With care and more than a bit of huffing and puffing, Tamara rolled the unconscious figure of Mulciber Sr. into a trunk. After swiftly and most carefully cleaning up the parlor room, she emerged from the parlor room. The echoes from the laughter of guests and flowers and herbs can be heard echoing down the hall.
Striding across the hall to the hall intersection, Tamara carefully motions to two middle-aged footmen. The two footmen are handsome and former herbs, who had retired to less strenuous employment within the brothel. With a poker face, Tamara says, "Mulciber Sr. had elected to depart from the establishment via the back door after having been serviced by Ada."
"And what is that you require of us, Sous-chef Tamara?" Asked one of the footmen.
"Mucliber Sr. requested that the trunk left behind in the parlor be delivered to the Monarch pub," Tamara coolly said. "I trust that I do not need to warn either of you that the utmost care must be taken in delivery and that the contents of the trunk are to remain unknown."
The two footmen nod their heads as one of them audibly gulps. The Potentate of London did not deal kindly with those who were far too nosey for their own good. It was better to remain ignorant and alive than to foolishly peek inside and be found buried in a shallow grave.
Under Tamara's instruction, the two footmen did exactly as they were instructed. They hurriedly, but with care removed the trunk from the establishment, before apparting near the Monarch Pub. The trunk was wordlessly received by the two hulking guards within the pub before the two footmen hurried away. The two footmen would quickly put the incident out of mind and sight lest they utter anything that might cause the Potentate of London to silence them.
At that time, it had yet begun to snow, but the Monarch Pub had already been cleared for the evening. Bertram was busy planning the attack upon the Ministry of Magic with Sanderson that he had barely paid any attention to the trunk that had been delivered. Having already been instructed by the boss, Hyde and Floyd wordlessly took the trunk downstairs to the basement. In fact, the contents of the trunk were only known by a total of four people, Madam Zenarie, Ada, Tamara, and Sanderson. For whatever reason, Sanderson was keeping his cards close to his chest even from those that he trusted.
After the arrival of those gathered under Sanderson, the first group went out, while Bertram carefully explained the plan to the two remaining groups. The second group was composed of their most competent and dangerous members. The second group went out leaving those most likely to betray them as the last group to depart.
After some time, Bertram's nose flared as he raised his gaze to the stone ceiling. The faintest scent of magic and spilled blood could still be smelled by him. It wasn't much if any at all, but it came from above. Just what had gone wrong with the second group? Had the group rebelled against Sanderson's orders leaving Floyd and Hyde to reinforce the orders? That surely but be it, he appeased his concerns with such a thought, but still, the unease did not leave him.
Bertram's thoughts are interrupted by the figure of Sanderson, who opens an ale barrel. "A pint of ale, before we go," Sanderson invitingly said as he motioned for all present to take a tankard and drink a pint of ale.
Eagerly, the group moves forward including Mundungus Fletcher. Each takes a tankard and fills the mug to the brim with white foam floating on top of the golden liquid. They all refrain from sipping from their tankards until everyone has a full tankard. "To the future," Sanderson raised his tankard in cheer, before downing the pint of ale.
"To the future!" Those in the third group nosily group cheered before slurping down the tankard of ale. Mundungus Fletcher accompanies them while Bertram merely takes a sip of the offered ale. Chattering eagerly, they reach for their wands to suddenly find the floor moving pugnaciously beneath them.
In harmony, the entire group collapses onto the floor unable to move, but conscious of every single movement. Mundungus Fletcher's bloodshot eyes flicker frantically, but he finds that his limbs feel as though they had turned to stone. The fragment within him sends an urgent message to the nearest vessel, but far too late. They were trapped.
On the other hand, Bertram had only drunk a small mouthful, before immediately throwing the tankard away to suddenly find a wand at his throat.
"What is the meaning of this Sanderson?" Bertram coolly asked as he subtly attempted to reach for his wand.
"Ahh, ahh," Sanderson said with a chiding expression. "Bertram, Bertram, my most loyal of followers," he said as he carefully removed the wand from Bertram's person. The loud snap of the wand being snapped into two pieces is loudly heard before Sanderson carelessly tosses the two wooden pieces aside. The broken wand clatters loudly onto the stone floor, before rolling to a stop against the remaining barrels.
"Why?" Bertram feigned ignorance as he slowly turned his head to peer at the owner of the wand against his neck. "Did I not serve you faithfully enough, Sanderson?"
"Mm, you did well enough, Bertram," Sanderson said with a slow wolfish smile. "However, I did not count upon your ambitious desire to continue to ascend even further beyond your current scope. And well, I simply cannot abide traitors."
"Is this my replacement then?" Bertram sardonically asked he superciliously bared his neck further in the direction of his unknown attacker.
A bark of laughter escapes from Sanderson's lips, who flashes a wolfish smile. "Nay, Bertram for neither you nor I could ever afford his services in this lifetime or even the next."
Bertram's expression stiffens as the figure behind him begins to move forward. The tip of the wand of his attacker never even budges the smallest of centimeters as the wand digs into his flesh and moves slowly from the back of his neck and around until the tip is just under his chin. Unable to move his head up nor down, Bertram takes in the hooded figure before him.
The pitch-black cloak is a thing of beauty, dyed dragon-hide to be exactly interwoven with Acromantuala's silk to protect the wearer from spells. Bertram's eyes narrow thoughtfully as he takes in the cloak worth a small fortune, but almost impossible to acquire. The Ministry of Magic's throughout the entire wizarding world tightly regulated the sales of dragonhide and it was nigh almost impossible to acquire such a large amount except through unorthodox methods. Even then the acquirement of Acromantula silk was even more difficult to acquire considering the risk of collecting spider silk from such a terrifying magical spider. Lastly, the final and most important requirement finding an immensely powerful, but talented magical tailor to perform the stitching of the cloak. It was far easier to complete other equally powerful items for a lesser price and hassle.
Scrutinizing the cloak for further clues, Bertram searched for clues until his eyes came to rest at the top of the cloak. There laying glittering innocently is a simple diamond-shaped brooch. His face stiffens in recognition of the brooch of the Deathly Hallows. These days hardly anyone wore them in public and those that did had all once followed the wizard known to all as Gellert Grindelwald.
An unpleasant inkling begins to sprout at the back of his mind before Bertram tilts his head down as much as possible without choking. The wand in his digs painfully further into his throat humiliatingly reminding him to not move even a muscle. Still, he studies the wand before him, it was clear and straight, but not rigid showing adaptability. The wand's length was roughly 12 inches with the wood being Hornbeam.
Bertram stiffens as he recognizes the wand and the owner. They had witnessed the wand once long ago and had nearly died at the hands of the same wizard. It was impossible, but he could not deny the owner of the wand, Reginald Prince. Their sworn enemy.