"I can't say I care for this place at all," murmured the beautiful, perfumed Kate to her bodyguard, Nigel. "Whenever Jim is finished with his business here—well, I'll tell you, it can't come soon enough for me."

Nigel was silent, stoic, and very big. Very well built, Kate thought guiltily, as she often did when it came to Nigel. She glanced over her shoulder at the bodyguard, where he always was, one pace behind her, impeccable in his suit, and always moving with the air of barely restrained panther.

She turned her attention to the impressively large, glittery stone that adorned her slender finger, and sighed.

An engagement ring, given to her by Jim. She'd been given the constant companion of Nigel at the same time as the ring. "You're my gal now," Jim had said. "I just want you go be safe. Nigel's my best guy. I trust him."

"What don't you like about Sydney?" said Nigel in a deep voice, uncharacteristically curious.

"It's too damn hot, if you ask me," tittered Kate, flustered by Nigel's sudden interest in her opinion. "And it's got no class. Not like London. Or Paris." She sighed romantically. "Sooner we get back there, the better."

She tugged on her cherry-red skirt, inviting a small breeze around her sweaty thighs as she walked.

"I like Sydney," responded Nigel simply.

"Oh," said Kate. She frowned to herself, troubled that Nigel did not enthusiastically agree with her.

She glanced down at her ring finger again. Her jaw dropped open.

"My ring!" she shrieked. She whirled around to face Nigel. "My engagement ring's gone! Oh shoot, Jim is not gonna like this. I must've dropped it!"

Panicked, Kate whirled around in the street, certain she'd see the ring glittering between the stones of the street.

A wiry, slight man with a mop of light ginger hair was crouched in the middle of the street behind her, right where she'd been only a few paces ago. He clutched a battered, brown suitcase in one hand, and he wore a wide-eyed, shocked expression. He took no notice of Kate or the hulking Nigel.

She saw him reach into his pocket.

My ring! thought Kate. He took it!

The wiry man sprang to his feet and made a beeline to an alley behind a dingy fabric shop.

Kate's jaw dropped.

"Hey! Hey you!" shouted Kate at the wiry stranger.

Then she remembered she had a hulking bodyguard.

"Nigel! He took my engagement ring, I saw him. Get him!"

Kate was sure of what she'd seen. Barely a second had passed since she dropped Jim's ring, and already this scumbag had snatched it! She clutched her purse tightly, eyes following Nigel's broad back as he dove off into the crowd.

A few minutes later, Nigel returned to her side, grim and stony-faced.

"Well?" Kate asked eagerly. "Did you get him?"

"He got away," said Nigel darkly.

"What do you mean?" asked Kate, frantically.

"He… he vanished."

"What do you mean, vanished?"

"I mean vanished! One second he was there, and now he ain't."

Kate burst into tears.

Honestly, there were no gentlemen left in the world.

She hated Sydney.

Newt held his breath and pressed his back against the wall. He slunk along the alley. He heard the chittering of the Niffler, and a male voice mumbling.

"Worse haul than usual, today," chided the voice. "You keep this up, I'll drop you on the train tracks. Now come on—back in your burrow, if you know what's good for you.

Newt heard something like a door snap shut, then a low whine of a panicked creature.

"Ah, shut up," said the voice.

Newt reached the end of an alley and saw the silhouette of a very short figure with a long nose and pointy ears. The curled claws clutched a large, black carpet bag. The carpet bag emitted muffled chittering. Newt heard the sounds of little claws scraping on glass.

Goblins in Sydney, thought Newt with wonder. What was more, this goblin had a Niffler, of all things. Not unheard of for sure—Nifflers were a longtime favorite of goblins. Nevertheless, Newt was surprised at the recklessness he'd just witnessed. The Niffler had tore its way though a muggle street, pilfering the pocket of every man, woman, and child who wasn't looking.

He'd even seen the little creature slip a diamond ring right off some woman's finger.

The goblin reached out a single claw and touched three different bricks on the wall. Newt watched quietly as the bricks rearranged themselves into a doorway. The goblin pushed the door, and Newt saw beyond to a dark den emitting a low din of conversation. He smelled the expected smoke and alcohol, but he also saw the flashes of a few casual spells.

Newt waited a few seconds until the door swung shut behind the goblin. Then, he quickly slipped through the door himself just as the bricks reformed back into a flat wall.

Newt found himself in a dark tavern. There were goblins here and there, but also a dozen or so witches and wizards. Mugs and shot glasses zoomed overhead. Newt watched the goblin with the Niffler take a seat in the corner. The goblin seemed to take no notice of him.

Newt, trying to act natural and looking anywhere but the goblin, took a seat at the bar and set his suitcase at his feet. A very pretty barmaid with round cheeks and bright blue eyes swept up to him.

"What'll it be, then?" she asked him.

"Erm, just water," said Newt, distractedly, glancing at the goblin out of the corner of his eyes.

"Really?" asked the barmaid drily. "You ever try the water here?"

Newt's eyes darted around. He realized he was actually going to have to order something.

"Erm… Water, and…"

"…and?" prompted the pretty witch, a little exasperated.

"…Firewhiskey," said Newt offhand.

The witch looked him up and down.

"You're English?" she, asked tartly.

"Erm… yes," said Newt.

"Well, Mr. England. Most wizards down under never heard of firewhiskey. You'll have to ask for something we actually have on the shelf."

"If you can serve me whatever is usual here," said Newt, forcing a smile, and failing to meet the barmaid's eye. "Please," he added.

The witch looked at him skeptically.

"Alright then," she said, though her tone said "your funeral".

A small shot glass zoomed in front of him containing what looked, smelled, and smoked like lava. Newt stared at it morosely for a moment. He briefly thought about the dwindling gold in his pocket—the meager advance on the commission for his book—and the cost of whatever this glass of Australian wizard beverage was, chipping away at his remaining funds.

But there were more pressing matters. He turned his stealthy attention back to the goblin.

The goblin was seated at a grubby corner table, putting his head together with another of his kind. They murmured together in their own language. The goblin looked distressed. His claws were wrapped tightly around the black carpet bag.

He couldn't hear the whines of the little creature in the din of the bar—but he could remember the creature's distressed chittering from the alleyway. And he remembered the goblin's threat to leave the poor little fellow on the train tracks.

Newt had no idea what he might do yet. He resolved to watch and wait.

"So, what brings you down under?" asked the pretty witch at the bar.

"Oh, I'm writing a book," said Newt, distractedly. "Doing my field research, you see."

"A book?" said the witch, perking up. "What about?"

"Well, it's comprehensive field guide to magical creatures. Their various habitats, magical properties, mating habits, how to care for them, that sort of thing. But, perhaps most importantly, why wizards should—"

"What are you, some kind of zookeeper?" asked the witch, overwhelmed.

"No, no hardly. I'm a magizoologist."

"So you study magical creatures?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's a first," said the witch drily.

Newt was somewhat surprised at that. Australia had some of the richest diversity of magical creatures of the all the places on his itinerary.

Newt suddenly stood up straight, because the goblin with a Niffler had sidled into a stool beside him.

"Did I hear you say you know a thing or two about magical creatures?" said the goblin in a low voice.

Newt, caught off guard, fussed with his hissing drink.

"Erm, yes."

The goblin squinted his black eyes and looked Newt up and down.

"You look like you're on hard times, friend," said the goblin, eyes hovering on Newt's rather grubby shirt.

"No, not really," said Newt.

"Be that as it may," said the goblin, unconvinced, "I can cut you in on something, if you can sort out a problem with my critter."

The goblin's eyes darted to his black bag.

The Niffler.

Newt clenched his jaw, carefully planning his next words.

"That would depend on the sort of creature and the nature of the problem," said Newt.

"Ever heard of a Niffler?" said the goblin.

Newt nodded.

"Mid-sized rodent, native to the British Isles, typically black of fur, distant relative of the non-magical mole," reeled off Newt. He added, "Has an irrepressible fondness for anything valuable and shiny."

"That's the one," said the goblin. He reached out a hand. Newt understood he was meant to shake it. "Name's Aginook."

"Newt Scamander," said Newt, genially as he could.

"You ever cure a sick Niffler, Scamander?"

"I daresay I know enough to try," said Newt, perking up.

"Well, then I'd like you to take a look at mine. He not working so well. Come on."

Newt glanced at the barmaid, who was busy with another wizard now. He sighed, and relieved his pocket of a few coins. He left the fizzling lava drink on the bar, untouched.

"This way," said Aginook, leading him off down a dark corridor. Newt kept his eyes fixed on the carpet bag as he followed the goblin.

In the back of the tavern was a dusty inn, and Aginook led Newt into a mildly dank bedroom. Though the window floated noises from a busy muggle street outside. The room was strewn with the goblin's belongings—he'd obviously been staying there a while.

In the corner was a large black safe with a very ornate, complex-looking lock. Newt looked at the safe curiously, until he felt Aginook's eyes on him. Remembering how jealously goblins were known to guard their treasure, Newt quickly turned his eyes to the window and smiled awkwardly at nothing in particular.

"You got an asking price?" said the goblin.

Newt was caught off guard by this. He cleared his throat.

"I'll have to make a thorough assessment of the creature's particular illness first," he said.

"How complicated can it be?" asked the goblin, eyes narrowing.

"If you know anything about Nifflers, you'll know they can suffer from a very wide range of afflictions," said Newt, keeping his voice measured.

"All right," murmured Aginook, annoyed. "Let's take a look at you."

The goblin set down the carpet bag and opened it. Inside was a crystal cube with transparent walls. Huddled in the center of the cube, trembling, was a the small black Niffler.

The cube was tiny, Newt registered with horror—barely twice the Niffler's body length.

Newt stared, aghast.

"You keep it in that thing?"

"I've gotta hold him somehow," said the goblin. "Nifflers, you know. They slip through cracks a cockroach can't."

The Niffler took notice of the black safe and pressed himself desperately against the glass of his prison. He snorted and whined, little claws scrabbling on the glass.

He senses the gold within the safe, observed Newt. And he's got nothing to himself for nesting in that pitiful prison!

Newt felt a lump rise in his throat. He was suddenly angry—angry about the abysmal conditions Aginook had subjected the Niffler to.

Newt knelt down next to the crystal box. The little creature's fur was patchy, and streaks of mucus leaked from its dull eyes. It looked malnourished and sickly.

"Mr. Aginook," said Newt, somewhat sternly, "You do realize that depriving a Niffler of precious metal to nest in has catastrophic effects on the creature's ability metabolize?"

Aginook stared at Newt, nonplussed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," said Newt impatiently, "that… that gold is like water to a Niffler. This creature will only get sicker and weaker until you allow it a proper bedding of gold."

The goblin looked suddenly fidgety.

"How much gold would that be?"

"Well, ideally forty times the Niffler's body mass."

"Forty times! How can such a little creature need that much gold just to nest in?" said the goblin, annoyed.

Newt hardly knew what to say. How could a goblin—beings that had famously stewarded Nifflers over centuries—be so clueless about the creature's needs?

Newt noticed that Aginook looked very troubled. His eyes kept darting between the safe and a ticking clock on the wall.

"Well, let's say he can't have any gold to nest in. How long do you think he's got?"

"What do you mean?"

"How long before he croaks? Will he make it to the end of the week?"

Newt blinked several times before the weight of Aginook's words fully hit him.

"Mr. Aginook, surely you've got enough gold in that safe for that Niffler to nest in. He'll not only make it to the end of the week, he'll live happily for many years."

"If I could. I'm living in the real world, Scamander," said Aginook darkly. The goblin's eyes flickered nervously back to the clock. "We've all got our debts to pay. Come on, there's got to be something else you can do for the thing."

"Give it gold," snapped Newt. "Whatever you can spare. And a larger cage, if you can manage."

"That should keep it alive longer?" said Aginook.

"It should," said Newt. Inside, he was boiling.

The goblin looked annoyed.

"I suppose you want to be compensated for your expertise," needled the goblin, although it was clear in his voice that Aginook was less-than-impressed with Newt.

"Whatever you were prepared to pay me," said Newt carefully, "I'd prefer it if you gave it to give it to the Niffler. Good day, Mr. Aginook."

Newt swept out of the room. He cast one sideways glance back at the imprisoned Niffler, a plan already forming in his head.

Newt was almost out the magic doorway of the tavern when someone caught him by the elbow. It was the barmaid.

"In Sydney for five minutes and you're already getting mixed up with Aginook?" she said quietly.

"Erm, what?"

"I'm saying, Aginook—that goblin you were talking to—he always owes money, and he's always getting into trouble. Tends to rub off on anyone he drags along with him."

Newt looked at her seriously.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You seem like a nice bloke," said the witch, shrugging. "If a bit daft. Now… our patrons count on us for some… discretion. So if you'd just pretend you didn't hear this from me, that'd be real swell." She paused, then added, "Just stay away from Aginook," before darting off.