JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES jp-1

by G. Norman Lippert

  “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 c
atch 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.

  “She’s through the harness,” he cried, bracing himself against the chair’s foot pedals. “Hang on tight, everyone!”

  “I really wish people would stop saying that,” Ralph moaned, gripping the railing with both hands.

  As if on cue, a horrible shudder shook the boat, jerking it forward in the water. James stumbled but remained upright, clinging staunchly to one of the ship’s bollards. Lucy fell backwards against him and James caught her. Her black hair streamed into his face, tickling his cheeks.

  “Sorry James,” she called, glancing back at him over her shoulder and grinning sheepishly. “I thought I was ready for it.”

  James laughed. “I don’t think anybody was ready for that.”

  “We’re off!” Albus cried, running toward the prow and peering forward. “Excellent! She’s pulling us! And look how fast we’re going!”

  “She can maintain forty knots,” Barstow called down proudly, operating the screws that locked the brass armature in place. “With bursts of ninety if required. She’s the fastest of all her sisters, if you ask me.”

  “Is she really a sea serpent?” Izzy asked, raising her hand to her forehead and studying the waves that roared under the ship’s prow. “I can’t see anything but a sort of froth up there by her head. That’s her head, right?”

  “It’s her cranial fin,” Barstow nodded. “And that there’s Henrietta, the great Atlantean razorback. Biggest and longest of the sea beasts. Good thing she’s on our side, eh? Back in the old days, creatures like her were real ship-eaters. Now, there’s only a few left in the whole world. Worth more than her own weight in Galleons, she is.”

  “How do you steer her?” Albus asked, glancing back at the pole. “And how’s that little bit of wood hold her?”

  Barstow laughed. “That’s just the lead,” he explained, calling over the rushing wind. “We use it like reins on a horse, turning her this way and that. The real muscle is underneath the boat. She’s attached to us by an iron harness and a length of anchor chain. That’s what I was teasing her through, and that’s the only tricky part. From here on out, it’s smooth sailing.”

  In a concerned voice, Izzy asked, “Doesn’t Henrietta ever get tired?”

  “She ain’t like us, love,” Barstow replied, squinting toward the horizon. “She could take us the whole way and back with barely a breath. But we’ll stop and feed her once or twice along the way, give her the breathers she deserves. After all, she’s the queen of the voyage, isn’t she?” He smiled lovingly at the great beast as it carved the waves.

  “What about the big gorilla?” Ralph asked. “Doesn’t he get bored?”

  “See for yourself!” Barstow called down, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

  James, Lucy, and Ralph turned to look back. The bow’s huge cargo doors were thrown open in the sunlight. Peering up out of them, resting his chin on his crossed arms, was the great ape. His black fur rippled in the wind and he blinked slowly, apparently enjoying the sense of speed and the rushing air.

  “He’ll be like that the whole rest of the trip,” Barstow commented without looking back. “Nothing we can do about it. The great brute’s happy to let somebody else do the work from here on out. He’s like a dog in a carriage window, isn’t he?”

  Gwyndemere was only half an hour into her long journey when a whistle pierced the air high overhead. James, who was still on the prow with Ralph and Lucy, glanced up. The mate in the crow’s nest had his spyglass to his eye again, extended to such an extent that it almost seemed to defy gravity. “Ship spotted at two o’ the clock!” he bellowed, pointing.

  “Ah, this doesn’t bode well,” Barstow announced.

  Lucy squinted up at Barstow. To James and Ralph, she said, “I can’t help but notice that he’s smiling when he says that.”

  “It’s just that weird seafaring sense of humor,” Ralph replied. “Like jolly songs about all your dead mates and zombie pirates and the like. They seem to have a sort of skewed perspective on life, don’t they?”

  High above, his voice thin in the whipping winds, the mate in the crow’s nest called again. “Ship is a triple-mast clipper, bearing the sigil of the Three-Eyed Isis.”

  Barstow whistled appreciatively between his teeth. “The Three-Eyed Isis. That’s bad, that is. Best to get below-decks, my young friends. This could get fierce.”

  “What’s a Three-Eyed Isis?” James asked, leaning on the railing and shielding his eyes from the sun. Sure enough, a dark shape bobbed on the horizon, apparently tracking the Gwyndemere.

  “That’s the ship of the pirate Hannibal Farson, Terror of the Seven Seas. Looks like we’re in for a wee tussle.”

  “Hannibal Farson isn’t the Terror of the Seven Seas,” the crow’s nest mate called down, still scanning the horizon with his spyglass. “You’re thinking of Captain Dirk Dread. That’s Farson the Fearsome, Fright of the Atlantic.”

  Barstow nodded. “Ah, right you are, Brinks! No argument there. Hard to keep ‘em all straight, isn’t it?”

  “If yeh’re talking real terrors,” a third voice called out, carrying on the wind, “then it’s Rebekah Redboots yeh’re thinkin’ of. As beastly as she is lovely. Just as quick to kill yeh as to look at yeh, but you’d die happy, havin’ gazed upon ‘er deadly beauty.”

  Barstow and Brinks murmured their wistful agreement.

  “Is that a ship over there?” Petra asked, approaching James and peering at the horizon.

  “Pirates, apparently,” James nodded. “Only it sounds like it’s going to be a bit of a reunion, really.”

  Lucy looked from the distant ship to Barstow where he sat on his high brass chair. She called up, “What are they after anyway?”

  “Oh, lots of stuff, love,” Barstow answered enthusiastic
ally. “Passenger jewels and money, the captain’s safe, valuable cargo that they can resell on the wizarding black market…”

  “And don’t forget the women,” Brinks added loudly. “They’ll be after the women, for sure.”

  “But don’t you worry, my pretties,” Barstow said soothingly. “They’ll treat you with the greatest of respect and decorum. It’s the pirate way, you know, all dashing and debonair. Oftentimes, the women caught by pirates don’t even want to be rescued, when it comes right down to it. Why, I knew of whole ships full of available ladies what set sail just in the hopes of being caught up by a band of the watery rogues.” He sighed deeply.

  “Unless it be Rebekah Redboots,” the third mate’s voice speculated. “Then they’d be after the men-folk, likely.”

  “Aye…,” Brinks and Barstow agreed soberly. After a long thoughtful moment, Barstow went on. “Most likely, though, they’re after Henrietta. Like I said, she’s worth her weight in Galleons. Sea serpents are terrible hard to come by anymore, and every pirate captain out there is dead jealous to get one. Makes ‘em unbeatable, even by the coppers from the Magical Maritimers’.”

  At that moment, Albus ran up, his hair whipping wildly in the wind. “Hey everybody, Uncle Percy says we need to all get below-decks, captain’s orders! There might be a ‘skirmish’, he says!”

  “Cool,” James grinned, matching his brother’s obvious excitement. “Are you really going to go down and miss all the fun?”

  “Normally no,” Albus admitted, “but Mum knows how we are. She’s asked Captain Farragut if we can watch everything from the big windows in his quarters. Best view on the whole ship, he says, and there’ll be biscuits and tea!”

  “Your mum really knows how to handle a bribe,” Petra said appreciatively. “Better hurry on down. And get Izzy, if you would. She’s in our cabin, drawing pictures.”

  James glanced at Petra, and then turned to the others. “Go on,” he said. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”