Chapter Seven

Clandestinity

Chey and Dumbledore wasted no time in leaving the courtroom after Fudge gave up the verdict. Chey's youthful pace matched Dumbledore's long stride, so they reached the door in equal time.

"We had arrangement, Mister McGonagall," Dumbledore said gravely, though he remained polite.

"Had to call an audible," Chey said, ignoring Arthur's plea for an update. "Baker changed the venue, I changed the plan."

"I was hardly able to get a word in."

"Like it or not," Chey said as they brushed past bystanders, with Chey casting a ward to keep others from boarding, and stepped into the elevators, letting the gate close, leaving them alone, "your voice has a calming effect on people. The last thing we need is tranquility."

The elevator shuttered upward. "We hardly need the people in power taking rash action."

Chey snapped his fingers, bringing the elevator to a halt between floors. They both stared forward at the car's closed gate.

"With this one, we do," Chey said. "All his attention is on you and Specks right now, and we've got him on a knife's edge. With any luck, today will be enough to push him into making a mistake."

"Mistakes can be costly, young man."

"And I plan on ensuring the Baker pays that cost." Chey now looked Dumbledore in the eye. "For that to happen, I need him to be angry; and today's verdict went a long way to getting him there."

London's now-fabled silver Aston Martin prowled onto Charing Cross Road later that night, just as it had done many a night before. Whether there was a free parking space or not, it always found one on this stretch of road.

Chey stepped out of the car, checked his wards, and walked into the tavern named The Green Mug, situated next to a shabby shop.

"Hi, I'd like my usual table, if it's not busy," he said to the hostess, and she recognized his accent and long silver-colored hair.

"Half a moment, sir," she said, then dashed off to berate the bus boy for not having cleared off the appropriate table in time. At half past nine, they were never busy enough to have all their tables occupied, but it did take a bit of effort to ensure the American with the silver hair had his table ready. Sometimes that meant lighting a fire under the busser to make sure the table was clean.

"Sorry about the wait," she said at last. "Right this way."

She led him along the line of booths to the very last one, tucked into the corner next to the door leading to the kitchen.

"The usual, Will?" the bartender called to him.

"That'd be appreciated, Tony," Chey answered, taking his seat and producing a book to read as the host retreated to the front. A moment later, Tony brought a pint of ordinary bitter and a shot of Irish whiskey.

"I've got a lamb vindaloo on special for nine pounds fifty."

"Sounds good to me," Chey answered. Tony left the table, and Chey took a long sniff of the whiskey before sipping a small mouthful. He let it gestate in his mouth, letting the alcohol burn a bit as his tongue absorbed the flavor before swallowing.

As he started on the beer, he felt along the baseboard with his foot until he found the loose section protruding from the wall. He pushed it in with his toe. When that part of the baseboard pushed out again against his foot, he opened the vent in the wall next to his head, kept magically invisible, so he could speak to the man on the other side of the wall as if it were a church confessional.

"Catch any snakes today?" Chey said through the vent, keeping his eyes on his reading material.

"Only if the moon is full," came the response.

"Good seeing you this morning, Muskrat."

"Coyote, this is getting dangerous."

"Are you being followed?" Chey said, downing the rest of his whiskey.

"I don't think so, I just... Look, Baker is going to close ranks if this keeps up."

"And as long as you stay within the ranks, I don't see a problem."

"Dammit, Coyote!"

"Calm down, Muskrat," Chey said. It wouldn't do for his contact to start swearing at thin air. "Start by telling me about Baker."

"He's furious with you," Muskrat said, calmer this time. "Well, he says it's you, but he means the Old Man."

"What's his move to counter?"

"Ministry appointment of the Vacant Post."

"Nothing we weren't expecting. Names?"

"He hasn't shared any. I think he's already decided."

"That's good," Chey said. If Fudge had already decided, then it meant he'd selected someone in his close circle. It was a far smaller selection of potential subjects, meaning Chey could start countermeasures sooner.

"How is this good?" Muskrat asked, frustrated.

"Listen: this is a game of patience. We're not trying to outsmart the enemy; we're waiting for him to make a mistake before we do."

"Sounds like a bloody dangerous game to me."

"'Safe' is a ship that's already sailed."

"This could cost lives," Muskrat said soberly.

"Not as many as there will be if we do nothing. The enemy's biggest asset is widespread ignorance, and the leadership is playing right into that. When Baker and his people fall, we'll need to innoculate ourselves from them. There will be no one we can trust." Chey could sense his contact was losing heart, so he changed the subject. "Any word on who sent the cloaks?"

"No. Skeleton proposed an investigation in a meeting tonight, but Baker and... er..."

"His number two?" Chey guessed.

"Yeah."

"Codeword for her is 'Butcher.'"

"Huh," Muskrat pondered. "Sounds appropriate."

"What did they say about the investigation?"

"Dismissed it. Called it a waste of time."

"Were the minutes taken verbatim?"

"No. After what you did today, everything is going to be archived as summation."

Chey groaned quietly. He should have known that would happen when he'd pulled that trump card that morning. Fudge had been careless, letting the meetings of senior Ministry members be recorded to public archives. As Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic, Percy Weasley was always there to keep notes. And Percy Weasley kept excellent notes.

That was where Lucas, Chey's fellow resident of the seventh-year Gryffindor dormitory, came in. He would receive a tip about a certain record in archives and forge a document request to be sent to the American Liaison from the Goblin Liaison Office, where the Department of Sorcery had their own secret representative to accept responsibility for the requests. The Goblins weren't bothered at all about an American hiding in that office, since the American economy was an incredible investment opportunity. And since Chey was the only one in the Liaison office, all correspondence went to him, so any information Muskrat sent to Chey that couldn't wait for their regular meeting between the Leaky Cauldron and the Green Mug went through this system.

But if Fudge had caught on, this system would no longer be effective for spying on the Minister.

"I can keep two sets of notes..." Muskrat tried to console him.

"No," Chey stopped him. "You are Baker's lap dog when you're with him. You do not deviate from his orders."

"But I can help-"

"You already are. You're my only pair of eyes in there, and you will do nothing to jeopardize it."

Muskrat sighed. "I suppose a message to my family is out of the question?"

"It is. I will not risk them reaching out to you."

At this time, Tony the bartender delivered Chey's lamb vindaloo.

"A glass of water with this?" Tony asked, clearing away the empty shot glass. "It's on the hot side."

"No, just another beer in a minute should wash it down all right," Chey answered, his current glass down to less than a third.

"Good man," Tony nodded and left him to pour the second pint.

Chey stared at his meal a moment, contemplating Muskrat's situation while he ensured the light perception filter was still active. Perhaps a bit of hope couldn't hurt.

"If it helps," he said after taking a bite, "they're coping well with the transition. I spoke with your brother about what I've observed, and he tells me their behavior is unchanged."

"I'm not sure if I'm really relieved by that..." Muskrat muttered.

"You'd best take solace anyway. That's all I can give you." Upon taking a second bite of his food, he wondered if he'd been wise in declining the option of a water glass. "You eaten yet?"

"I'm about finished."

"Wrap it up and get some rest," Chey instructed. "Do not use the archives to contact me unless it's an emergency. Our people will come up with a new system to communicate in plain sight."

"Right," Muskrat acknowledged. "...Be careful out there."

"Same to you."

Tony returned with a glass of water and a fresh pint to replace Chey's soon-depleted one as Chey heard the shutter close on the invisible vent.

"What are you, a mind reader?" Chey asked when he saw the water.

"Only when I'm on the clock," Tony answered.