Before she could say anything more, there was a knock at the door. Grace’s heart leaped. She and Lorcan both turned toward the door, realizing that he had not locked it behind her this time. And now the globe-shaped handle twisted and the door opened with a creak.
Miss Flotsam swept into the room, trailing the scent of freshly cut roses and clutching several dresses on padded silk coat hangers.
“I said I’d lend you something pretty to wear to the Feast,” she said to Grace, “an’ I always keep my word.”
Lorcan shook his head in a mixture of relief and disbelief.
“Oh shush, you,” Miss Flotsam said to him. “If you knew more about the feminine point of view, Midshipman Furey, then you’d know that we ladies like to take pride in our appearance. Isn’t that true, Grace?”
Holding each of the dresses up against her in turn, Miss Flotsam scrutinized Grace with the eye of an artist.
“Definitely not the powder blue,” she said, letting the discarded dress fall onto the bed and reaching for the next.
Grace didn’t much like the look of any of the dresses. She could imagine that they would all look fine on Miss Flotsam but, frankly, Grace was hard pressed to remember the last time she’d worn a dress. And certainly never in her life had she worn any so elaborate as these, with their chiffon and silk and beads and fine pearl buttons.
“I think it’s between the pink and the primrose yellow,” Miss Flotsam said. “Let’s have a gander what you look like in each of them and then we’ll decide.”
Miss Flotsam began removing the chosen dresses from their hangers. Grace really didn’t want to try on either of the gowns. She glanced at Lorcan.
“Grace has no need of such finery,” Lorcan said. “She won’t be coming to the Feast tonight.”
Miss Flotsam turned to Lorcan, confused. “Won’t be coming? Why, that’s ridiculous! Everyone comes to the Feast.”
Lorcan shook his head. “Not Grace,” he said.
“That can’t be right,” Miss Flotsam said, pressing on regardless and offering Grace the primrose gown.
Lorcan reached out and took the dress from her hands. “Grace is not coming to the Feast, Darcy. Captain’s orders.”
He appeared to have said the magic words. Miss Flotsam took the yellow dress back from him and quickly buttoned it up properly. She clutched it to herself, as if bidding a dear friend a reluctant good-bye.
“It’s such a pretty dress,” Miss Flotsam said sadly.
Grace thought Miss Flotsam might actually cry.
“Why don’t you wear the dress yourself, Darcy?” Lorcan said softly.
“Shall I?”
Lorcan nodded. “You go and change into it, but be quick, mind you. I can hear the music beginning.”
Grace could hear it, too. It was a strangely soothing piece of percussion. Its main rhythm sounded much like a heartbeat, with a more insistent counterpoint laid over it. Then she remembered the same sounds from her first night on board.
“Yes, I’ll go and get changed now,” Miss Flotsam said, half talking to herself as she scooped up all the dresses and tottered toward the door.
Before she made it, the door swung open again. Miss Flotsam stopped dead in her tracks. A vast, dark shadow flooded the cabin, blocking out much of the light, as Sidorio stepped across the threshold.
Smiling cruelly, Sidorio cast his malevolent eyes from Miss Flotsam to Grace to Lorcan.
“What’s this, Midshipman Furey? I know you’re not much of a man, but are you now debating fashions with the ladies?”
Lorcan said nothing, but moved toward Grace. She felt that he was getting into position to protect her.
“Are you deaf to the music?” Sidorio said. “The Feast is about to begin.”
“Indeed,” Lorcan said, “and I’m on my way.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Mistress Furey,” Sidorio said. “I was talking to the donor.”
His dark eyes were set on Grace. Now she was truly scared. The music had grown louder and the sound of a flute swooped in over the two percussion rhythms.
“Grace isn’t a donor,” Lorcan said. “There’s been a mistake.”
“There’s been no mistake,” Sidorio snarled. “Old Nathaniel’s unable to join the Feast tonight. There must be no empty setting at the table. Besides, this scrawny foundling could do with a good meal.”
“Grace is not a donor,” Lorcan said again, squaring up to Sidorio, though the man was at least twice his size.
“And I say she is,” said Sidorio. “And so says the captain.”
Lorcan shook his head. “The captain would never . . .”
“If you don’t believe me,” Sidorio said, speaking over him, “just go and ask him. In fact, why don’t we go together and leave the ladies to their frippery?”
He turned toward Lorcan with a sneer. “Unless, perhaps, you want to stay behind and dress their hair with pretty ribbons?”
Sidorio chuckled dismissively and walked out of the cabin. Miss Flotsam stood rooted to the spot.
Lorcan turned to Grace, his face torn up in anguish. “I’m so sorry, Grace. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“It’s okay,” she said, sounding a lot calmer than she felt inside. “It’s okay. I know you’ve done everything you can. If this is how it’s meant to be, then so be it. Miss Flotsam, may I have the yellow dress, after all? If I’m coming to the Feast, I may as well look the part.”
30
THE FEAST
There was something curiously calming in the music that Grace heard all the more clearly as she stepped out of her cabin in the primrose-yellow dress. It had, of course, been a little long for her — but Miss Flotsam had shown her how to gather the excess and hold it in her hand as she walked along. Stepping down the corridor now, dressed more elegantly than she could ever remember, Grace felt half like a bride and half like a sacrificial lamb. But still, the repetitive drumbeats calmed her.
Miss Flotsam had had to leave her. “Vampires and donors do not enter the Feast together,” Lorcan had explained. “The donors arrive first.”
And so Grace made her way back down the corridors and stairways of the ship, deeper and deeper into the depths she had explored so eagerly earlier that day. Ahead of her, the other donors emerged from their cabins. They looked, for all intents and purposes, like normal men and women, but there was something languid and listless about them, as if they had already been drained of blood. Which of course they had, on a weekly basis. Evidently, it took its toll — perhaps they would all end up like poor Nathaniel, little more than a frail shell.
The donors all seemed to be older than her. Somehow, that gave her hope — maybe she was too young to be a proper donor. Only, Sidorio didn’t seem to think so. On she walked, attempting a nervous smile at the others.
There had been little time following Sidiorio’s exit to ask Lorcan everything she had wanted to know. But, as Miss Flotsam had busied herself dressing Grace, Lorcan had told her that he would speak to the captain. He couldn’t believe the captain would have changed his mind regarding Grace — it must be some piece of Sidorio’s cunning. Lorcan’s final words to her had been to remember that even if she was to be a donor, she would not be fatally harmed. That was a matter of opinion, Grace reflected. She understood that she would not be killed — but she would have to give a portion of her blood to another. To Sidorio, perhaps. And, frankly, how much better a fate than death was that?
All these thoughts were pushed aside as she reached the final corridor and followed the other donors into the dining room. It was a vast space, more like an elaborate ballroom, lit by crystal chandeliers, with a long banquet table that stretched far into the distance. It was immaculately laid with damask tablecloths, fine china, cut glass, and sparkling silver cutlery. But it had only been laid along one side.
It was along that side that the donors made their way, coming to a stop before the chairs and standing, waiting while the hypnotic music continued to play. Along the center of th
e table was a long line of flickering candles. No one spoke.
Then the vampires arrived. Each vampire, Lorcan had explained, was paired with a donor, and now each vampire sought out his or her mate. And, as he or she found the place opposite their donor and made a polite bow, so each pair sat down in their seats.
Grace watched as Miss Flotsam arrived and located the man who was her donor. She curtseyed low and smiled sweetly, before sitting down at the empty place opposite him. Soon after, Grace saw Lorcan enter the room. His face was still troubled and his blue eyes looked anxiously toward her before he found his own donor and bowed formally to the young woman. They too sat down.
So it continued. Each vampire scanned the length of the table and repeated the rather graceful ritual. Grace thought back to her earlier exploration of the ship and her attempt to count the numbers of the crew. There were many more than she had imagined. The dining room must take up almost the entire length of the ship, she thought.
Before long, she was one of only a handful of donors to remain standing. And then there were just two — herself and the man beside her, at the far end of the table.
At last, the final two vampires arrived. Sidorio marched in with characteristic arrogance, some steps ahead of the captain himself. There were only two places left — those opposite Grace and her neighbor. With a growing sense of doom, Grace awaited Sidorio’s arrival. When she looked up, there he stood before her. He did not smile and, rather than bowing, merely nodded perfunctorily. There had been a courteous respect in the way the other vampires had treated their donors — an acknowledgment perhaps of the coming sacrifice — but Sidorio showed her none of that. Instead, he pulled out his chair and was about to sit down, when the captain appeared at his side.
“No, Lieutenant, why don’t you sit here?”
Grace heard the familiar whisper with relief.
“I’m all right here, Captain. I have chosen my new donor.” Sidorio continued to pull out the chair.
“No, Lieutenant, I insist. Change places with me.”
And though it was just a whisper, there was no doubting the authority of the captain’s words. Sidorio glanced along the length of the table, apparently weighing up his options. The captain waited patiently.
At last, Sidorio stepped aside, barely even nodding to the man at Grace’s side, and sat down.
The captain bowed before Grace, then swept up his cloak and sat in the chair in front of her. Grace was unsure if she had been rescued or if she had simply been dealt a different fate. Nevertheless, it gave her some satisfaction to see Sidorio defeated. She smiled at him through gritted teeth.
“Don’t bait him, Grace.” The captain’s words resounded in her head and she turned her focus away again, concentrating on the pulse of the music instead.
Dinner was an elaborate affair. No wonder Cook and Jamie had been so stressed at the prospect of it. Each of the donors was served a succession of culinary treats. They began with roasted lobster, which would, Grace thought, have adequately served as a meal in itself. She was still mopping up its delicious juices when her plate was removed and another, laden with steak and a rainbow of vegetables — from tomato through squash to zucchini — replaced it. The meat melted in her mouth, as the lobster had before. Just as earlier, with the soup, Grace felt an extraordinary depth of hunger. And how had Cook been able to prepare so many meals at once, with only Jamie to help her? Truly, it was a mystery.
There was some polite chatter as dinner progressed. But there was no general conversation. The vampires only spoke to their donors, as if, rather than sitting at one long table, they were all at tables for two. Grace could hear Miss Flotsam chattering away, ten to the dozen as usual, giving her donor little chance to respond. Farther along the table, she saw Lorcan smiling and nodding at his young donor. Feeling a pang of envy, she wondered what they might be discussing. She had grown close to Lorcan and it was strange to see him so intimate with another.
Sidorio made no effort at conversation, and even though Grace’s neighbor made admirable attempts to draw him out, he just grunted, mumbled indistinguishable words, and drummed his large fingers repeatedly on the tablecloth. His frustration was all too evident to Grace. It was just a matter of time before his rage took flight.
As for the captain, he said little to Grace. He too seemed distracted. Perhaps Sidorio was the cause. It was understandable if Lorcan had been right and Sidorio was on the verge of challenging the captain’s authority. But even though the captain did not speak to her, Grace felt somehow safe in his presence. She could recognize the creasing of his mask that indicated a smile. It was sufficient comfort to allow her to enjoy each delicious bite of her meal, without worrying about what might happen next.
All through dinner, the same music played, but somehow it never grew dull or monotonous. After dessert — an intensely flavored fruit jelly — had been cleared away, the music grew louder. For the first time, Grace scanned the length of the room, looking for the musicians. There were none to be seen.
Now the table was clear of crockery on both sides and the music grew louder still. The candles flickered in the center of the table and cast a warm glow from face to face. And now, the vampire and donor at the far end of the table stood, in perfect synchronicity, and exited the dining room together.
Their neighbors followed suit and, like a wave, each pair of vampire and donor raised themselves and made their exit. No one hurried, no one missed a beat. Grace wondered if it was the rhythm of the music that guided them.
At last, it was her turn and, as Sidorio and his donor began their march to the exit, so she and the captain drew themselves up and faced one another again. Turning, they walked down the length of the table, on either side.
Now Grace’s heart was beating fast. As much as she tried to bring it into harmony with the steady rhythm of the music, it slipped out of beat like a fish that refuses to be caught.
Finally, as they reached the end of the table, the captain turned and stretched out his arm to Grace. Instinctively, she wound hers through it, as if about to dance with him. They were the last pair to exit the dining room. As they reached the threshold, the captain glanced back over his shoulder and every candle in the room went out at once.
He turned to Grace, staring down at her through his eyeless mask. “Do not be afraid, child,” he whispered.
Turning back to follow the others, they continued the ascent to his cabin in silence.
31
THE HUNGER
Back inside his cabin, the captain settled himself in his rocking chair in front of the hearth. He arranged his cape, as he always did, in precise folds. It might, Grace thought, have been a cozy scene. If he wasn’t the captain of a ship of vampires. If he had human eyes and lips and a nose to draw breath in and out of his body — instead of the dark void where those features should have been. If in all the other cabins, the rest of the crew were not sating their hunger for blood. Yes, but for all these things, it might have been a cozy scene.
And what was her fate to be, she wondered, as she watched him stoke the fire, the skin on the back of his head reminding her that he still had some connection to his human form. He had saved her from Sidorio’s clutches, yes, but perhaps she had not been rescued so much as swapped. Perhaps he had used his authority as captain to claim her blood for himself. As they had made their way along the corridors of the ship, Grace had seen door after door close as each vampire followed his or her donor into a cabin. The donors entered first, without exception, she noticed. As if they went inside of their own free will. Or, perhaps, so that they were prevented from escaping.
“You’re trembling, child. Come and join me by the fire.” As before, the words seemed to whisper right inside her head.
As Grace walked tentatively toward him, he turned his masked face toward her.
“Ah, I see that it isn’t the cold that makes you tremble so. But why? I’ve told you that there is nothing to fear.”
She thought again of the closing door
s. And of the donors’ languid resignation to their fate.
“What’s going on in the other cabins?”
“Of course, you need to know. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll do my best to answer your questions.”
He had this knack of sounding so very reasonable, as if they were talking about a problem with her homework and not about the savage acts that were taking place in the other cabins even as they spoke.
Grace sat down in the rocking chair beside him, but only at the edge, her feet resting on the floor to keep the chair still.
“As you have seen, child,” he said, “each of the members of the crew has a donor. Let me reassure you that the donors are well looked after. They are generously fed and live in comfort.”
That, thought Grace, was a matter of opinion. For how could you live in comfort when you knew that you had to offer up your blood to another on a weekly basis?
“It’s a good question,” the captain said. Grace had forgotten his ease at reading her unspoken thoughts. “But the moment of sharing, as we term it, is not at all painful and actually somewhat brief.”
Grace lifted her feet from the floor and swung her legs up, making herself more comfortable. As she relaxed, she started to feel weary and stifled a yawn.
“We feed the donors a very careful diet, extremely high in nutrients. That’s why,” he noted with a smile, “it can make you a little sleepy.”
At his words, Grace jerked upright. The captain continued.
“Such nourishing food can be a shock to the system. But, as you can imagine, it results in very high-quality blood. And that’s how we managed to reduce the sharing to once a week. We make a feast of it — a ritual, I suppose — not only to maximize the nutrition content of the blood at the time of sharing, but also to pay tribute to the donors. We are very grateful for their gift — the gift of life. Each week, you see, the crew is reborn.”
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