Newt was more than glad to leave the Graveyard of the Troubled behind. The heft of the place, which had weighed on him in inexplicable ways, gradually abated as they followed the boy into the dark night. He threw a quick glance at Farida to see if she, too, was feeling any better. The previous expression contorting her face was replaced with a look he couldn't read, but at least it wasn't unease.

Now free of emotional burden, Newt became aware of his aching joints as he hunched under the Invisibility Cloak. The cloak barely fit him alone, let alone the two of them, so they had to be extremely careful as they moved. Overall, it was not a comfortable position to be in, but he didn't want to risk exposure when they were closer than ever to rescuing the Thunderbird.

And the physical discomfort did not stop there. Newt's fingers were numb from the tight grip he had to keep on the suitcase, and his shoulder stung from having to pull it closer to him. His other hand was deep in his wand pocket, since he wanted to avoid coming into contact with Farida's bare hand. He ended up looking as if his limbs were glued to his trunk.

But thankfully, the boy did not make it more difficult to go after him. He was walking at a slow, easy pace, and not once had he turned his back or looked anywhere but forwards. Something about how smoothly he moved made it seem like he was gliding rather than ambling. And although the sack he took from Mena was heavy, he carried it without evident effort.

A few minutes passed in complete silence, for even their surroundings were quiet at this hour. But Newt couldn't fully give in to the peacefulness of the night, as vigilance proved to be a must in their pursuit. He and Farida had to make unexpected turns to many obscure streets which were hardly noticeable. They entered passageways that were so narrow that Newt thought he might get stuck in between their cold stony walls. Finally, and oddly enough, they reached a broad plain with nothing but a few scattered trees occupying it. Newt could hear a continuous murmur brushing soothingly against the calm of the night. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Nile running not so far away from them.

But only then did something strange occur.

In the split second in which Newt divided his attention, the boy was gone. Like a mischievous ghost playing tricks, or a wisp of smoke staying true to its nature, he seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Newt turned to Farida only to see that she was as baffled as he was. The possibility of the boy Disapparating was the first thing to cross his mind — but if that had happened, wouldn't he at least have heared a pop? After all, the night was quiet enough for the babbling of a river to be clearly audible, so would a whisper be heard but a shout muffled?

In an anxious impulse, Newt took the cloak off them and pointed at the empty spot.

"He was there just now," he said in a hushed voice, letting the cloak fall on to the ground. "Where did he go?"

"I don't know," Farida answered him in quiet disbelief. "One moment he was there, and the other he was not... did he decide to Disapparate?"

Newt explained to her why he thought otherwise.

"I didn't hear anything, either," said Farida, "and if he wanted to Disapparate, he would have done it from the beginning, right?"

Newt nodded absently, as this was not the main issue on his mind. All his brain was trying to figure out was where the boy had gone. Losing him meant losing what was perhaps their only chance to save the Thunderbird. There was no doubt that the gang of traffickers would leave as soon as possible, now that they had enough supplies. Newt's worry shot up at the thought, but luckily this time his determination was more inexorable than his fear.

He brought out a vial of the Beast-Detecting Powder he had bought from the Geb Market. He wasted no time in spreading it evenly on the area around them, up until the spot where the boy was last seen. Then he and Farida stood in trepidation, waiting for the reaction to occur. It was their only hope.

Newt counted every moment that passed, and at each one his heart skipped a beat when nothing happened. But then as if an invisible brush was sweeping the plain, a thin line of fluorescent green started to form before them. With a jolt, Newt followed the trail, his hasty steps making it seem as if he was afraid it might get away. Behind him Farida had inclined a little, and was also chasing the line slithering at their feet.

The line twisted and turned more than once throughout its course. At one point it made an irregular circle, with green flakes dispersed around it like tiny moons orbiting a planet. Then it became straight again, but only temporarily, as it ran into zigzags immediately afterwards. One of the creatures must have given them a hard time, Newt thought, and it serves them right. 

But then at last the trail ended, and it was at none other than the spot where Makram's boy had vanished. Farida sighed in despair, but Newt had an epiphany. He brought out his wand and whispered, "Revelio," feeling that the plain was not really vacant after all.

Slowly, the shape of a tent came into view, filling the void in front of them. Its outline was unmistakable, but the remainder of it was translucent and slightly swelled. Looking at it was akin to seeing through a viscous liquid, and touching it was like trying to clutch at cold water. It was strange, but Newt and Farida stepped inside at once.

The first glance showed that an Extension Charm had been cast on the tent to make its interior as vast as it was. Its floor was fully covered with a thin, red carpet extending to corners beyond which Newt couldn't see, and the only objects at the entrance were a couple of wooden chests, placed near one of the wooden poles that supported the tent.

The second glance showed that nobody – creature and human alike – was in sight, so naturally everything in there was quiet. And yet, it was eerily quiet, perhaps a little too quiet for a supposedly empty place, which was another thing Newt felt but couldn't explain. But it seemed as if the silence transcended the acceptable point of believability into the wide range of suspicion.

Here Newt couldn't help but remember what Farida had said regarding the boy, only a few minutes earlier. If he wanted to Disapparate, he would have done it from the beginning, right? At first, Newt paid no attention to that, but now he was wondering about it too. There must have been a reason that made the boy walk a distance he could have traversed in the blink of an eye... there must have been a reason for him doing that so slowly when he could have hurried up... something wasn't right... unless...

Newt's wand flew out of his hand, but even before that he had realized it was a trap.

He lost balance as tight ropes came out of nowhere and bound him hand and foot. The suitcase he had carried met the ground with a thud and a click. Now on his knees, Newt noticed that Pickett had fallen from the pocket of his coat, looking dazed. Then another dull thud came next to him. Farida was also pinioned, but instead of ropes tying her wrists, metal cuffs had fastened themselves around them. Panic spread over her face as she struggled to break free.

"The cuffs are magic-resistant!" she growled, desperately trying to get rid of them. "I can't take us out of here!" 

"I will do something," Newt said, swallowing, "but please, don't worry."  He searched for Pickett with his eyes, but the Bowtruckle was nowhere to be found.

"Do you want to leave already, Mr Scamander? When I thought you would stay with us a little?"

Newt looked up, knowing, despite never being told, that the deep, resonant voice, with the contradicting mild tone belonged to Makram Ibrahim.

He was overbearingly tall and muscular, with several scars marring the little that showed of his large arms. He stood perfectly erect, again reminding Newt of a waxwork, with only his head tilting a little to look down at them. As foretold by the picture, he had become bald, but what the picture had failed to show was how dreadful his eyes truly were.

They were dark, clever, menacing, gloating, all at the same time. They were glowing even in the dim light of the tent, as if the insolent flicker came from within, heedles of any external influence demanding otherwise. Something in them seemed to challenge the world to stare, only because it knew that nobody could do that for long. Not even Newt could bear gazing into those eyes or being gazed at by them, so he looked away and turned to the dozen of people who now encircled them.

The only one that drew his attention among the men and women was the boy whom they had followed. Newt had not seen his face clearly before, and at first glance nothing seemed remarkable in it. But then a striking feature took over it all so that Newt was unable to see anything except for it. Instead of an eyeball, his left orbit was home to a golden ornament reaching just above the cheekbone. Newt couldn't tell if it was embossed on his face or simply carved into it, but the symbol it resembled was recognizable enough. The famous Eye of Horus.

"I, too, find Hakeem's eye wonderful," Ibrahim spoke again. His lips broke into an amused smile the moment Newt looked back at him. "He lost the real one in a Hippogriff accident two years ago. Disrespecting such proud creatures has its consequences, therefore it was only natural of the brute's claws to cost him an eye," he chuckled and shook his head in the manner of someone recalling a funny anecdote, "It took me so long to find this replacement for him, because as you see, Mr Scamander, it is no regular eye. Have you already guessed why?"

"It can see through Invisibility Cloaks," Newt muttered grudgingly.

"Correct," he answered, striking his hands together in teasing delight. "It can see through many things, Invisibility Cloaks included. And that's the story of how Hakeem knew that you and your friend were following him."

Farida blurted out something in Arabic, and the man looked at her with raised eyebrows, as if he had just noticed her presence. But then a second later, all temporary surprise vanished from his expression, and he turned back to Newt.

"So my efforts to find Hakeem this eye weren't in vain after all," he continued in the same mocking pleasant tone, "and this made me realize that effort always pays off, and it does that often in unexpected ways. Of course as a Hufflepuff you know all about that. But I must express how grateful I am that you decided to follow him, Mr Scamander. It would have been a most regrettable loss if we hadn't met."

"How did you know I was in Hufflepuff? Newt said, not out of curiosity but in defiance. He wanted to ask this the moment he had heard it mentioned, but Ibrahim's diplomatic speech and his terrible presence made it hard to cut him off. "And why did you want to meet me?"

Ibrahim didn't respond immediately. He took two deliberate strides towards Newt, and crouched down right opposite him. To avoid the scalding stare of his eyes, which was now too close, Newt fixed his own at the ground, again looking for Pickett and still failing to find him.

"You are an interesting man, Mr Scamander," Ibrahim said in a soft whisper, "so let's just say I have done my research about you. And as for the reason I wanted us to meet, we will discuss it soon enough. But at the moment—"

"Let my friend go, then," Newt said abruptly, a little surprised that he managed to cut him off. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Farida's neck quickly turn to him.

"I am afraid I have no reason to do that," Ibrahim replied with utmost politeness, as if the matter was out of his control. He had risen to his feet.

"And you have no reason to keep her, either," Newt retorted. "You have done your research about me, not her. You said you wanted to meet me, not that you wanted to meet her. It is safe to assume that nothing prevents you from letting her go."

"Newt..." Farida began in a low, husky voice, but she didn't utter anything else.

"You may be right," said Ibrahim after a moment of deliberation. "But the truth remains the same: I have no reason to let her go."

"I'll give you a reason, but please... please listen to me," Farida said, her voice quavering. Then she began to talk in Arabic, causing Ibrahim's full attention to shift towards her. Newt watched her gestures carefully and strained his ears to catch any familiar words.

She was talking rapidly, her previous angry tone suddenly subdued. Tears welled up in her eyes, and a moment later she was weeping. Newt had a feeling that if her hands were free, they would have been clasped under her chin in pleading. Ibrahim wore a half-smile as he observed her, and the men and women of his gang were grinning and cackling.

As for Newt, he hadn't been under the impression that Farida was one to cry imploringly. She had shown admirable pride to Nabila at the Auror Station, so he found it very unlike her to wail when she had tried to conceal her silent tears from him before. But Newt didn't know what to do or say; he watched, speechless, until one of her gestures fell on him like an anvil and left his mind blank and cold.

Murmurs of interest spread in the tent, but Newt refused to believe what had produced them. He looked desperately at Ibrahim, hoping to see the same indifference in his expression, and willing even to stare into his eyes to find any sign of reassuring apathy. However, the awful eyes were gleaming with glee, leaving no reason for Newt to stay in denial.

"I have been wondering about this suitcase since you have arrived, Mr Scamander," Ibrahim said, not bothering to hide the satisfaction in his voice. "Your friend here has, very kindly, just told us about the creatures that live in it. I think I can let her go as a reward. I will untie her legs, but the cuffs will have to stay, just in case. What do you say?"

His gang broke into laughter, which only reached Newt's ears as distant buzzing. He felt like he was trapped in another realm, separated from reality by a gigantic block of ice at which he was scratching. In this haze, Newt saw the ropes around Farida's legs disappear, but the cuffs around her wrists remained. Farida wasted no time in bolting out of the tent once she had stood up. She didn't even look at Newt as she ran for dear life.

Ibrahim sighed and shook his head in the manner of someone frustrated by how perplexing life could be. He knelt down to pick up the suitcase, and the moment he had touched the handle was the moment Newt's senses began to function again.

"Please, let my creatures go!" Newt shouted, wishing there was a way to snatch the suitcase from Ibrahim's hand. "Don't hurt them! Let them go!"

Ibrahim's grip only tightened on the handle. He turned his back, and started to walk away.

"Let them go! Don't you harm them!" Newt continued to yell, hardly aware of how many times he repeated it.

Ibrahim came to a halt. He glanced over his back at Newt and in a perfectly calm voice he said, "Some people like to call me a monster, Mr Scamander. So normally, I wouldn't harm my kin."

Then he beckoned two of his men to take Newt away.