Abbreviations: DOST: Dictionary of the Older Scottish Tongue; Gray: Gray, Robert Henryson; NIMEV: Boffey and Edwards, eds., New Index of Middle English Verse; Testament: Henryson, The Testament of Cresseid.
Remaining are three quite diverse poems: The Annunciation, The Bludy Serk, and The Garmont of Gud Ladeis; the first of these a devotional poem in an innovative refinement of the Middle English twelve-line stanza form, the second an exemplary tale with Moralitas in the same stanza form as Robene and Makyne, and the third — the nearest approach to a love-lyric among the poems ascribed to Henryson — a sumptuary allegory in a quatrain that is essentially the Robene stanza divided in half.
In the shorter poems, Henryson draws on a fair range of sources. The Annunciation, as MacDonald has shown, is a translation of a Latin hymn, Fortis ut mors dilectio. The Abbey Walk has strong affinities to a poem in the Vernon Manuscript (W. S. Ramson, "Lettres," p. 44). Against Hasty Credence has affinities to passages in Lydgate's Fall of Princes and "The Churl and the Bird." Some of these poems allude to, but are not confined by, specific generic conventions: thus Robene and Makyne reveals "a distinct air of familiarity with the genre" of the pastourelle, the medieval dialogue of pastoral courtship (Petrina, "Deviations," p. 113; Jamieson, "Poetry," p. 297); likewise, the chanson d'aventure, a medieval genre in which (as in "The Preaching of the Swallow") the poet goes out one spring morning and hears a wondrous speech or dialogue, provides only the opening gambit for The Praise of Age and The Ressoning Betwix Aige and Yowth. In fact, the same inventiveness with respect to sources that has been noted in the longer poems can also be traced here. Alessandra Petrina comments perceptively that these shorter poems exemplify Henryson's "constant reflection on the tools of his trade" and show that fine rhetoric can be "Rycht plesand" (Fables, line 4), "provided the reader was aware of the presence of fiction, and of the interpreting problems this would create" ("Deviations," p. 107). For the reader who is becoming acquainted with Henryson's poems, insight into his stylistic and thematic concerns can be found in the brief compass of The Bludy Serk, Against Hasty Credence, and, of course, Robene and Makyne: the play with levels of style, the elegant turn of phrase, the memorable cadences, and the sure moral sense that calls for no heavy emphasis.
A moral ballade with refrain: consolation in adversity is to be gained by giving thanks to God; scriptural examples are adduced (Job, Tobit); adversity is the working of God's justice, and pity is his mercy; all comes from God. The penultimate line, "Quha hyis law and lawis he" is key: inversion is the proper working of divine will.
1–5 The setting gives moral point to the opening gambit of reading an inscription (Sandison, Chanson, 121); Kelly comments on the value of this "an open-ended or unfinished framework" as a precedent for The Testament of Cresseid: here, "the inscription forms not only the body but also the end of the poem" (Chaucerian Tragedy, p. 226).
17–24 The paired examples of Job and Tobit present two "tightly interlaced" sorts of adversity: this stanza is "stylistically the poem's high point" in Ramson's opinion, and "the best pointer to the poem's art: its balance which spreads into the two sets of three stanzas, is carried through to the level of single lines, the prominent caesura, in the first four stanzas particularly, giving the lines a formal poise which is part of the poem's meaning but is also part of its decorative patterning" ("'Lettres,'" pp. 44, 45).
30 The "lipper lady" used this saying to give point to her remonstrance to Cresseid (line 475n); in the present poem, fuller use is made of a Chaucerian precedent, Truth, which contains not only this saying (lines 11–12) but also the proverb that lies behind Henryson's refrain, in Chaucer's words, "Know thy contree, look up, thank God of all" (Truth, line 19).
33–40 Kelly notes the centrality to Testament of the theme that "natural afflictions are temptations, which must be endured in patience. At other times, to be sure, adversity is recognized as deserved, but it is also corrective, and serves to save as well as to punish" (Chaucerian Tragedy, p. 238).
35 Compare Fables, lines 1190, 1194, 2689.
41 The moralizing phrase "change and vary" crops up in Dunbar's Timor mortis conturbat me (line 9).
51 For the emergence in the sixteenth century of a pejorative connotation to pelf, see Fables, line 2042n.
The rhyme scheme is ababbcbC5; eleven ballade stanzas, the three last with internal rhyme (lines 65–72 completing each of the first, second, and third feet; lines 73–80 and 81–88 completing the second and third feet). Ane Prayer for the Pest is a penitential ballade with the refrain "Preserve us fra this perrelus pestilens": God most powerful and perfect, have mercy on us in punishing us for our offenses, save us from the plague; hear our lament, because unless you mercifully restore us, we will die; we would gladly submit to any other punishment, but is it your will that we die like beasts, so that we dare not live together? Choose famine, but remove your plague because our deaths will not make up for our sins; have mercy, without which we are defenseless; you redeemed us dearly on the cross, so now take pity on your likeness; give us grace to atone for our sins, for without atonement the only justice is death; rulers, who should punish wrongdoers, are wholly corrupt, so that God will not heed their appeals; diminish this plague — if we were contrite, our sorrows would cease — none who seeks grace is destroyed; without your aid, we are in a deathtrap — no one can overlook our greed but you; calm your hostility — we can expect no relief — soon we will all be dead — do not let what you so dearly bought be lost. Bengt Ellenberger notes the exceptionally "high style, the intricate rhyme scheme, and the non-technical character of the words" that differentiate Ane Prayer for the Pest from Henryson's attested styles (Latin Element, p. 63). Drexler notes that the Draft portion of the Bannatyne Manuscript presents Ane Prayer as two poems: after line 64 appears the colophon Finis; and the ensuing stanzas have a new refrain ("Henryson's 'Prayer for the Pest'"; compare Textual Notes 64an).
17–22 The theme of plague as punishment is scriptural (Numbers 14:11–12; 2 Samuel 24:13–17); compare Conscience's sermon, in which he "preved that thise pestilences were for pure synne" (Langland, Piers Plowman, B.5.13).
29 The term pungetyfe appears to be Henryson's own Latinism (DOST pungitive 1a); compare Testament, line 229, where the adjective refers to the hostility shown by Venus.
65–72 Dunbar's "Ane Ballat of Our Lady" (lines 1–3) also features the aureate terms superne and lucerne.
81–82 In their edition of the poem, Robert L. Kindrick and Kristie A. Bixby suggest that Sen should be interpreted to mean "As for": "As for our sins, which justice must correct, O King most high, now pacify your anger" (Poems of Robert Henryson, p. 265).
A dialogue in six alternating ballade stanzas (ababbcbc5): Death demands man's attention and asserts that no creature, regardless of earthly station, can resist death; Man, incredulous and uncomprehending, wants to know his challenger's identity and asserts that he will defeat anyone who challenges him; Death identifies himself and repeats that he cannot be resisted by anyone; realizing the imminence of death, Man admits to a sinful youth; Death calls for repentance in readiness for the inevitable; Man repents submissively and appeals to God for mercy. While skeptical about any connection between this poem and the Dance of Death, Gray detects "echoes of an earlier type of poem, the Vado mori ('I go to die') in which a number of 'estates' are confronted by Death and overcome by him. . . . Here he is an awesome and mysterious figure" (Selected Poems of Henryson and Dunbar, p. 380).
4 The formula "reges pontifices imperatores" ("kings, popes, emperors") commonly refers to the highmost ranks of power in the world, especially in relation to their vulnerability to death.
In eight ballade stanzas (ababbcbc5), this is a moral ballade in which the reader, "sinfull man," is addressed by three skulls (reminiscent of the theme of the Three Living and the Three Dead; Fox, ed., p. 487): they invite him to look at them and realize that as he is now, so they were once; everyone must suffer death and therefore should keep it in mind in order to avoid sin; the young man is to think of his head in the same state; finely dressed ladies will turn out thus; the proud must seek mercy because all ranks of society will turn to dust; no scholar can distinguished between the skulls in terms of beauty, nobility, or learning; the aged should learn from the skulls to request mercy for himself and also for their souls; everyone should seek mercy in order to reign forever with the Trinity.
The copy of this poem in the Bannatyne Manuscript has an ascription to Patrick Johnston (d. 1495), "a notary, land-owner, and official receiver of revenues from Crown lands in West Lothian [who] produced court entertainments" (Bawcutt, Poems of William Dunbar, 2:336).
4 The hollowed-out eye sockets of the skulls find their way into Dunbar's insulting depiction of Walter Kennedie, his opponent in The Flyting (line 164).
14–16 The memento mori; compare The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedie (lines162–67).
17–24 Compare The Ressoning betwix Aige and Yowth, lines 41–48 and 59–64.
Abbreviations: B: the Bannatyne Manuscript; Bd: the Bannatyne Manuscript Draft; Fox: Denton Fox, ed., The Poems of Robert Henryson; Mf: the Maitland Folio.
The following four poems have been deemed to be more weakly attributed than those included in the previous group: for each of these, the evidence for Henryson's author-ship in the manuscript witnesses is late or in dispute. For The Abbey Walk, Ane Prayer for the Pest, and The Ressoning betwix Deth and Man, the Bannatyne Draft does not confirm the mention of Henryson in the colophons in the manuscript proper; in the case of Ane Prayer for the Pest, the ascription appears to have been added later than the inscription of the poem, a detail which has been taken to weaken further its credibility. In the case of The Thre Deid Pollis, Bannatyne's ascription to Patrick Johnston seems a fairly decisive stroke against Henryson's authorship, despite his being named as the author in the Maitland Folio. As if in a neat reversal of that disagreement, it is the Maitland Folio that beclouds the authorship of The Abbey Walk by appending to it the note authore incerto (author unknown). Admittedly, any attempt to determine authorship by means of the evidence of the Bannatyne Manuscript rests on shaky ground: Fox concludes that "the attributions in B, while not worthless, are not completely trustworthy" (ed., pp. cxvii–cxxi). Some significance may be attachable to discrepancies between the draft and the manuscript proper: with regard to The Ressoning betwix Deth and Man, for instance, "It is perhaps suspicious that [this poem] lacks an ascription in Bd, unlike the poems which immediately precede and follow it, and it is possible that in B the scribe took the poem to be a companion piece to The Ressoning betwix Aige and Yowth (which it follows), and so gave it a similar title and ascription" (Fox, ed., p. 467).
title Bd, B, Mf omit.
15 Bd: Sen thow sic examplis seyis ilk day. Mf: Sen thir but dout thow man assay.
43 Cumis nocht throw casualtie and chance. Mf: Cumis nowdir throw fortoun nor chance.
51 warldlie. Bd, B: warldis.
53 on the. Bd, B: deit on.
54 gustit. Bd, B: taistit the.
56a Bd: Finis. B: Quod Mr Robert Henrysone. Mf: Finis authore incerto.
64a Bd: Finis. According to Fox, this marginal notation is "probably in a later hand" (ed., p. 169).
76 and thame. Bd: falsly and.
77 mend this. Bd: win us fra that.
87 be. Bd: be our.
88a Bd: Finis. B: Finis quod Henrysone (the latter two words in a later hand).
Mors B: Deth (and so forth for the remainder of the poem).
Homo B: Man (and so forth for the remainder of the poem).
30 ay youtheid wald with me. Bd: youtheid wald with me ay.
43 the deid to lurk. Bd: deid to luke.
48a Bd: Finis. B: Finis quod Hendersone.
10 thole the. B: suffer.
24 Example. B: Thy example.
56 to rew and glorife. B: quhen he sall call and cry.
59 mercy cry and. B: our saulis to.
64a B: Finis quod Patrik Johnistoun. Mf: Quod Mr. Robert Henrysoun.
Bot as the wind will wend away.
Quhen Fortoun list will fra thee fall.
Obey and thank thi God of all.
Thobe moist full of cheretie.
Obeid and thankit God of all.
Na man sowld thee repreif by skill.
Blame nocht thy Lord sa is his will.
Obey and thank thy God of all.
And of his mercy petie haif.
To puneis synffull man and saif.
Of God aboif that rewill thee sall.
To obey and thank thy God of all.
Be glaid in wilfull povertie.
Is nocht bot verry vanitie.
Quha hyis law and lawis he.
Haif mercy of us, indigent and pure.
Thow dois no wrang to punis our offens.
Preserve us fra this perrelus pestilens.
Thy eiris inclyne and heir our grit regrait.
That is of help and confort dissolait.
We ar bot deid but only thy clemens.
Preserve us from this perrellus pestilens.
That nane dar mak with udir residens.
Preserve us from this perrelus pestilens.
And slak thy plaig that is so penetryfe.
The pepill ar perreist quha may remeid thairfoir.
Bot thow, O lord, that for thame lost thy lyfe.
Our deid ma nathing our synnis recompens.
Aganis us synnaris that servis to be schent.
Without mercy, we may mak no defens.
Preserve us frome this perrellus pestilens.
That is of virtew barran and denude.
Haif rewth, lord, of thyn awin similitude.
Punis with pety and nocht with violens.
That we are punist with this pestillens.
And till evaid this crewall suddane deid.
We knaw our sin is all the caus of this.
For opin sin thair is set no remeid.
For by the law he will with nane dispens.
Of God that suld preserf fra pestilens.
And hes just caus to send us pestilens.
For treuth, haif reuth, lat nocht our slewth us twyn.
Our syte full tyte, wer we contryt, wald blin.
But grace with space for to arrace fra sin.
Lat nocht be tint that thow sa deir hes bocht.
We thee exort, distort it in exyle.
For wrangus win, bot thow our sin oursyle?
O king most he, now pacife thy feid.
Our sin is huge, refuge we nocht suspect.
And thow be juge, dislug us of this steid.
For we repent, all tyme mispent forthocht.
Thairfoir evirmor be gloir to thy godheid.
Quhilk sall thi myrrour be baith day and nycht.
All erdly thing that evir tuke lyfe mon de.
May nocht resist quhill it be at his hart.
Or with thi dert I suld rycht sair repent?
I trest trewly of that that thow sall le.
Or with me fecht outhir on fute or hors?
Nor I sall gar him bow to me on fors.
Quhenevir I pleis, quhat tyme, quhat plais, or quhair.
Man put thaim heill on fors under my cure.
In deidly syn and speacialy in pryd.
All thi plesance thow sall deir aby.
Edderis, askis, wirmes meit to be.
Thocht thow wer paip, empriour, and king al thre.
Na power haif my saule till assay.
Mercy one me to haif on Domisday.
Oure holkit ene, oure peilit pollis bair.
Als fresche, als fair, als lusty to behald.
Of thyself, man, thow may be richt unbald.
Na erdly stait aganis deid ma prevaill.
Quhilk is referrit to the hie God allane.
Heirfoir haif mynd of deth, that thow mon dy.
Sould caus all men fra wicket vycis fle.
Behald our heidis, O lusty gallandis gay.
Holkit and how and wallowit as the weid.
Full cairfully conclud sall dulefull deid.
Example heir be us it may be sene.
With peilit pollis and holkit thus your heid.
With humill hairt upoun our pollis pens.
Man, for thy mis ask mercy with meiknes.
Aganis deid na man may mak defens.
Turnit in as and thus in erd translait.
In art musik or in astronomye?
And think as thus all your heidis mon be.
Of his godheid, to rew and glorife.
Thre knit in ane be perfyt unitie.


Directory for the first years.
Intended for beginners organists, the series "to start the organ well" proposes a set of exclusively manual pieces specially adapted to the first years of study of the instrument. Alternating old and contemporary works - the latter having been largely specially written for the occasion -, these collections are situated between "method" (with a will of targeted technical progression) and "anthology". Billing and registration elements will allow the young musician a first contact with the "machine-organ". The second volume of this series follows the previous one and takes up the spirit. Some essential technical points of the keyboards (thumb passages, displacements, double notes, ...) will be more particularly approached.


text:
HomeFraud News From WorldCyber Crime: Konstantin Ignatov Charged International Pyramid Scheme That Involved The Marketing Of a Fraudulent Cryptocurrency
Cyber Crime: Konstantin Ignatov Charged International Pyramid Scheme That Involved The Marketing Of a Fraudulent Cryptocurrency
March 8, 2019 fraudswatch Fraud News From World 0
Manhattan U.S. Attorney Announces Charges Against Leaders Of "OneCoin," A Multibillion-Dollar Pyramid Scheme Involving The Sale Of A Fraudulent Cryptocurrency
Current Leader Konstantin Ignatov Arrested at Los Angeles International Airport
Geoffrey S. Berman, the United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York, Cyrus R. Vance Jr., the District Attorney for the County of New York, John R. Tafur, the Special Agent in Charge of the Newark Field Office of the Internal Revenue Service-Criminal Investigation ("IRS-CI"), William F. Sweeney Jr., and the Assistant Director-in-Charge of the New York Field Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation ("FBI"), announced that KONSTANTIN IGNATOV was arrested March 6, 2019, at the Los Angeles International Airport, on a wire fraud conspiracy charge stemming from his role as the leader of an international pyramid scheme that involved the marketing of a fraudulent cryptocurrency called "OneCoin." An Indictment charging IGNATOV's sister, RUJA IGNATOVA – a founder and original leader of OneCoin – with wire fraud, securities fraud, and money laundering offenses was unsealed yesterday. As a result of misrepresentations that IGNATOV, IGNATOVA, and others made about OneCoin, victims invested billions of dollars worldwide in the fraudulent cryptocurrency. Following his arrest, IGNATOV appeared in Magistrate Court in the Central District of California, and was detained on the charge contained in the Complaint.
Manhattan U.S. Attorney Geoffrey S. Berman said: "As alleged, these defendants created a multibillion-dollar 'cryptocurrency' company based completely on lies and deceit. They promised big returns and minimal risk, but, as alleged, this business was a pyramid scheme based on smoke and mirrors more than zeroes and ones. Investors were victimized while the defendants got rich. Our Office has a history of successfully targeting, arresting, and convicting financial fraudsters, and this case is no different."
New York County District Attorney Cyrus R. Vance, Jr., said: "As alleged in the indictment, these defendants executed an old-school pyramid scheme on a new-school platform, compromising the integrity of New York's financial system and defrauding investors out of billions. Our Office urges all crypto investors to scrutinize investment opportunities, recognize the prevalence of fraud in this underregulated space, and proceed with caution. I commend U.S. Attorney Berman and my Office's Major Economic Crimes Bureau for their globe-spanning investigative work and shared commitment to protecting our markets from sophisticated white-collar fraudsters."
IRS Special Agent in Charge John R. Tafur said: "This is an old scam with a virtual twist. As alleged in court documents, the cryptocurrency OneCoin was established for the sole purpose of defrauding investors. IGNATOV and IGNATOVA allegedly convinced victims to invest in OneCoin based on complete lies about the virtual currency. IRS Criminal Investigation is committed to investigating cryptocurrency scams in an effort to protect the American public and bring cryptocurrency crooks to justice."
FBI Assistant Director-in-Charge William Sweeney, Jr. said: "As we allege, OneCoin was a cryptocurrency existing only in the minds of its creators and their co-conspirators. Unlike authentic cryptocurrencies, which maintain records of their investors' transaction history, OneCoin had no real value. It offered investors no method of tracing their money, and it could not be used to purchase anything. In fact, the only ones who stood to benefit from its existence were its founders and co-conspirators. Whether you're dealing with virtual currency or cold, hard cash, we urge the public to exercise due diligence with any investment."
According to the allegations contained in the Complaint charging KONSTANTIN IGNATOV and the Indictment charging RUJA IGNATOVA, and in other court papers, and other documents in the public record:
IGNATOV currently serves as the top leader of OneCoin Ltd., a company marketing a purported cryptocurrency named "OneCoin," which the investigation has revealed is in fact a fraudulent pyramid scheme. OneCoin Ltd. was co-founded in 2014 by IGNATOVA, and is based in Sofia, Bulgaria. IGNATOVA served as OneCoin's top leader until her disappearance from public view, in October 2017. Starting in late 2017, IGNATOV, who is IGNATOVA's younger brother, assumed high-level positions at OneCoin, rising to the top leadership position by mid-2018.
OneCoin Ltd. operates as a multi-level marketing network through which members receive commissions for recruiting others to purchase cryptocurrency packages. This multi-level marketing structure appears to have influenced rapid growth of the OneCoin member network. Indeed, OneCoin Ltd. has claimed to have more than 3 million members worldwide, including victims living and/or working within the Southern District of New York. OneCoin continues to operate to this day.
As a result of misrepresentations made by IGNATOV, IGNATOVA, and other OneCoin representatives, victims throughout the world wired investment funds to OneCoin-controlled bank accounts in order to purchase OneCoin packages. Records obtained in the course of the investigation show that, between the fourth quarter of 2014 and the third quarter of 2016 alone, OneCoin Ltd. generated €3.353 billion in sales revenue and earned "profits" of €2.232 billion.
Among a number of other representations, OneCoin Ltd. has claimed that the OneCoin cryptocurrency is "mined" using mining servers maintained and operated by the company, and that the value of OneCoin is based on market supply and demand. The purported value of a OneCoin has steadily grown from €0.50 to approximately €29.95 per coin, as of January 2019. In fact, the value of OneCoin is determined internally and not based on market supply and demand; and OneCoins are not mined using computer resources. Moreover, the investigation has revealed that IGNATOVA and her co-founder conceived of and built the OneCoin business fully intending to use it to defraud investors. For example, in one email between IGNATOVA and her co-founder, IGNATOVA described her thoughts on the "exit strategy" for OneCoin. The first option that IGNATOVA listed was, "Take the money and run and blame someone else for this . . . ."
Additionally, OneCoin Ltd. has claimed to have a private "blockchain," or a digital ledger identifying OneCoins and recording historical transactions. The investigation has revealed that OneCoin lacks a true blockchain, that is, a public and verifiable blockchain. Moreover, by approximately March 2015, IGNATOVA and her co-founder had started allocating to OneCoin members coins that did not even exist in OneCoin's purported private blockchain, referring to those coins as "fake coins."
As the founder and leader of OneCoin Ltd., IGNATOVA participated in efforts to market OneCoin to U.S. victim-investors. For example, on July 4, 2015, IGNATOVA participated in an online webinar, later posted to YouTube.com, in which IGNATOVA announced the official opening of the United States market for OneCoin.
Since taking over leadership of OneCoin following IGNATOVA's disappearance from publicly running the company, IGNATOV has himself made false representations to OneCoin members to solicit trader package purchases and investments into the company. For example, IGNATOV has repeatedly represented that an "initial public offering" of OneCoin would occur on various dates in 2018 and 2019, in an effort to generate excitement and solicit additional investments from member victims. However, the purported offering was repeatedly postponed, and no such offering has taken place. Moreover, IGNATOV has been personally involved in manually setting and increasing the purported Euro value of OneCoin, contradicting claims that the value is set by supply and demand. Finally, the investigation has revealed that IGNATOV is aware that OneCoin-derived funds have been routed through a series of purported "investment fund" accounts used to hide the origin of the money, i.e., to launder OneCoin fraud proceeds.
Between February 27, 2019, and March 6, 2019, IGNATOV travelled to the United States to conduct OneCoin-related business, including in Las Vegas, Nevada, where he stayed at a casino resort. While in Las Vegas, IGNATOV met with a number of OneCoin affiliates. During the meeting, one of the first questions posed to IGNATOV was when OneCoin members would be able to monetize, or "cash out," their OneCoins. IGNATOV reportedly responded, "if you are here to cash out, leave this room now, because you don't understand what this project is about."
IGNATOVA, a third defendant, MARK S. SCOTT, and others agreed to launder the proceeds of the OneCoin fraud scheme. Specifically, IGNATOVA, SCOTT, and others agreed with others to conduct transactions involving OneCoin fraud proceeds in order to conceal and disguise the nature, location, source, ownership, and control of the proceeds. SCOTT, a former partner of a major United States law firm, assisted IGNATOVA and others in laundering more than $400 million through a series of purported investment funds holding bank accounts at financial institutions in the Cayman Islands and the Republic of Ireland, among other locations. The indictment charging SCOTT was previously unsealed, and SCOTT was arrested in Barnstable, Massachusetts, on September 5, 2018. SCOTT's case is currently pending before U.S. District Judge Edgardo Ramos.
IGNATOVA, 38, of Sofia, Bulgaria, is charged with one count each of wire fraud, conspiracy to commit wire fraud, securities fraud, and conspiracy to commit money laundering, each of which carries a maximum sentence of 20 years sentence, and one count of conspiracy to commit securities fraud, which carries a maximum sentence of five years in prison. IGNATOVA remains at large.
IGNATOV, 33, of Sofia, Bulgaria, is charged by Complaint with one count of conspiracy to commit wire fraud, which carries a maximum sentence of 20 years in prison.
SCOTT, 50, of Coral Gables, Florida, is charged by Indictment with one count of conspiracy to commit money laundering, which carries a maximum sentence of 20 years in prison.
The maximum potential sentences in this case are prescribed by Congress and are provided here for informational purposes only, as any sentencing of the defendant will be determined by the judge.
Mr. Berman and Mr. Vance praised the outstanding investigative work of IRS-CI and the FBI, which jointly conducted this investigation with the Special Agents from the U.S. Attorney's Office and analysts from the New York County DA's Office Major Economic Crimes Bureau.
The prosecution of this case is being handled by the Office's Complex Frauds and Cybercrime Unit and Securities and Commodities Fraud Task Force. Assistant United States Attorneys Christopher J. DiMase and Nicholas Folly, and Special Assistant United States Attorney Julieta V. Lozano of the New York County District Attorney's Office, are in charge of the prosecution.
The charges contained in the Indictments and Complaint are merely accusations, and the defendants are presumed innocent unless and until proven guilty.
If you think you may have been a victim in this case or have additional information, please contact the United States Attorney's Office at 866-874-8900, or by email at USANYS.OneCoin@usa.doj.gov.
Financial Fraud: Avoid and What Is ?
July 14, 2015 fraudswatch Fraud 0
What Iѕ Financial Fraud? It's surprising tо find thаt mоѕt people rеаllу don't understand whаt fraud is. Sure, thеу hear аbоut it, uѕuаllу оn а grand scale, but thеу don't understand whаt rеаllу hарреnѕ аnd […]
Foreign Corruption: Patrick Ho Guilty Of Participating In a Multi-Year, Multimillion-Dollar Scheme To Bribe Top Officials Of Chad And Uganda
December 6, 2018 fraudswatch Fraud News From World 0
Patrick Ho, Former Head Of Organization Backed By Chinese Energy Conglomerate, Convicted Of International Bribery, Money Laundering Offenses Ho Schemed to Bribe the President of Chad, President and Foreign Minister of Uganda Geoffrey S. Berman, […]
The National Health Care Fraud Takedown Known Cases
June 29, 2016 fraudswatch Fraud, Fraud News From World 0
Fifteen Charged In Middle District As Part Of Largest National Health Care Fraud Takedown In History List Of Group Charged On National Helth Care Fraud: Yosbel Marimon, Greggory Jackson, Belinda Jalloh, Robert Lee Lanier, Maria Lugo, Janice and Thurman Hammock, Louis […]

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Scandalous Sherlock Holmes
Posted byLucy February 16, 2017 Posted inBooks, Free Reads, historical romance, Lucy Blue Short Story, Sherlock Holmes, Short StoryTags:free romance read, Sherlock Holmes, Victorian romance
My baby sister, Alexandra Christian, and I are both big Sherlock Holmes fans in almost every incarnation, and bless our hearts, we do write romance. So last year as a lark we challenged one another to each write a Victorian romance with a hero that was both romantic and a reasonably authentic version of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's detective. My offering was the story excerpted here, The Butterfly. (To read Lexie's take, check out the excellent novella, Chasing the Dragon.) Both stories are free to download through Saturday, February 16, 2017:
The glass-domed greenhouse stretched the entire width of the house and extended deeply into the patch of garden behind it. The late Lord Northrup, whose fortune had been greatly enlarged over two decades in India, had kept his own private jungle in the center of London. It was reported to have been his favorite room in the house, and he had died here, sprawled in an embarrassing attitude across a wicker chaise. The butler now led Holmes past the same spot which was now bare of furniture.
Lady Northrup was in a far corner near the glass wall. Her mourning costume had been augmented with a straw sun hat and a pair of gardening gloves. "Good morning, Mr. Holmes," she said without turning around as she tended some large, rather ferocious-looking plant. "If your intent was to surprise me, you've succeeded."
"No doubt you find it surprising that I would dare show my face here," Holmes said, feeling uncomfortably like a small boy caught being naughty.
"Not at all." She turned around with her hands full of colorful flowers. "I imagine you would dare anything." She handed these to the butler. "Thank you, Mr. Poag." Giving Holmes one last glare, the butler took his blossoms and left. "But I never dreamed you would come here to apologize."
"It seemed appropriate." After their last visit, Watson had declared Lady Northrup to be "quite striking." Holmes was not the connoisseur of female beauty his friend was, but he couldn't pretend the woman was unattractive. "Thank you for seeing me."
"I could hardly resist." She took off the hat and gloves. "Pray commence, sir." She was almost smiling. "Apologize."
"Of course." He clasped his hands behind his back. "I deeply regret any embarrassment to yourself caused by my investigation of your husband's death."
"Embarrassment?" She walked past him, headed toward the rest of the house. "Is that what you'd call it?"
"Perhaps rather more than that." He followed her. "Though in my defense, I must protest that I never once said you were a can-can dancer." She led him out of the solarium into a cozy parlor with a grand piano and several overstuffed chairs. In contrast to what he'd seen of the rest of the house, these furnishings looked brand new. "I merely reported that you were a member of the ensemble at an establishment in Paris where the can-can is performed."
"Was performed, Mr. Holmes." She took one of the chairs and pointed him to another. "The nightclub has long since closed." Tea had been laid on the table between them. "And I was not a member of the ensemble." She poured a cup and smiled. "I was the star." She held up the cup. "Cream and sugar?"
"Neither, thank you." He took the tea and sipped, an act of faith, considering he had recently implied she might be a poisoner.
"You're quite welcome." She put sugar and cream in her own cup. "And your apology is accepted. I'm sure you only did what you felt was right."
"I was engaged within the compass of my profession." He would have turned the case down, but for some reason his brother, Mycroft, had insisted he take it. "And you must allow that the circumstances of your husband's death bore investigation."
"A man well past the prime of life in less-than-perfect health with a known fondness for tobacco, alcohol, and other indulgences drops dead with his trousers unbuttoned in the presence of a half-dressed upstairs maid," she said, stirring her tea. "Yes, Mr. Holmes, very mysterious."
"A maid who seemed to vanish into thin air immediately after making her report to the police," Holmes pointed out.
"Indeed," she said. "Are you certain I didn't kill her, too?"
"Quite certain," Holmes said. "I spoke to the young lady four days ago at her mother's home in Brighton."
"Oh, you found her." Her tone and manner were calm, but he saw fury in her eyes. "I wonder that the papers didn't mention it."
"The papers weren't told," he said. "I saw no need to disrupt the poor creature's life any further. She's been through quite an ordeal already."
"Indeed." Her teacup rattled on the saucer. "How very chivalrous of you."
"Lady Northrup, I had no idea your late husband's nephew would go to the papers with my report."
"Didn't you?" she said, setting down her cup. "I thought you were meant to be clever. Having failed to deprive my son of his inheritance by sending me to the gallows, any fool could see his only recourse was to have me publicly declared a slut."
"Lady Northrup—"
"By the time those papers went to press last night, he had already engaged his lawyers to enter a suit to declare my son, Sebastian illegitimate based on my—how do the documents phrase it?—my well-known history of lewd and immoral behavior.' And with the help and faith of more fine, intelligent men like yourself, he'll win his case."
"Lady Northrup, I assure you—"
"You have made your apology, Mr. Holmes," she cut him off as she stood up. "Your conscience is clear. And I have taxed my lowborn understanding of good manners to the utmost by not bouncing you out my front door on your arse. So really, we have nothing left to say to one another. I think it must be time for you to go."
"Peter Northrup is the lowest form of weasel," Holmes said. "I told him as much to his face the first day he came to see me. I only agreed to take the case to prove how petty and ridiculous it was. If you had shown the slightest genuine regret at the loss of your husband—"
"Dear god, man, why should I regret it?" she demanded. "He made my life a living hell for eleven years and died forcing his attentions on my maid." She seemed to remember herself and sat back down. "No, Mr. Holmes, I do not grieve for my husband. I grieve for my son who will have no father. But for my husband, no." She smiled slightly. "But that doesn't mean I killed him."
"When you and I first spoke, I knew very little of the circumstances of your husband's death," Holmes said.
"Only what Peter had told you."
"Yes." He felt a most uncomfortable heat on his face. "I do not like to think his prejudice against you influenced my perceptions."
"I dare say it was my fault entirely," she said. "I knew only too well what Peter must have told you. I could have easily played the grieving widow to perfection. I am a very accomplished actress—or at least I used to be." She picked up her teacup again. "Would you be flattered to hear your reputation frightened me? That I was afraid you would see through my performance?"
"Flattered, yes, perhaps," he said with a small smile of his own. "But not convinced."
She laughed, a brief, musical lilt. "I was furious, Mr. Holmes, at my husband's nephew and at you. How dare you come into my home and accuse me when I had suffered so much?"
Holmes found this much easier to believe. She looked like the sort of woman accustomed to fits of fury far beyond her own self-interest. "Rather a rotten husband, then?" he said, sipping his tea.
"Rather," she drawled, mocking his diction. "He was a wealthy, titled Englishman. I was an Irish-born actress. Can you not picture our courtship?"
"Dr. Watson said it must have been quite romantic," Holmes said.
"Dr. Watson was mistaken," she said. "Bless him." She set down her teacup and looked away as if she couldn't decide what she should tell him. "Ours was very much a business arrangement. He gave me security of a kind, a name and a home for as long as I could play the part. It was quite understood that he would divorce me the moment anyone discovered my true identity. But no doubt you know that already."
"Yes," he said. "There were papers to that effect in the safe. I considered that your most likely motive for murdering him."
"As well you might," she said. "But before you exposed me, I played the role to perfection. Did you find anyone in England besides Richard's solicitor who knew?"
"No one," he admitted. "Even the nephew was fooled until the solicitor told him. So what did your husband receive in this contract, if I may ask?"
"You just have asked," she said, laughing. "Why aren't I surprised?"
"Your charms would certainly seem to be sufficient compensation for most men," Holmes said. "But he was, as you say, giving chase to the chambermaids."
"Perfectly expressed, Mr. Holmes," she said. "The chase was the attraction for Richard, always. He married me because he couldn't have me any other way. And in Paris, he had to have me." He followed her gaze to a colorful painting hanging over the fireplace, a poster in the new French style depicting a woman in a striking black and blue gown. "I was La Papillon," she said. "The Butterfly. The prize. Every man in Paris wanted to possess me." She smiled her fragile smile again. "But no doubt you are immune to such attractions."
"Generally speaking," he said. "Though in your case, I believe I understand."
"Why, Mr. Holmes," she said. "You take my breath away."
"I said I understand the disease, Lady Northrup," he said. "I never said I was afflicted." Watson had often accused him of willful cruelty, but that was almost never true. He rarely meant to wound anyone with his remarks; he simply had no tact. But something about this woman made him want to cut past her arrogant façade and lay her bare.
She obliged his base desire to hurt her by gasping slightly in shock, her eyes widening. Then she smiled. "Indeed," she said. "So tell me, Mr. Holmes. Why have you decided I didn't kill my husband after all?"
"Because I can determine no method nor opportunity by which you might have done so," he said. "Your husband died suddenly while undertaking strenuous physical activity, though not of a nature unusual or outside his accustomed routine."
"No," she said. "Richard was always active."
"The maid who was with him at the time testified that he exhibited only a brief period of distress during which his left arm appeared to stiffen and give him pain and his face first flushed then turned pale. She has not wavered in this account of his passing except to add, after my questioning, certain other details inappropriate for polite conversation that are also consistent with the sudden, violent onset of heart failure or stroke."
"He lost control of his bowels but maintained an impressive erection," Lady Northrup said. "You forget, Mr. Holmes, the butler and I were the first assistance the poor girl summoned to the scene."
"Quite so," Holmes said. "Marked dilation of the right pupil observed postmortem by Dr. Watson also indicated a strong possibility of stroke."
"Then why suspect me at all?" she said.
"Mr. Northrup's certainty of your guilt combined with your own apparent resignation to if not pleasure at your husband's death made my suspicion inescapable," he said. "No detective worthy of the name could have failed to investigate."
"Oh yes, I forgot," she said. "It was my fault. So what was your theory of the crime? How did you imagine I had done it?"
"As you were not present at the time of death, poison seemed the most likely method," he said. He rather enjoyed talking it over with her this way; her lack of histrionics in the face of his deductions was far more charming to him than her looks. "Though until I spoke to the maid myself, I couldn't rule out the possibility that she had lied to the police and was in fact your accomplice."
"How relieved she must have been to hear you'd changed your mind," she said, finishing her tea. "So why don't you still think I poisoned him?"
"I consulted many sources within my own library and at the medical college and corresponded with several experts and determined that there is no poison available in London that could have produced precisely such a death," he said. "Certain toxins injected directly into the bloodstream via syringe might conceivably produce similar symptoms, but they would have had to have been administered by someone in Lord Northrup's presence when he was struck. You were upstairs in your dressing room with two other maids and Peter Northrup's wife. More to the point, no needle marks were found on the body, only bug bites. Your husband's valet testified that these were received on a hunting expedition the week before.
"Are they so different?" she said. "Bug bites and needle marks?"
"Chalk and cheese, Lady Northrup," he said. "Or so Dr. Watson assures me."
"So my husband died of a stroke."
"Your husband died of a stroke." Regret was not a luxury he allowed himself often, but sitting across the tea table from her now and remembering the boy he had met in the hall, he could hardly avoid it. "And I have done you harm."
"I've lived through worse," she said. "Though if you wanted to make amends, there is something you could do for me."
He instantly regretted his regret. "Indeed?"
"I would very much like to go to the theatre this evening. The new Gilbert and Sullivan is opening at the Savoy, and my late husband and I have a box. Under the circumstances, I can hardly attend on my own." She paused as if waiting for him to make a helpful suggestion, but he would sooner have taken a bite from his teacup, chewed it up and swallowed it. "As my current situation as a social pariah is at least partially your fault, would you be so kind as to accompany me?"
"Certainly not," he said. "I do not care for the theatre, particularly the works of Gilbert and Sullivan."
"My dear Mr. Holmes," she said, laughing. "What you do or do not care for is entirely beside the point." Her lovely smile was rather frightening. "I care for the theatre very much. And you owe me."
He could have brushed off this challenge like a butterfly from his sleeve, but he found he didn't want to. "So it's to be torture, then?" he said, returning her smile.
"So it seems." Her color was high and quite fetching in spite of her mourning gown. "Are you man enough to bear it?"
"We shall see." He stood up. "Until this evening, Lady Northrup."
She laughed. "Call for me at seven, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I refuse to turn up late."
Repairing the Perfect Beast
America's Sweetheart Tells All


These courses focus on first aid in the outdoors environment and satisfy the requirements of most outdoor National Governing Body Awards including Mountain Training. They involve 16 hours (2 days) of tuition, developing skills throughout this period based on situation assessment and casualty examination and will include an element of assessment.
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Courses are accredited by Immediate Temporary Care First Aid Ltd (ITC) who are regulated by Ofqual and the SQA.
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text:
Dodging Prison & Stealing Witches
WIP - World Anvil
Audio chapters
Visit Discord
Jump to chapter...Book 1 - Revenge is Best Served RawCh.1 - Through the VeilCh.2 - Flying Under the Radar - WandCh.3 - Flying Under the Radar - GoldCh.4 - Greetings, I am Lord Slytherin - Part 1Ch.5 - Greetings, I am Lord Slytherin - Part 2Bonus - A Wild Slytherin Has AppearedCh.6 - Good Morning Students, I'm Harry PotterCh.7 - Hey, Grab a Drink, I'm The-Boy-Who-LivedCh.8 - Umm I'm the Champion of Fate and Death?Ch.9 - The Book of Names - Part 1Ch.10 - The Book of Names - Part 2Ch.11 - Straight From the Graveyard - Part 1Ch.12 - Straight from the Graveyard - Part 2Ch.13 - Interlude - Hermione Goes ShoppingCh.14 - Interlude - Alexandra's Birthday PartyBook 2 - The Foundations of PowerCh.15 - The First Year's Train DanceCh.16 - A Very Slytherin Muggleborn - Part 1Ch.17 - A Very Slytherin Muggleborn - Part 2Ch.18 - Slytherin's OutcastCh.19 - The Chamber's Pipe NetworkCh.20 - Double Double Troll and TroubleCh.21 - The Duelling ClubCh.22 - Muggleborns, Ghosts, and Musical ChairsCh.23 - Manor Beginnings and The Winter FestivalCh.24 - Ginny Training in DreamlandCh.25 - Necromancy for Fun and Fun - Part 1Ch.26 - Necromancy for Fun and Fun - Part 2Ch.27 - What Goes On In Knockturn AlleyCh.28 - Divination Dimwits Drugs and DetentionCh.29 - Cleithrophobia and Planning a HeistCh.30 - Securing the Area...Ch.31 - ...And the TournamentCh.32 - The House of Potter vs The MinistryCh.33 - The Philosopher's ProphecyCh.34 - Interlude - Gairsay islandCh.35 - Interlude - Blood Money and Blood MagicCh.36 - Interlude - Daphne Goes Down to the VillageBook 3 - Nature Red in Cloak and DaggerCh.37 - Diagon Alley Pile UpCh.38 - Strategic SortingCh.39 - The Little Trials of Virgo MalfoyCh.40 - Alexandra Black, Meet Death's ChampionCh.41 - Ginny's decisionCh.42 - Daphne's Birthday, Work and Play - Part 1Ch.43 - Daphne's Birthday, Work and Play - Part 2Ch.44 - Hermione's Quest - Part 1Ch.45 - Hermione's Quest - Part 2Ch.46 - Hermione's Quest - Part 3Ch.47 - Interlude - There's No Business like Hogwarts BusinessCh.48 - Soul Anchors - Part 1Ch.49 - Soul Anchors - Part 2Ch.50 - Soul Anchors - Part 3Ch.51 - Soul Anchors - Part 4Ch.52 - Interlude - This is the house that Floating-Interest builtCh.53 - Movers and Shakers - Part 1Ch.54 - Movers and Shakers - Part 2Ch.55 - Movers and Shakers - Part 3Ch.56 - Interlude - Nothing Like a Free PressCh.57 - Nature Red - Part 1Bonus - ReunitingCh.58 - Nature Red - Part 2Major chapter - Nature Red - Part 3Extra - Quidditch Shenanigans
Chapter 56 - Interlude - Nothing Like a Free Press
Diagon Alley, London. All over the wizarding world, it is known for its high-class shopping — a place where modern retail establishments, selling magical sweatshop products from all over the world, rub shoulders with old-school-style workshops, crafting one-of-a-kind artefacts on commission for the more discerning customer. The windows are a riot of colours and interest. Many thousands of visitors from every corner of the globe walk down the street every year, eyes sliding from one window to another, almost as if magically drawn.
Very few of those shoppers regularly look up.
Diagon Alley is more than just one or two storeys.
Above the crazy wizz-bang commercialisation of a thriving magical shopping district, many of the buildings support a host of other purposes — lawyers' offices, bed and breakfasts, travel agents, and many other minor services that help the world go round.
If the shoppers below did look up, they'd see signs proclaiming the third floor of Olivander's wand shop to host a watch-maker.
If they looked up above Flourish and Blotts, they'd find Magical Britain's only art studio.
Such singularity of purpose was not always so.
What had started out hundreds of years ago as a nice apartment for the blacksmith's family to live in, had, over the natural course of economic pressure, been subdivided, rented-out, space-expanded, and sub-divided again, and again, on so many occasions, that the ministry ended up banning further development, after the humble hag of the time failed to cast a basic lumos spell near a particularly densely charmed area, and was embarrassingly mistaken for a squib.
Those truly labyrinthine upper-floors were then carefully dismantled, but there do still exist a few hold-outs from the days before ministry-controlled space-expansion permissions.
For example, if the shoppers of Diagon Alley looked up just outside a magical greengrocer's, just a few doors down from a rather nice café (which does, in fact, happen to also serve pudding) they would find not only the headquarters of the Quibbler, but also Witch Weekly, The Practical Potioneer, Transfiguration Today, Top Broom, Challenges in Charming, many other scholarly and special interest publications. But most importantly, they would find the Daily Prophet — the overall most respected publication in the country, and the only one to have not just one full-time journalist on staff, in addition to the editor, but two.
In a corner of a small and cramped room with no paint on the wooden walls, Rita Skeeter sipped on a cup of tea like it owed her money. All around her, the sounds of a questionably free press rattled and slammed away through silencing charms not quite strong enough to keep them out.
"Don't worry, Luv," said Bozo, lounging against the desk. "Something'll turn up."
"Worried?" Rita snapped. "I'm not worried."
Bozo carelessly flicked a cigarette into an already overflowing ashtray. "If you say so, Luv."
"And it's not as though you've found anything," Rita continued. "A good Slytherin story would do us wonders, but no, we can't even run the Black girl's scoop." She folded her arms and glared at nothing. "Such delicate matters will be handled in private, my dear," she muttered.
"There's always the Muggle Protection Act that's coming up. That'll be a right to do. All the lords and higher-ups swanning about. Plenty of opportunity to sniff something juicy out."
"We'd have no doubt gotten something juicy if we'd managed to sneak into Slytherin's Gala!"
Bozo chuckled. "Don't be daft, Luv. Slytherin's not the kind to let a pair of animagi through his gates. You should know that. We don't have to get a Slytherin story immediately. We've still got plenty of angles to play. I hear Crackpot Hall's in trouble — Updike wants to pull his support. And he's got Whittle's scent all over him. Bad time to be in with the loan shark. Should have tried his luck with the green buggers up the street." Bozo chuckled again.
There was the sound of footsteps from outside. It passed the door to their office and continued on towards the editor's room.
Rita stuck her head around the door just in time to see the swish of lilac robes and hear a very distinctive voice loudly declare, "Barnabus! How excellent to see you again!"
She ducked her head back into the office. "What on Earth would Gilderoy be doing back here?"
— DP&SW: NRiCaD —
"A Quick-Quotes Quill?" Barnabus Cuffe asked, peering at the headmaster over thick-rimmed spectacles and a mountain of scrap paper. "Whatever do you want one of those for? Isn't Hogwarts taking up enough of your time? You can't use it for parchment-work, you know."
"No, no, no," Lockhart beamed. "Just a small project I'm undertaking for a dear old friend. Asked me to help him co-author his biography. Needs a little flair though, so I'm going around collecting interviews. Gives everything a more authoritative bent."
"Biography, eh?" Barnabus leaned forward. "Anyone important? Anyone I should know about?"
Lockhart waved dismissively. "Oh no, no. Just a traveller I know from the old days looking for a sufficiently impressive tome for his bookshelf. Might sell one to his old mum, perhaps."
"Mmm… yes, that is quite a common thing for people to do. Still, a Quick-Quotes Quill isn't something I can hand out to just anyone, Headmaster. It is sort of divination magic, after all. Highly regulated. And a Cuffe family artefact. The only reason it's not banned is you'd have to kill us all first. You don't want to know how much trouble I'd be in if—"
A large sheet of dense script parchment slapped itself down in front of him.
"By Jove!" Barnabus' spectacles dropped off his nose. He quickly replaced them and scanned the document. "You really got authorisation from the minister? He's tighter than a skint pureblood witch on honeymoon."
"Being headmaster of Hogwarts does come with certain perks when procuring these kinds of permissions."
Unseen by either Lockhart or the editor, a small and beautiful jewelled beetle crawled in through a crack in the window.
"I'll say," Barnabus agreed. His eyes widened slightly when he read the authorised remuneration he'd be allowed to charge his customer. "Righto! Step this way, Headmaster. Here, let me take your cloak. No, don't bother sitting down, you'll want to be standing for this." He walked to the back of the office, flourished his wand, and tapped a wall panel. It slid back to reveal five beautiful feather quills, all from birds any muggle ornithologist would rip his hair out trying to identify.
"Magnificent!" Lockhart gushed.
"Yes, well. Very nice, certainly. Look here." Barnabus selected the one on the end—a particularly striking acid-green—and ruffled it. "The Quick-Quotes Quill," he announced. "A lot of rumours around about these, so here's the truth — straight from the thestral's mouth. A Quick-Quotes Quill isn't just a dictation machine, oh no. Some say it exaggerates the truth, but that's not quite right either. It pulls information from the aether. Just like how a pensieve memory isn't just what the eye sees — neither is the Quick-Quotes Quill. With this quill, you can pan for secrets, like panning for gold. But it comes with a danger."
"Can't trust the little blighters," Lockhart chuckled. "Just like pensieve memories."
Barnabus pouted slightly. "Quite. I see you've done your homework. But do you know about the rules?"
"Rules?"
"Different family artefacts have different rules, you know. Some can only be made by the family, some will only work for the family. Some manifest only every second generation. Others are matrilineal. All kinds of wacky stuff." He opened his hand as if encouraging Lockhart to take its contents. "The Cuffe Quick-Quotes Quill can be used by anyone, but!—" He snatched his hand shut just as Lockhart's hand was about to close on the feather. "With a time limit."
"What time limit?" Lockhart asked, brow furrowed.
"Twenty-four hours."
"You mean I've got to come back for a new quill every day?!"
"Not a new quill, Headmaster. You just need me to give you back the quill you just took. That's all."
"Still… that puts a serious cramp on a man's style."
"That's magic, Headmaster."
A little while later, back in the reporters' office, Rita turned back into a witch, while, by the door, a cocker spaniel, which had been sniffing around the corridor, turned back into Bozo.
Rita was practically drooling. "I want that quill."
"Good luck," Bozo drawled. "Family magic artefact? Your best bet is to marry the man."
"Eww. No thanks," she snapped. "I'd rather marry you."
"Love you too, Luv."
"But seriously, a quill that can write all your articles for you, properly, and can pull secrets from the winds of magic themselves? Uh, I'm wet just thinking about it."
"Don't go dry before you next need my help."
"Fuck you."
"With pleasure, but not now." He leaned against the wall. "Do you want to hear who our friend Lockhart was just visiting before he arrived?"
"You smelled it?"
Bozo tapped his nose. "Smelled it loud and clear. And it's a doozy. It was Lord Jacob Greengrass."
"Greengrass? What does Gilderoy want with Greengrass? Come to that, what does Gilderoy want with a Quick-Quotes Quill? He's not a reporter."
"Something interesting to find out, maybe?" Bozo waggled his eyebrows.
There was a pause before Rita reached for her outdoors cloak. "Let's follow him."
Gilderoy Lockhart was not a fraud. Oh, many had accused him of it over the years. There had been that unfortunate business with the memory charms in Bolivia. But in general, most of the smears and character assassination attempts were rooted in jealousy.
He'd been places. He'd done things.
True, most of the places he'd been were strategically chosen for their fearsome reputation from events that had happened at least thirty years ago, and when he'd done things, it was always with skilled wizards capable of extracting him from just about any trouble they'd be likely to face. He wasn't stupid.
That didn't change the fact that his books were written from real-life adventures far richer than most people were likely to experience even once.
Right now, he felt very much like he was on one of those adventures.
Except he was in Magical Britain — tea drinking, formal bowing, mind your Ps and Qs, please, Magical Britain — with no guides, no local heroes guarding him, and no ready portkey out of there.
Lord Slytherin was a boy not yet even a teenager.
Which would have been hilariously amusing, if not for…
Lockhart shuddered.
And now he had a job to do. Be useful. That was always the key when dealing with the lords and ladies.
The patchwork corridors of Madam Goose's Home for the Magically Gifted were filled with artwork from the students — low-tier animation magics bringing the occasional piece to life before it stuttered into stillness again. The students were all outside at this time of day — the sounds of play muffled through the leather walls. Gilderoy turned a corner, stopped in front of one of the doors, knocked, waited for the answer, and let himself in.
"Good afternoon, Madam Goose! I hope your fine school is running well."
The current Madam Goose stumbled to her feet from her chair. "Headmaster, I wasn't expecting you so soon."
"Punctuality is the politeness of princes, my lady. So why not be extra polite and turn up ten minutes early?" He flashed her his roguish grin.
"Um, yes, I suppose that's fine." Madam Goose started rustling through the papers. "What was it exactly that you wanted? Something to do with a book?"
"Yes, I'm helping Lord Slytherin write his biography, and I'm looking for some good sound bites I can use from people who know him."
"Well, I wouldn't exactly say I know him that well. We've talked about things once or twice."
"Capital!" Lockhart summoned one of the office's chairs and pulled out the Quick-Quotes Quill from his robes along with a piece of parchment. "Let's get started then, shall we. Testing. Testing. This is Headmaster Gilderoy Lockhart, interviewing Madam Goose."
The quill instantly started to write.
Gilderoy Lockhart — Order of Merlin, third class, honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, five times winner of Witch Weekly's most charming smile award, six times winner of the Daily Prophet's annual best-sellers list, and current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry interviewing Rebecca Howeswell, the current Madam Goose of Madam Goose's Home for the Magically Gifted.
It was a crisp January morning, but I wasn't at all cold. To call the handsome Madam Goose's office comfy would be an insult. Housed in a judgement-era magical boot, the walls are cushioned, the chairs induce relaxation, and the warm fire crackles away. One could conduct an orgy on the floor without so much as a—
"That's enough of that, I think," Lockhart chuckled, tearing the parchment off while Madam Goose's cheeks reddened. "Tell me about your first meeting with Lord Slytherin."
"Yes, of course. But you have to understand that his lordship is a very unique wizard and we've made many exceptions for him that we wouldn't necessarily make for others."
"I completely understand." And, oh boy, did he ever, Lockhart thought. He probably understood far better than the witch herself did. "I will of course be discreet."
"Good." Madam Goose got herself settled in her own chair behind her desk, and looked off into the middle distance. "Lord Slytherin first approached me just after the summer solstice, some eighteen months ago. He was interested in non-traditional educational opportunities for wizards and witches who might need them. Very charming, he was. In his own way. He has this aura of power around him. And at first you're nervous, like being a schoolgirl again, but you soon realise that he—"
"So, is there an animagus ward?" Rita asked impatiently.
"Nah, Luv. Open as a maiden's heart."
"Good." Without further words she turned into her jewelled beetle form and flittered through the basic wards around the Shoe. She wasn't sure what Gilderoy was up to, but she sure smelled a scoop.
With wistfulness in her voice, Madam Goose spoke of the many private meetings she and Lord Slytherin had shared together. A sigh passes the still-single witch's lips as she recounts their last bittersweet parting.
"I've done nothing of the sort!" Madam Goose said in a flustered voice.
"Ignore the quill, my lady. Everyone knows Quick-Quotes Quills can't be trusted… most of the time." He winked at her. "Please tell me more about how Lord Slytherin handles this, 'aura of power' around him."
"You're really not going to publish anything about bittersweet sighs?"
"Heavens, no. Slytherin would have my head."
"Well, okay then." She settled down again. "It feels like he has this beast on a leash. It feels like standing on the edge of a lake at night and not knowing how deep the water is."
Heading for her goal, Rita bobbed and rode the breezes around Madam Goose's Home for the Magically Gifted. Flying as a beetle was not like flying as a bird. The whims of the wind made it far more difficult. Even birds sometimes had to take a roundabout route to their destinations rather than 'as the crow flies'. Attempting the same feat as a beetle could be like riding a hexed broomstick.
Still, she successfully bobbed and flittered her way across the school lawn, only pausing once to listen in on some random teenage drama.
As she reached the window she believed to be the headmistress', she landed on the sill and found a gap to crawl through.
"His lordship has always expressed his admiration for our education system and what it can achieve, Headmaster," came a female voice — Madam Goose's, Rita realised.
"And how has Miss Cooper been getting on in classes?"
"Very well. Amazingly well, in fact. I suppose her maturity gives her an advantage, to be sure, but it's still impressive how quickly she's been picking things up, considering her background. Slytherin has even asked if she can be moved up a grade or two."
"It sounds like Slytherin really cares about her."
"I've no doubt. He's been getting regular reports about her progress and if there's ever a problem, he's quick to respond."
"Would you consider Miss Cooper's situation as a case study for how education could be improved?"
Madam Goose frowned. "I don't see how I could. Her situation is exceptional. But if Slytherin came to me with a proposal, I'd probably be open to suggestions."
The interview continued on for quite a while after that, covering such things as Madam Goose's attitude to schooling (traditional), some of the small changes she'd made to the Shoe's curriculum over the years (new art and music programs as well as an exchange program with 'The Box' for seventh years with a strong interest in arithmancy), and where she still wanted to take the school in the future.
By the time Gilderoy was leaving, Rita had heard enough.
"I think Slytherin may be pushing for some kind of educational reform," she told Bozo when she arrived back at the edge of the school. "This could be exactly the kind of story we want."
"Still thinking the headmaster's interested in educational reform?" Bozo drawled as he and Rita concealed themselves behind a tree in a park.
Rita scowled. "What on Earth does Gilderoy want in some random muggle neighbourhood? There's nothing of interest here."
"Maybe," Bozo replied. "Why don't you go find out?"
"Why don't you?" She shot back nastily.
Bozo pointed to a sign stuck in the grass showing a silhouette of a dog with a big red cross slashed through it.
"Oh, and you think that all the songbirds around here are a piece of cake to deal with, do you?" Rita spat. "You know what, fine. I don't care." She then turned into her beetle form and flittered away.
Bozo sniggered, waited until she was out of sight, then turned into his cocker spaniel form.
Vernon Dursley was sweating.
Next to him, Petunia's hand trembled slightly as she served normal tea and biscuits, normally, in the most normal way she could imagine. The tea set was new — Royal Dolton's finest — and it wasn't the only thing. Their new car parked outside had been imported from Germany and the clothes they wore were made from Italian wools and cottons.
"You'll have to forgive me if I do anything strange," said the dandy freak sitting opposite, cheerfully. "I've travelled with muggles before and I know that sometimes we can do things that cause distress. I assure you I mean no harm. Hahahaha."
"Ha-ha-ha," said Vernon, gripping the sofa armrest tightly.
"W-what happened to the last headmaster?" Petunia asked. "I thought he'd been at that school since the war."
"Dumbledore? Oh, he was given early retirement. Getting on a bit in years. Time for a new generation to mount their brooms. And naturally, they wanted the very best! Hahaha."
Vernon wiped his brow. "And this, errr, book, thing, that you're writing…"
"Just a few choice quotes about Harry. About his life growing up here. How you all got along together. That sort of thing."
"And does... errr, does Harry know you're asking?"
"Not specifically, but Lord Slytherin did say to go ahead and interview anyone I felt would help give the best impressions."
Vernon caught Petunia's eye.
In that one moment, the director of Grunnings might as well have been a mind reader — his wife's thoughts were that easy to read in her eyes. He turned back to their, 'guest.' "I just want to make one thing quite clear," he said.
"Yes?"
"Under no circumstances are our names, addresses, phone numbers, or any identifiable details to be published in this book you're writing, understand?"
"Right." Vernon leaned back in his chair. He could already feel the bile rising in his throat as his vocal cords got ready to say what he was about to say. "Well, the first thing to understand is, we've always loved Harry…"
What was this?
Rita buzzed through the perfectly manicured garden of number four Privet Drive, feeling slightly dizzy from the rich assortment of flowery smells assaulting her from every angle.
It was a muggle house — a quite well-off one, if her very limited knowledge of muggles was any judge—but, at the end of the day, just a muggle house.
She forced her way through the olfactory gauntlet and towards one of the many ground floor windows. Unfortunately, someone had been round with a tube of muggle plastic and sealed up all the usual cracks that might have normally granted her access. The same was true for the doors.
Damn it all. What was with these people? Did muggles think they were going to be poisoned by fresh air?
She flittered up to the chimney and looked speculatively down the hole. There wasn't any smoke coming out of it, which was a plus, but on the negative side, who knew what kind of predator might lurk down in the shadows. Unused chimneys were notorious for spiders.
Rita metaphorically shrugged, given that her current form was rather lacking on shoulders. She'd dealt with worse situations in the past.
"And there was one time Harry came back from the hairdressers with all his hair already grown back, ha-ha-ha," Vernon said. "And another time he and Dudders were playing hide-and-seek and he jumped clean onto the school roof, ha-ha-ha." He was desperately trying to avoid looking at the floating quill and parchment scrawling rapidly at his every word.
"Yeeesssssss," said the headmaster, eyes widening. Unlike Vernon and Petunia, he was looking at the parchment. Vernon couldn't begin to imagine why the man's face was starting to resemble bleached chalk. "I'm glad the lad's had a well-adjusted upbringing."
"Of course, it hasn't all been fun and games," Vernon said in what he hoped was a good-natured way. "He's misbehaved occasionally. All boys do. I remember one time he came home with bad marks and we sent him to bed without supper. Might sound harsh, but you have to be cruel to be kind sometimes."
The quill scribbled away madly.
"But when he disappeared, I won't mince my words — we were right worried, weren't we Pet?"
"Yes," Petunia chimed in, primly. "Very worried." She smiled and a slight shiver went down Vernon's spine. "We of course let my sister know right away, but for some reason, she never bothered to respond."
Damn it all!
Rita, the jewelled beetle animagus, contorted herself against a thick strand of web.
No use. Spider silk was strong stuff, even if it wasn't magical. She decided to give it up as a bad job and transformed. Her human form fell only a foot before she turned back into a beetle, but that only got her another few feet beyond that before she was snagged by yet another web.
Damn it all to hell! Didn't muggles ever use their fireplaces?!
Rita strained her ears, such as there was of them. She could faintly hear a pair of voices muffled through the brickwork.
"Always been a bright lad, Harry," said a male voice she didn't recognise. "I'm glad he's finding his own place in the world with this 'Lord Slytherin' — even if he's not a real lord. Oh, thank you, Pet."
What was this? Rita wondered. Harry?
"Did you know that Harry won the duelling tournament at Hogwarts?" said a voice Rita instantly identified as Gilderoy's.
"No, we never heard anything about that."
"He defeated all seven of his opponents in succession. If it wasn't for his brother, it would have been a record."
Oh, they must be talking about Harry Potter! One of Slytherin's protégées.
"A record, eh? It sounds like this Lord Slytherin has been teaching him well. I'm so proud."
Was this the younger Potter's muggle house? The muggles who raised him before everyone knew he wasn't a squib?
"But that wasn't all that happened at the tournament," Gilderoy continued. "Someone attacked John during a duel with Harry and nearly killed him."
"Oh, my," said a new nasally female voice. "How dreadful. Did they catch them?"
"I'm afraid not."
But why would Gilderoy be interviewing Lily Potter's muggle relatives?
Lord Slytherin brought Harry under his wing and trained him to equal his brother, she mused. Educational reforms, she mused. Muggles and Harry Potter. Her eyes widened. That was it! Lord Slytherin was going to bring in muggleborn educational reforms! Harry Potter would make the perfect poster boy. A pureblood noble raised in a muggle household.
She metaphorically grinned from ear to ear.
Now all she had to do was wait until Gilderoy left and a few good compulsion charms would have the muggles spilling everything.
It was at that moment that she felt a tremble shoot through the web. Fear spiked through her whole body and she instinctively changed, just as a massive eight-legged horror lunged onto what was now her face.
Vernon relaxed slightly. It looked like this wasn't going too badly. Interesting to finally find out who the boy's patron was. Say what you liked about the rest of them, this Lord Slytherin didn't seem too bad. At least he was happy to share his good fortune a bit. Not like his wife's shrew of a sister. Anything to keep on his good side was a good thing as far as he was concerned — within reason.
"Excellent!" beamed the new headmaster, standing up. "I think I've got everything—" was as far as he got before there was a loud female scream, quickly followed by a series of loud bangs descending through the chimney.
Vernon jumped to his feet. "What the?!"
The freak was already pointing his 'wand'.
"WAIT!"
There was a massive BANG sound and their brand-new electric fire burst out of the grate in the wall.
A figure tumbled out.
"Aha!" shouted the wizard. "A sneaky spy! Rita Skeeter as I live and breathe! I don't believe I've ever had the pleasure, despite our many, many past meetings."
"Gilderoy," the woman said quickly, showering soot all over their once wonderfully clean carpet. "I can explain."
"Don't bother," The wizard said cheerfully.
Vernon suddenly found himself looking right down the end of the brightly glowing wand.
"Obliviate!"
"Damn it all!" Rita fumed, climbing the rickety stairs towards the Daily Prophet's offices. "Those muggles had a great interview in their heads, and he just—"
"Yes, Luv," Bozo said.
"And then he threatened to call the DMLE! Just for being in a muggle house."
"Trespassing…" Bozo drawled.
"Bah! Maybe under muggle law. And where were you the whole time?"
"Sniffing around. Want to know where the headmaster was before this interview?"
"Go on."
"The Rookery."
Rita paused with her hand hovering over the door handle to the editor's office. "The Rookery? As in, Lord Lovegood's place?"
"That's the one."
"I knew it!" She gripped the door handle and flung it open. "Barnabus! We have a story!"
"Rita! Quiet your skank arse down or I'll throw you out the window!"
"Oh, you'd never do that." She strutted into the room and slapped down a parchment onto Cuffe's desk. "And you certainly won't want to once you read this."
Cuffe snatched the parchment up and started to read. "Educational reform? Sources close to the headmaster… committee meetings across the country… leading educational policymakers… muggleborn focus… upcoming muggle protection act…." He looked up from the parchment. "How'd you get this?"
Rita smirked. "I have my ways."
"Oh, doesn't she just," Bozo added, leaning against the doorframe.
"Yes, well." Cuffe glared at them both and slapped the parchment back down on the desk. "It's bullshit."
Rita blinked. "What?"
"I said it's bullshit, Rita! Do you need me to clean both your ears out with my wand? I have the latest draft of the muggle protection act right here — the very latest version — one of my contacts in the Wizengamot just sent it over — and nowhere in it is anything like what you're talking about. Not. One. Thing!"
"But… I…." Rita stumbled over her words trying to get her brain back into gear.
"You may not know this, Rita, given how obsessed you are with chasing kiss-and-tell stories, but our patrons in the Dark have been working closely with Lord Slytherin since the Winter Festival on this act. Do you really think Lord Malfoy strikes you as the kind to give those riffraff any more power and privilege than the Light have already surrendered to them?"
"N-no. It's just that—"
"It's just what?"
Bozo flicked a cigarette butt into Cuffe's ashtray. "We heard the headmaster talking to various people about just that."
Cuffe transferred his glare to Bozo. "Who?"
"Madam Goose. Lady Potter's sister. Lords Greengrass and Lovegood."
Cuffe sat silent for a moment before snorting. "And I suppose you'll both refuse pensieve memories as you always do."
"Then there's nothing to be said here. Get back out there and get back to your jobs. Lord Malfoy will not be pleased if our output slows before the important vote in March."
Rita sullenly stuck her hands in the pockets of her robes and marched out.
Bozo followed, closing the door behind him. "Now what, Luv?" he asked. "Fancy a bit of slap and tickle?"
"No I bloody well do not."
There was a loud bang from behind them. They turned.
Cuffe was leaning against the once again open door, breathing loudly. "Wait," he huffed. "Who, exactly, did you say the headmaster was meeting with?"
"Well?" Rita asked.
Bozo grinned. "He's got the minister's smell all over him this time."
"Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge," Rita muttered while scribbling.
"Any luck?" Bozo asked.
"It was the manager of Bodmin Moor Stadium this time," Rita said, after transforming back into a witch.
Bozo whistled. "Fingers in every pie, this one."
It was still dark out. Barnabus Cuffe waved his wand expertly over a massive tray of moveable type, causing several letters to rearrange themselves. Off to one side, a line of expectant owls were already lined up on a roosting pole, eyeing him as only owls could.
"Oi, Cuffe, you ready yet?" asked the chief mechanic of the Quibbler printing press — the only one in the country. "We've got a schedule to keep here, you know."
"Just a few more minutes," Cuffe grunted. "I'm expecting—"
The door to the cramped printing shop slammed open.
"Rita!" Cuffe shouted. "About time. What have you got for me?"
"Our man was in Cork this time, talking with the mayor for hours! They got through half a bottle of Ogden's."
"…And the mayor of Cork enclave," Cuffe muttered, waving his wand again over the moveable type. "Nothing else?"
"Nothing new."
"Right." Cuffe turned to the chief mechanic. "It's all yours now."
The man nodded.
Over the next half-hour, a dozen wizards in ink-stained hooded dungarees set everything up just so. And a half-hour after that, the first copy of the next morning's edition of the Daily Prophet rolled out of the masterwork of runes and enchantments that was the Quibbler Press — highly regulated by the ministry, naturally.
Cuffe, Rita, and Bozo all crowded around to see. Even as they started to read, owls started snatching up copies from the press as they emerged and soaring out of the large hole in the roof.
Cuffe smiled. "Excellent work, Rita — Andrew. Have a drink on me."
"What I'd really like," Rita purred, "is a use of that quill of yours."
Cuffe chuckled. He looked out of the still-dark window. It was a tough life, being the editor of one of Magical Britain's only newspapers. The deadlines were hard, submissions were unreliable, and choosing story angles was like walking a constant tightrope between ministry regulation, patron obligations, and opponent retribution. There was a lot of weird stuff going on right now — the muggle protection act — rumblings inside Gringotts — that whole business with the Potters since the Winter Festival. But there was one thing he could be sure of and that was the feeling in the words he was about to speak.
"Go stuff yourself."
And the sun rose.
Far away from the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley, in a secret place hidden far below even the deepest of Hogwarts' many dungeons, water dripped off the ceiling and trickled away down a massive hall lined with serpentine stone pillars. A massive statue at the end stared imperiously down the room, although the impressive effect was lessened by the five-dozen metal rods currently clamping its mouth shut.
The rest of the hall was empty — empty except for a lone four-poster bed sitting right in the middle of the floor, a small desk, chair, and two children. The children were sitting opposite each other on the floor, forming their hands around massive pots of clay as large as themselves. The pots spun slowly on large wheels.
"Don't you think it's disrespectful?" Ginny asked cheerfully, glancing over to the statue. Her hands were caked.
"Slytherin would understand," Harry replied. "They're only there to slow it down anyway. How's your pot doing?"
"Great! I should be ready soon."
"Excellent."
Just then, a faint hoot sound echoed through the chamber. Harry stood up, just as Macavity swooped into the hall, carrying a newspaper. He dropped it in front of Harry and flew straight back out.
Ginny stared. "You're getting mail down here?"
"No." Harry picked up the paper. "Daphne must have thought it was important." He read the headline.
LORD SLYTHERIN FINALLY COMING CLEAN!
WILL SECRETS EXCUSE THE SECRECY?!
UPCOMING BIOGRAPHY MAY BE TOO LITTLE TOO LATE!
"What is it?" Ginny asked, appearing by Harry's shoulder faster than a man could blink. "Oh, wow."
"Oh wow, indeed." Harry glared at the paper. "Is it too hard to ask that every single secret I want to keep remains so?"
Ginny giggled. "What now?"
"Now we'll need to speed up our plans."
John Potter, wearing muggle workout gear and followed closely by Susan, slammed the painting of the Fat Lady shut behind him, and marched into the Gryffindor common room. "Have you read this?" he asked, as soon as he got within whisper range of his target.
Virgo looked up from the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. "Yes," she said. "I think we need to speed up our plans."
And some time later, far away on the other side of the continent, a large black snake stared unblinkingly at the newspaper that had just been delivered.
"News, my lord?" asked a man with fiery intense eyes. Said eyes met those of the snake and he felt a pull on his occlumency shields. Moments later, he was standing in the dark of the chasm between minds.
"Yes, Barty," said Lord Voldemort. "We will need to speed up our plans."
— End of Chapter Fifty-six —
DP&SW - 2023
© LeadVonE


text:
The Spice Trail
World War 1 in Colour
Kate Humble goes on the trail of some of the world's most valuable spices revealing their history, trade, mythology and usage.
SKU: DP-TV-61752 Category: Documentary Tags: 2011, British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), discovery, Documentary, Ended, English, Hollywood, Kate Humble, Lion Television, spice, TV Series
Media Type Choose an optionDVD
Season Choose an option1 Clear
Kate Humble goes on the trail of some of the world's most valuable spices revealing their history, trade, mythology and usage.
Original Name: The Spice Trail
Number of Seasons: 1
Type: Documentary
Network(s): British Broadcasting Corporation
First Air Date: February 17, 2011
Last Air Date: March 3, 2011
Episode Runtime: 60 mins
Created by: Paul Sapin
Production Companies: British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), Lion Television
Spoken Language(s): English
Origin Countries: United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
Season 1 — 3 Episodes — Air Date: February 17, 2011
Kate Humble – Herself
WOULD SHIP OUT OF PK WAREHOUSE
NON-STOCK INVENTORY, AVAILABILITY WOULD BE CHECKED UPON REQUEST
Precision - The Measure Of All Things
Precision – The Measure Of All Things
Precision: The Measure of All Things is a three-part British television series outlining aspects of the history of measurement. It was originally aired in June 2013 on BBC Four.
The series comprised three programmes: Time and Distance; Mass and Moles and Heat, Light and Electricity.
Mars Rising
Generation Zero (2010)
An examination of the causes of the global economic crisis which began in 2008, studying how decades of social changes have influenced financial systems and practices.
La traque des Nazis (2007)
Film documentary chronicling the arduous and complicated persecution of hidden Nazi leaders worldwide since 1945 to the present.