Savino coughed. He knew the sorts of rules there were for Ministry Unspeakables – he would not have dared to bring it up, he thought, if the gentleman had not mentioned it first – and he did not expect to gain any real insight by asking, happy as he was to try.

“Oh, I have great interest,” Savino said, perfectly candidly, because the fact that this fellow was a Seer spoke volumes to him: he was absolutely certain Prewett must have done some investigation of this in the depths of his department, if only because that was exactly what he had and would have done, himself. He lowered his tone a little, grimacing at the inconvenience of this next – if not as entirely ashamed of it as he ought to be, when speaking to a Ministry man. “But I actually worked in that area in the Italian Ministry, for a while,” he murmured. “And my superiors and I did not always... see eye to eye. So my formal work – did not end well,” he admitted, by which he meant he had been sacked, and did not foresee being rehired anywhere similar.

But if there was the remotest possibility Mr. Prewett was interested in involving him in any less formal, entirely unrelated, secret research into divination and prophecy, well... Savino would leap at the chance.

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BErnard flicked his fingers holding the cigarette, sending the ash fluttering to the floor. Well that was interesting - barely one to toe the party line himself he could appreciate few things about the British Ministry - save for the fact that Urquart was intellectually curious and not afraid of the unanswered questions. He actually didn't mind him as a superior. Still he took a deep drag on his cigarette, so deep in fact that it almost triggered a cough.

'You should speak with Urqaurt, the head of the function, he might be the former minister but he's not afraid of those of us with... ' he chose his words carefully, 'different views.' He said with a slightly bitter smirk, 'and he knows what it is to be hounded from a place for views that are unpopular'. The truth of that statement should be self evident in the whole werewolf business. Politics was of no interest to Bernard, the replacement of Urqaurt with Ross had made little impact on his life, beyond having a new reporting line, but he often imagined that the sort of attitude that had made Urquart a reportedly good First Minister, that is to say a certain disdain for the opinion of others and a clear sene of purpose, were also what made him a good unspeakable and function head.

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Savino smiled wryly at that suggestion. “Perhaps I will,” he offered vaguely. “I know Mr. Urquart’s daughter.” Perhaps that was a better reason to not appeal to him, though; he thought it fairly likely the former Minister would have more questions about his being Ruby’s Italian friend than anything to do with Mysteries, and he did not want to give any false impressions there.

“But thank you for all your help here,” Savino added to his saviour of the day, moving swiftly on from the thought of Ruby’s father, open-minded man though he might be. “Might I speak to you again sometime,” he added, peering hopefully at Mr. Prewett, fellow Seer that he was, and giving him another wry, tired smile, “– about things you can discuss, at least?” He would not say they had made friends through this, smoking on the bookshop steps, but Savino fancied they were on cordial terms, at least, so he would count that as a win.

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Bernard nodded, fairly nonplussed, but he seemed an inoffensive young man. 'Sure thing' he remarked, taking a last drag on the cigerette, pulling the fag end from his mouth he chucked it lazily into the gutter, where it went out in a puddle with a hiss. He reached into his pocket and fished out a battered silver card case, drawing out a calling card with his name and the address of his bachelors lodgings on it. He did spend as much time as Harriets as he did at the lodgings or even his house in London, but a letter or note that was left for him at the lodgings would get to him soon enough.

'Any time' he added diffidently, 'I work ordinary Ministry hours, but outside of that I'm usually around, or at the club.' he explained. He stood up and slapped the ash and any dirt from the street off his trousers. 'Are you all right, or shall I hail you a hackny?'

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He was an odd fellow – a bit brusque, but not entirely cantankerous – and in spite of Savino being indebted to him, he rather liked the man. “I’ll be sure to look you up,” he said, taking the card happily, and swallowed carefully before he pulled himself up to his feet again, hoping to evade any new waves of nausea or numbness.

He still felt – exhausted, but he waved away the offer of hailing a cab. “No, I’m not going far,” Savino said, which was only a half-truth, but he was in no hurry to get home. Maybe he’d sit on a park bench for a while yet, if he tired too quickly from walking. Besides, he didn’t want Mr. Prewett to think him needlessly delicate; he smiled, a little too brightly. “A little more fresh air can’t hurt.”

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