What Barnabas didn’t understand, what none of the Ministry officials really grasped, was Alex’s production model. While they assud he needed weeks or months for hand-crafted alchemy work, Alex’s workshop ran more like a Muggle assembly line than an old wizard’s study.
Once he got back and installed a few new Arcana shapers, his underground factory could push out the entire Egyptian order in under sixty days without breaking a sweat.
“The tiline I gave you is conservative,” Alex said. “You should really start thinking about the next step, how we’ll manage quota increases for next year. Will that be a problem?”
Barnabas hesitated. “Well… the trade agreents are signed every three years, but they can be adjusted slightly on an annual basis. Still, we’re only allowed to raise or lower the quota by up to 30%.
That’s why we were already nervous about approving 50. If sales drop next year, we’ll be in a tight spot.”
It was clear he still didn’t fully trust Alex’s projections, but to be fair, Barnabas had never run a business himself. He was a diplomat, not a shop owner.
Alex gave a small shrug. “Then make sure you file the application to Wizarding International early next year and push for the highest adjustnt possible.
Otherwise, you’ll have to deal with the consequences, mainly, widespread smuggling. I won’t be held responsible if stock runs out and distributors overseas start sending people to the UK to grab products directly.”
He spoke casually, but the ssage was firm. If the Ministry didn’t stay ahead of demand, black market dealers absolutely would. It wasn’t hard to imagine so ambitious wizard crossing the Channel just to snap up Wilson’s Arcane Alchemica goods off the shelf, only to smuggle them back and make a fortune reselling them.
Barnabas swallowed, visibly rattled by the scenario Alex laid out, but he still seed unsure whether to believe it.
Not that Alex cared much for his doubts. With that warning out of the way, he simply let Barnabas know that his return to Britain would be delayed. There was still work to finish here, and preparations to make for the next phase of his growing empire.
The official reason Alex gave was that he wanted to et with business representatives from various countries in the region to discuss agency and distribution deals, using this opportunity to expand his business network. On the surface, it was a practical excuse, and indeed, it made sense.
But the real reason behind his extended stay had little to do with business. He needed ti to extract and refine Thunderbird’s blood, a delicate process that would take at least a week just to prepare the materials. Bringing Thunderbird back to England wasn’t an option.
Once Barnabas learned of Alex’s plan, she imdiately insisted that all staff remain by his side. After all, Alex had beco sothing of a darling within the Ministry of Magic. He had to be looked after properly.
Over the next few days, Alex, accompanied by Barnabas and Bones, spent his ti eting with foreign business representatives during the day and sneaking into the camp at night to carry out research. He also used the ti to familiarize himself with Gerald’s habits and routines, preparing for what ca next.
Interestingly, Barnabas began to believe more and more in what Alex had told him previously. In just a few short days, they had already secured agreents with the Ministry of Magic and the local chambers of comrce in seven different countries. The deals struck with local companies had already surpassed seven thousand Galleons.
In less than a week, they had accomplished half of the annual trade quota. Though Barnabas was starting to sweat from the intensity of the workload, he had also been blown away. It was from Alex that he finally learned what it ant to have a real “vision.”
***
Late at night, exactly one week after Thunderbird had been captured.
Alex set down the faceless mask, now stained with dried blood. He had just completed the final step in refining Thunderbird’s blood, and everything had gone smoothly, much better than expected.
The mask that once belonged to Thunderbird had now been imprinted with Alex’s magical signature. From this mont on, he could use its functions as if it were his own.
That alone would be enough to convince most of the Silver Wand mbers of his identity. The mask wouldn't just disguise him, it would let him step fully into Thunderbird’s shoes.
Eager to test it, Alex put on the mask without hesitation and activated his spiritual sense to connect to the communication interface within. Almost instantly, a ntal list appeared before him, an “address book” far more detailed than Iseron’s. He studied the list carefully. Thunderbird’s mask had access to 33 contacts, nearly matching the full contact list within the Dragon Mask Iseron once used.
Among them, three contacts were currently active, aning the masks they belonged to were within communication range. Judging from Thunderbird’s notes, that range would cover all of Egypt. So, at this mont, three Silver Wand agents were still in the country.
Alex narrowed his eyes. “One of them must be the Sphinx. Another is probably Azalia. That leaves the last one as the Sphinx’s subordinate. Just as Thunderbird described,” he murmured with a nod of satisfaction.
Thunderbird had been one of the founding mbers of the current Silver Wand organization, so he knew more than most. Alex had already gathered a lot of information from him.
Among the 33 contact slots, there was one “Adept Warding,” two “Apprentice Warding,” the 'Golden Snidget,' two headquarters personnel, nine “Arcane” agents, and twenty-one lower-ranked “Apprentice.” These included the four who had infiltrated Alex’s team, along with others like the Birds and Snakes.
Taking into account the five who were already dead, Azalia, and the two currently in Egypt, that left eight unknown Warding agent and fourteen Apprentice. That ant Alex now held intelligence on the vast majority of the Silver Wand’s network.
There were still a few masked agents that Thunderbird hadn’t recognized, and whose nas weren’t recorded anywhere, but that was a minor issue. The groundwork was laid. The mask was his. The infiltration had begun.
After putting the mask away, Alex flipped Voltbrand upside down and quietly made his way to the tent where Thunderbird was being held.
“It looks like you’ve succeeded,” Thunderbird said, still tied to the dical bed. He glanced first at the sword in Alex’s hand, then at the bloodstained mask in the other, and let out a low, calm laugh.
“I did. The test was a complete success,” Alex replied coolly. “Now I’m here to send you on your way.”
“Thank you, Alex. These past few days… I’ve felt sothing close to peace, for the first ti in a long while.” The usual madness and arrogance had faded from Thunderbird’s expression.
What remained was a strange serenity, like a man who had made peace with his end. It seed that during these final days, Gerald had genuinely reflected on his life.
“You’re welco.”
STAB!!!
Alex answered softly, then drove the sword straight into Thunderbird’s chest without hesitation. Thunderbird, no, Gerald, grimaced in pain, but he clenched his left hand around the blade and, through gritted teeth, forced out his final words:
“I… I’ll be waiting for you… to send my brothers… and that damned Horned Basilisk… to join !”
With those last words, the light vanished from his eyes. His body slumped against the hospital bed, lifeless.
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