James tilted his head at Scorpius. “What are you getting at?”
“I don’t know what he’s getting at,” Zane said, rubbing his stomach, “but Petra nabbed me just as I was heading down for dinner, and I’m starved. Does this tub have a galley, you think? A snack bar? A vending machine, maybe?”
James glanced back at him. “Seriously? How can you eat at a time like this?”
Zane shrugged, unperturbed. “Saving the world makes me hungry.”
James determined that accompanying Zane was marginally better than simply waiting in the wheelhouse. Leaving Scorpius, they slipped out onto the dark decks and explored around. There was very little to see. Above decks, the wheelhouse, paddlewheels, and masts were the only structures. Below decks, most of the space was separated into cargo holds, divided down the centre by a narrow hall. Close to the bow was a small common area for the crew, where James had sat with Merlin and Millie on their return trip to London. Here, Professor Odin-Vann lay sprawled on the bench, one arm over his eyes, one leg kicked out onto the deck, feet akimbo. He snored fitfully.
“Here we go,” Zane whispered, wrenching open a series of small cupboards. He rummaged and withdrew a cellophane-wrapped package.
Squinting in the low light, he read the label. “‘Halberd’s Humble Hardtack’. Ever heard of it?”
James shook his head, distracted.
Zane used his teeth to strip off the wrapping, revealing a stack of biscuits that looked, both in size and color, like roofing shingles. He shrugged and bit one. Then, he bit it harder. Unable to crack a corner off the allegedly edible biscuit, he lowered it and struck it against the edge of a counter. It knocked like stone. He sighed mournfully and tossed it away.
Rose joined them a few minutes later and the threesome sat in the hold, not talking, leaning in time to the rocking rhythm of the hull.
Nearby, Odin-Vann continued to snore haltingly.
Growing stiff and frustratingly bored, James stood and headed back along the hall that divided the cargo areas. No one joined him.
Scorpius was seated against the wall at the end, his knees up and his hands dangling over them.
James plopped down next to him.
“Why did you really come along?” he asked. “It sure wasn’t out of the overflowing goodness of your heart.”
Blandly, Scorpius said, “You wound me, sir.”
“I’m serious.”
Scorpius gave a weak shrug. “You don’t really believe that cock-and-bull story Odin-Vann told about finding Morganstern’s talisman on her grandfather’s farm, do you?”
James sat up and turned to Scorpius. “The brooch? What do you mean?”
“I mean, the likelihood of him outsmarting the headmaster is about as high as you beating Dolohov at Wizard chess. In short, not at all. He’s either deluded—which is entirely possible—or he’s lying.”
“But…” James shook his head, caught between alarm and annoyance, “why would he lie? He’s helping Petra, isn’t he? Just like we all are.”
“Just like you all are,” Scorpius corrected. “I just came along to keep an eye on Rose and Walker. He’s got a thing for her. And I’m the jealous type.”
“Don’t change the subject,” James said, watching the blond boy closely. “You think Odin-Vann is lying to us? Do you agree with Ralph about him? That he’s not to be trusted?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out yet,” Scorpius sighed.
“It was you that wrote the note to yourself after all. Surely you don’t need me to spell it out for you.”
“You know what I’m sick of?” James suddenly declared, gesturing angrily with both hands. “People hinting at big, important revelations without ever just giving me a direct answer! Millie’s grandmother, Headmaster Merlin, and now you! Out with it, or learn to keep your dodgy suspicions to yourself!”
Scorpius allowed a small smile, clearly enjoying James’ discomfiture. Then, he nodded and grew serious again. “It’s all in your note. You remember the play, just like I do. The roles are all in place, now just as they were then.”
James slumped. “Yeah, yeah. Petra is Princess Astra,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “And I’m Treus, blind with love and all that.
What’s the point?”
“Like I said, you wrote the note,” Scorpius answered loftily. “All I’m saying is that here we are, in the final act. The two of you are on centre stage once again. And I think you wrote yourself that note for a reason.”
“I dreamed a crazy dream,” James shook his head dismissively.
“About Petra in a graveyard with Albus. I woke up with an idea in my head. It made no sense, but apparently I wrote it down. I barely remember doing it. I was probably still dreaming.”
“It’s called ‘automatic writing’,” Scorpius said, sliding a disdainful eye toward James. “We learned it in Trelawney’s first class.
Just because she’s a daft old nutter doesn’t mean there’s no such thing as prophecy.”
James frowned. “I pay as little attention in her class as I can,” he admitted.
Scorpius rolled his eyes, and then said, “Automatic writing is what happens when your subconscious knows something that your waking mind doesn’t. It’s when the buried part of your brain takes over your body for a moment to send your waking mind a message.”
James considered this, and then shook his head again. “I don’t see what the message could be. It’s just a line from the play. Beware foul Donovan.”
“Not actually,” Scorpius said. “Nowhere in the play are those three words spoken. Treus comes close during his rallying speech. But the word ‘beware’ isn’t anywhere in the script.”
James blinked as he thought back to the play. He tried to recall his own lines. Reluctantly, he realized that Scorpius was right. Still, it was just as likely that his second-year self had gotten the line wrong in the note as it was that the three words had any prophetic significance.
He mused on it, strained and concentrated, trying to determine what the words could possibly mean in their current situation. But nothing came to him. Finally, mentally exhausted, he gave up.
A minute passed, and then he said to Scorpius, “You really should just break up with Rose.”
Scorpius glanced aside at him, his brow darkening. “I don’t know if I’m more impressed that that’s what you’re over there mooning about, or annoyed that you would actually say it.”
“Neither,” James said, staring darkly down the length of the hall.
“I just realized I don’t care what you think anymore.”
Scorpius relaxed a little. “Facing the possibility of the end of the world does that, I suppose.”
“I’m serious,” James said dully. “You don’t even know what to do with her. I swear, you deliberately lash her emotions back and forth just because you wouldn’t know how to have a normal human conversation with her.”