
"Just because she's married doesn't mean it's impossible, though," Cohen said with extreme deliberateness. "You know, her husband's stuck at home all the time. You'd have plenty of chances—"
"What nonsense are you spouting!" Mr. Burton said fiercely, then paused, his expression becoming controlled. "I mean, I'm a man of principle – and that's your father! Can't you have a bit of decency?"
Assessment complete. Cohen could now fully confirm the situation with Mr. Burton, the man with the moustache.
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