Aristocrat (HP/SI)

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***

While Richard was practising his charms under Madame Marchbanks on Sunday, a collection vehicle from Mr Finch-Fletchley's bank arrived at Eaton Hall Manor. Along with the collectors arrived the valuer.

As a result, the bank staff removed the platinum, and in Richard's study there was a small pyramid of ninety-three bars of gold, each weighing on average about four hundred troy ounces (twelve kilograms and four hundred grams). This in value was about the agreed sum, that is, the price of platinum minus ten per cent.

The next day Richard, accompanied by Scott Potter, went to Gringotts Bank, where he arranged with a familiar goblin to exchange gold for Galleons. The exchange rate was favourable to both parties.

Yes, there was a restriction on currency exchange at Gringotts, but not on precious metals, which the goblins considered to be gold and silver.

The goblin bank earned only one per cent on this deal, which suited Richard just fine. For one bar of gold, the boy received eighteen thousand seventy-seven galleons. The "change" he took with him, and left the round sum in the safe.

Richard and the detective walked almost to the end of Cosi Lane, looking at all sorts of shops. A clean and cosy street appeared on the right. The name on the sign of the nearest house said it was Flower Alley. The young wizard and the squib found themselves in a bustling marketplace.

In the centre of the square there were stalls, with traders and buyers standing near them. Witches and sorcerers scurried between the stalls. Most of them were dressed in old-fashioned clothes, many wearing robes, but occasionally there were wizards in costume. All in all, Richie and Scott didn't really stand out from the crowd.Richard noticed that the vendors were selling mostly food, herbs, minerals, and second-hand items, like a flea market.

On either side of the market square, there were numerous shops on the ground floors.

Walking along one of the walls, Richard froze in front of a transparent shop window, behind which bags and suitcases were visible.

- Mr Potter, we're this way.

- Mm-hmm," the detective nodded, not taking his eyes off what he was doing: looking around carefully to protect his client from thieves.

At the bag shop, Richard had bought a nice leather valise for only fifty-six galleons, with Invisible Expansion charms attached.

Perhaps for wizards with their incomes, such a price for an enchanted bag would seem high. But Richard considered his acquisition extremely favourable.

Mr Potter put his hand on Richard's shoulder and said:

- Boy, isn't that what you're looking for?

Turning round in the direction the detective was pointing, Richie spotted the signboard:

Spencer and Phillips

We'll build anything from a barn to a castle.

- Thank you, Mr Potter. This is exactly what we need.

Inside, the building office was small. A room four metres by four metres. On the wall with the door, there was a single cloudy window. Along the wall was an old sofa with shabby fabric upholstery. In front of it stood a lacquered desk, behind which, facing the entrance, sat a full bald wizard in a black robe.

As soon as the visitors were inside the room, the wizard rolled out from behind the desk like a kolobolok. He was about Richard's height. He had a big smile on his face.

- Good afternoon! Good to see you, sir! - The magician spoke, addressing the detective. - I'm Mr Oliver Spencer. Would you like to place an order?

Mr Potter stood slightly behind his employer on his right side. He answered the wizard by pointing his palm at the boy:

- 'Count Richard Grosvenor is here to see you. I am the bodyguard.

- Oh, Lord!

The wizard rounded his eyes in amazement and opened his mouth.

- Good afternoon, sir," Richie nodded slightly with his chin and held himself with the dignity of an aristocrat. - Are you in the construction business?

- Yes, yes, yes, of course. Really, Count, why are you standing? Sit down.

Mr Spencer pointed to the sofa. Richard took advantage of the invitation and made himself comfortable on the right edge of the couch.

Scott remained standing, sliding away from the front door to the side that had no window on it.

Mr Spencer pulled his wand from the pouch on his belt, swung it and levitated the chair from behind the table to the sofa. He then sat down across from Richard.

- 'Sir, it is such an honour to welcome the lord to our firm. Are you looking to build something?

- You're very clever, Mr Spencer. But first I'd like to know what kind of construction your firm does.

- Lord, without too much modesty, we've even been approached by the Ministry of Magic. Recently we have been building a whole village for magical farms: houses, greenhouses, outbuildings. We are approached by very respected wizards to build houses.

- Can you build an office building?

- Of course! - The wizard's green eyes sparkled with joy. - Of course, sir! We can do anything. We do it quickly and efficiently.

- Mr Spencer, my family has been in the construction business for a long time, and I know from experience that fast and high quality automatically means expensive.

- Count Grosvenor, I've never heard of a wizard-builder with that surname," the mage said sceptically.

- Wizards? - Richard smirked. - What are you talking about? My family has an international corporation in the Muggle world that does construction all over the world.

- Muggles have-" Mr Spencer stretched out contemptuously.

- Do you have something against ordinary people? - Richard asked coldly, raising his right eyebrow defiantly.

Mr Spencer's bald head was sweating. It suddenly dawned on him that he had said too much. You could hate Muggles all you wanted, but not when money was involved. He suddenly realised he might lose a client.

- I'm sorry, n-no," the wizard said. - It's just weird. If you're in the construction business, why did you come to us? Are you trying to lure us into your firm? We only do construction with magic, so we can't work in the Muggle world.

- Mr Spencer," the coldness had gone out of Richard's voice, "let me tell you what this is all about. I need to build a large building for artefact production and magical research. Three floors, a spacious garage for several Muggle cars, a potions and alchemy lab, offices, laboratories, rest rooms. Also need a freestanding hangar for a few aeroplanes. The main thing I'm interested in is timing and price. If your price is lower and the construction period is shorter than that of the Muggles, and the quality is not worse, then I will hire your firm. If I can't do either of those things, I'll use my corporation's facilities.

- I see, sir... Erm... A big building, then. Do you need a big hangar for these planes?

- Twenty metres by fifty metres.

- Oh! - the wizard took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blotted his sweating forehead. - And the house, then, is it... Metres fifty by twenty with three floors?

- Maybe. Do you have designers? We can at least make a preliminary estimate.

- I'll be right back. I'll be right back. Just don't leave.

The bald colobok jumped up from his seat and rushed into the back room, the door to which was behind the desk. There were rustles and rumbles from behind the wall. Soon the mage returned with a crystal ball on a bronze stand. He set the ball on the floor between Richard and the chair, sat down and pointed his wand at the ball.

Richard watched curiously as the crystal ball glowed with blue light and the illusion of a black rectangle appeared above it.

"Damn it! - Richard mentally wailed. - 'It's a holoprojector! My precious! Why the hell do wizards fly fly flyers and use mentally controlled holoprojectors, and ordinary people don't have all that?"

That the wizard was using his thoughts to control the crystal ball was clear at a glance. The hologram flowed and now looked more like the stone box of a house. After some more time, the box had window and door openings, garage doors, a roof, columns, balconies, gargoyle statues, spires and chimneys. Two walls disappeared and the internal layout of the premises began to emerge: corridors, rooms, staircases. Nearby rose a large house that looked like a stable.

- I suppose, sir, this must be a hangar?

Richard poked his finger at a hologram of a stable.

- 'Yes,' Mr Spencer nodded. - 'Is there something wrong with it?

- The hangar should be semi-circular in shape, so that it's tall and so that the snow doesn't linger on it.

- We can do that.

The stable disappeared and in its place appeared a hologram of a semi-circular stone hangar with a giant wooden gate.

- Hmm... Original. How long will this structure last?

- Honourable Lord, our firm assures that the structure will last for at least a hundred years.

- Impressive. If it's going to last a hundred years, then we can make an original hangar like this. Is there electricity and modern steam heating in the house?

- Muggle electricity?! - the wizard was horrified.

- I see," Richard grinned. - Judging by the number of chimneys, you propose to heat this whole structure with fireplaces.

- Of course, sir," the wizard nodded. - And how are you going to heat it... Well, with steam? Are you going to splash water into a hot fireplace?

- Well, forget it. How much would it cost to build a box with a roof and a hangar?

- Unfinished, sir?

- Unfinished. I'd have to get Muggle specialists to do the wiring, heating and ventilation. So there's no point in finishing at all.

- Well, it's a big order. It's going to take a whole week, or maybe even two," the wizard estimated. - It would take a lot of time to transgress to the mountains, to gather stone and wood in the forest.

Richard gave no sign of his utter amazement. The construction time was normal for the world of the future, but not for the present. It was unrealistic to build a stone house in a couple of weeks. The material seemed to him not the best, after all, the thermal insulation properties of stone are among the worst, but if the price is normal, it will do.

- So you're using stone because you're quarrying it yourself?

- Yes, yes. How else? You have to buy it?! Ha-ha-ha! - laughed merrily, the mage-builder.

- And what about the money?

- If you only need a box with a foundation and a roof, then... - it was obvious from the wizard's face that he was fighting greed with the desire to name too large a sum, so as not to scare off the client. - Only three thousand seven hundred galleons! - he blurted out.

- Hmm... Three thousand seven hundred... I don't know... I don't know....

Richard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. In fact, he was making an incredible effort not to squeal:

"Are you kidding me?! Less than nineteen thousand pounds to build a house and hangar including materials? Who charges that little money?! Do you work for food?"

Seeing that the client was hesitant, Mr Spencer thought that Muggles charged much less for building and he had charged too high a price.

- Lord Grosvenor, sir, we can give you a discount. Three five hundred for the whole thing!

- A good price, I agree," Richard replied calmly, but in his heart he was cheering and writhing in ecstasy.

A standard for the magical world contract was signed with Spencer and Phillips, according to which the wizards undertook to build two buildings within two weeks: an office building with a garage and a hangar. Payment under the contract would be made from Richard's account at Gringotts after he presented the goblins with the contract and proof of completion.

Richard spent his next weekend taking all his gold to the Gringotts bank in a valise with an invisible extension. Thus, the young wizard's account was replenished by one million six hundred and thirty-two thousand nine hundred and fifty-three galleons. Just a cosmic sum by the standards of wizards.

Goblin Rickbeth was over the moon. He was able to earn more than sixteen thousand galleons for the bank on this deal, from which he should be paid a substantial bonus. He did not regret in the slightest that he had asked to be the young lord's personal manager. Now he would show everyone who laughed at him for believing the boy's words about exchanging millions of pounds! Yes, Rickbeth would love to see the sour faces of his kin who had missed their chance.

A couple of weeks after his visit to Spencer & Phillips, the three-storey box house and stone hangar were ready.

Richard signed a contract with his father's firm for finishing work, which he was going to pay from the remaining funds in the account. There was quite a lot of work to be done: sewerage, drilling a well and plumbing, as well as installation of ventilation, heating, electrical wiring and finishing works. The only problem was electricity, but Richard planned to install a diesel generator. The boy even had ideas on how to make the generator work on a budget. In the first case it would be enchanted by wizards to work without fuel, in the second variant it was planned to restore the volume of fuel through the Hausdorff-Banach-Tarski paradox by hired mages.

In addition, equipment for the car repair shop was ordered: a lift, tools, jacks and the like. Of course, furniture had to be ordered.

Richard sadly sold a small amount of stock, as his bank account showed the bottom too quickly. Ordinary people demand good pay for their work. Even taking into account the fact that the order to Grosvenor Group cost the cost of materials and wages of workers, the sum came to a decent amount.

Several crews worked on the construction in order to meet the very tight deadlines.

***

Richard's schedule was back on track: aerobics, studying, fencing, spell training. He was preparing for his fourth year high school exams with a persistence worthy of a student of zubril.

Another Wednesday in the middle of May started as usual, but the physics tutor's class was suddenly interrupted by John.

- Mr Ritchie, your father wants to see you urgently.

- John, what's wrong?

- Mr Ritchie, a man from Her Majesty's Secret Service is here to see Mr Gerald. Father asked for you.

"The Secret Service? - "The Secret Service?" went through Richard's mind. - What's it got to do with me? Or is it the platinum? Damn it, not again! How do I behave in a situation like this? This sucks..."

Richard walked down to the living room with a feeling of intense worry. Outwardly, however, he remained stone-cold calm as he stared blankly at his guest, a stout man of about thirty-five years of age.

The guest was tall, with short, thick black hair and grey eyes. He was dressed in a classic black suit.

- Good afternoon, gentlemen," Richie said politely.

The father greeted his son with a warm smile and said:

- 'Richie, let me introduce you to MI6 agent, Mr Alex Blade. Mr Blade, this is my son Richard.

- Pleased to meet you, Lord Richard Grosvenor," the secret service agent bowed his head politely.

- Nice to meet you, Mr Blade.

Richie, carefully hiding his excitement, sat down on the couch next to his father across from Alex.

"Blade... Something familiar," Richard's mind was spinning. - It seems that at school in the past world, we were forced to read stories from the classics of hit-and-runs, and there was one of the first such stories with a protagonist who had the same surname.

- Sir," the boy jokingly addressed the agent, "do you happen to know Richard Blade, who travelled through parallel worlds with the help of special equipment?

Mr Blade tensed perceptibly and asked in a steely tone:

- How do you know about my father and the Dimension X project?

The extremely amazed Richard, who had not expected such an answer to an innocent joke, fell into a stupor for a few moments.

- Sir, it's just an epiphany. It happens to me sometimes.

- The Prophet-" Mr Blade whispered apprehensively.

- Please forgive Richard, he has epiphanies sometimes," Gerald said politely. - 'It's so difficult with geniuses...

- Yes, yes, Lord," Mr Blade agreed feignedly.

- Richie, Agent Blade is here on important business. Mr Blade, if it's not too much trouble, could you briefly tell Richard the nature of the case?

- A farmer named Creevey reported to the police that he'd caught an alien on his property.

- Ahem...

Richard choked with laughter. To hide his amusement, he coughed and covered his mouth with his fist. Under his father's reproachful gaze, the boy shamefully covered his eyes and said:

- I'm sorry, the air went down the wrong throat.

- It's all right," Mr Blade grinned understandingly. - I laughed when I heard about it, too. But our staff verified the information by watching the Creevey family's farm for a while, and then confirmed that Mr Creevey had someone of small stature living with him. They reported it to management. Supposedly, Mr Creevey has caught some sort of magical creature.

- What's that got to do with us? - Richard looked at the agent with genuine bewilderment.

- 'Son, the Creevy's are our long-time tenants.

- That's right, Lord Grosvenor," Agent Blade confirmed with a nod of his head. - Actually, the wizards should deal with this, but to contact them, you have to report either to the Prime Minister or to the royal family. Since this case concerns the Grosvenor family, the management decided to report it to you.

- I see," Richard said with relief, realising it wasn't about the platinum. - Since the alien is invisible to the agents, but the farmer can see it, and he didn't call the Aurors, but called the police, I'm assuming that Mr Creevey is a squib and doesn't know it himself.

- Most likely," Mr Blade agreed, showing once again his enlightenment of the magical world. - What do you plan to do, Lord Grosvenor? - He turned to Gerald.

- We don't want wizards meddling in our affairs. Have Richard come with you and see what kind of alien is out there. If a farmer could knock it out, it can't be dangerous.

- Dad, are you seriously suggesting I ditch my tutoring and go to some farm to catch aliens?

Richard crossed his arms across his chest indignantly.

- Richie, Creevey are our tenants. I wouldn't want our family name to be tarnished by the mention of aliens. It won't be a big deal if you don't study for half the day.

- Great! - Richard's voice oozed sarcasm. - That's great! What am I supposed to do about the alien?

- You decide on the spot. Son, you need to gain experience in crisis decision-making. You've been handed a greenhouse problem on a silver platter. If you think you're mature enough, you'll solve it. I believe in you.

- Great! - Richard said ironically and switched to Alex: - Agent Blade, are you coming with me alone?

- I'll take my own vehicle, Lord Grosvenor," Alex answered the boy. - There are several of our agents on duty at the site, so they'll back us up.

- Let's go, sir... Can you tell me about your father?

- No, that's classified.

- What about the machine that was used to send him to parallel worlds?

- No, that's classified information.

- There's magic involved, isn't there? Our world's technology hasn't evolved to the point of being able to transfer consciousness into a person from a parallel world.

- No comment.

- There's definitely magic involved! Is your father really the coolest MI6 agent in the world?

- Yes... Lord Grosvenor, no questions. You don't have clearance for most secrets.

It wasn't a long journey. After only half an hour, the procession of black Jaguar and the Bentley that followed it passed the open wooden gate hanging on the posts of a low cross-bar fence. The purpose of the fence is clear - to keep animals from escaping the farm. Such a fence is not able to protect from thieves and prying eyes, as the distance between the poles is quite decent.

The cars passed the spacious cow pen and stopped outside a red wooden two-storey house.

Richard left the Bentley saloon and joined the special agent. At that time Alex Blade was talking on the radio:

- Can you see it through the thermal imaging cameras?

- Yes, sir, we've got a visual on it," he said over the walkie-talkie with a hissing sound. - We have it in our sights.

- In case of danger to the men, open fire on them.

- Copy that, sir.

The special agent put the walkie-talkie in his inside pocket and turned his eyes to the boy.

- Mr Richard, everything is under control. Please.

A worried, round-faced man with mouse-brown hair came out of the house. His brown eyes scrutinised the visitors with concern.

- Who are you! - he asked sharply.

- Agent Blade, MI6," Alex introduced himself. - 'And this is Lord Richard Grosvenor, who has decided to personally help his tenants. Are you Mr Adam Creevey?

- Yes, sir," the farmer's fighting spirit faltered abruptly. He rubbed his palms nervously over his jeans as if trying to get rid of dirt. - I'm sorry, but you're... Lord... Uh... I thought you were a little older.

- Mr Creevey," Richard bowed his head courteously. - You must have me confused with my father, Gerald Grosvenor. He asked me to look into your situation. Tell me, did you really catch the alien?

'Big man,' thought Mr Creevey, and it didn't even bother him that the Lord was too young, looking only about ten years old.

- Oh! Sir...

Adam didn't know where to put his hands. He put them in the pockets of his blue overalls, then thought it was rude to stand in front of the Lord with his hands in his pockets and took them out.

- Don't think I'm crazy like those morons on TV... Oh, pardon my French, Lord," the farmer interrupted. - Erm... I'm not crazy!- Mr Creevey, nobody thinks you're crazy," Alex said in a calm tone. - Otherwise we wouldn't be here, but the paramedics and the police. Tell us everything as it happened.

- Yesterday afternoon we were in the field with the children, driving the cows into the paddock. And then I saw someone sitting in the grass. It was so scary! I thought it was a predator. So I grabbed the shovel.

- Did you have a shovel in your hands? - Alex asked.

- Yes, sir. So, then... I was sneaking around with the shovel and suddenly I saw that it wasn't a beast, but it wasn't a man either. Small, grey, big ears, long fingers. I knew at once - an alien! He must have hidden a flying saucer somewhere nearby!

- Are his eyes big? - Richard asked.

- Yes, yes!" the farmer nodded and cheered. - HUGE EYES! That's how big they are!

Mr Creevey put his thumbs and forefingers together in a circle and held them up to his eyes, showing the size he meant. Then he continued:

- 'And he's also got a huge nose! Not like an elephant's trunk, but bigger than a man's.

- Go on, Mr Creevey," Alex said.

- Well, I thought that if I stabbed this alien with a blade, it would die. So I turned the spade over quietly, cos he's got ears, he could hear me! So I hit him on the head with the blade, right between the ears!

- And what then? - Alex asked.

- That was it.

- What do you mean - that's it, he's dead? - The special agent asked again.

- No, no, sir. I mean, the alien went limp. I grabbed him by the ears and dragged him down to the cellar. Tied him up and rang the constable. I tell him I've got an alien in my cellar, and he laughs and says, "Adam, sleep it off!" So I spent half an hour trying to prove to him, I mean the constable, that I was sober.

- Where's the alien now? - Blade asked.

- There, in the house.

- Has he not escaped?

- No, sir. I was just taking precautions. I was afraid he might shoot us with a blaster or something. I'd go down to the basement every half hour and hit him over the head with a pole. But I just... that... - the farmer hesitated, like an excellent student in front of the porch. - I think I may have overdone it a bit.

- How, Mr Creevey? - asked the special agent.

- You see, I was so sleepy at wolf's hour that I didn't realise my eyes were sticking together. So I'm sleeping by the hatch to the cellar and I hear a cry: "Gentlemen wizards, let Donkey serve you." I wake up abruptly and see a startled Dennis and Colin. This alien is bowing down in front of my kids. I freaked out, grabbed my shovel and... hit him too hard in the head. I didn't see it coming, and the alien somehow managed to get out of the cellar and out of the ropes. I hope he doesn't die. He's been unconscious for half a day.

- Mr Creevey," Alex began, pointing to the nearest window to the right of the front door, "I believe the alien is in that room.

- Yes, yes, sir. He's in the living room. I've sent my wife and kids to my in-laws, and I've been waiting... I mean, waiting for someone to arrive. I phoned the constable a few more times, and then you arrived. Oh! Gentlemen, what are we standing here for? Please come inside.

The house was cosy, rustic with a modern twist. Knitted coasters on the windowsills, a rug on the floor, a fireplace. The idyll was disturbed only by a grey-skinned dwarf with long ears and nose, who lay on the floor in front of the carpet, tied with ropes like a caterpillar.

Alex stepped forward and pushed Richard behind him. He was tensed like a spring. Richie didn't even have time to notice when a Glock 17 pistol appeared in the special agent's hand. The weapon was pointed at the unconscious dwarf with a bloody crust on his head.

- Houseboy," Richard said, looking over Blade's shoulder.

- A houseboy? - Alex asked.

- A houseboy?! - The farmer rounded his eyes.

- A house elf.

- Are you sure? - Mr Blade asked.

- I've never seen one myself, but the descriptions are exactly like a house elf. - Richard tilted his head to the side and looked between the elf's legs. - A male!

- I hadn't noticed! - Mr Creevey snorted nervously. - So it's not an alien, but a brownie?

- Yes, sir, a typical brownie," Richard said calmly. - Judging from the fact that he's wearing a ragged jacket and his ribs sticking out as if he'd been starving for a long time, I'd guess he'd been thrown out of the house by his master.

- Why did the brownie end up on this farm, then? - Alex asked.

- He was looking for new owners. As far as I understood from my tutor's lectures, the psychology of house elves is such that they can't imagine life without wizard masters. It follows that Mr Creevey's children are wizards.

- WHAT?! - the farmer was dumbfounded. - Who are my children?

- Sir, I'm not the one who should have told you this," Richard said. - Wizards, psychics, whatever you want to call them. But there are people with supernatural powers in the world. Their existence is hidden by all states. It's more likely than not that your children are such gifted people. In that case, they will be invited to a special school for gifted children after junior school.

Mr Creevey didn't want to believe in wizards, brownies and other nonsense, but just in case he decided to remember everything the young Lord said. The farmer noticed that Richard spoke confidently and knowledgeably. It's understandable, the higher aristocracy should be aware of such things.

- Can I refuse it? - The farmer frowned.

- No, Mr Creevey, you can't refuse," Alex answered for the boy. - All gifted children have to study in a special closed school, so that they don't hurt anyone with their abilities. Moreover, you are not allowed to tell anyone about brownies, magic and everything supernatural. By the way, have you ever seen anything strange with your kids? Flying objects, spontaneous combustion, teleportation, that sort of thing?

- Well, you can't say that," Mr Creevey thought. - They're just ordinary kids. The kitchen curtains caught fire once when Colin was six. We thought he was playing with matches. Otherwise, it's nothing weird.

- Gentlemen, Richard has drawn attention to himself. - I realise that you have a lot to discuss, like secrecy and all that, but first I suggest that you take the elf to my car. And preferably not to be shot by snipers.

- They won't, - said the special agent with confidence. - And what will you do with the houseboy, Lord?

- I'll give first aid first, and then I'll think about it. In any case, Agent Blade, housekeepers are out of your jurisdiction.

- Will you hand him over to the wizards? - Alex asked.

- I don't think so. Only as a last resort. I don't want anyone to have their memory erased and our last name trashed. If he survives and turns out to be adequate, I'll put him to work. If he dies, I'll give him to you for testing.

- In that case, call me at once," Mr Blade handed his card to Richard.

- Take him to the car," said young Grosvenor.

The agent and the farmer grabbed the house elf by his arms and legs and carried him to the exit.

- Where are you going with your feet?! - Richard was outraged. - He's still alive!

The panting men carried the house elf to the Bentley.

- The devil! - Mr Blade cursed. - He's small and heavy!

- That's why I dragged him by the ears," said Mr Creevey wisely. - It's easier than tearing my back. Shall we take him by the ears now?

- No ears! - Richard said in a commanding tone. - He's got a battered head, and you're suggesting we take his ears off.

- Where to load? - Alex asked.

- In the boot, Adam suggested. - Such an expensive car, he'll get blood all over the interior.

- Are you kidding me? - Richard was outraged. - It's not a dead whore's corpse to carry in the boot! Put it in the passenger compartment.