Mordant

Chapter Sixteen: Barker, Mason, and Fraser

Linus listened to the other two men’s story in silence. If they had come to him with this information in January, he would have tracked down Sam Barker in a flash. Now? He wasn’t certain what he wanted to do, but he felt painfully conscious of the fact that Celia would not approve of revenge.

Kingsley helped him out of his perplexity. “I was just going to question him, and I was wondering whether you wanted to come along. You’ll have to stand back and not get involved, of course, but I thought you might like to be there in case any question comes up about what happened on the night you were bitten.”

“Fair enough,” said Linus. “Let’s go.”

They Apparated to a ramshackle cottage at the edge of a forest. A scruffy-looking wizard shambled to the door after they rang the bell three or four times. He appeared to be in worse physical shape than any werewolf Linus had met: so underweight that he was almost cadaverous in appearance, with sunken eyes and lusterless hair. In addition to his mangled ear, he had scar damage on both arms and half of his face.

“Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror Division. I’ve come to ask you a few questions – under the authority of the Werewolf Protection Act.”

Barker blanched visibly and took a step backward, as if about to let Kingsley into the house, and then blocked the door again and said, “What are you talking about? I’m not a werewolf.”

“You’ve just told me you are,” said Kingsley in a grim voice. “Now let us in – or do I need to take you to the Ministry?”

Barker stepped aside and let his visitors into the house. As they filed past him, he got a good look at Linus’ face for the first time. “Oh shit,” he said.

“‘Oh shit’ is about right,” said Kingsley. “You’ve met Mr. Berowne before, I take it? Are you familiar with the penalties for infecting someone with lycanthropy, or would you like me to go over them?”

“I know what they are,” said Barker in a dull voice.

“Then you’ll be pleased to hear we may be able to swing a deal for you. We know you didn’t act alone, Mr. Barker. Somebody sent you to attack this man.”

Barker was silent.

“An Auror’s testimony counts a great deal before the Wizengamot. Tell us who, and I’ll be able to get you a reduced sentence. Possibly even a suspended one,” Kingsley offered.

“Nobody sent me,” said Barker.

“Are you telling me you took it into your head to attack this man – a stranger to you – for no reason at all?”

Barker looked as if he were in the grip of some internal struggle. “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what I am telling you.”

“That admission is worth seven years in Azkaban,” said Remus quietly. “Men go mad in far less time than that. Screaming for mercy when there’s no one to hear them, beating their wrists against the walls in the hope that they’ll open a vein and end their lives, turning into shadows and shells of themselves ... Are you sure you don’t want to change your story, Sam?”

Remus turned away and took a step toward the window – seeming, for reasons Linus could not guess, more shaken by his own words than his listener was. “I don’t care,” said Barker defiantly. “Rather be mad than dead.”

Kingsley pounced on this admission. “So somebody did send you. And you’re afraid this person will kill you if you talk, is that it?”

“All right! Maybe somebody did. But I’m not naming names, and that’s final.” Barker looked down and muttered, “Might give you a hint or two if you know where to look.”

“Fine,” said Kingsley. “Tell us what you can, and I’ll see what I can do for you. But no promises unless it’s useful.”

“Why don’t you start with why you were willing to infect another man?” Remus put in, in a voice that Linus would have categorized as “deceptively pleasant.”

“Put it to you this way. Imagine you’re in the position I was about two years ago. Mauled by a werewolf, going to be ill for the rest of your life, and if the word gets out you’ll never be able to work again.”

“That doesn’t take a lot of imagination, as it happens.” Remus’ voice was still mild, but Linus thought he caught a savage undertone.

“And let’s say a person with connections approached you. Somebody who could keep your name off the Registry and see that you got the potion for free, and offered to pay you generously – in exchange for a few favors at an unspecified date. Let’s call this person ... Tommy.”

All three of the other men tensed.

“You’d think that was as good an offer as you were going to get, wouldn’t you? Nobody else in the Ministry offered to do much for me, so I don’t reckon I owe anybody anything.” He turned to Linus but could not quite meet his eyes. “Besides, I said that I wouldn’t kill you. That counts for something, doesn’t it? The other bloke, I was meant to kill.”

“What other bloke?” asked Kingsley.

“Runty little fellow, walks with a limp. I dunno his name.”

“His name is Thersites Mason,” said Linus in a menacing tone, “and he’s a friend of mine.”

“Some friend,” said Sam. “He was the one who tipped Tommy off about you. Told me exactly where to find the papers when I broke into your house.”

Linus’ stomach knotted. So he’d been right the first time. He should have seen it before.

“Why would ... Tommy want to kill his own spy?” asked Remus.

Sam looked faintly taken aback for a moment, opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it again. “Said Mason drank too much and was getting too loose with his tongue,” he said at last, “and he’d done all the useful work he was good for and needed to be silenced. So I go there at the next full moon, get hit with a couple of nasty curses coming out of nowhere before I can finish the job, and on top of that Mason tries to AK me. Well, that sort of experience makes a man think things over, you know? I reckon Tommy don’t really care which of us ends up silencing the other. Probably planning to finish the other one off afterward. So I decided to stall. Said I was ill, and it’s close enough to the truth. Never have felt well since I was bitten.”

“That’s not surprising,” said Remus with a shrewd glance at the other man’s wasted face. “The Wolfsbane you’re getting from your boss is very poor quality. Probably toxic. If I were you, I’d take my chances with the Ministry, unpleasant as some of the people at the Werewolf Registry can be.”

“How do you know so much about it?” Barker asked.

“I’ve been a werewolf since I was six. But somehow I’ve never sunk low enough to consider murder-for-hire a valid career choice.”

Barker stared at him, a slow flush rising in his sunken cheeks. He made no resistance as Kingsley cast a Tracking Spell and an Anti-Disapparation Jinx on him.

“You’re under house arrest for now,” said the Auror, “but you’ve given us useful information, and we’ll deal fairly with you.” Kingsley looked up at the other two men when he finished. “On to Mason’s?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Linus grimly.

 

                                                            *          *          *

Thersites turned out not to be at home, but they found him at the Quibbler office with Martin Lovegood. They were discussing the illustrations for an article about something called the Rotfang Conspiracy, which apparently involved spies within the Auror Division who were attempting to undermine the Ministry through Dark Magic and gum disease.

“I reckon you’d know something about that, Thersites,” said Linus loudly. “The part about traitors and spies, I mean – though come to think of it, I’m not sure your gums are in such great shape either.”

Kingsley gave him a startled look. It was possible, he realized belatedly, that the Aurors liked to approach situations like this with more finesse. He didn’t care. He felt as if this was his battle to fight. Sam Barker had been a stranger, but Thersites’ betrayal was personal.

Thersites didn’t ask him what he meant, which sealed his guilt as far as Linus was concerned. “How about Lovegood? If you’re going to talk about traitors, you should take a look at him.”

Linus rounded on Martin. “You too, Martin?”

“What?” said Martin, looking even more wide-eyed and clueless than usual.

“Did you pass on information about the issue of Martin Miggs that was stolen – and arrange for me to be bitten?”

“Certainly not! But if Thersites did...” Martin got to his feet, scattering scraps of parchment all over the floor, and did his best to look menacing, which was not his natural state. Unfortunately, he was gripping a quill in his fist instead of a wand, but Linus appreciated the effort. “He’s scum. I should have known.”

“I was looking out for myself. You were going to fire me and give him my job,” said Thersites petulantly.

Martin looked furious. “No, I wasn’t, but by Merlin I am now!”

“You can’t.” Thersites’ voice was triumphant. “He’s a werewolf now, and you can’t hire him as long as I’m willing to do the job.”

Linus had heard enough. He reached for his wand. “I believe the exact wording of the Werewolf Protection Act is ‘willing and able’,” he said. A beam of searing white light shot in Thersites’ direction.

A moment later, Thersites was gaping at his right hand with a shocked expression. There was no blood, no other disfigurement, but his index finger was missing.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Kingsley’s deep voice echoed through the office. “If this is your notion of standing back and not getting involved, Berowne, I think you could do with some more lessons.”

 

                                                            *          *          *

“I’m sorry,” Linus explained in considerable embarrassment. “I got a little carried away there.” He wondered what Remus must be thinking of him; he knew, by now, how his young friend felt about werewolves who resorted to a life of violence and revenge, conforming to the worst stereotypes civilized society could throw at them.

“I don’t blame you,” said Remus shortly.

Linus looked at him in surprise. He had a tight, grim expression on his face.

“I don’t like people who betray their friends,” he explained.

Linus nodded and changed the subject. “Where do we go from here?” he asked. “Can’t you do more to them than house arrest?”

Kingsley shook his head. “I’d like to arrest them both on conspiracy with the Death Eaters, but I need Barker’s testimony to make it stick, and even that will be a tough sell in the current political climate. Most of the sane members of the Wizengamot have resigned, and the rest of them have their heads in the sand. They’re not going to be very impressed with a werewolf’s testimony that he worked for somebody called ‘Tommy.’” Kingsley thrust his hands in his pockets and admitted, “To tell you the truth, I’m not all that impressed with it myself. There’s not much to connect them with You-Know-Who, and I’ve got this feeling that something about Barker’s story is a little wrong.”

“Voldemort tried to recruit Linus,” Remus pointed out. “One way or another, he knew that Linus had been bitten and where he lived. So if he isn’t getting his information from Barker and Mason, where is he getting it? It’s not like Lord Voldemort can just walk into the Ministry and check the Registry. I hope.”

Linus laughed mirthlessly. “He might have, if he offered the spotty-faced kid a fat tip.”

Remus was not to be distracted. “And it’s consistent with the way he worked in the last war. Get Fenrir Greyback to bite some poor soul, give him free reign to preach his doctrine of revenge, and in a few months you’ve got a new recruit ripe for the taking.”

“That’s part of what’s bothering me,” said Kingsley. “Why hasn’t he used Greyback for any part of this? What made him choose a new man who doesn’t seem to be involved with Greyback’s pack at all? And if he can’t walk up and check the Registry, however did he manage to keep Barker’s name off of it?”

Remus had no answer.

 

                                                            *          *          *

Linus was at home a few days later, trying vainly to think of an amusing idea for the next Martin Miggs, when he was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

“Mr. Berowne.” It was not a question. “Fraser, Beasts Division, Werewolf Capture Unit. Let me in the house. It’s the law.”

Fraser showed his identification, the standard Ministry-issue card embedded with anti-forgery and anti-theft charms. Linus was aware that it was, in fact, the law. He disabled the protection spells and ushered the man into the house.

“I’ve been having a word with a man named Mason. It would seem that he’s disabled for life, and the last person to see him with both hands intact was you.”

Linus’ mind raced. Of course, Thersites – bitter, vindictive Thersites – would turn him over to the Werewolf Capture Unit. He wondered if his contempt for the Ministry had always been a pose, or whether he had merely jumped at an opportunity to use it for his own ends.

“Don’t worry.” The Ministry agent gave him a smile that might have passed for an attempt at friendliness if it had extended to his eyes. “I don’t care how Mason lost his finger. He was a good-for-nothing anyway, and if you cooperate, it was an accident as far as the Werewolf Capture Unit is concerned.”

“What is it that you want me to do?”

“Nothing very difficult. I’ve just come to ask you a few questions. But just as a precaution – Expelliarmus!”

“Give that back!” Linus made a grab for his wand.

Fraser locked the wand in his briefcase. “You’ll find I’m within my rights to hold it while I’m questioning you. Amendment Number Eight to the Werewolf Protection Act, signed into law three weeks ago.”

Linus silently cursed himself for not keeping up with recent legislation; he had no idea whether Fraser was telling the truth. “Very well. You want to ask me a few questions. And if I don’t give you a few answers?”

“That isn’t an option.” Fraser gave him a hard stare, as if defying him to ask why it wasn’t an option.

“I see.” Linus struggled to keep his voice neutral. He reminded himself that he did not want to antagonize Fraser more than necessary.

“Anyway, I’m not asking you to incriminate yourself. Just tell me exactly what Mason and Barker told you about their connection with each other.”

“Why don’t you ask them?” asked Linus.

“Because I’ve come to find out what you know, and what you intend to do next,” said Fraser. There was an unpleasant gleam in his eye, and Linus felt certain he was one of Tom Riddle’s minions.

“That’s my business,” he said, but suddenly he felt sick. The only reason Riddle would care how much he knew or suspected was if he was trying to decide whether Linus knew too much to live.

“Your business became the Ministry’s business on the night you were bitten,” retorted Fraser. “If you refuse to answer my questions, I have the right to detain you for seventy-two hours or interrogate you under Veritaserum. I think I prefer the Veritaserum. It’s quicker.”

He opened his briefcase and took out a small vial.

“I’ll talk,” said Linus quickly. There were ways of beating Veritaserum, he knew, but they all required either a wand or training he didn’t have. He improvised hastily. “Sam Barker told me he bit me and tried to attack Mason because he found our cartoons offensive. Defamatory to werewolves, he said. He’s had a grudge against me ever since that professor up at Hogwarts resigned –”

“You must think I’m as stupid as Grampus and Storge,” said Fraser without a trace of a smile. He seized Linus by the collar, pushed him up against the wall, and tried to force the Veritaserum down his throat.

Out of nowhere, four long red gashes appeared on Fraser’s face. He yelped and went into a frenzied dance, beating wildly at the air around his head. The vial of Veritaserum fell to the floor and shattered.

“Get – it – off me,” Fraser gasped, scattering drops of blood all over the kitchen. “Whatever – the hell – it is –”

Above him, a blur slowly materialized and coalesced into the outline of a cat sporting a broad grin.