Flamel Family Business

“Hmmm,” calloused hands, lean and strong, cupped a meditative chin. A beard, neatly trimmed, rasped against his skin, making a scratching noise to the keen listener. “Fascinating.”

Nicholas Flamel studied reams of parchment, each gliding before his eyes. To the untrained eye, it would have appeared as a blur of black and near-yellow; sharp-eyed individuals could spot irregularities where diagrams interrupted the text flow. A gifted Seeker might even see points where new segments began, the lighter columns vanishing as longer streams of text filled the area above his desk. But only a man whom understood the subtle nuances of the Arcane would truly see, read, and above all, understand the pages moving like a lightning that rustled.

“What is?”

Turning, Nicholas ignored how the line of text stopped as soon as his attention wavered. A single delay could mean hours of searching for the original stopping point, time that he held in abundance, but did not wish to spend. “This report. I find the imports shift in China to be most – illuminating. Processed alloys are reducing in price overall; runic-grade gold especially.”

His wife, the only individual he knew that could keep up with his train of thought, instantly deduced the direction. “Either supply increased within the Protectorate, or a substitute has been found?”

Nicholas abandoned his post. The parchment rolled itself into a single scroll, darting to a pigeonhole, one of thousands that covered the far wall. A slight twitching of one finger called another roll to his position, text highlighted under the force of an ancient Sumerian charm, modified for his purposes. The same finger slid down a column of numbers, slower than the previous text, but faster than one would expect. American economics would prove a massive challenge to analyze, but the Chinese Wizarding Exchange still held less than a thousand members. A name came to light

“Found it. Income for the Xiajin family has increased ten percent over the past five years, roughly two percent per year.” He looked up at his wife. “They’ve held leanings towards the Triads; nothing overt.”

Perenelle Flamel folded her arms across the plunging neckline of her dress, shooting an amused look at his momentarily distracted attention. “Profitable, even in a recession?”

“Exactly,” Nicholas dragged his attention back away from the beauty before him, letting the scroll roll itself shut. “Similar to Enron’s little debacle a few years back. Succeeding where all others fail is either a sign of heroism, or cheating.”

A heavy sigh exhaled from Perenelle’s direction. “They’ll blame the improvements, of course.”

Nicholas just nodded.

“All the progress we made, dragging them into the era of a simple stock exchange, and one fool ruins the entire applecart. Lackwit fopdoodles, all of them!”

Options clicked through his mind, evaluated for success. “It’s probable they do not know – we could turn it to our advantage?”

Perenelle smiled at him, a look of pride gleaming in her vibrant eyes. “That’s my Nicky, always looking for a way. But not this time, we shouldn’t interfere.”

Data coursed through his brain, refusing to listen. “What if we tipped off another family? Perhaps the Calijn? They’ve yet to develop an Exchange Commission, perhaps this would convince them to implement such a watchdog?”

One shapely eyebrow communicated her belief of that possibility. “The Chinese? As I recall, their Mundane side only ceased that barbaric ‘One Child’ enforcement this decade. Wizards in general find it difficult enough to let long memories go, let alone agree on something so overbearing as an Exchange Commission.”

Something in her phrasing struck a chord. Nicholas glanced around the room, taking in the furnishings, something there had captured his memory; something she’d said and he did? Or was it something she’d done and he’d said? Ritual-based memory enhancements increased his mental capacity with percentage-based formulas rather than the short-sighted block-programming used by many. What was the point of knowing everything in your soul when it grew beyond those borders throughout the ages? Memories! Something about – thought?

“Nick?” Her voice stopped the playful lilt; she knew when inspiration struck. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” he strode across the thick carpet, absently brushing against a half-finished gemstone collection. A house elf popped into place, shaking an admonishing finger at him before replacing the collection on its velvet mountings. He ignored it, outright leaving the room in his search.

His wife hurried with him. Chanel created some of the best dresses in the world – mere pedantry when compared against their magical offerings. This one in particular glided with her every movement, rippling a hidden fire around her limbs, hallmarks of the *Zjarrfikës* line. Adjustments within the fabric’s charmed liner detected a raised heartrate, responding accordingly, changing the design from evening wear to a more durable shape.

Perenelle remained silent accepting how the fabric shifted on her athletic frame. Her dark blue eyes scanned the area at the same pace as her husband, following the thrust of his intentions; centuries together did not gift telepathy, but married couples had something better.

“Nothing so base as a compulsion charm,” Nicholas murmured, long legs moving swiftly. “Memories. History. I believe there is a dig site, a temple northwest of Lanzou, Gansu district?”

She began to catch on, mental gears sprinting ahead. “Of course! The Thought Temple, Ming dynasty. There made some rather excellent deductions back then – a pity the Huns leveled the place. Xia would have been devastated, if she’d lived long enough to see it.”

“William!” Nicholas keyed a runic array, opening a Portal to the secure vaults sealed within the depths of their home. Dwarves had built them, an ancient tribe that still revered the Flamel’s as a Patron of the First Order. That one order had catapulted the tribe from respected obscurity to powerful leadership amongst the Clans. “Where is that elf? Is he writing again? I thought we cured him of that nonsense with that Global Theatre business. *William*!”

A house elf appeared, the force of his apparition erupting the atmosphere into a minor explosion. “But soft, it is my Master! Say what, Old One, what, shall I do?”

Nicholas forced himself to ignore Perenelle’s muffled giggle. “I need the special pensieve, the Morton Enterprise version.”

An apprehensive look crossed the wrinkled face. “Certain, are you? Remember, I adjure, the chaos that did last ensue.”

Sternly, Nicholas glared at the elf. “We have used it to great effect many times. If you please?”

The elf shrugged, tiny motions communicating far more than mere words could convey. He vanished, a faint smell of sulfur accompanying his departure, reappearing once more in a flash of purple light. “Here, master. As you commanded, so have I brought.”

“Thank you.” Nicholas extended his hand, the shining marble object drifting into the center of the room.

“So says he now,” the little elf shook his head sadly. Long ears swayed with the motion, melancholy personified on every portion of his face. “Yet I wot much sorrow this shall bring; who will listen to poor William? Exit, stage left, with heavy step.”

Perenelle stepped closer, waiting until the ominous thunderclap faded. “Dear, he may have a point. We do not wish to – influence events too strongly. There are Forces at work that we do not fully comprehend.”

“Fate. Death.” Nicholas cast an irreverent look skyward. “Karma has a bad name, and she can only blame herself for that. I’ll be
careful – not a true memory. Just a half-memory, do you still have that reference phial from that visit we made a ways back? Wrong district, but the attitude should be close enough.”

She looked at him for a moment. Then, without speaking, she went over to the wall, pressing a hand against a seemingly random block of smoothly polished stone. A faint click emanated from within, and the entire wall became transparent. Vials, placed in ordered rows, lined the wall. Perenelle selected a column, tapping another code into the etchings. Several rows blurred, bringing her selection down to her level. “Ming, Ming …” her mumbling reached Nick where he stood. “Late or early? Better late.”

A vial leaped into her grasp, wall sealing itself behind her. The sheer level of pre-enchanted magics within their home would have been the envy of most sentient beings. Had they known of them.

“You do know they will notice the differences, yes?” She held out the container, silver-hued liquid rocking gently within.

A grin, not unlike that of a goblin, crept across his face. “Oh, I do not intend to give a full memory. A fragment should do nicely.”

“Fragment?” Realization dawned on her classic features. “They’re paranoid.”

“Exactly!” Nicholas poured the memory into a holding chamber on one side of the pensieve. The vial ratcheted into a holding socket below, ready to receive its precious cargo. “The more protests become of their authenticity, the harder they will fight to prove its veracity. Why, I believe the authorities might call upon the only mages alive, to verify their findings.”

A pensive look crossed Perenelle’s face. “They could ask the vampires. The *Strilk* clan lives not far from the temple.”

“Already considered,” Nicholas tapped his chest. “They may be immortal, but they have no soul. It may not be compound interest, but the formula is the same – if somewhat reversed.”

“Infinite time, finite percentage, yes, I am proud of that little thought.” Perenelle smiled back at him. “I’ll see who we know in the area. Will you be long?”

Nicholas pursed his lips, thinking. “A few hours to lay down the framework. Another two to make the outline, and another two to complete the basic model. Then I’ll start tearing it apart; fractal pattern I believe. Two days, at most. It will take at least that long for the equations to solidify – we have more than enough sand for the larger Time Piece, I could have it done yesterday if I cut it closely enough.”

He caught a stern look, and raised his hands in an instant. “Not that I would. There’s been too much fast-and-loose with history. A minor dab here will only help – perhaps inspire a more serious respect for insightful eyes over so much money?”

“Instant tradition, just add memory.” Perenelle was able to hold her serious look for only a few moments, before the two of them burst into laughter.