“This is so cool,” Ralph said, approaching James. “I’ve never been on a ship before. Do you think a magical ship is any different than a regular ship?”
“You’re asking the wrong mate, Ralph,” Albus commented. “We’re just as new to this as you are. Ask Uncle Percy if you want a real answer. Or Cousin Lucy, for that matter.”
“I’ve only ever traveled by ship once before, believe it or not,” Lucy said, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “And that was a lot smaller than this one, on the way to Greece.”
“Have you seen the dining galley yet?” Petra called from the stairs to the lower level. “Breakfast is all laid out, and it’s perfectly lovely! Come and join us!”
“They have currant buns!” Izzy added importantly, cupping her hands to her mouth.
James, Albus, Ralph, and Lucy ran to the stairs and ducked into a doorway at the bottom, which opened onto a long low room with windows on either side, letting in the watery morning light. Two long tables dominated the room, bordered on both sides by wooden swivel chairs. Silverware, crystal glasses, china plates and steaming silver tureens and platters were spread over the tables.
“This is more like it!” Ralph exclaimed, pulling off his sweatshirt in the warmer quarters. He strode along the nearer table and took a seat next to his father, who was already stirring a cup of tea.
“Enjoy it while you can, friends,” Denniston Dolohov proclaimed. “This is what it’s like to travel on the Ministry’s Sickle.” Beyond him, the rest of the adults were seating themselves as well, sighing happily and removing their traveling cloaks and hats.
“The chairs are bolted to the floor,” Albus said, swiveling his experimentally.
“In case of storms,” Lucy nodded, speaking around a mouthful of muffin. “Can’t have everything slamming all over the place if the sea gets tetchy.”
Ralph looked up, his brow furrowed. “Is that likely to happen, do you think?”
Lucy shrugged. “It’s the Atlantic ocean. Tetchy is sort of a habit.”
“Especially this time of year,” Albus agreed, reaching for a platter of toast.
James nodded gravely. “We may have to steam right through a hurricane or two. And icebergs.”
“And sea monsters,” Izzy added wisely, meeting Lily’s eyes and stifling a grin. “Giant squid with tentacles like trolley cars!”
“Ah,” Ralph said, rolling his eyes. “Sarcasm, then. I see how it is.”
“Don’t worry, Ralph,” Petra soothed. “We’ve got Merlin with us. If any sea monsters attack, he’ll just talk them into joining us for the trip.”
“Or vanquish them and cook them for dinner,” Lily said, grinning.
A little while later, James had finished his breakfast and discovered he was too excited to sit still any longer. The adults made their way below-decks to explore their cabins while most of the children scrambled back up to the foredeck to enjoy the brightening sun and the misty stamp of the bow on the waves.
“What’s making us move, I wonder?” Izzy asked, squinting up at the masts.
James looked as well, noticing that all of the sails were furled tightly, lashed to the masts in neat bundles.
“Good question,” Albus agreed, frowning. “I guess we’re being powered somehow. Look at the smokestack.”
Sure enough, a steady stream of black smoke was issuing from the smokestack’s high, black funnel. James shrugged, turning back to the ocean view.
“Coal, you think?” Ralph mused. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”
“Maybe it’s a magical fire,” Lily replied reasonably. “One that doesn’t need any fuel or anything.”
Lucy nodded. “Like goblin’s spark. That’d make sense.”
Wind capered over the ship, pushing in from the ocean and whipping James’ hair around his head. He grinned into it, and then turned and leaned on the railing, looking toward the shore as it crept alongside the ship. The Gwyndemere was passing the other docks and piers still, and James watched the dozens of ships where they clustered along the bank, dizzying in their sizes and variety. Workers thronged amongst them, moving on the piers and gangways, silent in the distance. Finally, the Gwyndemere began to angle away from the shore, and the wharves and enormous cargo ships began to grow faint in the morning’s haze.
A whistle sounded high above. James glanced up and saw a man in what looked like a wooden bucket, attached to the main mast. The whistle protruded from between his lips and he held a long collapsible telescope to one eye. As James watched, the man lowered the telescope and spat out the whistle, which dangled around his neck on a length of string.
“Now exiting the Muggle mainland,” he bellowed. “Entering international magical waters.”
A deckhand, whistling cheerfully, passed close behind the five travelers where they gathered near the railing. James turned to watch as the man bent, grabbed the handle of a large deck hatch, and heaved it open.
“All right, Dodongo, you heard the man,” the deckhand called down into the darkness below-decks. “Put it out then. Don’t make me come down there.”
James and the rest drifted toward the deckhand and peered down into the shadows. The interior of the hold was huge, taking up most of the ship’s bow. Portholes illuminated an enormous, hairy shape where it lounged in the hold, taking up most of the space. James blinked in shock. The creature was like a gorilla, but grown to monumental, titanic proportions. Its great leathery face peered up at the open hatch, sucking its lips thoughtfully. Its feet clutched the pedals of a complicated, brass mechanism, turning it easily. The mechanism, in turn, operated a driveshaft that extended through the rear of the hold, apparently driving the ship’s propeller. To James increasing surprise, the gigantic ape seemed to be smoking an equally gigantic cigar, puffing black smoke up into a funnel-shaped tube.
“Picked him up years ago,” the deckhand explained, planting his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “Found him wandering some lost island in the South Pacific. Someone had the crazy idea that he’d make a great attraction on the mainland, make us all millionaires. Problem was, once we got him on board, he never wanted to leave. You know the old joke about where a thirty thousand-pound gorilla sits, right? Wherever he bloody well pleases.”
James, Ralph, Izzy, Albus, and Lucy looked from the deckhand to the enormous gorilla again. Dodongo pedaled happily, making gentle ook noises to himself and puffing his monstrous cigar.
“Hi!” the deckhand called again, cupping his hands to his mouth. “I told you to put that thing out, didn’t I? It’s the last one we’ve got on board until Bordeaux. What else you going to use to fake smokestack smoke, eh? Banana peels?”
“I guess,” Lucy said in a small voice, “there is a bit of a difference between a Muggle ship and a magical ship.”
The first leg of the ocean journey progressed swiftly. James explored the ship with his fellow travelers, finding the galley kitchens, the aft storage hold, a dozen small but meticulously dapper staterooms, and even the captain’s quarters, which the crew of teenaged witches and wizards (and Izzy) barged into quite by accident while chasing each other through the narrow corridors. The captain’s rooms were in the rear of the ship, above the hold, with a curving bank of windows that overlooked the ship’s boiling wake. It would have been a very interesting place to explore, what with its framed maps, brass lanterns, and bookshelves cluttered with curious nautical tools and artifacts, except for the fact that the captain himself was there, looking up from his desk with a mixture of annoyance and weary patience. James had apologized as quickly and formally as he knew how, backing out of the room and herding the others behind him.
Most of the day, however, was spent up on the decks, lounging in the hazy sunlight and watching the crewmen manage the ship’s complicated rigging. James was only slightly surprised to learn that the deckhands sang songs while they worked, raising their voices in unison so that the sound carried over all the decks, clear and cheerful in the gusting winds.
“So,
” Albus said, leaning against the high stern railing, “I wonder if this is the poop deck?”
Izzy tittered, but Petra rolled her eyes. “That joke wasn’t funny the first time, Albus. It doesn’t get any better with age.”
“I’m not joking,” Albus said, raising his eyebrows with guileless innocence. “I’m just asking a question. Every ship has a poop deck. It’s a known fact. I’m just trying to make this an educational experience.”
“Yes,” Lucy nodded. “Because that’s so very like you.”
“I like the songs,” Ralph said, looking up at the masts as a pair of crewman climbed and capered, singing in harmony. James couldn’t help noticing that the sails were still furled, lashed neatly to the strange, articulated masts.
Albus smirked. “Mum says the songs are nice, so long as you don’t listen to the actual words.”
“Which only makes you pay even closer attention,” James agreed. “I especially like the one about the old dead pirates fighting over a doubloon, chopping off bits of each other until there’s nothing left but a bunch of skeletal hands hopping around, gripping cutlasses.”
“A lot of them do seem to have a similar theme,” Petra agreed. “A lot of dead pirates, barrels of rum, cursed lost treasures, that sort of thing.”
“I heard Merlin and Dad talking about it at lunch,” Albus said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Merlin says ever since the International Magical Police have cracked down on wizard piracy, a lot of the pirates have had to turn to more honest work. Most of them take jobs on ships like this. I bet these blokes are all former privateers themselves! You think?”
Ralph squinted up at the men in the masts. “I’d have expected more peglegs and parrots,” he shrugged.
Albus rolled his eyes.
As the afternoon wore on, Petra and Izzy went below-decks to have tea and unpack. Albus wandered off in search of deckhands to grill about their nefarious former lives, and James, Ralph, and Lucy meandered their way to the bow, where they found James’ dad, Professor Longbottom, and Merlinus Ambrosius watching the seas and talking.
“Did you see the big gorilla?” James asked as the adults greeted them.
Harry nodded. “The captain took us down to meet him. He’s very intelligent. Likes popcorn. Apparently he’s the primary mode of propulsion on the landward ends of the journey.”
“The captain says it keeps him from getting fat and lazy,” Neville added, smiling.
“You met the captain too?” Lucy asked, peering up at the men.
“He’s an old wizard’s navy man,” Neville answered. “And a distant relative of mine. Knew my parents, way back when I was a baby. I haven’t seen him in decades, but still, it’s nice to connect with the old family network.”
Ralph glanced from Merlin to Harry Potter, and then asked, “What are you all looking for?”
“I smell land,” Merlin replied mildly. “I think we have nearly reached today’s destination.”
James blinked. “Already? We’re there?”
“Boy,” Ralph commented, peering out over the waves, “magic sure makes the world an itty bitty place.”
“He doesn’t mean we’ve already made it to America, silly,” Lucy said, laughing. “We’re stopping at a port along the way.”
“What for?” James asked.
“To pick up more travelers,” Harry replied, taking off his glasses and wiping sea mist from them with his shirt tail. “And drop off cargo, get supplies, and get rigged for the transatlantic leg of the journey.”
“You mean,” Ralph said, clarifying, “we’ve sailed all day, and we haven’t yet gotten to the transatlantic part?”
“The ocean is a monstrously large place,” Merlin said, smiling, his beard streaming in the wind. “It provides us an excuse not to do anything for a day or two. Enjoy it, Mr. Deedle. Soon enough, the pace of life will catch us all up again.”
James looked at Ralph expectantly. “Did you hear the Headmaster?” he prodded gently.
Ralph glanced at him and then rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. ‘Monstrously’ large. Look, I’m not a big baby. You can stop trying to give me nightmares.”
“I would have said the ocean was ‘beastly huge’,” Lucy said, “but ‘monstrously’ is even better. Reminds me of those old woodcut maps covered in sea serpents and krakens and the like.”
“Is that land over there?” Neville asked suddenly, leaning on the railing and squinting.
Merlin nodded. “It may well be. You can smell it, can’t you? The trees, the sand…”
“Not all of us are quite as sensitive to such things as you are, Headmaster,” Harry replied, shaking his head.
James leaned against the railing and peered into the distance. The sky had grown clear and cloudless as the day progressed. Now, as the sun lowered, the clarity of the air made the horizon seem like something he could very nearly reach out and touch. The ship’s prow bounced rhythmically on the waves, sending up bursts of fine spray. Beyond it, sitting on the watery rim of the world like a bug on a windowsill, was a tiny black shape.
“What is it?” Lucy asked, shading her eyes. “Is it another boat?”
No one answered. Gradually, the shape grew as the Gwyndemere approached it, slowing almost imperceptibly. To James, it began to look like the top of a giant’s head, fringed with wild hair, peeking over the horizon. He watched, transfixed, as the shape finally resolved into the unmistakable outline of a tiny island, hardly bigger than the back garden of the Potter family home in Marble Arch. A narrow white beach ringed the island, embracing a growth of brush and wild grasses. In the center, half a dozen scrubby trees swayed ponderously. As the Gwyndemere slowed, coming within shouting distance of the tiny island, James was shocked to hear a voice cry out from the shadow of the trees.
“A ship!” the voice shouted. “Oh, thank heavens, a ship! At long last!”
A man stumbled out onto the beach and jumped up and down, waving a length of driftwood in his hand. The man was very thin and wildly bedraggled, his hair and beard grown to nearly comical proportions and his clothing bleached white.
“Hooray!” he shouted. “My messages in all those old bottles were not in vain! The seagulls laughed at me, they did! Told me it was foolish to hope, but I kept the faith! I knew someday my long, long sojourn would come to an—oh, it’s you,” he said, his voice dropping on the last three words.
“Ahoy, Roberts!” a sailor in the Gwyndemere’s crow’s nest called. “All’s clear along the span o’ the compass. Captain Ash Farragut requests landing.”
“Permission granted,” the erstwhile castaway called back grumpily, turning and walking back toward the trees. His voice carried easily over the lapping waves as he muttered, “Tells me all’s clear along the span o’ the compass. Like I ain’t been sittin’ here all day, keepin’ a lookout. S’my job, after all, isn’t it?” James watched with fascination as the bedraggled man stopped beneath one of the trees and tapped it with his driftwood walking stick. “Portmaster Roberts reporting the arrival of the Gwyndemere, Captain Farragut in command, with partial complement of travelers, goods, and cargo. Forty minutes late too, unless the sun’s a liar.”
“Ah, we’ve reached port,” a voice behind James said cheerfully. He glanced back to see his Uncle Percy dressed in a fancy traveling cloak and matching derby. “Aquapolis for the night, ladies and gentlemen. Last landfall ‘til journey’s end. I’ll go tell the others.”
James glanced from his uncle to Ralph and Lucy. “Some ‘port’ this is. I’m not even sure we’ll all fit down there.”
“Yeah,” Ralph agreed. “If it’s all the same to everyone else, I think I’ll just stay here on the ship for the night.”
“Quite clever of the portmaster to play the part of a shipwreck survivor, though,” Lucy commented appreciatively. “Just in case any Muggle ships come in sight of the place.”
James looked back at the man on the shore, his brow furrowed. “How sure are you that he’s just playing the part?”
&nbs
p; “Whoa,” Ralph said suddenly, grabbing onto the railing with one hand. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” James asked, and then gasped as he felt it too. The ship was shuddering very faintly, as if a thousand fists were pounding on the hull. A sound accompanied the sensation, a sort of low rumble, deep and huge.
“It’s all right,” Neville said, albeit rather nervously. “Somehow, I think this is supposed to happen.”
“It’s not just happening on the ship,” Lucy cried, pointing. “Look at the island!”
James looked. The leaves of the trees were shaking faintly. A large yellowish fruit fell from one of the trees and rolled to a stop on the white sand. Strangely, there seemed to be far more of the sand than there should have been. It was as if the beach was expanding around the island, growing, pushing back the waves. The man on the shore seemed to be completely unperturbed by the phenomenon. He ambled over to a large dark boulder, reached behind it and retrieved a clipboard, which he consulted critically.
“Behold,” Merlin proclaimed, raising his chin against the increasing wind. “The wonders of the lost city. Behold Aquapolis, grandest of the seven cities of the continent of Atlantis.”
Slowly, the island rose, pushed upwards by a great, dark shelf of stone. The foundation widened as it elevated, as if the island were merely the topmost peak of a huge undersea mountain. Water thundered down the faces of broad cliffs, coursing out of dozens of deep crags and caverns. James watched, dumbstruck, as the landmass grew, extending great rocky arms out to embrace the Gwyndemere, creating a bay around it. Regular shapes became visible as they pushed upwards through the waves: peaked roofs, domes, and spires first, and then monumental stone columns, arches, and colonnades. Soaring bridges and stairways crisscrossed the mountain, connecting the structures and enclosing walled courtyards, ancient statuary, and bright, colourful gardens of coral. Sunlight shimmered over the city as it revealed itself, reflecting as if from innumerable, enormous jewels. With a thrill of wonder, James realized that the shining shapes were not jewels, in fact, but glass windows and doors, fitted into exquisitely crafted coppery frameworks. The windows glittered like rainbows as the seawater coursed down them, glinting from every opening and doorway, from between every pillar and column, completely enclosing the city in rippling, briny brilliance.
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