CH71 - The Royale

Reclining in the ratty armchair he was sitting upon, Edmund let out a content sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. "Fine day, Sunday. In my opinion, best day of the week," he said out of nowhere. "Why is that, Jeremy?"

The aforementioned boy looked at his friend as though he had gone crazy. Which, honestly? Fair enough. But Edmund was committed to the bit at this point, as he nonverbally gestured at Jeremy to answer him.

"Because... there's no work on Sundays?" Jeremy unwittingly played his role to perfection with his response.

"Right you are, Jeremy! No work on Sunday. No blasted passengers today! No, sir. Not one single bloody passenger. Not one! No, sir, not one blasted, miserable…" Edmund burst out into giggles, unable to keep up his act any longer.

Jeremy gave him an odd look, before turning away with resignation. Despite having known him for a year, his friend's antics often remained just as much a mystery to him now as they were back then.

His chuckles slowly petered out, and the song playing softly in the background became audible once more.

"Thrillerrrrr (ooh-ooh), thriller night," Albert loudly belted out the most off-key rendition of the iconic tune, "So let me hold you tight!"

Edmund and Jeremy glanced at each other, both barely concealing the smirks that were threatening to break out on their faces.

"MJ, who?" Edmund could not help but smile, all laughed out for the moment.

"Pshhh, Michael Jackson wishes he had my vocal range," Albert scoffed without bothering to move from his position.

Edmund blinked twice, not expecting the man to actually know the king of pop.

"What?" Albert already seemed to know what he was thinking. "You should know by now that I'm not the most traditional of purebloods."

He shrugged, silently conceding the point.

It was almost half an hour later that Albert shifted, finally done with the section that he had been working on. "Gather round boys. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

Edmund and Jeremy crowded up to him, getting their first-close up of the trunk that had consumed Albert's attention for so long. With black leather finishing, leather straps, and durable-looking stainless steel handles on each side, one could clearly tell that it was a luxury item. Were he a muggle, Edmund would not be able to discern that the exterior was made of dragonhide and that the buckles were lined with transmuted pure silver. However, his eyes were primarily drawn to the emblem proudly embossed onto the front, eye-catching and bold.

A large, wingless, serpentine creature with clawed feet was sprawled across the surface lazily. The fangs on its face were bared, framed by a thick mane, and a long white beard. Blue scales lined its body, contrasted by a yellow ridged underbelly.

A water dragon.

"It's Japanese," Albert explained. "The ones that commissioned this piece are the royal family of the magical sector there, the Satos. Their influence and power has waned over the centuries, but their wealth, importance, and dignity are still greater than any other. The dragon is a symbol of their House, and has been so since their very founding."

He pointed at a small inscription along the side of the trunk. "These characters here stand for Watas—" he winced. "Watatu—" he tried again.

"Watatsumi," Cynthia's voice finished for him, as she emerged from a room adjacent to the workshop with a tray of ice lemonades.

"Yes," Albert snapped his fingers as he used his other hand to grab one of the glasses. "Watatsumi, the ruler of the seas and the oceans, was described as a dragon capable of changing into a human form. According to legend, he spent most of his time in an undersea palace but would surface occasionally to come to land. The Satos have always claimed to be a descendant of Watatsumi, and the deity means everything to them."

"Now!" he clapped his hands. "The materials and spells on the outside of this thing alone make it ridiculously expensive. But the real 'magic' is on the inside."

Edmund and Jeremy groaned at the terrible joke, but their concentration did not otherwise waver.

"Sure, you've got your usual preservation, stasis, cleaning, and damage-proofing charms layered inside this thing," Albert listed off. "Not to mention the tens of compartments that have been magically expanded enough to fit a stable inside of them. But repeating those spells is less a matter of skill, and more an issue of time and tediousness. Anyone capable enough of casting those incantations can do them again and again. Of course, not that there are many witches or wizards even capable of doing that. Where my expertise specifically comes into play, however, is how the items placed inside interact with the real world."

"Observe," he said.

Taking his half-empty cup, he placed it inside one of the compartments at random. Then, he closed the trunk in its entirety, before shaking and spinning it around. The actions ought to have devastated the fragile object he left within. And yet, when he went to retrieve the cup once more, it was not shattered and broken as one would expect. Instead, it was sitting just as he had left it, not having spilled a drop of its contents.

"The position of the trunk in the real world has no impact on what is inside of it," he explained needlessly. "You could customize rooms, and place the most delicate of items inside them. Even if you threw the trunk off a cliff, you could pick it up, and find everything alright inside."

Edmund looked on with awe, causing Albert to grin knowingly.

"I'm rarely ever asked to craft such masterpieces. In fact, this is only the fourth one I've ever made. But every time I do, it's for the experience of it—" Albert enthusiastically lectured.

"And the money!" Cynthia shouted from a nearby sofa.

"And the money," Albert agreed. "But the sheer accomplishment you feel after building something like this is unbeatable in my opinion. It's a true work of art. I call it, the Royale."