Just because Mark had decided to wake up again did not mean they were any closer to finding the book. In fact, they were really right back where they had started - men in black cloaks wanted Mark and the book for some reason, and that was all any of them knew. In between rounds of paperwork, however, Tiberius had snuck over to Alastor's desk and made the careful observation that perhaps they ought to be having a chat with one of the men they had captured. Alastor saw no reason why not, and rather liked the idea that he and Tiberius could manage to get the proper information where Mark had not. With some pretense of taking a long break, Alastor and Tiberius left the busy Auror office and took the lift down to the holding cells.
The cells occupied a part of Level Ten, the same floor where the Wizengamot met in large, round courtrooms. Alastor supposed the location had been designed for convenience, if nothing else. The door to the area was warded against anyone not given clearance, but fortunately an Auror badge each allowed both Tiberius and Alastor to pass through. The entry area had been painted a dull purplish color, bright lights glowing from charmed globes on the ceiling. A wooden desk occupied the center of the room, flanked by heavy doors on either side. The clerk at the desk glanced up at them, lowering his magazine.
"Can I help you?"
"Aurors Moody and Kirk," Alastor said, tugging his badge from his pocket. "We're here to speak to one of the prisoners."
"I wasn't aware of any ongoing investigations involving the Aurors," the clerk replied.
"We arrested him for a disturbance. Suspicious activity. Just need ta ask some routine questions," Tiberius explained.
The clerk considered this, and for a moment Alastor was afraid they were going to have to hex the man. After a moment though, the clerk gave a shrug and put aside his magazine, retrieving a large book from beneath the desk.
"And who is it you wanted to see?"
"Ah..." Alastor paused. He had no idea what any of the men's names might be. "The fellow who came in wearing black robes."
"My records show that three such prisoners were brought in," the clerk answered, raising an eyebrow. "Could you be more specific?"
"If you could refresh our memories," Tiberius suggested. "We take a lot of cases, you see. Very busy. Lots of suspects."
Alastor nodded in agreement to this, and though the clerk looked doubtful he did not bother to argue.
"We have a Theodore Galvin, a Bernard Bloom, and a Robert Marsh."
Tiberius glanced to Alastor, who sorted through the names, picked up on nothing remotely familiar, and simply chose one at random.
"Marsh," Alastor said, snapping his fingers and trying to act as though that was who had been meaning all along. "Him. Yes. That one."
"I'll have Mr. Marsh moved to one of the interview rooms," the clerk said. He shut the record book with a dull thud and rose from his seat, a set of keys jangling on his belt. "Wait here, please."
The clerk passed through the door on the left, leaving Alastor and Tiberius standing alone in the waiting room. So far so good at least. No one had challenged them yet anyway, and that was probably for the best. Alastor did not imagine the senior Aurors would take kindly to finding out that someone had been staging an imaginary investigation just to talk to a prisoner.
"Donnae suppose that's tha same fellow Mark tried ta talk ta?" Tiberius asked after a moment.
"Rubbish. Didn't think of that," Alastor muttered.
Still, whoever Mark had spoken to or... mind-read or whatever he had done, the man had never ever actually seen Alastor or Tiberius, so there was no real danger of recognition. Now, once they started asking questions, that might be a bit of a giveaway.
"If he's the one who sent us into that trap, I think we'll be having an interesting conversation," Alastor predicted.
Tiberius called that particular fellow a few foul names that Alastor emphatically agreed with, breaking off his tirade just as the clerk returned. He stepped behind the desk, retrieving a parchment and handing it to Tiberius.
"His forms. Mr. Marsh is ready, and you'll find him in Room 6," the clerk said, pointing to the door on the right. "Have fun."
The remark seemed to be more general than any actual wish for them to have fun, but Alastor grinned back at the clerk as he followed Tiberius through the door.
"Oh, I intend to."
The door swung shut, closing with a loud bang that echoed down the empty hall. Alastor winced as the locks slid into place and the wards re-engaged, sealing them into the hall. Globes of light floated along the ceiling, coming perilously close to colliding with Tiberius' head more than once. All the doors along the hall wore brass numbers that glowed in the dimness, counting in time with the footsteps against the checkerboard floor. Room 6 rose up on the left, another heavy door set into the wall.
"Strategy?" Tiberius asked, reaching for the handle.
"The usual," Alastor said. "And we're looking for the book."
"Worried about motive?"
"Eh." Alastor shrugged, considering the importance of knowing why exactly these men wanted the book. Since Mark seemed to already be fairly confident of the reasons, asking Robert Marsh about them seemed unnecessary. Still, no reason to limit the conversation. "Why not?"
Tiberius grinned for a moment then, an eager expression that Alastor matched with a grin of his own. Then shoulders were squared and the grins vanished, replaced by cool faces and hard eyes. This was Auror business, after all, and they ought to look serious, no matter how fun interrogations might actually be. Tiberius twisted the handle and pushed the door inward, stepping out of the way to allow Alastor to enter.
The small room had the same purplish walls and checkerboard floors, a metal table charmed to the floor in the center. On the opposite side of the table sat the man Alastor presumed to be Robert Marsh, a round-faced fellow with short hair who kept fidgeting with the arms of his chair. Tiberius shut the door again, hard enough that the noise echoed and Marsh jumped a bit in his seat. Alastor bent over the table, palms pressed against the cool metal.
"Mr. Mash, we've got a few questions for you."
"I can't imagine why," Marsh replied, sounding far calmer than he looked. "I'm here as a mistake, you see."
"Are you now?" Tiberius asked. He leaned against the back wall, face vanishing into the shadows that wrapped around the edges of the room. "And why's that?"
"Wrong place at the wrong time," Marsh said. "It's the funniest story, really..."
Marsh trailed off, glancing uncertainly from Alastor to Tiberius and back again. Alastor motioned for him to continue.
"I love a good story. Let's have it then."
"Ah, well..." Marsh shifted in his seat, fingers drumming on the armrests. "I was out running some errands. For the wife. And... and these fellows, they were... there was a scuffle. I was trying to get them to stop, because somebody had a wand out, and I didn't want the Muggles to see. But I must have been hit with something, or slipped, because everything went all fuzzy and when I woke up I was here."
Marsh laughed nervously then, but Alastor and Tiberius were soon laughing outright. Honestly, that had to have been one of the worst stories he had ever heard. Marsh mistook their sudden humor though, laughing as well and beginning to relax. Or at least he had been, until Alastor abruptly stopped laughing and pounded his palm against the table. The noise brought a sudden, staggering halt to all the laughter, and Marsh's eyes widened.
"You were out running errands for your wife, you said?" Alastor asked quietly.
"Buying groceries, yes!" Marsh insisted, nodding emphatically.
"Then where's your wedding ring?"
Marsh's eyes went even wider now, and his fingers stilled against the chair.
"T-they took it when I got here."
"No," Tiberius said. He had pulled out Marsh's form and was presently shaking his head at whatever page he happened to be reading. "No records of any rings. Care ta try again?"
Marsh did not seem to care to try again, which suited Alastor just fine because that meant they would have to coax him into talking some other way. Not to mention, he had found that when suspects were persuaded into talking, they were far more likely to tell the truth, at least most of the time, and especially on the occasions where they seemed to be afraid of bodily harm.
"Alright, Mr. Marsh, here's what I think." Alastor reached into his pocket and withdrew the file he had been keeping on Mark. The original disturbance forms had been joined by several pages of notes and a picture of Mark the Healers had taken upon his arrival in their care. Mark was unconscious in the picture, but he was still recognizable, and Alastor slapped the photograph down onto the table in front of Marsh.
"I think you know this fellow. And I think you kidnapped him and held him hostage and took part of his property. I also think that you helped set a trap for him, and in doing so made a valiant, but failed, effort to kill him and two Aurors. Now-" Alastor took a seat in the chair opposite Marsh, turning it backwards so that his arms rested across the top, "-what have you to say to that?"
All Marsh did was eye Alastor shrewdly, suddenly infinitely more calm than he had been moments ago. The usual progression of events would have suggested that Marsh should have become more nervous when Alastor started making accusations, not the opposite. Alastor began to suspect that perhaps the nerves had been nothing more than an act all along. Oh, this would be very interesting.
"Am I to assume that you were the two unfortunate Aurors?" Marsh asked.
"Not so unfortunate, really," Tiberius replied. "Still alive, at least."
Marsh muttered something under his breath that sounded like "pity," and Alastor was on his feet again in an instant, leaning over the table and glowering at Marsh, eye to eye.
"Need to improve your traps," Alastor growled. "Bit easy to escape, that one. Not much of a challenge."
"I'll be sure and keep that in mind," Marsh answered.
Tension crackled between them, the globe on the ceiling suddenly glowing brighter and washing out Marsh' face in harsh light. Alastor pushed the picture of Mark toward Marsh again.
"What do you want with him?"
Marsh lifted the picture this time, studying Mark's face. He smiled then, a tight, vicious look that was not at all friendly.
"Do you have any idea who he is?"
"Mark Wright, age twenty-one, probably some sort of escaped mental patient," Alastor said, counting on his fingers. "Why?"
"He's important," Marsh said. "Very important."
Alastor rolled his eyes, suspecting this was about to turn into another conversation explaining why Mark was actually one of Merlin's secret descendants.
"And I shall ask again, a bit louder this time, WHY?"
"He's the last of Merlin's line," Marsh whispered, as though sharing some grave secret. "And he doesn't belong here."
This had really just grown about as mental as Alastor was willing to allow.
"No, I'm sure he bloody well does not."
Alastor rounded the table and had hold of Marsh before the man ever realized what was happening. In seconds, Alastor had the man's arm twisted behind his back and his face pressed against the table. The collision resulted in a loud bang that shook the table, and Marsh began shouting and struggling. Alastor merely tightened his hold and twisted his arm a bit further, and after a moment Marsh went silent. Tiberius stepped away from the wall at last, taking the seat that Alastor had vacated. He still looked calm, fingers steepled as though there was nothing odd about conversing with a man Alastor had pinned to the table.
"Now, Mr. Marsh, you're beginning ta get on my nerves, and I dare say, my friend's as well."
Alastor pushed Marsh's head against the table a bit harder, just in case there were any doubts as to his annoyance.
"So, perhaps you could explain ta us why you think Mark here is related ta dear old Merlin," Tiberius suggested. "Preferably soon."
"Aurors shouldn't even be involved!" Marsh shouted, though the words were a bit muffled. "If you hadn't showed up at the house, this wouldn't even be an issue."
"So the disturbance tipped you off?" Alastor guessed. When Marsh refused to answer, Alastor knocked his head against the table again.
"Not tha head, mate," Tiberius said. "Makes 'em forget things."
"Ah. Right."
"You call it a disturbance," Marsh muttered. "It was a shock wave! All that power in one place."
"But Auror Moody here turned up, and you dinnae get him," Tiberius concluded.
Marsh nodded, twisting to try and free himself again, to no avail. "We caught up with him later though. We had to. Just to make sure. And we were right."
"Right mental, that's what all you lot are," Alastor muttered. "What've you done with his book then?"
"Awful good luck he's got, Aurors helping him, coming to the rescue. We'd have had him in the alley. Should have had him at the shop."
"Yes, thank you so much, for the lovely surprise that was the shop," Alastor said. "Now where's the ruddy book?"
Marsh did not seem to really be listening though, not anymore. He was laughing again, and rambling on.
"They translated the book. Parts of it. But we need him to make it work. Mark is the key."
"Because he's tha descendant?" Tiberius guessed, frowning at Marsh now. "And what would you do with this book?"
"Power," Marsh said, the word coming in a gasp of breath. "The book is power."
"Right." Alastor released his hold and stepped away, allowing Marsh to tumble to the floor. "Power-hungry, demented, dark wizards. And here I thought my week had begun to return to normal."
"Just think what could be done with the key to Merlin's power. We could save the wizarding world," Marsh insisted.
"Wizarding world doesn't need saving today, I've already seen to that," Alastor muttered. "And if that was a recruitment speech, it was rubbish."
Marsh did not move from his place on the floor, though his hands gestured wildly as he spoke.
"You're both sensible wizards. Doesn't the pollution of our world concern you?"
Alastor and Tiberius glanced at each other, then back at Marsh, trying to decide if he meant what they thought he had.
"You another one of those pureblood nutters?" Tiberius asked.
"Nothing mad about trying to preserve your kind," Marsh replied.
"Your kind could do with being a little less common," Alastor said.
He aided Marsh in returning to his seat, lifting the man easily into the chair and pushing him solidly into place. Alastor had never had much patience for anyone trying to claim some sort of pureblood superiority. He knew plenty of Muggleborn witches and wizards who had quite some talent, Donald Pritchett among them. There was no reason purebloods and half-bloods and everyone else could not get along, and people like Marsh only managed to stir up unwanted trouble.
"Mr. Marsh," Tiberius said, face solemn again. "We're arresting you for the assault and subsequent kidnapping of Mark Wright, anything you say-"
"You can't!" Marsh cried.
"Did you forget the part where you just confessed?" Alastor demanded, crossing his arms and scowling down at Marsh.
"I...I wasn't..."
"Unless you're going ta decided ta be helpful," Tiberius said slowly, "and tell us something we havenae already heard, you're back to tha cells."
"We could probably land you a ticket to Azkaban, if you're lucky," Alastor growled.
Marsh sagged back in the chair, fingers drumming absently against the arm once more. Alastor wanted to smack the man's hand away, but he knew he had probably reached the acceptable level of contact for one day.
"Where's the bloody book?" Alastor asked, voice still dangerously low.
"I obviously haven't got it!" Marsh snapped.
"Merlin, I'd never have known," Tiberius replied. "Who does?"
"I don't know!"
"Ruddy useless, you are," Alastor muttered, kicking Marsh's chair for good measure. "Come on then, let's not waste any more time."
Tiberius rose from his seat, following Alastor to the door silently. Neither of them looked back at Marsh, and the man did not speak again until Alastor had his hand on the door.
"They won't stop, you know."
"Who won't?" Alastor asked, glancing over his shoulder. "Your little club?"
"There's more of us than you realize. Any time he uses his powers, they'll know. And they'll find him," Marsh warned, still washed-out and ghostlike beneath the bright globe. The words and the image were both fairly haunting.
"Yes. Thank you." Alastor pushed the door open. "Any other sinister comments you'd like to make?"
Marsh's only reply was to make a few unpleasant remarks about the Auror Department at large and Tiberius and Alastor in particular. Alastor and Tiberius simply raised their eyebrows and waved rude gestures at the suspect as they backed out into the hall. The door swung shut again, locks and wards falling into place.
"Odd fellow," Tiberius declared.
"I think that's an understatement," Alastor replied.
"Donnae suppose he was much help," Tiberius said, running both hands through his hair. "Dinnae seem ta know much."
Alastor set to pacing back and forth in the small stretch of space in front of the door, running back over Marsh's words.
"That'd make sense though, if all the underlings knew everything, that'd be a liability. One's arrested, they make him talk, he tells everything."
"Good point," Tiberius said. "But what do we do now?"
They could talk to the other two men, Galvin and Bloom, but Alastor suspected that they would be about as helpful as Marsh. Really now would be the opportune time to go waltzing into the secret hideout of these mad, black-robed men, only nobody seemed to know where the hideout actually was. What they needed was to draw out the black-robed men, bait them into the open, force them to show their hand, show the book...
Alastor stopped pacing as the idea struck him, turning on his heels to face Tiberius.
"Got it."
"What?"
"I have a plan," Alastor elaborated. "To get that stupid book. Come on, I'll explain on the way."