"A promise made is a debt unpaid." — Robert W. Service
…
The bartender had been telling the truth.
He did not know the current whereabouts of Patricia Rakepick. However, he knew the name of someone she was often associated with: a man who owned an artifact shop in the market. Given the location, it was undoubtedly a shop dealing in Dark Arts objects.
The bartender himself was in a near-death state when Regulus left him. Regulus hadn't tortured him physically for the information. He had obtained it in a simpler, cleaner way: with Legilimency.
Hestia, walking a step behind Regulus, asked quietly, "Since you used Legilimency to get the name, why did you make such a ruckus?"
Hestia, who was usually silent as the grave, had started to speak more when she was alone with Regulus. She was the type who only opened up to people she felt comfortable with. It was no surprise she got along with him after their life-and-death moment with the Chimaera.
"If I had only used Legilimency and we left quietly, we would have been targeted by half a dozen other groups the moment we stepped outside," Regulus explained, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Our ruckus served a purpose. It established dominance. Even though it happened only minutes ago, look around. People are keeping their distance. Information travels fast here, especially in a place like this."
Hestia nodded and looked around. Regulus was right. The people in the market were unconsciously parting to give them way. Vendors eyed them with greed but dared not approach. The display of Protego Diabolica had bought them safe passage.
They reached the location of the shop. It was tucked away inside a narrow, dimly lit alley, about a twenty-minute walk from the tavern.
Regulus approached the entrance. They both knew better than to touch anything with their bare hands in a place like this.
Regulus waved his wand, and the door creaked open without him touching the handle.
Cling.
A rusted doorbell rang automatically as the door swung inward.
They stepped inside.
The interior was unsurprisingly dark, filled with towering racks of trinkets, dusty tomes, and strange biological specimens in jars. At a glance, Regulus knew most of it was junk; the magical aura emanating from the items was faint and stale.
There was a cluttered counter at the back of the shop. Behind it sat an old man who looked incredibly fragile. He was thin and withered, looking as if a strong gust of wind would blow him away. His hands shook slightly as he polished a silver artifact with a dirty rag.
The magical energy emanating from the artifact was real, but that didn't hold Regulus's attention.
It was the old man.
The magical energy surrounding the shopkeeper was dense, suffocating, and far stronger than any of the instructors Regulus had seen. It was comparable to the aura of the Headmistress of the Girls' School.
Regulus realized instantly: I cannot make a ruckus here like I did in the tavern.
He walked in calmly, pretending to browse the trinkets. Hestia looked at him questioningly, sensing his shift in demeanor.
Regulus removed his hood, showing respect.
"Good afternoon, sir. I am here to buy an artifact."
The old man raised his head with difficulty, as if the weight of his own skull was a burden.
"Look around," the old man wheezed in an uninterested tone.
He went back to his polishing. Regulus stood there awkwardly.
"I have specific preferences regarding the artifact I need," Regulus pressed.
"Good for you, lad," the old man muttered, without any intention of helping.
Regulus felt a vein throb in his forehead. He decided to speak the only language people here understood.
He pulled out the same sack of coins he had shown the bartender and threw it onto the counter. The heavy thud of gold echoed in the quiet shop.
The old man looked at the sack.
He sprang up from his chair with the agility of a man forty years younger. The fragility vanished instantly.
Hestia and Regulus stared, unable to believe their eyes. The old man's eyes were suddenly sharp and alert.
"What kind of artifact do you need, Mr…?" the old man asked, his voice suddenly smooth.
"The one that can bypass walls of steel and magic," said Regulus.
The old man squinted his eyes. A sly smile spread across his face.
"So, you are here for little Patricia," he said. His voice was now rusty but vigorous.
Regulus and Hestia unconsciously gripped the wands inside their robes.
"You must be the guys who caused the ruckus in the tavern, I guess. Poor old Barry. Is he alive?"
"Who is Harry? The bartender?" asked Regulus, confused.
"It is Barry. Yes, he is the bartender."
Regulus looked at the old man carefully. "If he is not alive... would you attack us?"
The old man cackled. "No. If you had left him alive, then I would have attacked you. I hate that man."
"Then he must be dead, since no one was left to help him," Regulus replied coldly.
"Good then," the old man nodded with satisfaction. "But you are here for dear Patricia. She is not like Barry."
"I am here for the artifact in her possession. Not for her," Regulus corrected.
"I warned her not to cross Gringotts," the old man mused. "She made her bed."
"Do you know where she is?" asked Regulus.
"I suppose I know. I suppose I do not know," the old man spoke in riddles. "What do you want to do with her once the artifact is recovered?"
Regulus sensed the trap. "What do you want me to do that will let us both get out of your shop alive?"
The old man stared at Regulus for a full minute. The suffocating pressure in the room increased.
"Do not kill her," the old man said finally. "Capture her, steal from her, whatever you want. But do not kill her. If you do... the debt of leaving you alive today will be paid back with full interest."
The warning did not sound like an empty threat. It sounded like a prophecy.
Regulus nodded. He did not want to provoke this monster. He knew he was safe with the backing of the School and the Black family eventually, but right now, in this alley, he was vulnerable. It wasn't worth putting a target on his back for a school task.
"Understood," Regulus said. "Where can I find her?"
The old man became very cooperative. He pulled out a dusty map and laid it on the counter.
"These are the five ruins where she may be found," he said, pointing a gnarled finger at specific locations deep in the forest.
Regulus and Hestia copied the locations onto their own chart, which they bought from the old man for an exorbitant price. They gathered their things and left quickly, just in case the eccentric shopkeeper changed his mind.
As they reached the door, the old man glanced at them one last time, then slumped back into his chair, returning to his fragile, uninterested persona.
Stepping out of the shop, Regulus exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt like he had just escaped a natural disaster.
"No more recklessness," he muttered to Hestia. "Not in this place."
They pulled their hoods back up and headed toward the largest building in the market: the local branch of Gringotts.