Chapter 7
Jones went down in a thud of sawdust, arms and legs snapped to his side and face a blank mask. The sound muffled by the Dutchman's cannons, firing in scattered unison. Plumes of smoke blocked Harry gaze, but the shouts from the Spiracle and the cracking of timber left no doubt to its effects.
Harry dropped his arm and stared, disbelieving at the fallen form of his Captain. There was the tiniest twinge of guilt as he saw the destruction wrought by his uncontrolled burst of wind magic but he quelled it mercilessly by reminding him of what Grue had just been through.
"Captain! Shall we give them another round?"
The there was no time to be feeling sorry as Pugwash's voice carried over the cannon fire. Harry backed away as he drew up the steps, looking with almost comic confusion at the sight of Davy Jones stock still on the ground, then raised his head with a growl.
Harry wasted no time in sprinting for the side of the ship, the crew member's furry arms missing him by inches. There was no way he had just done that. He'd taken down the Captain of the Flying Dutchman. He had to get off. Now.
Heart in his throat, Harry climbed over the railing of the quarterdeck and leapt.
His scream caught in his chest and another burst of whatever magic had flown through him curled around his arms. Wind touched his fingertips and the air was all at once sturdier and more fragile under his feet.
His fall slowed and Harry had a split second to realise the silence on both sides of the fight before, quite unexpectedly, his clothes ruffled and sheer wind shoved him up, billowing his hair and his frame with the force of a localised cyclone. It pressed on his mouth – so hard to breathe, like he was under water, only now it was due to some crazed malfunction in his own magic.
Up and up, it pushed him until, panicked with the figures like ants on the two ships, he shook and hovered. There was only so much preparation Quiddich could give him for the feeling of being so high up without anything under him to break his fall. The best he could hope for was a quick impact and a painless death – there were no fail safes here.
As if sensing his uncertainty, the wind below him wavered and Harry dropped a good two feet before he picked himself up again. But now, the same fatigue that had struck him back on the Dutchman sprung again and Harry slipped again.
This time he couldn't stop his descent.
"Ohhh bugger!" He called, arms flailing and trying to right himself mid-air.
Until he landed with a poof on the angled main sail of the Spiracle and by some miracle managed to grab hold of a rope. He jerked to a stop, shoulders straining with his weight, though thankfully not dislocated. Dangling by one hand in the middle of the sail, arm growing weaker by the second, Harry couldn't help but notice there still wasn't a sound from either ship. No sound and no movement as every eye was on him and every jaw dropped in astonishment.
It wasn't hard to make eye contact with a man from Spiracle. "Help me damnit," Harry shouted, twisting on his rope. "And run! Run while the Dutchman's Captain is down."
Then all at once there was motion – men scrambled around beneath his dangling legs, four to a rope, hauling and working together until the Spiracle swung achingly slow away from the Dutchman. Harry hung on with weakening fingers as the sail filled once more with wind – this time of a natural origin, and his rope buckled.
"Here, give me your hand."
Harry looked up to see a young boy, no older than himself dangling on a side mast, hand outstretched and beckoning earnestly. He was heavily tanned and wore a slip made from rough fabric and trousers that had white lines of salt in its seams. His hand was just far away enough that Harry would have to leg go and trust in fate.
Unless he could gather up enough strength and luck to make one of those wind burst things again but there was a quota for the risks he wanted to take in a day and today's just about filled it.
"Come on! You have to get down or we won't be able to turn with the wind."
The boy leaned down further. Harry gritted his teeth and made a try for his hand but fell short just an inch. He gasped as his remaining hold on the rope strained his shoulder further and a sharp twang of pan shot from his elbow to his chest. For a moment he was sure he was going to fall but he managed to get his other hand back on – a ghastly reminder to that time with his broom, only his friends weren't there to break the curse and no one would be able to save him if he fell.
He looked up from the sight of the deck below, much too far for his liking. "Not enough. Just a little more."
"Tarnish and plunder," the boy cursed. He wrapped his legs around his perch and balanced hand-free as he tore off his bandanna and used the extra reach to get to Harry. "This should do it. Grab hold and hope the thing doesn't tear."
Harry reached once more and caught the knotted end. The boy grunted and then Harry's entire weight was on the thin scrap of fabric that had been a bandanna. But it was made of tougher stuff than he gave credit and held as the boy pulled him up onto the more stable wooden beam.
Both of the caught their breaths for a second, Harry holding desperately to the boy as the ship crested a swell. He took the time to look over his shoulder back at the Dutchman but his old ship was still in the water and not yet reacting to the Spiracle's escape.
But even as he watched the crewmen burst into action on its deck, a vaguely familiar voice coming over the wind. It wasn't Davy Jones' – Harry could just about see the Captain's immobile form being carted off by his crew but whoever it was, the Dutchman wheeled around and started up on the Spiracle's tail.
Not good.
"Let's get down. So you can turn or whatever," Harry said.
The other boy nodded, jumped up and offered him a hand. Harry, leery of risking his fall again, jerked his head and shuffled on his stomach, hugging the beam close to his chest. He hadn't made a few meters before the odd positioning and the roughness of the timber had scratched a dozen marks on his arms.
"That's not going to work, buddy. Come on, I won't let you fall and the netting's only a few steps away."
Harry took the hand this time, and shaking, got to his feet. It was in both parts thrilling and an extreme anxiety inducer for him to stand with nothing on either side on a bit of wood dozens of meters in the air, with the only source of stability a boy who looked hardly capable of keeping his own balance. But keep their balance they did and it was with the other's calm encouragement that Harry found his footing.
"That's it, buddy. Just come on, step at a time. That's it. You're not half bad at this. All right. Steady. Steady on. And there, grab hold of this and you're good to get down."
He sighed with relief when they reached the rope netting but Harry knew he couldn't let himself relax until he had climbed all the way down and onto the rocking deck. As soon as they had transferred, the sail twisted as men underneath pulled it straight and it caught the full of the oncoming wind. Harry could almost feel the ship surge ahead.
The rocking of the deck was a familiar rock and much more welcome than the wild swinging on the ropes above, but as Harry set foot on the planks, a shiver shot up his spine. Something wasn't right. There was an itch where he couldn't scratch and while it was something subtle, Harry had never felt anything like it.
Then the clamour around him quickly took hold of his attention as the crew – in a way not unlike the Dutchman's – scattered about, working together under the orders of a bare chested man at the helm. He and everyone else on the ship wore a similar bandanna as the boy – blue cloth patterned with grey stripes.
Behind the man, Harry saw the tattered sails of the Dutchman, further away that they had been a minute ago. They were escaping. Running ahead, riding the wind just like they had before Harry's wind pushed the Dutchman close. Now that he wasn't on board, they were sure to make it.
His helper swung down lightly beside him and Harry turned with a grin.
"We're faster!" Harry said. "It's not going to catch up to us."
The boy looked over but didn't seem to share Harry's joy. "We thought we'd clear them before but they were playing with us. I don't think we're anywhere near getting clear, and with the Spiracle hit…"
The smile slipped off of Harry's face with the boy's grim outlook and he glanced nervously in the direction of the Dutchman. If they were to catch up – if Harry had to go back under the rule of Davy Jones and be in the company of Pugwash and Benny…" Harry shuddered.
Grue's cries echoed back to him for a moment and Harry bit his lip, shaking away the guilt of leaving his… what was Grue? Friend? Companion? A good man, in any case, and one who had suffered under Benny enough that Harry felt responsible.
Harry didn't want to think about what would happen to the man after this stunt of his. They must understand that punishing Grue when Harry had already escaped would be pointless – they must!
"Come on. You're not going to be of use to anyone just standing around like that. With me and we'll help raise the main topsail." The boy hesitated and an odd look came over his face. "Unless you're hurt anywhere? Getting catapulted like that from that… evil ship – and you being a landlubber and all."
Catapulted? So he hadn't seen. Harry nodded once. "No I'm fine." He didn't know much about sailing or boats but Harry was sure of one thing and it was that sailors were a superstitious lot. Jones' crew had thrown him, but they weren't so much sailors as monsters on a boat. These men on the Spiracle? Harry wouldn't chance it even if he knew the flame freezing charm.
"Although how did you know-"
"Any man can see you're unfamiliar with the rigging. By the Gods I hadn't seen someone so helpless on a mains rope since… actually, I don't think I've ever seen something like that ever."
Seeing Harry's embarrassment, the humour seeped out of the boy and he turned serious with a glance back at their pursuer.
"Now come on. We'll need all the hands we have and you'll play your part for the ship that'll save your ass."
Harry couldn't help Grue any more, but if he could make the wind do the same trick as he had before, he would nearly guarantee these men their lives. Superstition or not, if it came to a matter of life and death, Harry wouldn't hesitate. That would be a vow.
"I'll do my best," Harry said and held out a hand. "I'm Harry."
"William. William Turner but you can call me Bill."
And so they shook.
AN: Two surprising things happened this chap that I hadn't planned on. Tho I think they make good additions to the fic. Thoughts? Reviews are appreciated as always.
So I'm going to be alternating updates with this and my other fic, Let Live and Let Die, a HP x Death Note. Until next time, 31st.
