He was getting too old for this. Every muscle and every bone in his body seemed to ache as he helped Mr Borgin carry the heavy vanishing cabinet into the shop. They'd better find a generous buyer for that artefact to make the effort worth it.
"Can't we just levitate it?" Mr Burke asked.
"No, the enchantments on this thing are a little bit iffy and I don't want to risk using magic on it. For all we know, the cabinet could blow up and destroy our entire shop," Mr Borgin replied. "If you can't carry it, you should finally let me hire an assistant."
"An assistant who wants five galleons a week?" Burke answered. "Get us a house-elf or nothing."
"Where am I supposed to find a house-elf these days? Grindelwald won't let any from the continent into Britain. And no old family who are in their right mind would sell a house-elf now that it is so difficult to get a replacement," Mr Borgin grumbled back at Mr Burke.
They dropped the cabinet in a corner of the shop. Mr Burke wiped the sweat off his forehead and sat down to catch his breath.
"You'll have to run the shop alone this afternoon," Burke told Borgin. "I'm paying Mrs Smith a visit."
Burke wasn't sure if he should love or hate Hepzibah Smith. The rich widow was a very generous customer, but she was also very peculiar. For one, she refused to set foot into Knockturn Alley.
"I'm a lady, I can't be seen in this filthy place," she used to say. "And it's full of thieves and crooks."
Thus, he was forced to visit her every time he wanted to sell. Also, she was a lonely old woman with only a house-elf for company, and very talkative when anyone visited her, even if it was a dodgy magical artefacts salesman like Mr Burke.
Knowing how much Mrs Smith valued a respectable outer appearance, he put on his best set of emerald green robes before leaving.
Dealing with Hepzibah Smith was really quite the hassle, but the Galleons were usually worth it. He walked around the shop, looking for interesting objects to present to the wealthy widow, and crammed them into a trunk.
"Alright, I'm leaving," he told Mr Borgin, and stepped outside the shop to disapparate.
It was a warm spring day, which felt somewhat out of place in a gloomy place like Knockturn Alley. He disapparated, and reappeared in front of Hepzibah Smith's house. There, however, the weather fitted perfectly with the disgustingly kitschy exterior of the house, which looked like the miniature of a palace from a muggle fairytale, combining Roman classicism with neo-Gothic architecture. For Mr Burke, Hepzibah Smith was the personification of those upstarts who valued grandeur but not tradition.
It didn't get better inside. The stuffy and heavily perfumed air was barely breathable. Burke was greeted by a house elf with a horribly squeaky voice, who led him through several equally lavishly and tastelessly decorated chambers, before he entered the parlour, where the old toad already awaited him.
"Hokey, would you please make tea for Mr Burke and me? Don't forget to use the green tea cups that belonged to minister Eldritch Diggory," he heard her order to the elf.
"Good afternoon, Mrs Smith," Burke greeted. "You're looking splendid as always."
Mr Burke was well accustomed to lying through his teeth. But only the promise of a purse full of galleons could make him flatter Hepzibah Smith.
"As do you, Mr Burke," Smith replied. "Let's see, what do you have for me today?"
He opened the trunk, and carefully extracted an opal necklace.
"I have this opal necklace for you. It would find a nice place in your collection. It's no good for wearing it, as it carries a deadly curse, but I'm sure you will appreciate it for its historic significance. After all, it was the artefact used in the failed attempt to murder Minister Orpington in 1832."
Mrs Smith mustered the necklace cautiously. "No, I have told you often enough, I don't want any cursed stuff inside this house."
He wrapped the necklace into dragon hide again and placed it back into the trunk.
"How about this set of goblin-made daggers? I was fortunate enough to obtain them from young Mr Fortescue, who doesn't share his father's obsession with medieval weapons. The young man had no idea what he sold me when I obtained these eight hundred year old blades. I will sell you the full set for four hundred and fifty galleons."
They were maybe worth two hundred as though old and goblin made they were, their previous owners had given them no opportunity to absorb any remarkable powers. But what did Hepzibah Smith know about those things?
"I'll give you four hundred," Mrs Smith said, fully convinced to have made a good bargain as she took the daggers from Mr Burke and instructed Hokey to put them into a glass cabinet.
To Mr Burke's disappointment, she showed little interest in an assortment of golden goblets, as well as a sixteenth-century telescope that may or may not have belonged to Tycho Brahe.
Her gossip became increasingly unbearable, and he had almost finished his second cup of tea, which was quite excellent, despite all the other shortcomings of Mrs Smith.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your doubtlessly very interesting tale, but my time is running out, and I have yet an outstanding offer to make. Indeed, I am going to present you an artefact which you will not find anywhere else."
Making sure he had caught her attention again, he turned to his trunk for a final time, knowing he would soon be free from Mrs Smith's presence and several hundred galleons richer.
In front of her, he placed the heavy golden locket, with an emerald snake-shaped ornament forming an "S".
"This, my dear Mrs Smith, is the legendary locket of Salazar Slytherin," he told her in a dramatic voice.
"Salazar Slytherin's locket?" she asked disbelievingly. "As much as I'd like it to be the real thing, surely nobody would sell it."
"My dear Mrs Smith, have I ever sold you a fake?" Mr Burke replied.
"You tried once, but learnt your lesson," she answered.
It was true, after one failed attempt to sell her a fake, he had never attempted it again. She was far too valuable to lose as a customer.
"I bought the locket from a ragged-looking woman for ten galleons. Had no idea how much it was worth."
Mrs Smith stared at him indignantly.
"Oh, don't give me that look, she probably stole it anyway and should have gotten nothing for it. And in any case, the locket couldn't have fed her," Burke replied.
"To fully answer your question, to you of course, who values historic artefacts so much, it seems inconceivable that anyone would want to sell it. I however am a salesman who enjoys the comfort I can buy with two thousand galleons more than a cold piece of metal, no matter its history."
"So it's two thousand galleons you're asking for? I have never paid this much for a single piece of my collection. But I cannot stand the thought that Lestrange or Fawley could get their hands on it first. Fine, I'll buy it. Hokey, would you please arrange that two thousand and four hundred Galleons are transferred from my vault to Mr Burke's?"
"Yes, madam," the house elf squeaked in its high-pitched voice.
"Well then, it was a pleasure to do business with you. I would certainly like to stay longer, but Mr Borgin requires my assistance with the shop. Goodbye Mrs Smith." Burke said, wasting no time to leave.
Mr Burke beamed as he left the house, a downright exceptional facial expression for him, but the knowledge that he had just got two thousand and four hundred Galleons richer did that for him.