Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling

Part 2/ Chapter 17

Over the weeks and months, Bellamy's mind became more clear. It was not obvious to others, and the improvement was not consistent. He was no longer being guarded as carefully, as he seemed perfectly happy, and showed no inclination to leave the ship. They stopped locking the door at night, or when he was left alone in the bedroom. It seemed unnecessary.

His friends were amused when he told them again about the merpeople, and he treated Chivas and another man one day to a lesson on the complications arising from dragon claw injuries. Not like ordinary slashes, he said, and he gave the name of a special lotion that was required. His audience listened to him indulgently.

Sometimes, it was as if another person suddenly spoke. At dinner once, the conversation strayed to sex, and then Boris Willis spoke about a woman whom he'd ... and he used a coarse word implying a win for him, and contempt for the woman. It was a common attitude, that a man was a man if he had sex, but the woman was a slut. Bellamy fired up and gave Boris a stern lecture about the ethics of love-making, that he should be grateful and honoured if a woman chose to share her body with him.

Boris sneered, "And what would you know? You've probably never even done it! What are you, maybe twenty?"

But Bellamy's eyes no longer vaguely wandered, and he said coolly, "I'm older than you'll ever be, Willis!" And the look in his eyes was cold, judgemental.

Willis looked down at his meal, rebuked, and said nothing further.

Taddeo and Silvio listened with their mouths open, and they were not the only ones. This was not their Henry speaking, surely.

Silvio asked him later, in the small TV room, where he sat leaning against Mario. "Have you ever had sex with a woman, Henry?"

But he said he didn't know, that he thought so. It was not until a few days later, when Angelo, shrewd eyes on him, asked the question again, that they had more of an answer. "I used to, but I'm not allowed any more." And when questioned further, it seemed that it was like fighting - crazy men were not allowed to do it because they might hurt someone.

He was petted and hugged by his cabin-mates, freely and unselfconsciously, but there was never any sexual action from them. And when they had sex, it was invariably out of his sight. He was untouchable, and all but Mario were able to put away their desire for him. But Mario loved him, and held his naked body in his arms every night. And sex is a natural part of love.

One night, Bellamy woke as Mario slipped out of bed, and stayed awake as Mario begged, "Please, Nino."

Nino grumbled, "If it's so difficult, just make him sleep alone!" But Nino consented, and Bellamy heard the noises of sex, and the heartfelt gratitude of his special friend afterward.

For some reason, it was easier to think that night. Bellamy didn't think he loved Mario, but he had grown to depend on him. If Mario asked, he would agree, he thought, and yet a revolt arose in him. Whether or not he wanted to please Mario, he couldn't do it, not voluntarily. Bellamy didn't know he was a wizard, and well over a hundred years old, but he knew he was not as Mario knew him. Mario loved his simple-minded and vulnerable boy. But Bellamy wasn't really that boy. He had to leave the ship, although it would break his heart. And he wriggled his bare back closer to the furry chest of Mario. Mario tightened his grip, and a little later, Bellamy felt his erection again pressing hard between his thighs.

In the morning, Bellamy went to Chivas and told him he needed to go to the pay officer in order to arrange his discharge at the next European port, not Turkey. Chivas was dumbfounded and sought to dissuade him. When he came back to Bellamy two hours later, it was to take him to Captain Guido, not the pay officer. Inglis and Esta Raef were also present. Guido told him to sit down, and Bellamy sat.

"Henry," Guido started, "When you came to me, you became my responsibility. You've found a good home here, and you're useful and wanted. You've been happy here, too."

Bellamy stared vaguely into the distance.

Esta leaned forward, and tried the tone that had unexpectedly had sense from him before. "Do you really want to leave the ship, Henry?"

Bellamy's gaze cleared a little. "It's time to go." But when they pressed for reasons, he didn't seem able to tell them.

Guido pitied him, but knew him to be vulnerable and defenceless. He could not be allowed to wander and probably starve. Or maybe become someone's toy.

"Henry," he said, very clearly, "I can't let you go. You are my responsibility. You have to stay here where you're safe."

A suddenly cool voice asked, "Am I a prisoner, then?"

Guido spluttered. "Of course you're not a prisoner! You just have to be looked after, that's all."

"So let me go."

Guido was silent, and then said, slowly, sadly, "If you insist on leaving, I'll have to hand you over to the authorities, and then you'll undoubtedly wind up in a mental institution."

Esta put out a hand and touched his. "You know you're not well. You're not right in the mind. If I asked you where you were when you were six, for instance, you couldn't tell me."

A sudden image of a dark cupboard rose in the mind of Bellamy, but it was almost instantly lost in the clouds of confusion that enveloped him. And it was the confusion that showed, as he turned a vague, unfocused look toward the door. He wanted to go now.

He said nothing further about wanting to leave the ship, but he was very well guarded again, and Chivas rostered him for kitchen duties, a long way from quick and easy access to the railings. There was a worry he'd simply jump overboard as he'd done before. His friends were concerned when they were first told, but he showed no indication of unhappiness, and they hoped it might have been just a random impulse. But when they went ashore together for a few hours at the next port, they put Bellamy in the sleeping cabin, gave him a few magazines to look at, and told him to be a good boy. He picked up a magazine, like a good boy. But an hour later, he was pacing the few steps across the room, back and forward, back and forward, every now and then trying the locked door. It stayed locked.

He was trembling by the time they returned. The cabin was too cold without his friends, but he quickly settled down when comforted by Mario, and they didn't know that he suffered.

A couple of days later, he leaned against the railing. Mario held his right arm, Silvio his left. Taddeo was close too. The coast was only a few miles away.

"What land is that?" asked Bellamy.

"Turkey," answered Mario, decisively, "It's Turkey."

They knew he wouldn't try to swim to Turkey. It was a strange thing, but according to his friends, the next three ports were also Turkey.

There was another precaution taken. Bellamy had given away a very large amount of money in Casablanca, and had forgotten the many unopened paypackets tucked into pockets in his backpack. His wallet was empty, but he remembered now that money was important. And this time, when he was paid, he opened the packet, and looked at the very small amount in it.

"What's the matter?" asked Angelo.

Bellamy stared at the tiny pay he'd been given, but realised that it must be because he was a crazy man, and so he just put it in his wallet. But Angelo had seen, and picked up the discarded envelope, checking the information. And on Bellamy's behalf, he went to see the pay officer. It was on the Captain's instructions. If Bellamy had no money, he wouldn't try and leave the ship. Surely he must have the sense to know that he had to stay where he had food and shelter. Angelo wasn't convinced that he did have that much sense, but was over-ruled. The money would be kept for him, in trust.

Mario was again persuaded to leave him on his own, when in port in Barcelona. There was to be a bullfight. The cabin was locked. Again, he paced. But this time, the fifth time he tried the door, he found it unlocked. Uberto thought that it would be a very good thing if he left, and was preferably never heard of again. His cabin-mates thought he'd forgotten, but whenever Bellamy caught sight of Uberto, his baleful glare followed him, although he had not attacked.

Bellamy appeared to wander. He appeared to wander after a group of crewmen who were leaving the ship. Inconspicuous, in his white uniform, among all the other white uniforms. Nearly, he wandered off the ship, but there was a sudden yell, and his arm was grabbed. He merely looked vague, uncomprehending, as an angry voice asked what he thought he was doing. All the crew had been told explicitly that Bellamy was not allowed to leave the ship without at least two people looking after him. Only that morning, those who guarded against unauthorised entry, had been reminded of that. An angry voice told him to stay put, and a hand held him very firmly. Bellamy still did what he was told, and he stayed put, as so firmly instructed.

He was put in the charge of two crewmen who happened to walk past. They were off duty, and had better things to do than look after the imbecile. But they were not rough, only telling him he had to stay with them, and behave himself. They took him to the recreation room and put on a film for him. It was a simple comedy they thought might entertain him. Neither had worked with him, and neither had any reason to think he was anything other than feeble-minded.

Bellamy watched for a while, as he was told, while the pair started playing table tennis. There was no-one else there, and they were speaking their own native language, Spanish, beginning to be involved in their game. They each had a competitive streak and were good players.

Bellamy started wandering around the room, aimlessly, pausing at a noticeboard, and passing it by, picking up a magazine and putting it down again. Ramirez took notice, and missed a hit. He swore, and called to Bellamy to go and sit down. Bellamy paused, tilting his head. The instruction was repeated, this time in Italian.

He sat down, and the game continued. Again he got up, and wandered toward the table tennis table, watching, and then wandering around the room again. He was wandering out the door when Lopez noticed, dropped his racquet and grabbed him. He was sworn at, and handled roughly, pushed very firmly back in his seat in front of the TV screen.

"Bloody imbecile," said Lopez. He had reverted to Spanish.

Ramirez, too, used Spanish. "Don't be rough with him, Jay. He can't help it!"

"He's an imbecile, and a damned nuisance!"

Ramirez soothed his friend, "I hear he's going soon. The Captain's having him committed just as soon as we get to Southampton."

"Why Southampton?"

"Didn't you know? He's actually English."

Bellamy was up again, but they kept a wary eye on him, and he didn't again go near the door. Instead, he seemed to be watching them play. He spoke quite suddenly, and in Spanish. "When do we get to Southampton?"

There was a silence, and then Ramirez said, "Why don't you look at the notice board? There's a full schedule for the next six months."

Bellamy looked vaguely in the direction of the notice board, and Ramirez put down his racquet, and pointed out the schedule. "I can't read it," said Bellamy.

"Of course he can't read it; he's simple, remember," said Lopez, impatiently, though he'd been just as surprised as his friend when Bellamy had used Spanish.

But Ramirez was beginning to think that nothing was simple about Bellamy, and Ramirez asked the question that nobody else had ever thought to ask him. "Why can't you read it, Henry?"

Bellamy's gaze wandered, and he stared at the door. Ramirez waited, and was rewarded. "I think I lost my glasses."

Lopez gave a snort of laughter, as Ramirez repeated, incredulously, "You can't read, because you lost your glasses!"

Bellamy suddenly remembered his main concern, "When do we get to Southampton?"

Lopez told him. "Six weeks." Six weeks, and the information was filed. He had not much time.

Ramirez and Lopez had forgotten their impatience with him, and tried to find out a little more about their intriguing shipmate. But as others had done, they soon gave up. He had a great line in innocent, vacant stares, extremely frustrating for those who tried to get anything out of him. Ramirez finally suggested they take him to Dr. Raef, and maybe she could get to the bottom of the glasses thing. And that was a bit of triumph, too. He'd been in the care of Mario and his mates for eight months, and they didn't suspect that he might simply need glasses!

They had to wait a while, as Esta was in the middle of seeing a few passengers who had come for attention for various minor ills. The passengers took priority. But their turn came.

Esta was surprised to see Bellamy in the company of someone aside from Mario for a change, and asked what was the matter.

Ramirez and Lopez were grinning, and Lopez laughed again as he said, "You know why he can't read? He lost his glasses!"

Esta blinked. "Henry?"

But Bellamy was gazing at the door, the clouds of confusion drowning all thought. Maybe it was the fear of committal. And when Esta asked if he'd lost his glasses, and persisted in her questioning, he only said vaguely that he didn't know. Esta tried a slightly different line of questioning, "When did you lose your glasses?"

Oddly, he answered this, "About twenty years ago, I think."

Lopez shook his head. And he said jeeringly, "So you lost your glasses when you just were a baby!"

Bellamy answered, "No, I lost my parents when I was a baby, I lost my glasses about twenty years ago."

It was strange how tiny scraps of information came to light, Esta thought. It wasn't much, but she now knew that he'd been orphaned very young. She rose, and thanked Lopez and Ramirez for bringing him to her. She said she'd organise something. Lopez turned at the door, adding an aside, "By the way, he speaks fluent Spanish."

Guido laughed, as they all had, when Esta told him that the illiterate, feeble-minded boy knew Spanish, and needed glasses. The next port was to be Cannes, and she went herself to find Bellamy. When the knock came at the door that evening, Silvio and Taddeo stopped playing with each other, and Mario unwound his arm from around Bellamy, while Bruno opened the door. They were surprised to see the doctor, as Lopez and Ramirez had chosen not to pass on the new information they'd discovered.

Esta greeted them, and said that she'd try and arrange an appointment with an optometrist as soon as possible, and added to Bellamy, "You don't speak French as well by any chance?"

Bellamy nodded, and Esta tested, a sentence confirming that his knowledge of French considerably exceeded hers.

Angelo asked curiously, "Just how many languages do you speak, Henry?"

But Bellamy couldn't answer, and began to be upset when he was quizzed, so they desisted. They knew what he was capable of when upset.

Captain Guido was thoroughly curious about Bellamy by now, and accompanied Mario and Bellamy to the optometrists a few days later, when they arrived at Cannes. Esta was also with them, and Bellamy only called her Catherine once. He behaved well, and did as instructed, the procedure apparently familiar to him. When asked to make a choice of frame he touched one with narrow black rims, the sort of glasses he'd worn since he was a child. He finally put them on, and they watched his dawning, wondering smile with triumph. But he looked surprised and confused when he opened his wallet to see the meagre contents.

Guido said gently, "You don't have to pay out of that, Bellamy. There's money put away for you."

It was surprising what a difference it made to his looks. Straightaway, he looked older, more knowing. And when he asked Guido about the money put away for him, and said that he'd rather have it, please, Guido felt uncomfortable denying him. But he reinforced the lesson as best he could, "On board ship, with your friends, you have food and shelter. All alone, you haven't enough money even to buy food. You must not leave the ship."

Bellamy was silent. Captain Guido didn't know of the rumour that he was to be committed once back in his home country. It was not his intention. Bellamy was to be looked after. He was improving, and he was safe where he was.

Angelo was a reader, though no other of his friends were, and Angelo started taking him to the ship's library now that he could read, taking pleasure in Bellamy's pleasure. It was not just the reading, he would caress the books as if they were valued objects in themselves. The third time they visited, he made a discovery. "Look, Angelo! It's my very own book!" And he held a quite small, hard cover book, with a picture of a mare and foal on it. Angelo looked. Bellamy was full of his discovery, "Look, Henry Bellamy!"

The author was named as Henry Bellamy, but it was an old book. Smiling indulgently, but just in case, Angelo checked the date of publication and handed it back. "First published over thirty years ago, Henry, before you were born."

But Bellamy was caressing the cover. "It's Mischief, and her foal. I think we called her Sprite. I wrote it a long time ago."

Angelo shook his head, but didn't argue.

Over the next days, Bellamy showed any who would listen, the pictures inside, and he'd have names for the horses, not the names in the stories, but others. Mario began to think that he really had written it, until Angelo again pointed out that it was impossible. Bruno said that he knew the book well. He'd had a copy for his tenth birthday, and had treasured it. The twins said that they, too, had a copy, and they suspected it may have been the same for Bellamy as he knew the book so well.

"You can probably buy your own copy if you want, Henry, next time we're in Italy."

But Bellamy shook his head, "I have to save my money, because if you don't have money, you can't buy food, and then after a while, you can't walk any more."

Mario's arm tightened around him. "Has it been like that for you, Henry? You couldn't walk because you didn't have enough to eat?"

Bellamy had his book open, "Look, it's Kildare. They called him the mad black, but he wasn't really."

Angelo again went to the Captain. What if Bellamy did leave, in spite of their efforts. He might starve again, as it sounded like he had before. And he repeated his words to Guido, as best as he could remember, 'If you don't have money, you can't buy food, and then after a while, you can't walk any more.'

Captain Guido listened, and finally nodded, and said, "I'll organise it. Bellamy will have his full pay." He was earning it, he thought. At lifeboat drill, he'd been going from one group to another, translating for those who didn't know Italian. They'd now added Greek to the list of languages he could apparently speak fluently. But Guido was preoccupied with ship's problems, and the matter of Bellamy's pay passed from his mind.

Mario didn't really like his glasses. It seemed to take his boy further away, and he was already afraid that he was losing him. Each time he read a book, or was off with the officers, translating for them, he seemed more distant. And sometimes, Mario looked at his eyes, and it was like it wasn't his boy any more. Mario yearned after his Henry, and was afraid.

Chivas always rostered one or more of his cabin-mates on with Bellamy, especially after he, too, had been shown the book he said he'd written, and given a hair by hair description, as he told himself bitterly, of a mare called Sheba. Even when sometimes he seemed so normal, he was not. And one day, he'd seen him by himself, looking very hard at the line of coast far in the distance. It seemed he'd slipped his guards, confirmed when Mario turned a corner, looking acutely anxious, and hurried to his side.

Bellamy was now working in the kitchen at dinner times, arranging meals ready for the waiter to serve, and doing the interminable tidying, and washing. He was seldom seen by the passengers, but wore whites as they all did in that area. He was always clean and neat, deft and quick. His staff at home would never have believed it. His facility with languages was well known by this time, and the head waiter added Chinese to the list.

He was sent for. He was wanted at the Captain's table. Obediently, he removed his apron, checked his appearance, drying a wet spot on his shirt with routine and easy magic, magic that he'd forgotten was magic, and went to see what Guido wanted. He was told to pull up a chair, and introduced to the grouping of first class passengers. He was looking questioningly at Guido.

"Dr. Borsche wants to talk to you, Henry," said Captain Guido.

Bellamy looked innocently to Dr. Borsche. "Please, have a wine," said Borsche.

Bellamy declined, "I'm on duty." And anyway, he didn't like wine much.

"Giovanni tells me you can speak several languages." Borsche said.

Bellamy nodded.

"You must have an interesting past."

Bellamy frowned slightly. A woman leaned forward, "Can I see the scars on your wrists?"

Guido sat back at the look of burning reproach from Bellamy, who rose, turned his back, and left. Guido wasn't quite sure whether to be annoyed at his discourtesy, or ashamed of his own actions.

Inglis, at the next table, noticed him striding fast toward the door, quickly excused himself and followed him. Taddeo, who'd been keeping a watch, was not far behind. When Inglis came up with him, Bellamy was leaning on the railing, staring at a line of lights on the distant shore.

"What's the matter, Henry?" asked Inglis.

Bellamy said savagely, "Guido! Showing me off to his passengers like I'm a bloody exhibition!"

Inglis had never seen him like this. No-one had for a very, very long time. Bellamy was beginning to find himself again. Inglis stayed with him a while, leaning on the railing beside him, before asking what he was supposed to be doing.

"Washing dishes," he replied, "I'd best go back."

But when he and Taddeo returned, he was greeted with relief, and taken straight to a table, where he was needed to translate for some English, who never seemed to have even one second language. Taddeo continued to keep a discreet watch on him. He was certainly a lot of trouble.

Captain Guido had been reminded, and that evening, when he happened to see the paymaster, mentioned to him that Bellamy's money was to be restored to him, and his pay normalised. The paymaster nodded. Next pay.

Bellamy had been given no chance to alight at any port, and time had nearly run out. His wallet and passport were now packed tight in a water-proof package. They were heading toward Southampton, but were now just off Portugal.

That night, he quietly left the side of Mario, who was snoring softly. He put on his swimmers, his moneybelt, and then his belt, with the package containing his too thin wallet, his passport, and added his glasses. He would not have escaped if he hadn't made a gentle spell of sleep, but that was the only magic he used. He found Mario's key, opened the door, slipped quietly out, looked at the distant lights on the shore, and dived.

Mario knew he was gone the moment he woke. When he checked, he thought that, of his clothes, he had only taken swimmers. His glasses were gone, and his wallet and passport. He discovered the unopened paypackets, and shook his head. Trust his silly boy to forget that money. He knew how little he was getting in his pay now, enough for two meals, if he was lucky. He didn't bother with any search of the ship, just went straight to the Captain to make his report. Bellamy was gone and Mario begged to be put ashore. The next scheduled stop was Vigo, in Spain, but Guido gave Mario Bellamy's arrears of pay, and made an unscheduled stop, in order to allow him to search for his boy.

Guido was privately sure that he was dead. They hadn't come closer to shore than six miles at any time in the night, and if he had made it to shore, there were many areas where the sea crashed against unclimbable cliffs. As a matter of form, he filed a missing person's report.

A few days later, in London, Jonathan Johns had a report presented to him. A man called Henry Bellamy had jumped from a ship off the coast of Portugal, close to Lisbon. It was the ship, Costa Rivera, now conveniently at Southampton. Further enquiries were made, and it was confirmed that it was Bellamy. Johns had long suspected that he was not dead. He knew his household was still maintained. There was also the fact that his family had never acknowledged his death.

Theodore Laurie went himself to see the Captain of the ship. But although the word 'muggle' had nearly died from disuse, the attitude behind it had not. Captain Guido was unused to being treated with a scarcely veiled contempt, and gave Laurie very little information - only that he'd been a long way offshore, and the man was almost certainly dead. The result was that a fairly limited search was mounted, looking for a thin man with long hair, possibly in a pony tail. The search was unsuccessful

***chapter end***