Chapter 9
The Spiracle had just touched the broad planks of the sea-town's dock when its captain leaned over the helm.
"Quick, set the ropes and make a run for it, boys. The Spiracle's served us well but our lives are at the knife. The Dutchman's not to have us with our friends in Poulston at our back."
Hat and coat askew, the man was a mess. His crew were no better, but that was to be expected after surviving an attack from the Flying Dutchman, hull pierced and half flooded. Still, covered in grease and all of them drenched in sea water, they moved as one.
The mast was lowered, ropes left untied. The captain waved sharp at the dock and the men slid off the ropes to land on the planks with thuds. Harry, pulled along by Bill, gaped at the similarity to the Dutchman's seawalk. This time, he didn't need to get thrown.
It wasn't far from Spiracle's deck to the dock, certainly it was less intimidating than having to jump right into the sea.
"grip the rope with your shirt. Don't hold it with your bare hands or your skin'll get rubbed raw." Bill pulled a scrap of cloth over his hands. Harry followed suit.
Then, together they descended from the ship, speeding for two rapid seconds until Harry landed on the wood. He stumbled, letting go of the rope and caught himself before he could step on Bill's toes. He shook his hands out. Bill was right. Without his shirt, his sands would be a mess.
"Hey. Hey!"
Harry looked up at a small shack on the side of the dock, held up from the water by stilts. A window had been cut through, unboardered by glass and a man peaked out, scowling down at them. He held a small notebook in his hand and tapped irritably at a wooden box.
"There's no ship that be settled in Poulston without the proper tithe be paid. Who's the captain of this… Spiracle, isn't it?"
"By the Sea, damn the tithe, man," came the Captain, sliding down as the last of his men came aboard. "We come on the forefront of the Dutchman. Chased by Davey Jones and his crew. If I hadn't seen them myself-"
The man in the tithe house spat. "Old fish wife tales, bleeding Davy Jones. I'll have your name and I'll be calling the authorities… Oy. Oy, where do you think you're going?"
Harry, hurried along with the rest of them, turned to Bill and in a hush, "Won't it be easier if we pay?"
Bill blinked at him. "Pay? Crack open the coffers in the captain's quarters and satisfy that rat of a man? Buddy, you've got some strange priorities."
"But he's going to call the cop- uhh. The authorities."
"Good. We'll stand better chance against those monsters if there's more men. Call the whole town."
Ahead of them was a thin strip of buildings set close to the water's edge. A large building sat at the forefront, doors ajar and a sign swinging above. Single storey, but sprawling on a stone foundation, windows small but well wiped. As they neared, the clamour of the crew reached a high. A few curious heads peaked out, gaping at the sight of a whole ship's worth of men heading for the bar's doors.
The Captain smashed through the doors and the crew crowded in behind him. Harry and Bill sneaked a spot by the back, barely able to get a look at the room through the gaps between the men's sides. The place was crammed with circular tables, some filled, some not. At the front, a low horizontal bar , wiped down by a young woman in a tattered dress. She eeped at the sight of all the men, dropped her rag and dashed behind a low slung door to the back.
A low murmuring started among the tabbed patrons. Then from behind the door stepped a large, tanned man, clad only in a pair of trousers and a pair of spectacles. His upper body was thickly muscled, save for his right arm, which was missing. If he was surprised at the amount of men in his bar, he didn't show it as he leaned on his single arm and furrowed his brows at the Spiracle's men.
"Why don't you have a seat, men? First beer's on the house but the rest you'll have to pay, same as any other." The bar owner's fingers tapped on the wood, a quick four beats thunderingly loud in comparison.
Harry leaned out from behind one of the larger men and saw the previous girl staring back at him. She was young. No more than nine or ten but her hair was tied back in a harsh knot and her face rubbed with dirt. The bartender's daughter? Or grand-daughter?
She gripped the handle of a broom, knuckles white. Harry thought he could empathise.
"No. No beer. The Dutchman 's due in no more than a third of the clock. Rouse your friends, take your women to the hills. We've got to make haste!"
"The Dutch?" the barkeeper said. "What business does the Dutch have on the port of Poulston? And better yet, what quarrel would we have with them?"
"Not the Dutch, papa." All eyes turned to the girl. She stared back, lips pursed, eyes wide.
"Quiet, Missy. Go clean the kitchens like a good girl."
"You should listen to your girl," said Spiracle's Captain. "Go on, lassie. Tell him what's coming for us."
She hesitated, took a step back. She brought the mop in front of her, as if to ward off the attentions of the people in the bar. Then, wordless, she turned tail and fled. The Captain shrugged and stepped forward to take a stand at the front of the room.
"Not the Dutch, my friend. The Dutchman. The Flying Dutchman."
All at once, whispers broke out in the bar. Whispers and no small amount of scoffs.
"The Flying Dutchman?" The bartender chuckled, his single hand moving up to adjust his glasses. "I think this fellow's had a little too much salt water to drink."
Harry could understand – he really could. People didn't react well when they're told there's magic. Not even, it seemed, sailors. He pushed his way to the front, ignoring the way Bill tugged at his sleeve and the way eyes turned to stare. Harry struggled to keep his hand from smoothing down his fringe or going to his throat.
"It's true. About the Dutchman. And Davy Jones as well. I've seen it. I've been on his ship."
Bill broke through to stand beside him.
"I've seen it as well," Bill said. "Jones and his crew. We nearly didn't make it here."
The bartender looked at them, eyes sure and still. "Ship scrubbers of yours, Captain…"
"Turner. Captain Turner. And they tell the truth."
Harry turned to Bill, eyes wide. The captain was his father? Bill shrugged.
"The words of boys are hardly more reliable than that of-"
The doors smacked open, stopping the bartender in his tracks. The man from the tithe house stumbled in, grasping at his stomach and heaving breaths. The Spiracle's men cleared a path for him and he went straight to the bartender.
"A ship. A black ship, so torn it looks like she should've long been taken to the depths but it's not sunk that she was. She rose."
A shiver ran down the length of Harry's back. He gripped Bill's arm tight, eyes wide. They were here already. Jones and his men were here already and they hadn't even convinced the men of Poulston that the Dutchman existed.
"Calm your tongue, man. How do you mean, she rose?"
"Rose. Right out of the water, flopped up like some glued together driftwood, held down too long, you know what I'm saying."
"You're sure of what you saw. Haven't indulged in the spirits have you?"
The man paused, mid gulp, beer in hand. He finished the pitcher off before he spoke. "First drink of the day. I swear."
By now, the whole place was silent as it had been under the seas, with only two voices clear as the cackle of the Dutchman's captain. Harry spun around, heart in his throat, half-expecting a tentacle to curl around his jaw, the slick clammy cool grease on his skin, the foul breath in his face. But there was nothing.
"The Flying Dutchman," the barkeep murmured. "Perhaps it is true." The one-armed man rubbed his eyes from behind his spectacles. Then, when he looked back up, his gaze was serious. "And men? Were there any crew on the deck of the ship?"
"None. It was abandoned."
Harry looked from one to another, horror mounting in his stomach. "Not abandoned," he said. "They're on their way here. Right now."
He looked up at Bill's father, trying his whole to convey his desperation. The townspeople could not be here when the Dutchman's crew arrived. Harry couldn't be here. He'd downed their captain. He'd see what had been done to old Talley, what had been done to Grue just to tease out his power.
"You have to go. All of you. Now."
Everyone was listening now, even the girl from before had come out from the back room. But no one moved. What about leaving did they not understand? But not a one made to stand. There was worry, yes, but no fear, no urgency.
"Hold on, hold on," the barkeep started, "The Dutchman? According to legend-"
"Davy Jones can only come ashore once every ten years," his daughter finished.
Harry frowned. That couldn't be right. Jones had gone to that island just a day ago to burry whatever was in that chest. Jones was fearful enough with his tentacles, it wouldn't be impossible if people made up tales about him. Perhaps if everyone thought Jones could only terrify them one night in ten years, they'd find his existence easier to deal with.
"Besides, there was only one ship, who knows what's gone on with it. Someone get to the docks and check it out. Might be some hapless merchant vessel who lost their way or caught by a storm."
As the people around him started nodding, Harry felt the atmosphere of the room change. The mere mention of the word 'legend' served to call back to the previous incredulity. He'd be all up for reason and getting a better look at things if he wasn't so damn sure it was them.
"And even if it was the Dutchman, you should'a collected the proper tithe, my man," the barkeep said in jest.
Harry and Bill shared a glance. This wasn't good. They had to do something and fast. Something decisive. Mere words wasn't going to do it for these townsfolk, not that Harry blamed them, but in this case, how he wished that they'd just blindly accept that running was their best choice.
Harry felt the bumps of his wand handle through his shirt as he hugged his arms tight. He knew what he had to do.
"The Dutchman's captain may not be able to come to land," Harry said. A lie, most likely, but it didn't matter what was truth when everyone believed a falsity. "But his crew certainly can. They can and they will. You stand no chance."
"And how do you know about that, boy?" The barkeep leaned back down, challenge clear in his voice. "The legends are one and the same but there's no mention of the Dutchman's crew."
Harry stepped forward.
"I'm the proof."
He passed his hand around his neck, concentrating on reversing the changes he'd made on board the Spiracle. Behind him, Bill drew in a harsh breath. That's right, Harry thought, you knew what you saw. It wouldn't matter if Bill hated him for lying, it wouldn't matter if he feared him for being part of Jones' crew. If this is what it took for everyone to be safe, then so be it.
The skin changed under his hand, thin slits forming around the sides, lightly tender and much more sensitive than it had been. But the changes didn't stop.
Harry gasped as he touched cold, wet skin. There was slime under his finger-tips, now familiar as the same gunk that coated the boards of the Dutchman's deck. No. No. Harry stumbled back, raising one hand to the light. He was turning. Becoming part of the ship.
Around him, the room came alive as people stood and chairs cluttered to the floor. They were pushing back away from him. In a distant, shock-absorbed part of his mind, Harry registered the familiar voice of Bill's, but couldn't place the emotion. How could so much have changed? Grue – he had been on the Dutchman for years. Harry had only been sworn for days. How?
All he could think about was the pulsing lump of coral on Davy Jones' ship, stuck in place from the mass of barnacle and seaweed that grew equally on flesh as on wood. Harry couldn't turn out like that. He was Harry. Harry Potter. He couldn't become something like that. There was magic. He'd find a way. He had to find a way.
But first, Harry thought he'd rather like to make that barkeeper put down that knife. And keep the rest of the patrons from taking up ones of their own. From behind, he heard the crack of a pistol's safety. And he had to worry about Bill's lot as well, now that he showed himself as part of the group who blew holes into their ship.
As slow as he could manage, Harry moved his hand closer to his wand, still in his sleeve. Then he thought better of it. A second year, facing off against a room of full grown men? Even if they didn't have magic, even if there was just three. Harry dropped his arms and focused everything he had on turning back human. Let it be enough.
AN: Feel like there was way too many OCs in here. Sorry if that was annoying. Major thanks to be-geste for an excellent review that made me revisit my passions and hopes for this story. There's so much I want to get to! It's just sometimes I lose track and need a good kick to keep going.
