The Vault of Destinies (James Potter #3) (14 page)

"Hup, hup, everyone," Percy called, collecting his overnight bag and standing up. "Let us be off." With his bag dangling from his hand, he extended one arm to Molly and the other to Lucy. She sidled out of her seat and approached her father, threading her arm into the crook of his elbow.

"See you on board," she called back. A moment later, there was a loud, flat
crack
in the enclosed air of the bubble, and the three had disappeared.

Ralph looked confused. "Why couldn't we just Disapparate from the city, if that's how we're getting on board the boat?"

"Apparating through water is extremely tricky business, Mr. Deedle," Merlin answered, beckoning him over. "Especially onto a moving ship. Besides, we would have missed that wonderful tube ride, wouldn't we have?"

"Come on!" James grinned, unbuckling his safety belt and scrambling up off the bench. "Last one on the
Gwyndemere
is a hinkypunk's uncle!"

"It isn't a race," Ginny chided, standing and extending a hand to Lily.

"Speak for yourself," Harry replied, stepping forward to meet his sons. "
I'm
not going to spend this voyage as a hinkypunk's uncle."

Both Albus and James grabbed one of their dad's hands. A moment later, the bubble ship vanished around them and was replaced by the deck of the
Gwyndemere
, which glowed in the morning sunlight. Cool wind coursed over the ship, singing in James' ears, and he immediately broke away from his father, laughing and running toward the bow.

"My feet were first to touch the deck," Albus called from behind. "I jumped right before we Disapparated so I'd land here first. You lose!"

James ignored his brother as he neared the pointed prow of the ship, slowing to a stop, his eyes widening.

"Mum just got here with Lil," Albus announced, catching up. "She says we're supposed to take our bags down to the cabins and what in Merlin's magic mousehole is
that
?"

"Haven't the faintest," James replied, approaching the strange shape. "It wasn't here before, was it?"

Ralph, Izzy, and Lucy joined the boys as they moved around the object. It had apparently been installed on the deck since last night's arrival and it was, essentially, a very ornate brass chair, elevated atop a series of five wrought iron steps. The chair was fitted onto a swiveling base and had a complicated brass armature attached to its front. James studied it but couldn't begin to imagine what the armature was for.

"You're the smart one, Lucy," he said, scratching his head. "What do you think this thing is for?"

"Rose is the smart one," Lucy admonished, mildly annoyed. "I just read a lot."

Ralph frowned crookedly. "What's the difference, exactly?

Izzy widened her eyes solemnly. "Petra says smart is in the brain of the perceiver."

"Whatever that means," Ralph muttered.

"Yeah," Albus insisted, reaching to touch the ornately crafted stairs, "but you're good at seeing how stuff fits together, Lu. It's a knack."

"Looks to me," Lucy sighed, walking around to the front of the strange fixture, "like something is missing. See that brass flange there on the end of the pivoting arm thing? Something is meant to fit into it."

"See?" Albus crowed, running around to the front to join Lucy. "That's exactly what I'm talking about!"

James heard the low voices of adults nearby. He turned and saw Merlin, Denniston Dolohov, and the
Gwyndemere's
captain, Ash Farragut, approaching slowly.

"We haven't any time to spare, unfortunately, captain," Merlin was saying. "I am quite happy to leave matters in the hands of your very capable crew."

Farragut nodded cynically. "All
too
capable, if you take my meaning."

"Piracy isn't what it used to be," Merlin said, smiling. "In my day, one couldn't ply the waves without expecting to be boarded by any number of competing piratical hoards. They were like swarms of bees on the high seas. Considering the preventative measures enacted by the Magical Maritime Regulatory Commission, I suspect we will manage just fine, whatever befalls us."

"Their ships have been spotted on the horizon this very morning," Farragut clarified, tilting his head in the sunlight.

"Then they will expect us to remain at port," Harry Potter nodded, approaching with a grim smile on his face. "Surprise is almost always an advantage. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Dolohov?"

"Oh, I happily submit to your expertise in such matters," Denniston replied dismissively. "But I agree that we do indeed have a schedule to keep. Let us be off."

Farragut nodded approvingly. "Then let it be so. Gentlemen." He strode away, angling toward the deckhouse.

James drifted toward Petra and Audrey, who stood near the mid-ship stairs. The pair seemed to be studying a small knot of people who had suddenly appeared on the ship. "Who are they?" James asked, nodding toward a group.

"Fellow sojourners," Audrey replied, keeping her voice even. "Americans, I should think."

James peered at the newcomers. There was a group of them moving up the stairs, pushing past the others, meandering toward the bow and chattering like a flock of birds. Most of them were dressed in black, only slightly older than James, but the central figure seemed to be a woman with jet hair, a pale, angular face, and an expression of indulgent boredom. She wore a long black dress with a tightly laced bodice, a lot of silver jewelry, and heavy purple eye make-up, so that she looked, to James, rather like she had recently escaped from her own funeral.

"Pardon yourselves, students," she sang morosely to her entourage as they streamed past James, Petra, and Audrey. "We are representing another culture. We do not wish to appear rude."

The students babbled on, not sparing the others a glance, and James had the distinct impression that the woman had spoken more for his, Petra, and Audrey's benefits than that of her own charges.

Audrey spoke up, easily raising her voice over the chattering teenagers. "I take it by your accent and words that you are from the States, Miss?" she said, smiling pleasantly. "We are on our way there ourselves for a rather lengthy stay. Don't raise our expectations overmuch, lest we be disappointed that the rest of the country is not as pleasant as you and your delightful associates."

The woman slowed and faced Audrey, her expression unchanging. "Persephone Remora," she announced languidly, stretching out a limp hand toward Audrey, who shook it perfunctorily. "And please pardon me for saying so, but I was not referring to the United States. That country is only our current residence, not our home. We can hardly be expected to represent it any more than you might be expected to represent this ship. No offense meant. The fact is: I and my friends are returning from a summer's exploration of our ancestral homeland. Perhaps you have heard of it," she paused and narrowed her eyes slightly. "It is called
Transylvania
."

"Indeed I have," Audrey smiled. "Why just this spring my husband and I had quince soup with the Archduke of Brasov and his wife. Have you met them? Lovely couple. She makes her own tzuika, which is quite good."

Remora seemed faintly disdainful. "You'll excuse me for saying so, but we don't recognize the current Transylvanian ruling class. Our heritage is beholden to a much older historical aristocracy. I'm sure you haven't heard of it. It's rather a…
secret
society." She sniffed and looked meaningfully out over the waves.

"Ah," Audrey answered nonchalantly. "Well, I'm sure your secrets are best left uncovered. Far be it for us to pry."

Remora continued to stare out at the waves dramatically. After a moment, she seemed to realize that the pose wasn't having the effect that she had apparently hoped for. She coughed lightly and turned back. "I'm terribly sorry," she said faintly. "The sunlight does take its toll on… such as ourselves."

"I have some Amberwycke's sunblock here in my bag," Petra replied, glancing at Audrey. "I'd be happy to share it around. It's coconut-scented."

"No," Remora oozed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Thank you ever so much. I should catch up with my friends. If you'll excuse me." She turned, began to walk away, and then looked back over her shoulder, making her eyes twinkle meaningfully. "It's been…
deliciously
delightful to meet you," she said in a low, breathy voice.

"Likewise," Audrey said, smiling cheerfully. "We'll see you this afternoon for tea, won't we?"

"Are you sure you don't want some sunblock?" Petra said, proferring the bottle. "You're looking a little peaked around the eyes."

Remora huffed and turned away, stalking toward the small throng that milled in front of the deckhouse.

"What was that all about?" James asked, frowning after the departing woman.

Audrey sighed. "Vampires," she said lightly. "So haughty and melodramatic. Ah well, whatever makes them happy."

James blinked, looking back at the black-clothed knot of people. Remora had rejoined them, and they moved around her like a school of pale, sneering fish. James frowned. "I didn't think there
were
any vampires in America.'

Petra shook her head, smiling crookedly. In a low stage whisper, she answered, "There aren't."

"Let's not be too hasty," Audrey said, clucking her tongue. "The United States is, after all the great melting pot. I do suspect, however, that if there
are
vampires residing in America… they are not
them
."

A man passed by in front of them, and James glanced up. He recognized the man as the ship's first mate, a burly, cheerful bloke named Barstow. He was wearing a floppy grey hat and whistling happily to himself, heading toward the bow. Over his shoulder was slung a very long, thin pole, fitted with reinforcing brass sleeves. James narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and then ran to follow.

"Hey Barstow," Albus called, grinning, as the man approached. "When do we shove off, eh?"

Barstow answered jovially, "Depends on how well the fish are biting this morning, don't it?"

"If you say so," Albus shrugged.

Izzy plopped onto the sunny deck and crossed her legs. "What do fish have to do with anything?"

"Oh, everything, love," Barstow said gravely, adjusting his hat. "You just watch and see. You might say they're the key to the whole affair."

"I don't like fish all that much," Ralph admitted. "I think I had enough back down in the Aquapolis. I was hoping for something a little more… terrestrial."

Barstow smiled and climbed the wrought iron stairs to the brass chair. It turned slightly as he sat down on it. "This fishy ain't for eating, my friend. You just wait and see."

Everyone watched as Barstow settled himself into the seat, resting his feet on a pair of fitted pedals and turning the chair so that it faced backwards, overlooking the rest of the ship. Apparently satisfied, he lifted the strange pole straight up into the air. It wavered high over the deck, flashing darts of sunlight from its brass fittings. Carefully, Barstow began to swing the pole in a small arc, as if he were using it to draw a circle in the briny sky. The circle widened as Barstow swung faster, creating larger and larger arcs.

"Look," Izzy cried, pointing. "It's a fishing pole! Just like Papa Warren used to use on the lake!"

James squinted in the sunlight, trying to follow the movement of the pole's tip. Sure enough, a length of magical string spooled out behind it, pulling a very large ephemeral hook. Suddenly, Barstow heaved the pole back over his shoulder, stretching back so much that the hook swooped far behind him, past the prow of the Gwyndemere and out over the waves. Finally, in one swift, smooth motion, Barstow cast the pole forward, snapping the large ghostly hook through the air. It flashed past the masts, over the deckhouse and smokestack, and out over the stern, where it finally dipped into the waves. Barstow reached forward and fitted the handle of the fishing pole into the clasp that Lucy had mentioned earlier. It locked into place, making the pole an extension of the articulated brass arm. That done, Barstow relaxed, but only a little.

"What," Ralph asked, his eyes wide, "do you catch with a hook like that?"

"There's no bait on it!" Albus suddenly said, looking accusingly up at Barstow. "How do you plan to catch anything with no bait?"

"Oh, it's baited, friends," Barstow laughed, "but not with food. The hook's made of a little magical concoction I've been working on over the last decade or so. It's not an easy thing, conjuring sea serpent pheromone, believe you me."

Ralph paled a little and peered out at the choppy waves. "Sea serpent?" he repeated carefully.

"Pheromone?" James added, standing on tiptoes to see over the stern of the boat. "What's that?"

Lucy seemed to be stifling a grin. "It's sort of like a love potion. For fish."

"For a sea serpent," Ralph clarified. "I'm just trying to be sure I heard him right. That's what he said, isn't it?"

A loud twang suddenly pierced the air. Barstow heaved backwards on the pole and its articulated arm, and James saw the magical thread trembling tautly over the boat.

"There she is!" Barstow cried happily. "Landed a big one! That's Henrietta, I'll wager! She's the best of the fleet! Hold fast, everyone!"

James, Albus, Izzy, and Lucy scrambled to the ship's railing, craning down the length of the boat for a glimpse of the mysterious Henrietta. In the brass chair, Barstow grunted and cursed to himself, wrestling with the pole, which bent precipitously. "Come on over, sweetheart," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Right this way, that's it. You know the routine…"

James finally saw the point where the magical fishing line entered the water. A shape heaved beneath, pushing the waves into a sudden, boiling hill. A line of serrated fins broke the surface and sawed through it, angling toward the
Gwyndemere
.

"That can't be good," Ralph said in a high voice.

James swallowed, but Barstow seemed grimly pleased.

"That's my great big girl," he teased. "Come to papa, then. Just a little further, that's the way…"

A monstrous, serpentine shape became visible as it shot beneath the boat, dragging the magical fishing line with it. Barstow whooped happily and swung around as the chair swiveled beneath him, pulled by the massive shape beneath the waves.