Connor stepped away and sat down.
“Your training has been good,” Commodore Kuo said with a smile. Connor nodded. Cate had taught him many of the rituals involving swords. He remembered her explaining that, in some cultures, offering your sword with the right hand was seen as crude or aggressive. Therefore, it was always best — on those rare occasions when you offered your sword to another — to do so with your left hand.
Now, Commodore Kuo took his own left hand from the rapier and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a square of silk. He rested the blade on his left palm, the small silk cloth preventing his own flesh from touching the metal. This went beyond Cate’s teachings but Connor imagined that it was another part of the infinite — and endlessly fascinating — ritual of swordsmanship.
“There’s a difference between Mister Tempest and the rest of you,” Commodore Kuo said, looking up from the blade. “And the difference is this. We’ve been teaching you sword-fighting techniques ever since you arrived at the Academy, when we placed those little sticks of bam-boo in your hands.”
Connor noticed the students smiling at the memory.
“And then you progressed from Basic Combat to the day when you held a real sword in your hands for the very first time — a day I expect all of you remember and will do for the rest of your lives.”
Again, Connor saw the quick recognition of the students. He remembered the excited faces of the junior class the day before as they had held their daisho for the very first time.
“You are the cream of the crop,” the headmaster continued. “You’re in your final year here and we have high expectations of you. We set up this Academy to educate the pirate captains of tomorrow — the best of the best — and here you are. In a few short months, you’ll leave here to take up apprentice positions on real pirate ships.”
“You bet!” Jacoby exclaimed, unable to rein in his excitement at the prospect.
“That’s right, Mister Blunt,” Commodore Kuo said, turning to face him. “And you’ll doubtless excel at being a deputy; then, before very long, you’ll be a captain yourself.”
Connor thought again of the vision he’d had — of that curiously familiar scene aboard deck, when he was captain and his crew were calling to him because someone was hurt.
“You have learned much since you arrived here at the Academy,” Commodore Kuo continued, “but the biggest lessons still lie ahead of you. And one of those lessons will come the day you use your sword — not in practice, not in Combat Workshop, but for real — to defend your life.”
Sunlight streamed into the room and bounced up from the blade of Connor’s rapier onto Commodore Kuo’s face.
As the light met Connor’s eyes, Commodore Kuo’s voice receded and Connor found himself back on that deck, just as before.
There he was, in the heart of a battle. The swords clashed against each other. He saw rigging being torn and heard cannon firing and the cries of pirates running in and out of the fray. Then came the cries.
“Captain,” he heard. “Captain Tempest.”
Connor smiled to hear himself addressed once more as “Captain.” It sounded great. It sounded right. But then the vision changed.
“Come.” He heard a distraught voice. “Captain Tempest . . . Come . . . Captain Tempest. He is wounded . . . He needs . . .”
They were the exact same words he’d heard before, but this time the vision was clearer. The first time, he had thought they meant a wounded crew member. Now, he knew that it was he who was wounded.
He heard the voice once more, cut through with sobs.
“Captain Tempest is cut. Please come . . . please come . . . so much blood . . . I’m not sure how much longer he can last. . . .”
Connor felt a sense of coldness flooding through him. The vision was so clear, so precise. Was it a foretelling of his own death? He couldn’t believe it.
“Mister Tempest. Connor . . . Connor!”
Connor came back to reality and saw that the headmaster was addressing him.
“I’m sorry, Headmaster.”
“Did we lose you there?” Commodore Kuo smiled at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “The light caught my eyes and —”
“I was just asking you,” Commodore Kuo’s voice cut across his own, “have you, these past three months, had to use your sword to defend your life?”
As he spoke, he offered the sword back to Connor, reversing their previous gestures so that now he held the rapier in his left hand as he extended it by the hilt.
“Yes,” Connor said, as his hand gripped the hilt above Commodore Kuo’s, “yes, I have.” His hand was shaking — a reaction perhaps to the vision. He did his best to steady it. He could see that Commodore Kuo had noticed his trembling arm. He steadied it with his other hand and eased the rapier back into its scabbard. Commodore Kuo placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder. The solidity of his touch helped to calm Connor.
“Before you sit down again, can you share with the rest of us what it feels like to use your rapier in that way?”
Connor thought back to his first attack with the pirates of The Diablo through to their last, ill-fated venture onto The Albatross.
“It’s a mixture of feelings,” Connor said.
“Go on,” encouraged Commodore Kuo.
“It’s exciting. After your training, you want to use your sword as best as you can. It’s a challenge — like any sport.”
“You bet!” Jacoby exclaimed again, his hands miming the swipe of swordplay.
“But,” continued Connor, his hand touching the hilt of his rapier, “the very first time you hold a sword in your hand, you’re aware that this isn’t a sport like any other. This isn’t a toy. It’s an instrument of death. You hold this awesome power and responsibility in your hand. You have to respect the sword and honor your opponents.”
“Okay,” said Commodore Kuo. “And you have all these thoughts in the heart of the attack?”
“No.” Connor shook his head now. “Before. These are the thoughts that go through my mind beforehand. Cutlass Cate — she’s the weapons trainer on The Diablo — she teaches us to empty our minds before the attack itself.”
“Excellent,” Commodore Kuo said. “Okay, Connor, please take a seat again.”
Connor did so with no further urging, glad to slip out of the spotlight again. He was still shaken up by his premonition, if that’s what it was. But maybe it was nothing of the sort. Maybe it meant nothing at all.
As he sat down, Jacoby leaned across and whispered, “You looked a little freaked up there. What happened? Did Jasmine flash you a smile?”
Connor shook his head. “It was nothing,” he said. That’s what he had to believe. But his hands were still shaking a little.
When Connor looked up again, he noticed that Commodore Kuo had written a single word on the blue chalk-board at the front of the class. It was the strange word he had spoken a couple of times before.
zanshin
Commodore Kuo surveyed the class through his spectacles.
“Connor told us just now that before entering into attack, he has been trained to empty his mind. This is one way of viewing the concept of zanshin. Now, as you know, here at the Academy we draw on some very ancient warrior traditions and this notion of zanshin goes right back to the ancient flowering of Japanese martial arts, or bujutsu.” He wrote out bujutsu on the board in his immaculate script. “Now, can anyone remember from our previous discussions the Japanese word for engaging in combat?”
His eyes scanned the room, as did Connor’s. He noticed that several hands were raised.
The headmaster gave a nod. “Yes, Aamir?”
“Kamae,” said the boy confidently.
“Absolutely,” said Commodore Kuo, adding kamae to the list of words on the board.
“Now, zanshin is the state of mind that every successful combatant must employ before entering into kamae, or combat. It means an exceptionally high state of alertness in which you will be ready to de
fend and attack in all directions, a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees about the body. You will have no area of weakness.” He smiled lightly. “Zanshin will then combine with your doubtlessly flawless combat technique to result in perfect action and a successful result.” He turned to write another few words on the chalkboard.
“Now,” he said, stepping to one side and tapping the board, “who can tell us about the concept of the ‘one-stroke-victory’?”
Connor wished that he could answer the question, but though the sensations the headmaster described were utterly familiar to him, his language was new. He watched as the well-educated finalists raised their hands in the air.
“Yes, Jasmine,” said Commodore Kuo.
“The one-stroke-victory is another concept dating back to the flowering of bujutsu,” Jasmine said, “and more specifically to the technique of iai-jutsu or,” she smiled at Connor, “the immediate drawing of the sword.” Turning back to Commodore Kuo, she continued. “The true art of iai-jutsu rests on bringing down your adversary with one stroke of the sword. Any additional stroke required constitutes a failure of the true art.”
At Jasmine’s words, Connor immediately thought of the way he’d seen Cheng Li operate in battle. He’d noticed at once how minimal her actions were. While other pirates, Bart included, wove around the deck, thrusting their swords this way and that, you might blink and miss Cheng Li’s actual engagement of her twin katanas. And yet, when she did use them, in Cate’s view, she was the most effective of swordbearers. Clearly, this was one legacy of Cheng Li’s rigorous Academy training. Connor felt like a sponge, eager to learn more of these techniques. But he was only at the Academy for a few more days. How could he ever hope to amass the knowledge that Cheng Li had learned in ten years here? Suddenly, in spite of his practical knowledge of piracy, he felt lacking. If only he could stay longer.
“Very good, Jasmine,” said Commodore Kuo. “Yes, the one-stroke-victory was very important to our forebears and, if you look at it in terms of zanshin, you can under-stand why. Zanshin places you in an optimum state of alertness. In such a state, with the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree awareness I spoke of before, you should be fully able to execute the one-stroke-victory. Failure to do so means you have wasted that zanshin. Now, with every further stroke you take, you further waste your zanshin. And, with every further stroke, you expose yourself to risk and reduce your own chance of survival.”
Again, Connor recognised the sensations Commodore Kuo was describing. Swordfighting wasn’t entirely like sport. However much stamina you developed — and Connor knew that he had just about as much as any human being — fighting drew more deeply on your reserves than any mere sport. And often, after the lengthy psyching-up process, the actual battle was over very quickly. A few seconds might be all it took. It was the way you capitalized on your adrenaline — or zanshin —in those seconds that determined your fate.
“Now don’t think,” said Commodore Kuo, “that the concept of zanshin is reserved merely for that moment on the battle deck. The successful pirate needs to maintain zanshin away from the obvious arena of combat, twenty-four/seven . . .”
As Commodore Kuo continued his discourse, Connor listened intently; more aware than ever that he had a lot to learn.
Connor couldn’t believe how quickly the double period of the Swordsmanship lecture had gone by. As Commodore Kuo wound up the discussion, Connor glanced at the clock and saw that a full hour and twenty minutes had slipped past. He shook his head. Back at CMB High, his brain would have felt totally numb after a double dose of Physics or Geography. But, challenging as Commodore Kuo’s lesson was, he could have listened for another hour or more.
“You looked a little shell-shocked when I called you up,” Commodore Kuo said, appearing before him. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”
Some of the other kids were starting to file out of the lecture theater, no doubt on their way to their next class. Jacoby waited at Connor’s side.
“No,” Connor said. “It’s a lot to take in, that’s all.”
“But you knew what I was talking about,” said Commodore Kuo. “I could sense it. Come on, let’s walk and talk.”
Connor nodded and began walking out with Commodore Kuo on one side and Jacoby on the other. “Yes, a lot of what you said struck a chord with me. But all these terms are new to me. Not just zanshin, but kamae and bu-jutsu and iai-jutsu ...”
“Well, of course,” said Commodore Kuo, as they stepped out into the sunlit gardens. “You haven’t had the advantage of Academy training, like these kids have. These guys are — what — two years older than you? Plus, they’ve had almost ten years of studying here at the Academy. But you know more than you think — look at the way you offered your sword to me for inspection. The way you did that also dates back to the classical Japanese warriors.”
Connor was surprised.
“Your trainer — Cutlass Cate? — has instilled a remarkable level of knowledge in you during your time aboard The Diablo. You really have much to be proud of, Mister Tempest.”
Connor flushed with pleasure.
“How’s your sister today?”
The question took Connor off-balance. “She’s okay, I think ...I mean, I guess. She wasn’t feeling too well this morning, but . . .”
Commodore Kuo smiled. “Well, it’s a beautiful day. I’m sure she’ll perk up. Right — I have to go and teach Captaincy Skills to Year 6 now. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
He began striding up the hill. Then he turned back and looked at Connor curiously. What was he thinking? Connor wondered. It was disconcerting.
“I was just thinking,” said the headmaster, “just wondering if we can tempt you to stay a little longer at the Academy? I feel we could teach you much about piracy.
And you could teach us too. You have a lot to give, Connor Tempest.”
“Thanks,” Connor said, not knowing exactly what else to say.
“Well, look,” Commodore Kuo said. “I know it’s a bit of a wild thought. And I know Molucco will be keen to have you back and all that. But would you ...would you at least think about it?”
Connor nodded. At this moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to stay. But could he really do it? After everything that had happened, could he leave Captain Wrathe and The Diablo behind?
He thought once more of his vision. It chilled him to the core. But he was going to fight it. If death was stalking him, then he’d give it a duel to remember. He was going to prepare himself by becoming the very best pirate that he could be. Not just a pirate, but a warrior. Not just a warrior, but a captain. Yes, he thought, even if one day — a long, long way off — I am struck down on the deck of my ship ...I will die a pirating legend.
26
THE SEED
“Grace!”
“Connor! Not again!”
“No. It’s not Connor.”
“Cheng Li!”
Grace jumped off the bed and opened the door to her room. On the threshold stood Cheng Li, dressed for combat and holding a spare sword. She smiled at Grace and brushed past her into the room.
“I thought we were going to have some combat practice today, Grace,” she said, “but we haven’t seen you all day. Why, you’re not even dressed yet. It’s almost dinnertime, Grace! Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” said Grace, unable to rein in her emotion. “Yes, something is very wrong.”
Immediately, Cheng Li dropped the sword on the bed and enfolded Grace in a hug. It was an uncharacteristic gesture but exactly what Grace needed.
“Whatever’s the matter?” asked Cheng Li, as she held Grace in her arms. “Tell me. You know we share everything.”
Grace told Cheng Li the whole sad tale of her latest — her last — trip to the Vampirate ship. Once more, Cheng Li listened intently until Grace’s very last words.
“I don’t know what to do,” Grace said. “Everything has changed.”
Cheng Li shook her head. “Nothing has changed.”
&nbs
p; Grace couldn’t believe her ears. “It has! The captain has told me he doesn’t want me to return. That I must stay away.”
“Agreed,” said Cheng Li. “But you have friends aboard that ship. You have, in your own words, ‘unfinished business.’ It no longer matters what the captain thinks. What matters is how you find peace of mind.”
Grace shook her head. “I can’t go against the captain’s wishes. I can’t.”
“What about Lorcan?” Cheng Li said. “He needs you. The captain’s all but given up on him. You haven’t!”
“But if the captain himself can’t save him, what can I do?”
“Well, we won’t know that, Grace, until we get you back on the ship.”
Grace looked into Cheng Li’s smoky eyes. Her heart was racing. Could she really do this?
“Look,” said Cheng Li. “Darcy Flotsam came to find you, to ask for your help, didn’t she?”
Grace nodded.
“And Lorcan gave you the Claddagh ring and sent you visions of himself . . .”
“Yes,” Grace nodded. “Yes, he did!”
“Visions which might just as well have been pleas for help,” continued Cheng Li. “Grace, you do have unfinished business with that ship. I think the captain is pre-occupied with these rebel Vampirates — Sidorio and the others. He isn’t thinking straight. He certainly isn’t thinking about poor Lorcan. As you say, if he isn’t taking blood, who knows how long he has left? By the time the captain turns his attentions to his plight, it could be too late.”
As ever, Cheng Li had thrown Grace a lifesaver.
“All right,” said Grace, flushed with a new sense of purpose. “All right. Let’s do it. But how do I get back on the ship?”
“Tell me again, Grace, how do you think you found the Vampirate ship in the first place?”
Grace sighed. They’d been over this so many times already. “I was in the water, fighting for my life — and losing the battle. Much like Connor was. You found him. And, in the same way, Lorcan must have found me.”
“I found Connor in the daylight,” Cheng Li said. “The light was dying but it was still daylight. I could never have seen him in the darkness.”
Vampirates: Tide of Terror Page 19
