Disclaimer: I do not own Harry, Hermione, Draco, or Ginny. I am simply borrowing them, and stashing them in a certain seafaring fantasy world I also do not happen to own. Whether I put them back where they belong afterwards is another matter entirely...
Claimer: Captain Wentmark and his 'welcoming' crew are figments of my own imagination.
=Chapter 5: Washed Up=
The song had been stuck in Will's head for the past four hours. He knew the only way to get it out of that dark, muddled place was to sing it, but he dared not. Not after only just convincing his fellow seamen that his throat was too sore and raspy to manage anything beyond a whisper- not at all fit for singing.
That was the excuse. Tidy, feasible. It was the first fib Will had told since his mother was- since she passed away. Pretty foolish thing to fib about, he thought stiffly, as he pulled himself up to the next toehold on the ratlines, gripping the ropes harder than usual, on account of his sudsy hands.
Spanish Ladies. That was the halyard shanty the men had requested this morning. And the song they'd requested as the forebitter last evening. A grand total of six times. Perhaps that was why the never-ending, rhymey, 'farewell and adieu' tune was stuck in Will's head now- or perhaps that was just cosmic punishment.
Plucking one of the two wooden clothespins out from between his teeth, Will pinned the left sleeve of the blue-checkered sailor's shirt to the ratlines directly in front of him. But as he reached for the second pin, the wind picked up, slapping the dripping shirt into Will's face, dislodging the pin from Will's clenched teeth, and sending it tumbling.
Shoving the shirt out of his face, Will's eyes sprang down to the deck, where the clothespin was rolling to-and-fro between two hefty clothes-baskets, mimicking the ship's sway.
But something else caught Will's eye in the late-day sunlight, just over the ship's rail, lolling into and out of his line of sight. At first glance, it looked like a black coat floating in the water. It must have fallen off the line... Will figured. Abandoning the half-pinned shirt, he monkeyed down the ratlines, jumped the final three rope-steps, and hit the deck lightly on one bare foot and one scraped knee. Springing back up, Will hurried over to the rail, stubbing his toe on the clothespin in his haste, and took a second look overboard. There was something pale lodged in the folds of the black, bobbing coat, and as the waves tumbled it over, Will saw an elbow and half a face, and realized it was a boy.
"Man overboard- uh, BOY OVERBOARD!" Will called out desperately to the empty deck of the Avalon, looking around frantically for a loose line or anything else he could throw down to rescue the boy.
"Sore throat indeed," Will heard a leather voice cackle. "Ya don't look overboard to me."
"Not me, him!" Will said urgently, pointing overboard. "And my throat's feeling much better now, thanks."
"Jolly good, sing Mariner's Revenge, shantyboy," Mr. Dagge joked with a straight face, crossing his arms in front of his wrinkled shirt.
"But he's drowning!" Will protested, turning away from the ornery sailor to start rapidly unwinding a rope from its belaying pins.
Dagge looked unconcerned, sarcastic even. "Ever heerd the story of the boy what called wolf, lad?" he asked.
"But he's right there!" Will exclaimed desperately. "Drowning!"
"The tale starts with this ickle-bitty sheperd boy, much like yerself- Hoy!" Dagge yapped, as Will started tying the rope around his own small waist, "Now see here, what be ya doin', you dunderheaded urchin?"
"I'm going to save him, if you won't," Will retorted, jumping over the rail- only to be jerked back by the waist halfway down. He scrambled madly, trying to slip out of the rope, as the sailor hoisted him back up.
"Where's yer head, boy? Ya tryin to keelhaul yerself? Folks get drownded thataway."
"But he's going to get plowed under by the keel, and then he'll be killed for certain!" Will gasped out, squirming in Dagge's grip, and trying to loosen the tight rope constricting his waist.
The sailor glanced lazily over the rail. "Looks fer certain dead ta me anyhow," he drawled. "Besides, ever pondered mebbe somefolks had a reason ta throw him overboard? Just get a gander of that black shroud. Prolly a plague carrier. And look at that pasty pale leprous skin! Looks to be a vampire whelp, I'd reckon."
"You can't just assume someone's a minion of the Devil just because they're pale," Will snapped back.
"He's floatin', ain't he?"
"That doesn't mean a thing, except that he might still be alive!" Will hissed. "We have to save him, it's the only Christian thing to do!"
"I'm atheist."
"Figures," Will muttered. Filching the pocketknife from Dagge's trouser pocket, Will hastily cut himself free from the rope binding his waist, nicking his skin in his hurry, and the second he was loose, he jumped over the rail.
When he resurfaced from his badly thought-out dive, Will could hear Mr. Dagge echoing his earlier call of, "BOY OVERBOARD!", except with a few colorful, impolite adjectives thrown in.
Ignoring the cussing sailor, Will seized the exceedingly drowned-looking boy by his arm, flipping him over so that he was face-up again. Then, hoisting the limp kid over his shoulder, and trying his best to keep both their heads abovewater, Will dropped the knife, and one-handedly paddled hard away from the churning white wake near the ship's keel.
Gasping through the splashing water, and fighting against the undertow dragging at his ankles, Will howled out, "Help!", realizing, a bit too late, that he'd knifed his only means of getting back on the ship.
"Help!" he heard echoed.
"Help?" Will repeated, wondering why his voice would echo in the middle of the ocean, and why his echo sounded so... girly.
"Malfoy?" the echo said faintly, and Will was pretty sure he hadn't said that. "Harry, he's this way, I heard him!"
"Who's... there?" Will called out tentatively.
"Who do you think?" a boy's voice called back sarcastically.
Honestly, Will didn't know what to think. But just as he was about to reply, a thick hemp rope was flung half-onto his head and shoulder.
"William!" a stern voice from up on the ship commanded. "Loop the rope round your waist, lad, and we'll hoist you up here spiffy." It sounded like First Mate Phillip- you could always count on Phillip to keep on top of any situation that needed being kept on top of.
Shrugging off the heavy rope, Will tied it securely around the pale lad's waist instead, and then gripped the rope firmly, and called back, "Alright, ready!"
"Ready for what?" the sarcastic, faraway, mystery boy's voice- presumably Harry- asked impatiently, sounding closer than before.
Will squinted hard through the curling seafog, trying in vain to pick out any solid shapes. "Just keep calling, we'll save you!" he assured the voices in the mist.
"Who's we?" Harry asked warily, as Will and the pale boy were tugged backwards toward the ship. "Malfoy, is that even you?"
"Are you from the Ministry of Magic?" the girlish voice put in excitably.
I must have simply heard that wrong, on account of the water in my ears, Will reasoned dizzily. But he didn't have the time or concentration to answer, as he and the pale boy were dragged up over the guardrail, onto the solid wooden deck of the Avalon.
"Where'd that come from?" exclaimed one of the sailors who'd pulled them up- Mr. Lore, to be precise- as he gawked at the wraithishly pale drowning victim.
Ignoring the rest of the surprised, edgy comments of the crew, Will staggered rapidly across the deck, spotted an empty barrel, tipped it on it's side, and rolled it back toward the unconscious boy.
The rest of the sailors watched on in confused fascination, as Will draped the drowned boy chest-first over the barrel, and started rolling it back-and-forth, pounding on the boy's back. It was an old trick Will had learned from an Amsterdam sailor, who'd saved him from drowning once.
After about a minute of this rolling and bashing, the boy started choking, and coughing out copious amounts of seawater. Coming to at last, he staggered upright, took one dizzy, swaying look at Will, and sneered, "You look like a Muggle."
Grinning back, Will said, "You're alive! He's alive!" Turning to Mr. Dagge, he added, "See, he's alive."
"Don't mean he won' drop dead any minute now from the plague," Dagge snorted.
"He's a plague carrier?" the sickly young navigator, Thomas Tallowick, asked nervously, lifting his shirt-cuff up to cover his mouth. "You're most dreadfully certain, are you?"
"Any minute now," Dagge repeated, plucking the silver-chained pocketwatch out of Tallowick's vest pocket, and peering pointedly at it.
"You all look like Muggles!" the blond sneered, writhing the tight coil of rope off his waist and down his legs, kicking it away from him, and darting his eyes around in a hunted way, as though he thought all the sailors were a herd of muddy rhinos which would charge him any instant.
"Throw him back overboard!" roared another sailor who's name Will forgot- Norman, or Norris, or something.
Jumping defensively in front of the new boy, Will protested fervently, "He's not, he's not, really he's not- he's no more a plague carrier than I!"
"Tha's right, he's been in contact with the plague carrier!" Norman (or Norris) concluded importantly. "Plague's contagious, isn' it? Tha's why it's called plague! Throw both the brats overboard! But don't touch 'em- Smack 'em off with an oar or somefin!"
"What's this about throwing my cabin boy overboard?" came the calm, orderly voice of the captain. "And Norman, kindly drop that oar."
Will breathed a short gasp of relief, glad to have another level head on deck.
"Young William there fished up a plague carrier, sir," Phillip informed him blandly. "Or so I'm told."
"It's not true, Captain," Will protested desperately, "he's just a boy who was drowning and- and there's at least two more down there- I suspect they're the victims of shipwreck-"
"No, we were Portkeyed," coughed the wet, furiously scowling blond, tucking his crossed arms tightly around his ribcage.
"There are no ports, not within leagues of here," Will informed the nettled boy patiently, "we're in the middle of the Atlantic."
"Maybe the lad was keelhauled?" one of the sailors behind Will guessed.
Turning back to his First Mate, Captain Wentmark said, "Phillip, do take a longboat and some men and search for survivors. If there are any, we must fish them up presently. Steady there, William," the captain added, snatching Will by the shoulder as he tagged after Phillip, eager to join the rescue party.
"But I want to help," Will protested.
"And so you shall. See to the new boy, lad, get him cleaned up and dried off and settled, won't you."
"Yes sir," Will replied dutifully, as Wentmark paced distractedly away.
"I'm cleaner than any of you filthy Muggle scum could ever dream of being!" the pale boy called out nastily.
"He's just swallowed too much seawater, he's not thinking clearly!" Will quickly and loudly apologized to anyone nearby who'd heard that.
"I'm thinking as crystal-clearly as cut diamonds, not that you'd have ever seen any of those, Muggle boy," the boy snapped back.
Trying to look as friendly and non-threatening as possible, Will took several steps closer to the newcomer, until he was within handshaking distance. "Look, I know you must be scared," Will began soothingly, "and you must be worried about your friends-"
"I don't have friends," the boy cut in snidely, "I have acquaintances, and they- well, they're at the bottom of the moving staircases, aren't they? And I don't see why I should be worried about them, seeing as they weren't kidnapped by a deranged newsie pretending to be an astronomy teacher, and they weren't subjected to the humiliation of being trapped in my parents' memories, and they weren't dumped in the middle of the bloody beastly Muggle-infested ocean. And get away, you'll contaminate me!"
"I'm no more a plague carrier than you," Will argued exasperatedly.
"I said get away!" the blond snarled, sharply shoving Will in the chest, and in the process, unbalancing himself-
-Will quickly caught the boy by the front of his odd black robe, just in time to keep him from falling backwards over the rail, and pulled him hard back towards his chest. They both tumbled safely onto the deck.
Before Will could breath a sigh of relief or say, 'that was close', the blond boy punched him in the shoulder, then the ribs.
"Ow! What are you hitting me for?" Will demanded, rolling out of the way of a third blow.
"You started it," the blond snapped back.
"I was under the impression I just saved your life! Twice!"
"Well, aren't you delusional."
"I just saved your life," Will repeated slowly, still reeling slightly from the unexpected blows.
"What, by smashing my spine in, and trying to knock me off the ruddy boat, and shoving me down onto this ghastly splintery floor?"
"I think we've got off on the wrong foot here," Will said with forced pleasantry, getting to his feet, and offering the blond a hand up. "My name's Will Turner."
"Like, I care?" the boy scoffed, eyeing Will's hand as though it were slimy, diseased, and crawling with maggots.
"My name's Will Turner," Will said again, the forced smile straining painfully at his face. Maybe somebody did throw this twit overboard for a reason... "And you are?" Will added congenially.
"Seriously late for transfiguration class."
Remembering what the voices in the mist had said, Will asked, "Is your name Malfoy?"
"Lucky guess," Malfoy spat back. But suddenly, his whole face changed, and looking at Will with the first trace of interest, he asked, "Hey wait, that couldn't possibly have been a lucky guess- hey, are you a wizard?"
"No," Will shot back instantly, and perhaps a bit too defensively; subconsciously looking away, and rubbing his punched shoulder.
"Oh," Malfoy drawled, going back to haughtily ignoring Will, and staring critically around the cluttered deck. "I'd bet ten week's allowance that this clunker can't even fly," Malfoy scoffed lazily.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" Will asked politely, trying to pretend he hadn't just heard that.
"Yes, you can hurl yourself overboard, and rid the world of another useless, worthless, filthy Muggle."
"Look," Will said, swallowing his nagging irritation, "I'm going to find us both something dry to wear, so just stay here, and don't fall overboard." Will started off up the stairs to the quarterdeck, and in through the door to the unlit Great Cabin, but a moment later, he hurried back down, and added, "Actually, better just come with."
"What, afraid of the dark?" Malfoy mocked. "Ow, let go of me, Muggle!" he growled, as Will snatched his wrist, and tugged him along up the stairs.
Trying to ignore the fact that the glowering, disagreeable blond was purposefully digging his perfectly trimmed nails into his forearm, Will led the twit to his quarters, which was basically a large broom closet adjoining Captain Wentmark's spacious cabin.
"You live in a closet?" Malfoy scoffed, crossing his arms again. "What are you, a House Elf?"
Ignoring him, Will struck a match, lit the lantern hanging on a hook near his hammock, untied the drawstring to a small satchel containing the precious few items he owned, and fished out his only other pair of clothes, the nice ones. "These should fit you, you look about my size," Will estimated, holding the outfit out to Malfoy.
"Oh I am so not your size, you puny, runty, diseased, malnourished, little insolent scrap of Muggle skin and bones-"
But the astronomically irritating blond's insults were cut off by the First Mate's voice ringing out on deck, saying- "Got 'em Captain, safe and sound! We couldn't find any but these youngsters. And no trace of a ship, either... and as a matter of fact, no wreckage. Odd, really."
Glad for an excuse to leave, Will tossed his neatly folded Sunday clothes at Malfoy, and said, "The door doesn't align right with the doorframe, but it'll stay shut if you shove that bit of broken anchor fluke in front of it. I assume you know how to dress yourself." With that, Will promptly dashed through the captain's cabin, and back out on deck, to see if there were any more agreeable children his age amongst the survivors.
Halfway down the stairs to the maindeck, Will caught sight of the returning sailors clambering out of their jollyboats and onto the ship. Among them, looking fairly lost, was a short boy with wet black bangs drooping over beetle-green spectacles. He wasn't crossing his arms and glaring and calling everybody 'Muggles', anyway, so that was a good sign.
Will started practically bouncing down the stairs again, excited to meet this new possible friend.
But he stopped rigid when he saw the girl. Will had never seen a wetter, prettier lass. She looked like a Naiad, she looked like a nymph, she looked like a pixie, she looked delicate, with a pert little nose, and much too short a skirt, and- she looked up.
Will's breath caught in his throat as he ducked back behind the stair-rails. It occurred to him that he'd never actually met a girl his age. He'd only ever watched them, from a safe distance.
"Ahoy, William, come on down, lad!" Captain Wentmark called up to him.
Trying to preserve his dignity and pretend he hadn't been hiding behind balustrade-bars, Will stood mechanically, and obediently walked down the stairs, towards the young castaways. They both wore odd black robes just like Malfoy's over their strange, waterlogged clothes. Same striped neckties too, only theirs were red-and-gold instead of green-and-silver, like Malfoy's.
"William, I'm putting these three hapless victims of mischance in your charge, along with that other boy," the captain told him in his perfectly businesslike voice.
"Aye, sir," Will responded, and it was only now that the captain mentioned it, that he noticed the third child, a dainty, blank-faced ginger girl, hovering behind the boy in the green glasses. She wore a black robe and red-and-gold necktie too- but it wasn't the only thing around her neck. She also wore a very peculiar- very fanciful- very pricey looking necklace, all glistening with strands of gold chains, pearls, shells, amber, charms, and water droplets, and... All that gold was glinting much brighter than her dead looking eyes, in fact.
"But supposin' they're all plague carriers..." Dagge growled ominously. "Suspiciously shiny plague carriers," he added, also noticing the ginger's stunning necklace, on account of having eyes.
"The Black Plague, you mean?" trilled the pixie girl, turning to face Dagge with a winning smile. "Oh, never fear, if we had that, you'd know it, it would be horrid- we'd be covered head-to-toe with black boils on our neck, under our arms, or on our thighs- and they'd be split open, and oozing pus and blood, and possibly the size of an orange- and we'd be feverish, or with chills, or coughing, or vomiting, or nauseous, or sweating, or coughing up blood; and we'd have gangrene of the fingers, toes, lips and nose- making them black, the plague's namesake, not pretty; and we'd definitely be bleeding out of the ears- that starts within twelve hours of infection, so, obviously, unless we caught the plague earlier today, we don't have it- oh- and we'd smell revolting. And besides all that, the last significant European outbreak of bubonic plague was the Great Plague of Marseille in 1720, so obviously we-,"
"Seventeen-twenty?" the ever-squinting lookout, Ollie Shingleton, interrupted skeptically as he shuffled by. "As in, the year seventeen-twenty? As in, a whole three years from now?"
The girl blinked, glanced around more carefully at the ship and sailors, cleared her throat, then said slowly, while rolling her eyes up to the left as if trying to recall something, "I did, of course, mean to say- the Great Plague of Vienna, 1679, which occurred roughly two score years ago- since of course, it is, currently, the year 1717."
"Really?" the boy in the green spectacles asked.
"If you ask me," the pixie girl swiftly and stiffly added, ignoring the boy, "the medieval Black Plague was really all the fault of whoever killed the cats. See, if people hadn't been so superstitious and thought cats were evil, and slaughtered them mercilessly, then the cats would've killed the rats, and the rat fleas wouldn't have spread so disastrously."
"You seem ta know an unhealthy deal about Plague, little missy," Thomas Tallowick mumbled uneasily.
She shrugged, making her wet hair spiral in strange and interesting ways on her tiny, black-robed shoulders, and said simply, "I read a lot."
"You read?" Dagge repeated derisively.
"Excuse me," the pixie girl said with strained decorum, and a mildly miffed waver to her voice, "is the first boy you rescued alright?"
"He's breathing," Will replied tactfully, since he hadn't found out yet whether Malfoy had any injuries, so he might not be alright in body, and he certainly wasn't 'alright' in the head. House Elves and flying ships, and all that rot.
"William, my boy," Captain Wentmark directed sensibly, "do take these very wet children and clothe them."
"Sir?" Will put in hesitantly, "I um- just hung up the wash- it won't be dry for at least a half-hour yet."
"Quite, quite, and besides, it's all too large, isn't it?" Wentmark concluded. "Follow me, children."
Will tagged after, wondering if the captain was really going to lend some of his own clothing to possibly-plague-ridden children he'd never met. As his captain and the newcomers stepped foot on the stairs, Will raced up past them, to open the Great Cabin's door. He gripped the handle snugly in his jittery hand, holding the door ajar, and waiting respectfully for the others to go through first.
The pixie girl stepped so close to him as she walked by that she almost touched him, and when she suddenly turned to him and said, "Why thank you, that's ever-so-gentlemanly of you," it took all of Will's concentration to nod and smile back.
The first thing Will noticed as he followed the others into the dark cabin interior, was that the door to his room was still ajar.
As Wentmark made his way to the back of his cabin, toward the stern windows, he called back over his shoulder, "Fetch their half-drowned friend, would you William?"
"Aye sir," Will replied dutifully.
"'Friend' is a stretch," the bespectacled boy muttered, as Will brushed past him.
As suspected, Malfoy was still standing in Will's boxy little room, in exactly the same spot, exactly the same position, exactly the same expression of indignant snobbery. He hadn't changed yet. In fact, the only thing that had changed was the puddle of ocean saltwater around Malfoy's shiny black shoes, which was a tiny bit wider, due to the water trickling from his pale hair, down his neck, to his elbows, to his wrists, to his knees, to his socks, to his shoelaces, to the floorboards.
"Right where I left you," Will commented dryly. Glancing at the puddle, he added, "I presume you know how to mop."
Malfoy arched a single eyebrow, without moving any other muscle in his face, then shot back acidly, "Why would I know how to mop?"
"Sorry, evidently I shouldn't have assumed you know anything," Will replied nicely, expertly masking his sarcasm. "I'm here to fetch you."
"Fetch me?" Malfoy repeated indignantly.
"Oh, sorry again, I assumed you knew what fetching was," Will said in the same infinitely nice tone. "Allow me to demonstrate."
Grabbing one of Malfoy's folded elbows, Will snatched up his neatly-folded pile of unwanted Sunday clothes with his other arm, and exited his room again, with difficulty. Malfoy's shoes squeaked and skidded across the smoothly sanded woodwork all the way out, but at least he wasn't nailing him this time.
Two steps out of Will's room, Malfoy viciously twisted his arm backwards out of Will's grip, then warned him in a murderous hiss, "Touch me again, Muggle, and I WILL steal Potter's wand, turn you into a slug, and step on you."
"My wand wouldn't work for you, Malfoy," Harry shot back smugly. From which Will guessed that Harry's last name was Potter.
"Fine," Malfoy snapped sharply, "touch me again, Muggle, and I WILL steal Potter's wand, and ram it down your throat."
"When you say, wand," Will began hesitantly, "are you referring to a music conductor's wand, or a lacrosse stick?"
"Yes," the pixie-faced girl put in swiftly. "Malfoy meant conductor's wand. His father was a music conductor."
"He was not!" Malfoy retorted indignantly.
"But he wasn't much of a music conductor," the girl went on quickly. "He conducted music very poorly, which is why Malfoy is ashamed to speak of him."
"I am not!" Malfoy retorted, even more indignantly.
"And yes, Malfoy plays lacrosse."
"I do not!"
"But not very well."
"I do not!"
"Yes, you do not," the pixie girl agreed smugly.
"Over here children, if you please," Captain Wentmark called over from the aft of the cabin, where he was kneeling beside a painted, palm-wood sea-chest. He clicked open the curlicued brass clasps, and lifted the lid.
Coming closer, Will saw that the chest contained an odd assortment of nicknacks. There was a small wooden model of Da Vinci's flying machine, a brass telescope, a collection of shells of all types, sizes and colors strung on a length of twine, a pack of playing cards, and a knife with a carved scrimshaw handle, etched with an amateur depiction of a dragon attacking a ship.
Wentmark carefully pushed aside these trinkets, revealing the stack of folded clothes underneath. "These were my son's," he said softly, running his fingertips over the small, closely-spaced brass buttons of a very fine, patterned vest with vine motif.
"These were your son's?" Malfoy repeated skeptically, staring snidely at the pretty fabrics.
"I didn't know you had a son," Will said curiously.
"I don't."
"Oh. oh," Will replied, and suddenly he felt wretchedly stupid, and incomprehensibly sorry for his captain.
"Anyway," Wentmark went on casually, although Will could see his throat tightening under his cravat, "these should fit you three lads, you'd be about his age, in another year or twain."
"My clothes are just fine sir- I'm practically dry already-" Will protested, not wanting to accept so generous an offer- not to mention he was scared to death he'd get the clothes dirty, or tear the embroidery.
"William, I insist," Wentmark interrupted kindly, pushing a folded outfit into Will's hands- a teal tafetta shirt with bead-tipped ties, a tan velveteen vest with fancy black frogging and embroidery, and black knee breeches. Will accepted the old, fancy clothes silently.
Next, Wentmark handed Malfoy the patterned vest- it was long, red damask, festooned with brass buttons, and came with a pair of dark bronze breeches, also buttoned, and a lemon-and-white pinstriped shirt. Malfoy scowled distastefully at the clothes, and Will silently vowed that if he said one rude word about them, he'd sock him in the jaw.
Gently rustling through a few more precious keepsakes, Wentmark pulled another fine outfit out of the chest and handed it to Harry. It was a green-and-tan, brocade frock coat, with pale, minty, silk satin lining, silver hasps, and scalloped cuffs. The embroidery was of gold purl, metal sequins and floral ribbon, and slightly weathered and stained. There were matching knee breeches, and a dove-grey shirt with tiny blue pearl buttons. Harry took the clothes respectfully, peering sadly through his glasses at Wentmark.
"As for the ladies," Wentmark went on, as he closed the chest, "the bitty little amber-haired moppet there can wear your Sunday spares William, those are the only things small enough. And this lass here, with the clever eyes, can wear one of my shirts, and this vest here, as sort of a dress."
Wentmark handed the pixie girl a frilled, white linen shirt with ties, and a faded, peacock-blue vest, with lavender stitching in the seams, and lots of small straps and buckles in front.
Will handed the redhead girl his Sunday clothes- a white shirt, a plain black vest with a plain brass buckle in back, and dark tan knee breeches. He had to push them into her hands four times before her little fingers actually gripped onto them, and Will began to wonder if there was something somehow... wrong about her.
Wentmark scratched his wig contemplatively, then said, "I'm afraid there's only two pairs of shoes..."
"I'm fine without," Will said quickly. He didn't actually own a pair of shoes, and preferred to not wear them anyways.
"Me too," the pixie girl chimed in, "I'm fine. The floorboards are actually very nice."
Will was suddenly oddly glad he'd spent all of last Monday sanding and polishing the floor of Wentmark's cabin.
After taking one of the two pairs of buckled shoes, Malfoy pursed his lips irritably, shot an envious glance at Harry's greenish outfit, and held up the reddish one, saying, "Wanna swap?"
Both boys tossed the folded outfits to each other, then entered Will's room to change. Will followed, kicked the bit of anchor fluke in front of the door, and then started stripping off his black vest, tan shirt, and dark grey breeches, and pulled on his new, fancy, dry clothes over his damp white drawers. The other two boys changed in embarrassed silence, with their backs turned to each other, and Will got the impression that they weren't used to changing in front of other people. Obviously, they weren't used to living on ships either.
Will tied the last of the beaded ties on his teal shirt, put his wet clothes in a small pile in the corner of his room, and left the richly embroidered tan vest on his hammock. It really was just too nice to wear.
Glancing over his shoulder, Will saw that Malfoy hadn't bothered to take off his wet, green-and-silver striped necktie. He was also having trouble securing all the little hooks and eyes of his coat's hasps.
"Need some help?" Will asked.
"No," Malfoy snapped back, "I just can't figure out who would put fishhooks on a coat, or who would wear a coat in this climate."
"Maybe the same sort of person who would wear a black robe in this climate?" Will countered.
"Shut up, Muggle."
As soon as the other two boys were decently dressed, Will opened his door and stepped out- right in front of the pixie girl.
"Oh, I haven't even told you my name, have I?" she said apologetically. "I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Ginny Weasley. And he's Harry Potter, and of course," she added, glancing disapprovingly behind Will, "you've met Draco Malfoy. Goodness, you look funny in those clothes. Oh, I was talking to them- you look quite nice."
"I'm Will," Will said. "A pleasure to meet you all, welcome aboard the Avalon," he added quickly, desperate to be polite.
"Hullo, Will," Harry said from behind him.
"Is it true that you're the one who spotted us?" Hermione asked.
Will nodded nervously, wondering which one of the sailors had told her. Probably Phillip.
"We owe your our lives, Will." Hermione stepped up close to him, sopping wet and brimming with gratitude, and for a moment, Will was terrified that she might actually throw her arms around his neck and hug him. "Thank you-" she breathed, "-oh gosh, thank you."
Will forced an embarrassed smile, and nodded again. Smiling and nodding, that was the easiest response.
"Oh, stop gushing, would you Granger?" Draco sneered from behind Will.
"I'm only being polite," Hermione retorted defensively, glaring over Will's shoulder into his room.
"You're only being nauseating, as usual," Draco corrected.
"Cut it out, Malfoy," Harry snapped. "Just cut it out."
"William," Wentmark prompted, "do fetch us up some mugs of hot cocoa while the lasses are drying and dressing, won't you."
"Aye sir," Will said, maneuvering around the irritated girl, and then racing off. Will hurried out the cabin and down the stairs, jumping the rail for the last three steps, dashed across the deck, and into the galley.
In a tea kettle over the hearth, Dempsey Prynn, the sea cook, was already brewing the hot cocoa- and had, in fact, been preparing it from the moment Draco had first been fished up, since Wentmark had asked him to. Wentmark was considerate like that.
After helping Dempsey to arrange the pewter mugs on a tray, pour the hot cocoa, and top each mug with a few chips of muscavado sugar, Will took the tray, and returned to Wentmark's cabin, careful to lean with the sway of the ship underfoot, to keep the cocoa from spilling.
When Will came through the cabin door, Draco was lingering beside the doorway, with his back against a wall. He was peering at Wentmark across the cabin, and saying, under his breath, to Harry, "Isn't it dreadful how they look so much like us? How you can never really tell, from a distance? I mean, why can't they have spines or frills on their ears, or dog noses, or a great big 'M' branded on their foreheads, so that you can tell them apart from decent folk at a glance?"
At that same moment, Hermione and Ginny came out of Will's room, wearing their new clothes. Hermione was carrying all of the wet black robes, socks, sweaters, skirts, and Will's wet clothes, at arm's length, trying to keep them from soaking her new, dry, oversized shirt.
"You've really never met a Muggle before now, have you?" Hermione asked Draco in bemusement, from behind the pile of wet laundry.
"And if it were up to me," Draco went on to Harry, snidely ignoring Hermione, "I'd say we should brand a 'MB' into the foreheads of all Mudbloods."
"Oh shut up," Harry snapped, and Hermione shot Draco a glower, rushed up in front of him, and whispered sharply,
"Watch your mouth!"
"I can't, it's all the way down under my nose," Draco drawled. "But I'm sure you could watch your mouth without even trying- it's certainly big enough."
"I meant keep quiet about- you know-" Hermione went on, dropping her voice to a lower whisper, "terms that would be- out of place, in this place. And time."
"You said 'Muggle' too," Draco reminded her smugly.
"Cocoa?" Will asked, holding up the plate and making his presence known.
Hermione blinked at Will in surprise, obviously flustered that he'd overheard her words.
"Ah yes, William," Wentmark said from across the room, where he'd been lingering over an old book, while waiting for the children to change. "Just set it down here on the table, won't you."
Will obeyed, quickly.
"Now, come along, and have some cocoa, why not, and tell me all about your adventure, or tragedy, or twist of fate that landed you poor souls stranded a-sea," Wentmark said, beckoning the children over to the table, and pulling out seats.
"Er- where do you want me to put the wet clothes?" Hermione asked Will awkwardly, as the other children filed over to the table.
"Oh-" Will replied quickly. Racing out of the cabin again, down the stairs, and across the deck, he grabbed the basket of clothes he'd been hanging up earlier, ran back up stairs, in through the cabin door, in front of Hermione, and said breathlessly, "-here. Just leave them in here, I'll hang them to dry for you."
"Let me help you-" Hermione began, as she dumped the wet clothes in the clothesbasket.
"No, that's quite alright," Will interrupted, and he almost darted out the cabin door again, but Wentmark called over,
"Come along, William, leave your chores for later, and have some cocoa. Now," he added, once Will and the four newcomer children were settled around the large, fancy table, "Where is your ship?"
"There was a storm," Hermione said, but at the same moment, Harry said,
"It exploded-"
And Draco said- "Sunk by pirates."
"During a ferocious storm, pirates snuck up on our ship, exploded it, and sunk us to the deeps," Hermione said quickly, merging the three stories into one.
Will had the feeling she was being less than truthful here, and he wondered why- but not too deeply. Everyone was entitled to their secrets.
"Where's the wreckage?" Wentmark asked sensibly. "My men found nothing to suggest a ship was exploded where we found you, not a rope, nor barrel, nor splinter."
"Actually..." Hermione replied, "um... the pirates didn't explode us exactly- they sort of- um- swam under our ship and bored holes in the hull with an auger, and the whole ship sunk, straight to the bottom. There was no wreckage."
"But they tried to explode us," Harry put in after an uncomfortable pause.
Wentmark thought about this a moment, then said, "I've actually heard of such a tale."
"Yes- so have I," Hermione said with a nervous smile.
"The Golden Vanity, was it?" Wentmark commented casually, tilting his head to the side. "That poor cabin boy, betrayed by his captain like that. Such a sad folk song."
"Yes..." Hermione went on, "the pirates who sunk us must have been inspired by that very song."
"I imagine so," Wentmark said placidly, though Will could tell he wasn't convinced. "So you mean to say there was no flotsam or jetsam whatever that floated up from your sunken ship? Barrels? Ropes? Chests? Clothes? Flags?"
"Er-" Hermione stammered, "there was, I suppose-"
"But the pirates stole all that," Harry added in.
"And simply left you four survivors to drown?" Wentmark asked.
"Well, we never said they were nice pirates," Draco put in sarcastically.
"Where was your ship bound for before this regrettable misfortune befell you?" Wentmark asked interestedly.
"Oh- Australia," Harry said quickly.
"Wiltshire," Draco said at the same time.
"Australia?" Wentmark asked, puzzled.
Will had never heard of a place called 'Australia' either. "Where's that?" he asked.
"Basically, England, is where we were going," Hermione corrected. "But we were planning on dropping him off at Australia," she said, glancing irritably at Harry.
"Because we all hate him," Draco added in a matter-of-fact monotone. "Because he's a twit."
"Malfoy's just a bit stressed," Hermione put in apologetically. "What with the ship sinking and his entire family drowning and all. Don't mind him."
Will struggled for words to tell Draco how sorry he felt for his loss- how he knew what it was like to lose your parents, in both senses of the word.
"What?" Draco hissed. "Don't be stupid, Granger, my family's fine. And looking for me," he added tartly.
"And he's in denial," Hermione added quickly.
"I am not!"
Hurriedly changing the subject, Hermione said, "Golly, this is lucky! I mean, this really is a baffling coincidence, you sailors finding us so fast. I mean it's been- what would you estimate, Harry?"
"What would I estimate what?" Harry asked, peering over the cracked pewter rim of his mug of hot chocolate.
"Well, never mind all that," said Hermione. "How long has your voyage on the Avalon been, Will?"
"Three weeks, roughly," Will replied quietly, still disturbed by the thought that these children may, possibly, have lost their families. If their ship truly did sink, which did seem questionable.
"Where are you from?" Hermione asked Will.
"Basically, England," Will replied flatly, hinting that he didn't exactly want to talk about his past either.
"And where are you going to?" Hermione asked.
"The Caribee Colonies."
"Why?"
"Well don't suffocate him with questions, Hermione," Harry cut in, "he'd tell you if he wanted to."
"No, that's quite alright," Will assured both of them. "I'm sailing to the Caribbean to find my father. He's a merchant sailor, and I know Jamaica was on his shipping route."
"Find him?" Hermione asked curiously, leaning forward over the table, and resting her chin on her knuckles. The lacewing embroidery of Wentmark's shirt stuck to her wet neck distractingly. "Did you lose him?" she persisted. "How'd he go missing?"
Will shrugged miserably, sinking his elbows onto the tabletop, and staring emptily into the rich brown depths of his untouched mug of cocoa. Ginny still hadn't touched her cocoa yet either, Will noticed, and she hadn't said a word so far. Will peered over at her wide, tight, hazy hazel eyes, and wondered if she was a mute. Or mad.
"That's an interesting coin," Hermione commented, which made Will notice that his coin necklace was showing.
Will quickly stuffed it back beneath the ties of his teal shirt.
"Is it a coin necklace to ward off Plague?" Hermione asked.
"If it is, it's not working right, since you're still here," Will said with a gently teasing, dodgy smirk.
"We're not plague carriers, Hermione explained that," Harry corrected him again. "Pretty thoroughly, actually."
Still staring at Will's neck, and the coin hidden beneath his shirt, Hermione asked, "Is it Mayan? It looked a bit Mayan to me."
Will shrugged again, and said numbly, "My father sent it to me."
The boat swished.
"I hope you find him," Harry said sympathetically.
"Thanks," Will mumbled.
"I wish I could help," Hermione added.
That was also a kind sentiment. "Thanks," Will repeated.
"No, I really could help," Hermione offered.
Will shook his head, and said, "No."
"No, I really could," Hermione persisted. "I want to. I owe you."
"You owe me nothing."
"Well, except my life," Hermione said wryly. "Is that worth nothing, then?"
"Yes," Draco interjected emphatically. "Less than nothing, even."
"I didn't mean-" Will stammered.
"Will, I want to help you," Hermione interrupted, not paying any mind to either him or Draco. "Really! Any way I can. You saved all our lives, and there's nothing we're presently doing, nowhere we're going anymore- and I'm sure Harry and the others would love to help you as well-"
"Speak for yourself, Granger!" Draco cut in.
"-And I'm a fast reader, so I could help you research port books, and shipping records, and lists of purchases in port towns-" Hermione rattled on, "-and Harry has a knack for finding things- well, sometimes, and-"
"That's an interesting necklace too, Miss- what was your name again?" Will asked abruptly, turning to face Ginny Weasley, whose name he remembered just fine.
Ginny blinked, but didn't respond.
"She's Ginny Weasley," Hermione said after a moment. "Didn't I mention that? I thought I did. Anyway, Will- do you remember what the name of the last ship your father sailed on was?"
"The Night Oyster," Will answered reluctantly. "But- you really don't have to-"
"Nonsense, I love a bit of detective work!" Hermione chirped. "Now- what sort of cargo was the Night Oyster carrying? What type of merchant was your father exactly? Did he have any friends or business partners you know of? Also-"
"Well, that's enough questions for the time being," Wentmark cut in. "I'd wager you four could use some rest. You may share William's room this evening. William, why don't you fetch up some extra blankets- I must go consult with the navigator, on the subject of the weather."
"Aye, Captain," Will replied readily.
As the two of them left the cabin, Wentmark closed the door, and on the way down the stairs, as Will hurried on yet again, Wentmark caught him by the arm, leaned down, and asked, "So- what do you think of them?"
"I like them," Will replied honestly, realizing he actually did. Even Draco must probably be sort of alright once one gets to know him, Will guessed. Uncertainly, he asked, "What do you think of them?"
"I think..." Wentmark said slowly, "it hasn't stormed in weeks."
Will was gripped with a sudden, irrational fear that the normally kind Captain Wentmark would bend to the whims of his unruly, plague-fearing crew, and would have the four newcomers thrown back to the raging mercy of the ocean. Staring nervously up at his captain, searching for excuses to keep the obviously lying children aboard- Will saw that Wentmark was simply smiling up at the cabin door, and saying,
"...But I like them too."