Immortal War v-6

by Justin Somper

  Lorcan spoke up now. “That’s right, Deputy Tempest,” he said, his face grim. “Desperado masterminded the assassination of Molucco Wrathe and has now taken the ship as his own.”

  “So,” Connor said, “The Diablo is right at the heart of the Vampirate fleet?”

  “Yes,” answered Cheng Li. “Both symbolically and in practice. According to our latest information, the four key Vampirate vessels—The Blood Captain, The Vagabond, The Redeemer, and The Diablo—are all sailing in close formation.”

  Commodore Black nodded ruminatively. “It will be hard to take out The Diablo so long as they remain so close.” The other captains nearby nodded in agreement.

  Lorcan rose to speak. “It’s not unheard of for the Cowboy to break away from the others and head off on a jaunt,” he said. “Captain Li, I’m sure tracking can supply you with the data to back that up. Can I propose you sit tight and wait for Johnny to next go rogue? It’s only a matter of time before he does.”

  Moonshine spoke again now, his eyes bright. “If we do succeed in taking The Diablo back, it will be a major morale boost for the Alliance.”

  All those around him nodded. Cate looked thoughtfully at the young pirate. He was certainly full of surprises.

  “We will succeed,” said Cheng Li, resolute. “For all those reasons, and more besides.”

  “So are you in?” Moonshine said, his bright eyes circling the room. “It sounds like you’re in!”

  There was a moment’s pause as Cheng Li glanced around at her young comrades. They each nodded. “If this Council of War ratifies our plan, then yes, Captain Wrathe, you have yourself a deal,” she said.

  Commodore Black put his hand on Moonshine’s shoulder but addressed Cheng Li directly. “Commodore Li, I charge you with making this proposal a reality. As for everyone else, we have some attack strategy to work on ourselves. Time for a quick break, then key personnel should rendezvous in the bunker at twenty-three hundred hours.”

  As the ceremony audience began to break up, Moonshine smiled gratefully. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you all.” His eyes settled on Cate. She nodded formally, then glanced down to write something in her notepad.

  As he stepped down from the stage, Jasmine caught Moonshine’s attention. “I have a question, Captain Wrathe.”

  Moonshine smiled. “Shoot,” he said.

  “Why us? Surely there are plenty of other pirates you could employ—from The Typhon, for instance?”

  Barbarro looked up at this. He had come over to shake his son’s hand, but he, too, was intrigued by Moonshine’s decision.

  “Fair point, Deputy Peacock,” Moonshine said, nodding, “but consider my position. I’m a young buccaneer trying hard to stand on my own two feet. I’ve been given something of a break and I intend to capitalize on it. It wouldn’t say much about my leadership potential if I simply asked Mom and Dad to sort it all out for me, now would it?”

  “I suppose not,” Jasmine said, pleasantly surprised by his answer and the direct way in which he gave it.

  Barbarro beamed proudly and gripped Trofie’s gold hand as she came to stand beside him. Their boy was doing well.

  “Besides,” Moonshine continued, “everyone knows that you guys are the experts on the Vampirates. You were the first dedicated Vampirate assassination ship to be commissioned by the Federation.” His eyes zeroed in on Connor. Trofie scowled. “You have some of the most talented pirates in the whole Alliance on your squad. Plus…” Now his gaze returned to Cate. “You have the best military strategist of her generation. When you consider those salient facts, of course I had to come knocking on your door.”

  Unmoved by his flattery, Cate looked Moonshine square on. “We also have the key tactical and operational advantage of working hand in hand with Commander Furey and the Nocturnals.”

  Turning to Lorcan, she said, “This is a dangerous mission—attempting to take back The Diablo from such a high-ranking Vampirate as Desperado. Is it worth the risks involved?”

  Lorcan nodded calmly. “We’ve done dangerous many times before, Cate.”

  “So tell us what you have in mind, Moonshine,” said Cheng Li.

  The young captain took a deep breath. “I was thinking an attack undertaken by a pirate force alone, during daylight hours.”

  “An attack by daylight?” Cheng Li said, surprised. “That’s a highly unusual move for our alliance.”

  “Exactly,” said Moonshine. “But I think that’s the time the Vampirates are at their most vulnerable, no?”

  Lorcan nodded, surprised at the young pirate’s perceptiveness. “Yes,” he said. “They’ll be as disoriented as snakes who’ve just shed their skins. If you time it right, you should have at least twenty minutes to take back the ship. And, of course, if the attack is taken up onto the deck, your advantage could prove decisive.”

  “Just what we need at this point in the war—some surprise tactics,” Cheng Li said. She glanced at Moonshine, the flicker of a smile playing on her lips. “Good work, Captain Wrathe.”

  Moonshine flushed at this, surprised and grateful for the response he was getting.

  Connor looked at him in disbelief. What had happened to the Moonshine he had known to date? This didn’t seem like the same person. But then, he knew that he was not the same person either, since he’d first set out from Crescent Moon Bay. The world of piracy had forced him to grow up. War had forced him and Moonshine to become men.

  Grace was getting ready to leave when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She knew exactly who it was before she turned around.

  “Lorcan!” Smiling, she saw that she was right.

  “I’m afraid this is only a brief hello,” Lorcan said, his dazzling blue eyes meeting hers. “I have to head into the bunker for the strategy meeting, but I wanted to catch you before you headed back to Sanctuary.”

  Grace sighed. “We’ve barely had a chance to say two words to each other, have we?”

  Lorcan shook his head sadly. “I know. I think I’ve been introduced to every last pirate in the building when all I really wanted was five minutes alone with my sweetheart. It feels like all we ever get to say these days is hello and good-bye, but…”

  “… these are the times we live in.” Grace completed the sentence, well acquainted with the refrain.

  Lorcan opened his arms and drew Grace into a hug.

  Feeling the familiar lean but comforting terrain of Lorcan’s chest and shoulders, Grace held him close, grateful to have even this brief moment of solace. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing time to stand still, but knew it was futile. Opening her eyes again, she found that Obsidian Darke was staring over in her direction. He nodded at her and she returned the gesture—one born more out of respect than warmth.

  “I know what’s really going on,” Grace said fiercely, as Lorcan reluctantly released her. “It’s Obsidian’s will that we should be kept apart—you on The Nocturne, me up at Sanctuary. He doesn’t want anything or anyone to distract you from your mission—or me from mine.”

  Lorcan rested a hand on one of her shoulders and brought his other to lift her chin. “Now, now, Grace, you’re being just a little bit paranoid.”

  “No,” she said. “Ever since he returned, he’s been utterly single-minded about it.”

  “Maybe he has to be.” Lorcan frowned. “These are strange times,” he said, “with new allegiances.” His frown melted away. “But I’ll make you a promise,” he said. “We’ll find some time, somehow, for a proper catch-up, just the two of us.”

  Grace hugged him once more. “Yes,” she said, feeling more rational. “I’d love that. You know I would.”

  CASUALTIES

  The all-too-familiar bell woke Grace instantly. It seemed barely a moment since she had fallen asleep and, in truth, it hadn’t been more than a handful of hours since she had returned from Pirate Academy. She opened her eyes and pulled herself upright on her bed. The bell meant that the first of the dawn ambulances were already making their way up from the
harbor. She glanced over to the other bed just as Darcy Flotsam blinked open her wide brown eyes.

  “Bells!” Darcy exclaimed, sitting up and shaking her sleek dark hair into place. “Sometimes I feel that my whole life is framed by bells!”

  Smiling, Grace got up from the bed and walked into their small adjoining bathroom and scanned her reflection in the mirror. She looked a mess! She splashed some water on her face and ran a comb through her hair before pulling it back into the utilitarian ponytail she had adopted of late. There was no time for vanity under the current circumstances.

  Coming back out of the bathroom, she lifted her blue healer’s uniform from the chair and dressed quickly. As she fastened the last button, she turned and saw that Darcy’s appearance was flawless—as always. Grace shook her head in admiration. “I don’t know how you do it! One minute, you’re dead to the world. Next, you look fresh and ready to go.”

  Darcy gave a wry smile. “I’ve had plenty of practice,” she said, opening the small closet the girls shared and reaching inside. She held out a pale gray cardigan to Grace. “Would you like to borrow this? You know how brutal the wind can be out there.”

  “But what will you wear?” Grace said, without thinking. Realizing her mistake, she shook her head. Darcy, of course, would not be joining her out in the light, but waiting inside the compound to receive the freshly wounded. Though Darcy could withstand daylight while in the wooden form of The Nocturne’s figurehead, she was unable to do so in mortal shape, like any other Nocturnal or, indeed, Vampirate.

  Grace took hold of the butter-soft cardigan gratefully and draped it over her shoulders. Darcy nodded, with evident satisfaction. “We can’t have our lead healer catching a chill.”

  “I’m not the lead healer,” Grace said, following her roommate out into the corridor. She was not unaware of the feverish talk around the compound of her considerable—and growing—powers; the rumors that her abilities were now only surpassed by Mosh Zu’s and that, any night now, she might gain the edge. To Grace, this talk seemed silly at best. She was just doing her job and following Mosh Zu’s expert training. Every single member of staff at Sanctuary played his or her part in the healing process: from the tag teams of pirates and Nocturnals who went out in the ambulance boats to rescue the wounded; to those who brought them up the hillside in a convoy of ambulances; to Darcy and the other nurses and the healers like Mosh Zu and herself.

  As Grace stepped out into the crisp early morning air, she saw that many of her colleagues were already waiting at the open gates. She felt a sense of pride and belonging as she joined the group. Sanctuary had always been a place of healing, and it had only been natural to extend this with the advent of war and transform the compound into a field hospital for the Nocturnal and pirate alliance.

  The mountain air was as chilly as Darcy had predicted and, as Grace watched the first ambulance make its final approach, she hugged her arms to her chest to generate further warmth. Two of her nursing team, Evrim and Noijon, strode over to join her.

  As she waited for the ambulance, Grace could sense the buildup of adrenaline that seemed to always flow through her at these times, no matter how tired she felt. She knew that, in part, she was fortifying herself for the arrival of fresh horrors. Over the past four months, Grace had been faced with the grisliest of sights—severed limbs, exposed arteries, and blood. So much blood. This from the pirates they brought here—the ones too badly injured to be taken to the other field hospital, set up in the infirmary at Pirate Academy. But if the pirates were in really bad shape, the sight of the wounded Nocturnals was somehow even more terrifying.

  “Here they come, people! Get ready for a busy night!” Mosh Zu’s trusted assistant, Dani, strode out to meet the ambulance, clipboard in hand.

  The back doors of the ambulance opened and two pirates jumped out, exchanging the briefest of pleasantries with Dani before turning to business. They began lifting a black body bag from the back of the vehicle. The wounded Nocturnals had to be completely covered in order to protect them from even the briefest of exposure to the light.

  Reading the tag on the bag, Dani called out to the gaggle of nurses and healers, “Patient severity Silver. Team three, please.”

  At her words, a healer and two nurses came forward with a stretcher on a trolley. The ambulance crew set the body down upon it and the medics lost no time in trundling it inside.

  There were eight levels of severity, each aligned to a precious metal. Silver meant fourth-level wounds: either severely wounded pirates or, as in this case, a lightly wounded Nocturnal.

  “Patient severity Osmium,” called Dani, as a fresh bag was lifted out from the ambulance. “Team six, please.”

  “That’s me!” said a young woman behind Grace. Stepping forward, she squeezed Grace’s arm reassuringly as she and two nurses walked forward to receive the body.

  Grace watched her friend Tooshita go. Osmium was the severity level above Silver. The patient was a Nocturnal with some complications. Grace had no doubt that Tooshita and her team would give the patient whatever healing he or she required.

  “Patient severity Gold,” Dani called now. The word immediately caught the attention of the remaining teams. Gold was the highest level of severity. Usually, these cases went straight to Mosh Zu. He was not out here waiting for his case to be assigned, however. Grace knew that Mosh Zu could venture into the light if he chose to. Nonetheless, he always preferred to wait for his patients inside his healing chamber.

  “Team one,” Dani said. This was indeed Mosh Zu’s team. Grace felt a flash of envy as two nurses hastened past her. She was under no illusions, despite the rabid talk, that Mosh Zu’s powers outstripped her own. Still, she would like to work on a Gold case—to test herself and see what she could do to help. She watched as Mosh Zu’s team propelled the thick black body bag with its gold zipper past her.

  “Patient severity Platinum,” Dani called now. “Team seven.” Grace felt her adrenaline surge to a new level as she stepped forward, flanked by Evrim and Noijon. Platinum was the next level down. She had almost got her wish. She had been assigned Platinum only a couple of times previously.

  “Think you can handle this?” Dani asked, as Grace approached the ambulance’s open doors.

  “If you think I can,” Grace said.

  “I know you can.” Dani’s placid face lifted into a smile. Dani’s smiles were rare, Grace reflected, but they brought out a hidden light and beauty within her. As Dani turned her attention back to the ambulance, Evrim and Noijon were already wheeling the patient toward the entrance of the compound. Grace hurried alongside to join them.

  “Patient is male, Nocturnal,” confirmed Noijon as they wheeled the stretcher-trolley down through the Corridor of Lights. “Age indeterminate at this juncture. Main wounds located in the head area…”

  Now that they were safely inside, they paused momentarily to unzip the top of the bag. Grace glanced down at the patient’s face, what little there was left of it. It—he—was not a pretty sight. The eyes were still there, though hazy and distant. They spoke of confusion and fear and pain. Around the eyes, the skin was riven with lesions. Grace was accustomed to this kind of sight, though this was even more severe than usual. When Nocturnals got this bad, the fabric of their skin literally disappeared, leaving deep fissures and giving a vertiginous glimpse into the infinity of darkness below. It had been an early adjustment for Grace, during her time on board The Nocturne, to see the deep pits of fire visible in a blood-hungry Vampirate’s eyes—or rather a Nocturnal’s. But this was nothing compared to the sight of the stripping away of the wounded’s being so that you saw through their fragile shell into an oblivion with an insatiable hunger all its own. This Nocturnal patient’s eyes seemed to be hovering in a dark void.

  There could be no question—he had come close to the very brink of destruction.

  Grace tried her best to push away such negative thoughts as his eyes at last met hers, pleadingly. Although he must be in unbearable
pain and very likely disoriented, still he seemed to know that it would be up to Grace to bring him back from the brink.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice sounding much calmer than she felt. “We can heal you here. You’re in good hands.”

  “The best hands,” agreed Noijon, smiling reassuringly at the patient and nodding at Grace, who rested her hand on the edge of the stretcher to keep pace as she walked.

  Suddenly, Grace felt something icy cold grip her. The patient had reached out to clasp her hand. Nocturnals tended to have cold hands at the best of times, but this felt like touching sheet ice. Smiling, though it was an intense effort under the circumstances, Grace refused to let go. The strength of his grip was a good sign. It meant that despite the broken appearance of his outer shell, some vital life force remained deep inside. Whatever horrors he had lately endured, this Nocturnal was not yet ready to give up and let go. Grace gritted her teeth at his ice-cold touch. Every healing procedure was like embarking upon a journey together with the patient. She had the sense that this was going to be a difficult and painful journey for them both.

  THE NOCTURNAL PATIENT

  As her team lifted the patient from his stretcher onto the healing bed, Grace stepped back out of their way. The violet-clad nursing staff moved swiftly, talking in low voices as they began cleaning the worst of the patient’s wounds and removing any torn vestiges of clothing. Grace watched, unable to keep her eyes from the gaping splits within the fabric of his skin. She knew the extent of the work to come.

  Each of the healing chambers had a small anteroom adjoining it. As the nurses continued their work, Grace retreated inside the small chamber and drew the flimsy curtain. The curtain was little more than a symbolic separation from the other room but it was an important part of her preparation to enter another space—one of stillness and silence. There was a pitcher and basin of water beside her, drawn from the spring closest to the peak of the mountain. Grace began the ritualistic washing of her hands, at the same time practicing a series of rhythmic breaths. She was now so well versed in the healer’s art that it did not take her long to prepare.