G. Lippert - JAMES POTTER AND THE VAULT OF DESTINIES

"You're the smart one, Lucy," he said, scratching his head. "What do you think this thing is for?"

"R ose is the smart one," Lucy admonished, mildly annoyed. "I just read a lot."

Ralph frowned crookedly. "What's the difference, exactly?

Izzy widened her eyes solemnly. "Petra says smart is in the brain of the perceiver."

"Whatever that means," Ralph muttered.

"Yeah," Albus insisted, reaching to touch the ornately crafted stairs, "but you're good at seeing how stuff fits together, Lu. It's a knack."

"Looks to me," Lucy sighed, walking around to the front of the strange fixture, "like something is missing. See that brass flange there on the end of the pivoting arm thing? Something is meant to fit into it."

"See?" Albus crowed, running around to the front to join Lucy. "That's exactly what I'm talking about!"

James heard the low voices of adults nearby. He turned and saw Merlin, Denniston Dolohov, and the Gwyndemere's captain, Ash Farragut, approaching slowly.

"We haven't any time to spare, unfortunately, captain," Merlin was saying. "I am quite happy to leave matters in the hands of your very capable crew."

Farragut nodded cynically. "All too capable, if you take my meaning."

"Piracy isn't what it used to be," Merlin said, smiling. "In my day, one couldn't ply the waves without expecting to be boarded by any number of competing piratical hoards. They were like swarms of bees on the high seas. Considering the preventative measures enacted by the Magical Maritime Regulatory Commission, I suspect we will manage just fine, whatever befalls us."

"Their ships have been spotted on the horizon this very morning," Farragut clarified, tilting his head in the sunlight.

"Then they will expect us to remain at port," Harry Potter nodded, approaching with a grim smile on his face. "Surprise is almost always an advantage. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Dolohov?"

"Oh, I happily submit to your expertise in such matters," Denniston replied dismissively. "But I agree that we do indeed have a schedule to keep. Let us be off."

Farragut nodded approvingly. "Then let it be so. Gentlemen." He strode away, angling toward the deckhouse.

James drifted toward Petra and Audrey, who stood near the mid-ship stairs. The pair seemed to be studying a small knot of people who had suddenly appeared on the ship. "Who are they?" James asked, nodding toward a group.

"Fellow sojourners," Audrey replied, keeping her voice even. "Americans, I should think."

James peered at the newcomers. There was a group of them moving up the stairs, pushing past the others, meandering toward the bow and chattering like a flock of birds. Most of them were dressed in black, only slightly older than James, but the central figure seemed to be a woman with jet hair, a pale, angular face, and an expression of indulgent boredom. She wore a long black dress with a tightly laced bodice, a lot of silver jewelry, and heavy purple eye make-up, so that she looked, to James, rather like she had recently escaped from her own funeral.

"Pardon yourselves, students," she sang morosely to her entourage as they streamed past James, Petra, and Audrey. "We are representing another culture. We do not wish to appear rude."

The students babbled on, not sparing the others a glance, and James had the distinct impression that the woman had spoken more for his, Petra, and Audrey's benefits than that of her own charges.

Audrey spoke up, easily raising her voice over the chattering teenagers. "I take it by your accent and words that you are from the States, Miss?" she said, smiling pleasantly. "We are on our way there ourselves for a rather lengthy stay. Don't raise our expectations overmuch, lest we be disappointed that the rest of the country is not as pleasant as you and your delightful associates."

The woman slowed and faced Audrey, her expression unchanging. "Persephone Remora," she announced languidly, stretching out a limp hand toward Audrey, who shook it perfunctorily. "And please pardon me for saying so, but I was not referring to the United States. That country is only our current residence, not our home. We can hardly be expected to represent it any more than you might be expected to represent this ship. No offense meant. The fact is: I and my friends are returning from a summer's exploration of our ancestral homeland. Perhaps you have heard of it," she paused and narrowed her eyes slightly. "It is called Transylvania ."

"Indeed I have," Audrey smiled. "Why just this spring my husband and I had quince soup with the Archduke of Brasov and his wife. Have you met them? Lovely couple. She makes her own tzuika, which is quite good."

Remora seemed faintly disdainful. "You'll excuse me for saying so, but we don't recognize the current Transylvanian ruling class. Our heritage is beholden to a much older historical aristocracy. I'm sure you haven't heard of it. It's rather a… secret society." She sniffed and looked meaningfully out over the waves.

"Ah," Audrey answered nonchalantly. "Well, I'm sure your secrets are best left uncovered. Far be it for us to pry."

Remora continued to stare out at the waves dramatically. After a moment, she seemed to realize that the pose wasn't having the effect that she had apparently hoped for. She coughed lightly and turned back. "I'm terribly sorry," she said faintly. "The sunlight does take its toll on… such as ourselves."

"I have some Amberwycke's sunblock here in my bag," Petra replied, glancing at Audrey. "I'd be happy to share it around. It's coconut-scented."

"No," Remora oozed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Thank you ever so much. I should catch up with my friends. If you'll excuse me." She turned, began to walk away, and then looked back over her shoulder, making her eyes twinkle meaningfully. "It's been… deliciously delightful to meet you," she said in a low, breathy voice.

"Likewise," Audrey said, smiling cheerfully. "We'll see you this afternoon for tea, won't we?"

"Are you sure you don't want some sunblock?" Petra said, proferring the bottle. "You're looking a little peaked around the eyes."

Remora huffed and turned away, stalking toward the small throng that milled in front of the deckhouse.

"What was that all about?" James asked, frowning after the departing woman.

Audrey sighed. "Vampires," she said lightly. "So haughty and melodramatic. Ah well, whatever makes them happy."

James blinked, looking back at the black-clothed knot of people. Remora had rejoined them, and they moved around her like a school of pale, sneering fish. James frowned. "I didn't think there were any vampires in America.'

Petra shook her head, smiling crookedly. In a low stage whisper, she answered, "There aren't."

"Let's not be too hasty," Audrey said, clucking her tongue. "The United States is, after all the great melting pot. I do suspect, however, that if there are vampires residing in America… they are not them ."

A man passed by in front of them, and James glanced up. He recognized the man as the ship's first mate, a burly, cheerful bloke named Barstow. He was wearing a floppy grey hat and whistling happily to himself, heading toward the bow. Over his shoulder was slung a very long, thin pole, fitted with reinforcing brass sleeves. James narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, and then ran to follow.

"Hey Barstow," Albus called, grinning, as the man approached. "When do we shove off, eh?"

Barstow answered jovially, "Depends on how well the fish are biting this morning, don't it?"

"If you say so," Albus shrugged.

Izzy plopped onto the sunny deck and crossed her legs. "What do fish have to do with anything?"

"Oh, everything, love," Barstow said gravely, adjusting his hat. "You just watch and see. You might say they're the key to the whole affair."