Chapter 160: Poachers, Setting Out for the Thunderbird Sanctuary
Stormtown.
"Come and have a look! Fresh Thunderbird feathers, gathered from the nests less than three hours ago!"
"Thunderbird bone, Thunderbird bone! First‑rate potion and alchemical material. Grind it to a powder, drink it down, and I guarantee you will feel eighteen again!"
"Thunderbird eyes, see through all evil…"
It was early morning. Most of the shops were still closed, but plenty of hawkers already had stalls or handcarts out, shouting their pitches.
So close to the Thunderbird Sanctuary, almost everything on offer had something to do with Thunderbirds.
Leo and Newt had risen with the sun. Before setting off, they took a stroll through the local market.
Leo only needed a few glances to decide that most of it was fake.
When he used the Peeking Fiend's Eye, the so‑called Thunderbird materials showed no magical trace at all.
A few "more conscientious" vendors were selling items that did hold some magic, but when Leo looked more closely, they were not genuine Thunderbird parts either.
They had probably soaked ordinary materials in some special potion or treated them with spells. Enough to fool a few people.
At least they had put in the effort.
If this much real Thunderbird material was truly changing hands on the street, there would be no point to having a Sanctuary at all.
He eyed the shuttered shopfronts and decided that those with actual premises were the ones licensed to sell Thunderbird goods—the ones with proper paperwork.
The hawkers screaming themselves hoarse were there to bleed tourists dry.
Then again, a few wizards were paying up. They might simply want souvenirs.
"Leonardo, best not buy anything for now," Newt murmured. "If you decide you want something, I know people whose merchandise is… more reliable."
Leo understood that it was a gentle warning. "I know, Mr Scamander."
They did not linger long. After a brief look around, they headed for the Thunderbird Sanctuary.
Not far away, a broad‑shouldered blond man had been eyeing Newt's face. After confirming his impression a few times, he drifted off in the opposite direction as if just out for a stroll.
After several turns between crooked streets, he slipped into a shabby pub. With a nod to the barman, he went through to a back room.
Seven or eight people were gathered there, all of them carrying themselves like hardened adventurers.
Most attention, however, was drawn by the black widow spider on the table. The red marking on its abdomen was not the usual hourglass, but a pair of plump red lips.
"Boss, guess who I just saw at the market?" the blond man said, leaning toward the man in the centre.
The man he spoke to wore practical outdoor clothes, but his brown hair was combed so neatly it might have been lacquered in place. He did not raise his head. He took a sip of brandy.
"Newt Scamander. The most famous magical‑creature expert alive," he said. "Aidan, your news is slow."
The blond man—Aidan—gave an awkward grin and dropped into the nearest empty chair.
"Boss, should we, er, push back the operation a bit?" he ventured.
"Reason?" the brown‑haired man asked, still drinking.
Aidan cleared his throat. "Well, Boss, that old fellow may be getting on, but he has lived through it all. He went up against—caught—Grindelwald himself. His combat experience has to be terrifying. And that case of his, the one he never lets out of his sight, it is packed with magical creatures…
"I heard that about ten years ago, in a magical‑creature reserve in Egypt, Newt ran into a poaching gang. There were twenty‑seven of them. He and the creatures in that case took every single one down."
That made a couple of the people in the room grimace. Doubt flickered.
"But that is an opportunity too," the brown‑haired man said calmly. "That case of his is worth a fortune. Enough for us to retire today and live like kings."
A few faces shifted at that, but no one spoke.
Aidan gave a strained laugh. He wanted to say more, but did not quite dare.
The brown‑haired man finally looked directly at him.
"I know what you are worrying about," he said. "The beasts in the case are more dangerous than Newt himself. So we deal with him before he opens it.
"Aidan, we have been planning this for six months. One big Thunderbird job will make more than the last three years put together."
The room fell quiet again. Their minds, though, had clearly been made up.
Aidan prided himself on knowing when to bend with the wind. Seeing the resolve in his boss and his companions, he swallowed his objections.
Instead, he began working out which escape route to take if things went wrong.
When no one raised another word of protest, the brown‑haired man nodded with satisfaction. He drained his glass and looked down at the black widow spider.
"Besides, we have the best assassin," he said with a soft chuckle. "Who would ever look twice at a spider? There are hundreds of them out there. Who would imagine this one is a witch?"
"Is that not right, Sherry?"
The spider stirred lazily at the sound of her name and lifted one leg, indicating that she had heard.
…
At the entrance to the Thunderbird Sanctuary.
"Mr Scamander. We have been expecting you."
A tall, middle‑aged wizard in short robes came to meet them with a smile.
"Stanley. It has been a long time," Newt said, clasping his hand.
He turned to Leo. "This is Stanley Jones, Head of Thunderbird House at Ilvermorny and Professor of Potions. He knows a great deal about Thunderbirds and will be our guide and companion on this trip."
"Oh, please," Stanley said, waving the praise off. "In front of you, who would dare claim to be an expert on Thunderbirds? And this young man is…?"
He glanced at Leo. It was the first time he had seen Newt bring a youngster along.
"This is Leonardo Grafton," Newt said. "He is a year below me at Hogwarts. He has remarkable talent with magical creatures. I thought I would bring him to see the Thunderbirds over the holidays."
Stanley kept his expression polite, but surprise rippled under the surface. To be praised for talent in magical creatures by Newt Scamander?
"Hello, Professor Jones," Leo said, offering his hand.
"Hello, hello. As expected of a top Hogwarts student. Fine young man, fine young man," Stanley boomed, shaking it firmly.
Leo returned the grip with easy courtesy. Newt had already given him a brief sketch of Ilvermorny and of Stanley himself.
Ilvermorny was the American wizarding school, standing to MACUSA as Hogwarts did to wizarding Britain. It too had four Houses: Thunderbird, Horned Serpent, Wampus, and Pukwudgie. Their traits were not unlike Hogwarts' own Houses in some ways.
Stanley Jones, as Head of Thunderbird House and a master of Potions, held a post very like that of a certain professor back at Hogwarts.
All House Heads. All Potions professors.
The difference in people skills, though…
Right, greasy old bat?