Chapter 8
Chapter 8
If they had been in awe of the workspace in Mr. Scamander’s case - there were no words to describe the wonder that filled them at the sight of his menagerie . As they passed through the door, they noticed the shed that housed Mr. Scamander’s fantastical workshop was dwarfed by the enormity of the space they now entered.
Scamander had entire worlds inside his suitcase. Floating bubbles of oceans floated over their heads. Expanses of prairies and deserts, mountain peaks, caverns and rocky outcrops, swaths of forests, deciduous, boreal, evergreen, bamboo and tropical, spread every which way. In the distance they could see a frozen tundra, and a large expanse of water.
“Good Lord,” said Murdoch.
“This is absolutely incredible!” said Julia in wonder.
Then there were the creatures themselves that filled the habitats. They all stopped what they were doing at Scamander’s arrival. They greeted him warmly as he approached. Newt spoke to the creatures as he passed, greeting each by name.
It wasn’t initially obvious, but Watts realised about halfway into the sanctuary that Scamander was taking inventory.
He kept a running commentary as they walked through the space introducing them to the multitude of creatures that inhabited his case.
First, Newt showed them the bowtruckle habitat. A magnificent tree stood in the middle of a dappled grassy clearing. It was crawling with bowtruckles. Watts drew closer to the tree to get a better view and chuckled when one of the bowtruckles blew a raspberry at him. Newt tried to encourage his stowaway to rejoin his family in the tree. Pickett clutched at Newt’s hand chattering desperately. He was determined to stay. Newt chucked indulgently and relented, letting Pickett crawl back up to his shoulder, where he perched comfortably. “This is exactly why they accuse me of favouritism, you know.” He smiled at his companions and led them further on into the space.
“These here are Diricawls ,” said Newt, counting them carefully as they reached a rocky habitat. “You might know them as the Dodo.”
“Aren’t they extinct?” asked Julia excitedly.
“Not at all,” he said, as the two adult creatures covered in resplendent blue and pink feathers, and eight fluffy yellow chicks instantly surrounded him, nuzzling his torso with their dull beaks. “They’re native to Mauritius. A flightless bird, the Diricawl, but it’s one of the few magical creatures that can apparate - that is they disappear from one place and reappear in another instantly - like phoenixes and house elves...and wizards.” They looked at him dumbfounded.
Scamander smiled. He grabbed hold of a bucket of feed floating near his head. “Watch,” he said nodding at the chicks, then flung some of the feed several feet away. The birds took off clumsily trotting towards the small pile of seeds, then one by one they disappeared and reappeared directly on top of it, happily eating their fill.
George’s grin appeared permanently plastered to his face. “AMAZING, Utterly AMAZING!”
Newt smiled, “You think so?”
“I think few would think otherwise,” said Watts seriously.
“You’d be surprised,” said Newt softly, “Most of my world thinks I’m utterly mad for devoting my life to studying creatures.”
“But they’re fascinating,” said George, “How could anyone think otherwise?”
Newt shrugged. “You witnessed the reactions of Aurors Goldstein & Graves…” he glanced over to Murdoch.
“Detective Murdoch, are you alright back there?” asked Scamander. One of the chicks had apparated itself atop the detective’s hat. Murdoch looked up carefully, as the chick craned its neck over the rim of Murdoch’s hat to look into his eyes.
George laughed, “Sir, I think he likes you!”
Julia giggled, “Oh William! I wish I could take a photograph of this!”
“The Dodo is extinct…” said Murdoch, his voice small.
“Ah, yes, well, primitive man thought they’d hunted them into extinction - in reality they’re quite smart, they just apperated every time they saw a hunter approaching,” said Scamander as he walked over and carefully picked the Dirclaw chick off the detective’s hat. Newt placed him down on the ground, and the chick waddled off to join his siblings by the feed.
They pressed on, passing Giant Dung Beetles, an Erumpent, Graphorns, Murtlaps and Billywigs. Floating over their heads in little glass-like balls, were Glow Worms that flashed different colours.
George was in heaven. Seriously. He’d spent a lifetime being ridiculed for believing in fantastic beasts and impossible things, and now here he was in a world inside a suitcase, encountering creatures beyond his wildest imagination. They paused at the Runespoor’s habitat, and George looked on in wonder at the three-headed snake native to Burkina Faso.
“I found them in Italy of all places! I stumbled upon a Runespoor egg mill - terrible place, the Runespoors were kept in these tiny cages and forced to lay eggs indefinitely. Runespoor eggs are incredibly valuable in potion making. They’re used to produce potions that stimulate mental agility. They're incredibly popular on the black market.”
“Why does it have a cone on its right head?”
“Ah, that...right...I call it the “time out” cone…Each head of the Runespoor has a different identity, you see...entirely different personalities, really. The left head is the planner - it decides what to do and where to go. The middle head is the rational one - the visionary - the dreamer. Sometimes they sit in place for days lost in the thoughts and fantasies of the middle head. The right head on the other hand is hot-headed - it’s the aggressive one, the critic. Its fangs are incredibly venomous, and it constantly criticizes the other two heads. I’ve seen some cases in which the middle and left head gang up on the right head and bite it off because it’s just that annoying. He’s in the time-out cone right now, as they were fighting earlier. He instigated it. I knew it would be quite a while before I could check on them, so I figured it’d be best for them to stay as separate as possible.”
“Incredible,” said George with a laugh.
“How difficult it must be, to have three brains, three personalities! How can it ever get anything done?” asked Julia.
“Oh, they’re always in conflict,” said Newt with a smile, “I sometimes can barely manage with one brain, imagine three?”
Julia laughed.
She was happy that she had decided to hand-deliver her finished post-mortem report to William. She thought she could steal a few moments alone with him (she always enjoyed seeing him during the day) but was pleasantly surprised when he’d asked her to join him in the interrogation room.
“I think he might not be entirely sane,” William had said uncertainly.
Julia had expected to find a raving madman, or a delusional soul like David Kingsley who’d believed he was the fictional detective Sherlock Holmes. Instead, she’d found in Mr. Scamander a fellow student of biology and medicine. Despite his awkwardness, he had a thirst for adventure and discovery that rivaled that of William. Despite the fantastical quality of everything she encountered in Scamander’s curious case, her practiced eye saw the wounds and scars the animals bore, she saw the caring and careful way that the creatures had been treated, the bandages lovingly applied, the meticulous notes diligently left outside each habitat documenting the creatures’ healing process and their care needs. Julia was a doctor, and as such, she read between the lines of Scamander’s stories to recognize the horrors he witnessed and the injustices he wanted to right so passionately. A fellow activist. His case was a hospital of sorts, and Scamander was a caretaker and doctor in his own right. She saw in him a kindred spirit. Besides , she thought as she glanced at Watts who was eagerly engaged in a discussion with Scamander about cognition, identity, and the existence of the soul, and William who was staring dumbfounded, she was no stranger to awkward geniuses.
She was fascinated by Scamander’s creatures, and his world of magic. It defied everything she knew and believed, and it excited her! She longed to read his research, to pick his brain to understand this new world, the biological and chemical differences between the magical and the mundane. The implications of a creature with three separate nervous systems and identities! She glanced up at her husband frequently as they explored. She could tell he was struggling with this revelation. Poor William.
* * * * * * *
William Murdoch was indeed out of his depth. He was a brilliant man, a visionary, an inventor, a genius in his own right. He was a rational man, and that’s where his difficulty lay - until encountering Mr. Scamander, his world was very rational.
Now he was presented with a new reality that blew apart his very understanding of life. How could one expect the world to function in any understandable way - how could one be certain about anything - the laws of physics for example, when one could generate levitating oceans in a suitcase? All of his methodologies of crime investigation - fingermarks! How could fingermarks be relied on if people could just magic them onto objects - could they be magicked onto objects? Good Lord , what did this mean for truth and reality if fiction could be real?!
He felt a panic bubble up in his chest. It must have shown on his face, because Watts glanced at him sympathetically and patted him on the shoulder in a comforting gesture.
“Detective Murdoch,” he said gently, “Plato once said, ‘That man is wisest who, like Socrates, realizes that his wisdom is worthless.’ Just go with it.”
Murdoch shook his head uncomfortably, “But this all defies the very laws of science!”
“Well, every age has a new scientific discovery that calls into question everything that came before. Perhaps we are on the cusp of this right now.”
Murdoch cried, “But it’s completely irrational!”
Scamander looked up from where he had been speaking with Crabtree and Dr. Ogden.
“Well, there is some reason to magic - we do have the equivalence of scientific laws. Magic follows certain rules, as fantastical as it might seem, there are certainly limitations to what it can do...I’m sorry, Detective. This is one of the reasons why we’re meant to keep our world secret - it’s overwhelming for sure.”
Julia put a comforting hand on Murdoch’s shoulder, and she smiled at Scamander.
“It’s just impossible,” Murdoch said hollowly.
“Well, nothing is impossible - not really. ‘Whoever wishes to become a philosopher must learn not to be frightened by absurdities’,” quoted Watts thoughtfully.
“Bertrand Russell again,” said Newt with a small smile.
Watts glanced up quickly in shock, meeting Newt’s eyes, “You’ve read The Problems of Philosophy ?”
Newt shrugged, abashed, “I do a lot of reading. I’ve spent three years in the field, entirely alone, save for the creatures and my own thoughts. I read quite a bit...Muggle and Magical works. Non-fiction and fiction - I just finished F. Scott Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise... I’m hoping to find a copy of The Great Gatsby this side of the Atlantic- it won’t be published in England until next year...but yes, I read Russell earlier this year. It’s fascinating stuff...”
...and he reads philosophy. Watts felt a spark of something in his chest. Something warm and cozy, like liquid sunshine, and if he was perfectly honest with himself (and he always was) he realised that he rather liked Mr. Scamander, and that could very well spell trouble for him if he didn’t quickly stomp down those feelings.
Watts didn’t often find himself feeling something for people. Not the way the other lads did - perpetually chasing skirts. Watts understood romance intellectually. He’d experienced attraction before, but it was never an all-consuming force for him. There wasn’t a particular appearance that struck his fancy - though he could appreciate aesthetics as much as the next person - aesthetics were another branch of philosophy after all. Dr. Ogden, for example, was objectively beautiful with her classic Romanesque bone structure and excellent physiognomic symmetry. But was he attracted to her? No. Not romantically anyway. He recognized that he had a type - a person...(female or male, it didn’t really seem to matter, as he found himself feeling something for some of both in his life)...a person who was passionate about something, with strong beliefs and morals, yet also open-minded, and well-learned. Someone who always was fully and unapologetically themselves. Someone he could talk to - for Watts, passion and love were largely intellectual.
Though he had to admit to himself that Mr. Scamander was rather adorable, with his tousled copper locks, his open and kind face, his grin which was like a warm summer breeze, and the way his sea-blue eyes lit up when he spoke about something he was passionate about. He felt something alright. The last something he’d felt was for Fiona Faust, the female world-travelling cyclist. She’d been passionate about seeing the world, being herself and living her dreams, and he’d enjoyed the hours they’d spent conversing as he “searched” for her stolen bicycle. He enjoyed her forwardness and companionship, and the few kisses they’d shared. He hadn’t needed to squash down those feelings...it was normal after all for a man to be attracted to a woman.
That had been short-lived, however...she continued on her journey, he continued on with his life, as he suspected, his feelings faded and dissipated within a few days of her departure...indeed, being forced to face the circumstances of the Agnes Swift case - and facing the possibility of his own mortality - certainly drew all romantic notions from his mind.
Now, here he was, faced with something again, and these feelings were certainly bestowed on a most worthy person. Newt Scamander was well-travelled, passionate about his work and animals...he was caring and advocated for those who had no voice, he was brilliant, philosophical, and quirky, refreshingly unique, and handsome and - oh dear, Llewellyn Wattenburg, you are indeed in trouble.
The warmth in Watts’s chest was suddenly replaced with a feeling of cold dread - what if Mr. Scamander found out about his thoughts and feelings? And in his magical world of spells, potions and mind-readers it was quite possible. He felt the shame rise up in his chest. After being abandoned by his sister and a lifetime of being cast aside as an oddball, the fear of rejection was ever-present in his mind. Compounded with knowing the general hatred and disgust that any homosexual sentiment was met with in this day and age - it would have been so much easier to live in Ancient Greece, where love was love, and things were so much less complicated.
With great effort, Watts pulled himself out of his existential crisis, back to Detective Murdoch who appeared to still be having his own existential crisis, and Scamander’s concerned expression as he tried to comfort Detective Murdoch.
Eventually they moved on, pausing before a nest of occamy hatchlings, and Watts tried unsuccessfully to not think about how cute Scamander looked with furrowed brow as he attempted to count the writhing baby winged serpents.
Scamander led the way further into the case, and a silence fell over them as they reached the last enclosure. They found themselves standing before a stretch of frozen Tundra. The wind howled and spirals of icy snowflakes danced. It was a harsh and cold place. In the distance, they could see what appeared to be a small smoky thundercloud floating in a clear bubble. Lightning seemed to have been frozen mid-strike. The smoky tendrils of the cloud hung limply in the air.
“Is that…” started Julia
Newt nodded, “The obscurus.”
“It appears that our drunken witness was correct, George,” said Watts weakly.
“Smoke monster,” said George, feeling vindicated.
Murdoch shook his head. “You really think this...entity...is what is behind these killings in Toronto?”
George glanced up at Murdoch, “Sir, it’s the only thing for which everything fits!”
“How does the obscurus kill its victims?” asked Watts quickly, looking to cut off whatever debate was inevitably going to form between Murdoch and Crabtree.
Newt met Watts’s eyes, and Watts felt his heart skip a beat.
“No one really knows - the obscurus is fear, pain, and self-hatred made manifest. It lives inside the obscurial consuming and corrupting the child’s magic, and it lashes out of the child, wielding the magic with deadly force. The markings are scars caused by the force of raw magic in the obscurus’s tendrils.”
“So the child is always present at the scene of the killing?”
“To my knowledge, yes. The obscurus first tends to lash out at the child’s immediate abusers - parents, relatives, neighbors - whoever caused the child to hate and repress that aspect of himself or herself. The child is not consciously trying to hurt anyone however, and witnessing the violence of the attacks and the raw destructive power of the obscurus only makes the child fear and hate it more, which in turn feeds the obscurus, making it more powerful. That causes it to lash out more - it is a vicious cycle. If there are no people present, the obscurus lashes out at its surroundings - buildings, trees, rocks, whatever happens to be in its path.”
“So to find the obscurial, we need to find a child that connects the victims and places where the previous attacks have happened,” said Julia.
Newt nodded, “Precisely, Doctor.”
“If that is indeed the case, I very much think the key is at the New Salem Society - most of their mission work involved children,” said Watts thoughtfully.
“And what should we do once we do find the child?” asked George.
Newt fiddled with his collar nervously in a gesture that reminded George of Watts.
“I’ll do everything in my power to save him or her,” said Newt softly, “there are some spells that I think could work to tame the obscurus for a time. The cycle of fear and hatred needs to be stopped, however. I think that can only be done through a slow healing process with the child.”
Newt was staring at the obscurus’s bubble as it floated through the space, his expression dark and unreadable.
“Shall we press on?” he said finally. They retraced their steps back through the animals’ enclosures, the group considerably quieter and more pensive on their return journey.
Finally as they were reaching Newt’s work-shed, he spoke.
“It would appear that few of my creatures may have gotten loose in today’s confusion. My niffler, Nick, as well as Billie and Wiggles, the Billywigs; Leslie, the Leucrotta, and possibly Dougal, my Demiguise. I can’t be certain about Dougal - he can turn invisible, but I assumed that by now he would have made his presence known if he were here.”
“What can we do?” Asked George.
Newt looked troubled. “I have to find them,” he said softly, “See, they’re currently in alien terrain, surrounded by millions of the most vicious creatures on the planet...”
George drew closer to Newt nervously, “Vicious creatures…”
Newt looked at George with an eyebrow raised, “Humans.”
George blinked. Newt began to pace.
“No other creature on Earth is cruel for cruelty’s sake - A carnivore will kill and eat another creature for food, a mother will kill to protect her young, but some humans enjoy inflicting pain simply because they can, or because they’re bored or frustrated, or because they just don’t like you.”
“You seem to have a poor opinion of the human race,” said Watts.
“Obviously not all humans,” said Newt. He met Watts’s eyes and held his gaze for a moment before blinking and looking away, “but it’s not the kind ones I’m worried about…”
“You’ll have to retrieve your creatures, Mr. Scamander. We cannot have magical beasts roaming the streets of Toronto,” said Murdoch weakly.
“How does one catch an invisible creature, Mr. Scamander?” asked Julia.
Newt shrugged, “With a lot of luck and patience, and a little bit of unpredictability, Dr. Ogden. Ideally I would like to return to the scene of the explosion, cast some tracking charms to see if I can find them. I would also like to get a look around to see if I can gather any information on the obscurus.”
Murdoch still looked lost, bless him, but he shook himself and said, “Detective Watts, George, will you assist Mr. Scamander? Julia, if you would be so kind as to accompany me to the New Salem Society - I think I could use your skills and knowledge in interviewing Miss. Barebone.”
“Of course William,” she replied.
They agreed to meet back at the station in one hour, and then climbed up the ladder, out of Newt’s case and back into the interrogation room, before going their separate ways.