Things with Steve were somewhat unclear. The Duke of Westminster had spoken with him, after which the driver once again became calm, taciturn, and imperturbable. And after a visit to Eaton Hall by a man whom young Grosvenor recognized as the head of Her Majesty's Secret Service, everything fell into place.
The director of MI5 had politely conversed with the duke and exchanged a few words with the driver, after which he departed without even staying for dinner.
Yes, of course—why would an ordinary special forces soldier be assigned to guard an actual duke and his heir? Richard was ninety-nine percent certain that Stephen worked for British intelligence. Even his reaction was fairly easy to interpret: "People with superpowers living hidden among ordinary folk? As you say, sir. Classified information? Yes, sir! Continue protecting important persons? Understood, sir."
And though routine once again tried to wrap its tentacles around Richard, it had no chance...
In the young wizard's mind, one thought kept spinning: Magic can do anything! After what he had seen, Richard believed it with all his heart. How could he not, when he himself could duplicate matter with a simple flick of a wand and had flown in a flyer created from an ancient contraption by one man working practically on his knees in a backyard garage? Yes—without complex and advanced technologies, without a vast technological chain, without armies of engineers, scientists, and designers. One damn wizard in a garage had transformed a wheeled automobile into a proper flyer!
And the Hausdorff–Banach–Tarski paradox?! Even for someone from the distant future, that was simply unbelievable. Creating something from nothing—even with certain exceptions… It confirmed the postulate "Magic can do anything" better than anything else.
And now Richard was convinced that this world was more like a serialized universe featuring a cosmic-scale supervillain. What would stop an evil wizard from casting duplication charms on a nuclear bomb a hundred thousand times and then blowing the whole planet to hell? Only moral norms—and other wizards. But if the magical authorities proved too weak to oppose such a supervillain, total exterminatus would follow.
Richard had only just begun his new life. He did not want to die young. In fact, he did not want to die at all. But what was to be done? Warn the right people about the coming danger? About what, exactly?! The transmigrator did not even know the name of the villain Harry Potter was destined to confront. Nor did he know what kind of threat the dark wizard truly posed. And who would believe a child—even if he were a duke's son? Which left only one option: to do everything himself.
Well, not entirely by himself… Richard had been trained to be a duke and the head of a major corporation. It was not fitting for him to run around personally with a blaster at the ready, as in holo-action films. He was meant to command, to give orders, and to provide material support to his subordinates—though occasionally waving a blaster himself would not be beneath him. The problem was that first he needed to find and recruit those subordinates, then arm them with advanced technology. And if such technology did not exist, magical artifacts would do just as well. Essentially, what difference did it make whether a flyer flew on factory-built antigravs or accomplished the same task through magic? What mattered was that the device fulfilled its function.
The flyer had been only the first tentative swallow. Richard needed serious money to realize all his plans. As historical wisdom says: in war, the stronger economy prevails. The one with more money holds the advantage. And Richard was prepared to earn a great deal—and to spend enormous sums—to save humanity, his family, his acquaintances, and, if he was honest, himself.
But for now, the money wasn't there. He would have to hold on somehow and start somewhere. And Richard knew exactly where to begin: the construction of a research laboratory for wizards in Scotland. Unfortunately, the boy currently had only around two hundred thousand pounds at his disposal. That was far too little if he needed to erect a sizable building in the middle of nowhere on short notice.
When there is no money, one must earn it. Richard had many options in mind. He could sell part of his shares, but that would mean sacrificing substantial profits and stalling capital growth, which would negatively affect future funding for critical projects. The transmigrator could borrow another idea from the future and launch some trendy product. But as experience had shown, that would require time and initial investment, and profits would begin to flow only in three or four months at best—too long in a situation where funds were urgently needed.
And just then, the recent training sessions with his mentor—who had decided to expand her student's repertoire of charms—came in most timely. There was only one small problem—Richie did not have a personal wand, and without it, he was unable to duplicate objects.
Like any proper gentleman, on the next weekend Richard attempted to purchase a wand in Diagon Alley. First, he visited Ollivander's shop, but the old man refused to sell the boy a wand without offering any explanation.
Richard then went to Jimmy Kiddel's shop. His luck did not improve there either, but at least Jimmy explained that wands were not sold to young wizards under the age of eleven.
(End of Chapter)
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