Lino stares down into the liquid, frowning, trying to parse what Barty is saying.

He can't be drunk already, can he? No. No, he isn't, the dwarf is just speaking strangely. Making things plural that don't need to be. Strange.

"Money," he says simply. It's mostly true. It doesn't hurt that they sent the incomparable Signora Fitcher to recruit him.