"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.
"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 enthusiastically. "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."
"Mum will leather you with a hex if you stay up here," Albus said, tilting his head knowledgeably. "But feel free. More biscuits for me. Come on, Lu. Where's Ralph?"
"He headed below-decks the moment you mentioned a skirmish," Lucy answered, nodding toward the stairs. She turned back to James. "You want me to wait with you?"
"No, go ahead, Lu. I just want to watch a minute. I'll be right there."
Lucy gazed at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "All right. See you in the captain's quarters. You too, Petra?"
"Sure," the older girl answered. "And thanks for gathering Izzy. Tell her to bring her crayons and parchments if she wants. Once she gets drawing, it can be hard to get her to stop."
Lucy nodded and turned to follow Albus.
"She's closing in on us," Brinks called, watching the horizon with his spyglass. "Matching our speed and angling to meet us dead on."
"That I can see, mate," Barstow answered amiably, gripping the pole before him. "But she won't match us for long! Let's open things up a bit."
James felt the subtle lift of the boat beneath him as Henrietta picked up speed. Waves clapped beneath the prow and exploded into sparkling mist, which flashed past the boat with dizzying speed. The Three-Eyed Isis began to fall past, but only very slowly. The pirate's ship was near enough now that James could see men moving around on the decks. The image on the mainsail was visible: a fanged skull with three gaping eyes. As James watched, the eyes narrowed and the skull chomped, as if it meant to swallow the Gwyndemere up.
"Did you read the dream story yet?" Petra asked, not taking her eyes from the rushing pirate ship.
"No, not yet," James admitted. "I haven't had much of a chance. Tonight, I think."
She nodded slowly. "I appreciate it. Talk to me after you do. All right?"
James glanced aside at her. "Sure. Why wouldn't I?"
She shrugged. "You might not want to."
James shook his head. "I'll want to. I promise."
"She's angling for a broadside strike," Brinks called down. "She's not as fast as us, so she's aiming to cut us off before we outrun 'er."
"Hard a-port," Barstow answered, turning the directional pole aside. Henrietta responded immediately, turning to the left, pulling the Gwyndemere away from the advancing pirate ship.
A low whistle and a burst of black sparks exploded over the left side of the ship, making Barstow jump and turn hard right again. James wouldn't have thought black sparks were even possible until he saw them swirling over the deck and fading into the rushing wind.
"Another ship!" Brinks cried from the crow's nest. "Ten o' the clock, approaching fast! Looks like the Scarlet Mist!"
"The Scarlet Mist?" Barstow repeated incredulously. "That means the two are working together, and that can only mean one thing!"
James ran to the other side of the prow and peered into the distance, immediately spying the second ship. Its red sails and black hull roared through the water, cutting the waves like a sword. "What's it mean?" he yelled over the wind.
"It means they're engaging in the old Vice and Quarry maneuver," Barstow answered. "Very risky, that is." Raising his voice, he called up to Brinks. "Keep an eye afore us, mate! Where there's two, there's three!"
"Already a-spied it," Brinks hollered, leaning forward in the crow's nest, his spyglass clapped to his eye. "It's the Poseidon's Peril, I'd wager."
Barstow whistled between his teeth again and shook his head. "Not good, my friends. Not good at all. I wonder what could possibly get all three of those salty dogs to work together? Surely not a single sea serpent. They'd just kill each other fightin' over her."
Another burst of black sparks rocked the Gwyndemere from the left. James felt the shudder of the blast beneath his feet. He was becoming rather alarmed. Petra, on the other hand, seemed strangely calm. James crossed the deck again and stood next to her. Even now, he was pleased that, despite their age difference, he was as tall as she was. Her long hair flew in the wind. A series of orange flashes appeared along the flank of the Three-Eyed Isis. A split second later, the Gwyndemere shook under a barrage of magical blasts.
"They're trying to slow us down," Barstow cried. "Time to show them what this girl can do!"
He jerked the steering pole and hunkered in his seat. Henrietta lunged forward, and James saw the serpentine humps of her back appear in the water ahead of the ship, rising out of the waves as she plowed ahead. The ship almost seemed to be skipping over the waves now. Wind coursed over the deck, singing in the rigging and thumping against the furled bulks of the sa
ils. James leaned into the wind and peered straight ahead. The Poseidon's Peril was a long low boat, sitting broadside ahead of them, forming a barricade. The Three-Eyed Isis and the Scarlet Mist were angling closer, forcing the Gwyndemere into an inevitable collision course.
"Why aren't we slowing?" James asked breathlessly. "We're going to ram them!" He glanced back at Petra, who seemed to be watching with mild interest. James furrowed his brow at her worriedly, but she didn't appear to notice.
"My girl still has a few surprises up her sleeve!" Barstow called out, wrestling the steering pole, driving Henrietta still faster. Raising his voice to a deep bellow, he cried, "Man the sails, mates! Be ready on my mark!"
Both James and Petra stumbled and grabbed the railing as another, larger magical blast exploded directly beneath them. A metallic twang pierced the air and the Gwyndemere suddenly bore down into the waves, losing momentum.
Barstow cursed colourfully and loudly, obviously alarmed. James looked up at him, wideeyed. The steering pole jutted straight out over the bow, trembling wildly, pointing directly at Henrietta as she plowed the waves. The magical fishline glowed and throbbed, vibrating in the air like a guitar string. A deep wooden groan emanated from the deck near the brass chair's base, and James was frightened to see that it was being slowly pried up, its huge bolts bending under some enormous pressure.
"Dodongo!" Barstow cried, struggling with the steering pole. "Use that great hairy reach of yours and grab on! Hold tight!"
Behind him, the giant ape stirred. He leaned forward in the hold, raising his head over the level of the deck, and stretched his huge right arm up out of the cargo hold's wide opening. Delicately, Dodongo gripped the rear of Barstow's chair with his huge grey fingers, holding it in place.
"What's your name, boy?" Barstow called down through gritted teeth.
"James!"
"Climb up here, James, and make it quick, if you please!"
James ran around the brass chair and scrambled up the stairs, ducking under Dodongo's huge leathery palm. Barstow moved aside, nodding for James to assume the brass seat.