"I WANT HIS HEAD ON A PIKE ON HOG'S HEAD HILL FOR WHAT HE'S DONE!" the irate Overseer cried, practically foaming at the mouth in his anger.
"And you'll get it," Lichfield answered him. "Maybe not the head, or the pike, or Hog's Head Hill since his brother bloody well owns it, but we'll get him."
"NOT SOON ENOUGH!" the Overseer's words rattled the windows as spittle flew from his thin lips.
Lester knew when it started that Barchoke would be incensed but this gave a new definition to goblin rage. The man - no, the goblin - was ready to lead a march on Hogwarts itself and damn the consequences for everyone in what came after. There was only one thing he could do.
"What is the failing of your race?" Lichfield demanded.
"You dare say ther-?" Barchoke fumed.
"You've said it yourself, you damn fool!" the Litigator interrupted, his own voice rising to match the Overseer's. "Now what is the failing of your race!"
Barchoke stared at him, his eyes hard and full of malice, breath coming in great huffs, and body positioned wide to make a more intimidating target - looking every inch the goblin warrior the banker might have been had history unfolded differently. After several tense seconds the goblin's breathing slowed and his body relaxed a bit so the fine suit he wore no longer looked at risk of bursting at the seams.
"Patience," Barchoke said, the anger in his voice turning to bitterness at having to wait. "Goblins have no patience."
"And repeating what happened three hundred and eighty years ago doesn't seem a particularly wise course of action," Lichfield pressed, if only to put an end to any such thought. "That didn't turn out too well last time, did it?"
The Overseer flumped back into his seat and stared out of his row of office windows.
"It got the Ministry to stop minting their own Galleons," Barchoke said, taking up the opportunity to speak about something else.
"And how many goblins died, only to get what you had in the first place?" Lichfield asked. "You never got the representation in the Wizengamot you were looking for."
"Bah!" Barchoke waved the issue off. Now was not the time to settle old scores, it was time to find out how to settle new ones. "You'll get him?" the goblin asked roughly.
"We'll get him," Lester replied. "Not sure exactly how yet, but we'll get him. If all else fails, you'll have to settle for him rotting in Azkaban for the rest of his life, but we'll get him."
"No," Barchoke said. "I want him. He's mine . I will make his life a living Hell the likes of which you humans have never imagined, and after I'm satisfied that vengeance has been served, maybe then I'll let him die."
Lichfield ran his gnarled hands over his equally gnarled face and sat back down in his chair. There'd be no budging the goblin on this, he'd known that since the day Barchoke had come to his house - back when he had still had the house - and begged him to make Gringotts look after his father for what'd been done to him. And to think it'd been an idle comment, a flimsy guess tossed out about a possible cause that had lit the fire in the goblin in front of him and led him to shave his head and swear vengeance against a hypothetical someone who might not have existed.
The goblin race does not forget, nor do they forgive, it's what has made relations between the two peoples prickly at best. The fact that individual members also carried these traits to varying degrees made friendships tricky to navigate, but in Lichfield's mind they were worth it just the same. It made for implacable enemies and stalwart allies. To beat them you had to be just as implacable as they were, but when it came to being allies, you had to do things the goblin way when they demanded it and they'd do the same for you. It was the price you paid for friendship.
"The boy's just a start," the Overseer said. "A good start, but we'll never get our hands on him with that. They'll do anything they can to keep him away from me once they catch hint of goblin involvement. We need something else, something big. There has to be something in his past we're not seeing."
Lester gave his head a good scratch to give himself a moment to get his thoughts together.
"What's the situation with Gropegold?" he asked when he was done.
"Cracked like an egg as soon as we showed him the Keys we got from Dumbledore," Barchoke said. "He's spilling everything now, but the fool still thinks he'll be set free. I doubt even he knows why the old man wanted what he did. Auditor Axegrind will probably have damages assessed by the time the boy gets here on - When was it?"
"Wednesday."
Barchoke nodded curtly.
"I've got a few things we can check up on," Lester said. "It might come to nothing more than more information to knock the old man off the pedestal he sits on and drag his name through the mud, but it's something."
"What is it?" the goblin asked.
"I have to warn you though," Lester said, trying to hide his smile. "It'll involve a lot of reading and digging for information. You sure you're up for it?" he asked with feigned sensitivity for their previous discussion.
"You leave it to me, I'll handle it. You just tell me what it is," the goblin said, now thoroughly hooked.
"This is one of several, or so it seems," Lichfield said, placing an odd book beside the globe of salsa dancers and smoky vials on the Overseer's desk. "I recognize the name of the press but you'll probably need to find and read all of them to see if there are any clues to what the old man might be up to."
Lichfield smiled as a disgusted look crossed Barchoke's face.
"Have fun! I'm off to kidnap some old helpless woman. Tata!"
"Wait - What?" the confused goblin asked.
As he closed the door behind him, Lester couldn't help but laugh. This was turning out to be fun.
.....
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