“Isn’t there anything I can do to help Lorcan?” she asked, despairingly.
“Yes,” said the captain to her surprise. “Yes, of course. And you know what it is.”
“I do?” she asked.
“Search for the answer,” the captain said. “It lies within you.”
He looked suddenly troubled once more. He had that look she had seen before — the look that signaled it was time for him to be alone.
“You want me to go now, don’t you?” she said.
“It’s not a question of want,” he answered. “There are things I must do — further questions I must ponder.”
“About Lorcan?”
He shook his head. “There are other urgent matters to which I must now turn my attention.”
“Can I help? You know I’d do anything in my power.”
The captain rested a gloved hand on her shoulder.
“You already are helping, Grace.” he whispered. “More than you know.”
39
A NEW KIND OF ENEMY
It was a very different Ma Kettle’s that Connor and his crewmates on The Diablo stepped into that night. The tavern was no less crowded than usual, but the mood was somber. Usually, you had to struggle to hear yourself think above the din of chatter and music, tomfoolery and petty scraps. But tonight, the voices were low and hushed. Everyone had heard about what had happened to Porfirio Wrathe and his crew. No one could quite believe it.
“Here you are, Lucky!” Ma Kettle said, squeezing Molucco’s hand. She was, Connor noticed, dressed more plainly and conservatively than usual. Sugar Pie was at her side, holding a tray of drinks. She too was dressed and made-up more simply. Without makeup, she looked more beautiful than ever, he thought. She smiled softly at him. He glanced away, embarrassed.
“Everyone’s waiting for you,” Ma Kettle told Molucco. “They all came. I knew they would. Will you address them now, or would you like a little strengthener first?”
Molucco gazed at her sadly and shrugged. The simplest of decisions seemed to torture him in his grief.
“Here,” said Ma Kettle, passing out glasses from Sugar Pie’s tray. Each glass contained a slug of translucent red liquid. “Coral brandy,” said Ma. “Iffy taste but it packs a punch! They say it makes you as strong as the coral reefs. One for you too, Mister Tempest. And you, Bartholomew.”
Ma and Sugar Pie took the final two glasses.
“To Porfirio,” said Ma, raising her glass high. They all brought their glasses together, then drank the brandy. Connor winced. It was, without doubt, the most disgusting drink he had ever tasted in his life. But once the putrid taste receded, he felt a strange warmth spreading through his entire body.
“Let’s go then,” said Ma, taking Molucco’s hand once more.
She led Captain Wrathe to the stage in the center of the tavern. Connor and Bart stood to one side, looking out at the massed ranks of pirate crews who filled the bar.
“They’ve come from far and wide,” said Bart, “to show their support for Captain Wrathe.”
Connor looked back at Molucco as the captain made his way to the front of the stage. “He’s really shaken up, isn’t he?” he said.
“Buddy, you should see him in private,” answered Bart. “He’s just barely holding himself together.”
“I can’t say I blame him,” Cate said, arriving at their side. “What happened to Porfirio was horrific.”
Connor nodded. He was still trying to take it all in.
“Friends,” said Molucco, his eyes roving across the serried ranks, “I thank you all for coming here tonight. Your support means so very much to me at this time.” He paused. “To lose a dear brother leaves the very deepest of wounds. But to lose him in such a monstrous way, well, it cuts to the very heart of a man.” He paused. “This news has left my hoary old heart broken.” A fresh tear edged down Molucco’s face. Ma Kettle stepped forward and pressed a handkerchief into his palm. He gripped it but allowed the tear to flow freely. The crowd waited patiently for him to continue.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I am not here to crave sympathy.”
“You have it already!” cried one of the pirates from the pit.
“Thank you. You’re very kind, sir, but really, I’m not here to ask for condolences.” He took a deep breath. “I’m here to request action.”
“Just name it!” cried one of the pirates in front of Connor.
“Yeah,” added another. “We’re right behind you.”
“Aye!” several hundred pirates boomed together. The hairs on the back of Connor’s neck stood on end. He’d never seen so many people united in one cause.
But there was one rogue voice. It came from the shadows. “Leave this to the Federation. The Pirate Federation should handle these matters.” The voice sounded familiar, thought Connor, but he was unable to see the speaker.
Molucco shook his head. “What need have I for the Federation, when I have friends? We shall band together and defeat the enemy.”
The crowd cheered Molucco’s sentiments.
“I think,” Molucco said, “that most of you now know the horror that passed two nights ago. My brother’s ship was sailing through a terrible storm and sought shelter in a bay not far from here, close to a lighthouse. Porfirio and his brave crew were battling the elements and looked to the people in the lighthouse to bring them aid.” His voice grew stronger as he continued. “But the crew of that light-house did not bring aid. They brought death.”
As Molucco paused once more, you could have heard a pin drop on Ma Kettle’s grimy floorboards.
“We do not know exactly what occurred,” Molucco said. “Out of a crew one hundred and fifty strong, only seventeen men and women survived that night. I’ve talked to those that did and only a few of ’em still have their minds. They have told me that the savagery committed by that lighthouse crew was beyond anything they have ever witnessed in all their time at sea.” Molucco stepped to the front of the stage and extended his hand. “Friends, be very clear. This is a new kind of enemy. A veiled enemy. They do not seek gold. They do not seek advantage upon the ocean. All they seek is blood.”
Molucco’s words chilled Connor. Just as they chilled every pirate — man and woman, young and old — who gathered in Ma Kettle’s pit that night. But they chilled Connor more deeply, as he thought of Grace returning to the Vampirate ship. A return which Connor had allowed. Not that he’d have had much chance of stopping his sister, Connor thought, ruefully. Grace was adamant that in the main the Vampirates were peace-loving. He hoped with all his heart that she was right. That it was only a few renegades who fit Molucco’s terrifying description.
“Porfirio’s ship is not far from here,” Molucco continued. “These monsters have taken it for their own and are cruising along the coast. But they shall not have it.” He raised his voice and boomed out at the audience. “They shall not sail away on my brother’s ship.”
“We’ll take ’em!” cried a pirate captain.
“Yes,” Molucco said. “Yes, reaching the ship will not be difficult. But once we board it, then what?” “Molucco!” a voice called from the side of the stage. “Yes, Captain Gresham.” “Molucco, there are, so we understand, only five of these . . . demons.”
“Yes,” Molucco said, “aboard this ship, yes. It seems incredible, but yes, the survivors tell me all this death and devastation was caused by five alone.”
“We cannot be complacent then,” said the other captain.
“No,” Molucco agreed, shaking his head. “Five may seem as nothing to a multitude such as ours, but these are no ordinary five. They do not employ swordplay — nor are they deterred by it.”
“We need a different weapon,” said the captain.
Molucco nodded. “A new kind of weapon for a new kind of enemy. But what?”
The tavern was quiet, then a noise began to rise like a breaking wave as the assembled pirates debated their choice of weapon. Connor watched the crowd. In its center, he saw a tall s
tranger, dressed in a dark leathery cloak and a mask. In spite of the mask, Connor could see that the stranger was looking directly at him — and at him alone. And, as he did so, inside Connor’s head a voice whispered:
“Fire.”
Connor thought his eyes and ears must be deceiving him — an aftereffect of the coral brandy, perhaps. But the masked stranger continued to stare at him and Connor’s head was filled once more with the curious whisper.
“Tell them, Connor. Fire.”
Instinctively, Connor opened his mouth and shouted, “Fire!”
The crowd drew suddenly silent. A thousand heads turned toward him.
“Not here,” Connor said. “Our weapon. We’ll take fire to them.”
“Yes!” Molucco cried. “That’s it! Simple, effective — brilliant. Yes, Mister Tempest. Our weapon shall be fire.” Suddenly, he was all business again. “Now, can I ask all the captains and deputies here gathered to join me in the booth and we will devise our tactics. . . .”
Connor looked back at the crowd, which was starting to disperse. The masked stranger returned his gaze and nodded.
“Connor, let’s go and grab a seat, buddy,” said Bart.
“Sure,” Connor said, turning to his friend. “Sure, I’ll be with you in a minute. There’s someone I have to talk to.”
“Who?”
“That man over there — the one in the mask.”
“Mask? I don’t see anyone in a mask.”
“Right there in the middle of the bar.”
“I think someone’s had a bit too much brandy . . .”
But Connor had left his side and was striding through the bar toward the masked stranger. He beckoned Connor to the side of the room and up the stairs. Connor followed, heading up toward the gallery of private booths.
The stranger stepped inside the first booth and Connor followed, drawing the velvet curtain behind him. His heart was racing.
“Connor.” The words seeped into Connor’s head like melting ice. The stranger held out a gloved hand. Connor reached for it.
“You’re the captain, aren’t you?” Connor said. “The captain of the Vampirate ship.”
The captain nodded.
“It’s good to meet you at last, Connor Tempest.” Again, Connor’s head was filled with the whisper.
“You too, sir.”
“I thought you might be angry with me.”
“Angry, sir? Why?”
The captain sat down. “Because Grace came back to my ship. Because she cannot stay away.”
“I was angry, well, frustrated, at first,” said Connor, sitting down himself. “I thought that after everything that’s happened, we should stay together. But I know now that she needs to be there. I was selfish — I thought I could get on with being a pirate and just expect her to come along for the ride. But, in the end, I realized that we had to go our separate ways — for now at least.”
The captain nodded. “Then you are wise, Connor Tempest. Wise, as well as strong.”
“She is safe there, isn’t she?” Connor asked. “It is a safe place?”
The captain paused. “Is anywhere truly safe?”
It wasn’t the answer Connor had hoped for.
“Don’t look so worried, Connor. I will do my utmost to protect Grace, and she has other friends on board who feel the same. Besides, Grace is very strong.”
“I know,” Connor said. “She’s the stronger of the two of us. She always has been.”
The captain seemed surprised at the statement. And Connor had surprised himself by admitting the fact.
“I should be getting back now,” the captain said.
“So soon?” Connor replied. Suddenly, he had a hundred questions for the captain.
“You can always come and visit us, you know. You are very welcome.”
“But how do I find you? Even Grace had difficulty finding her way back to the ship.”
The captain shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “It’s not really so hard to find.”
He rose from the seat and began to make his way out of the booth.
“Wait!” Connor said.
The captain turned.
“You told me to tell them to take fire.”
“Yes,” said the captain.
“But the ...the people who murdered Porfirio are . . . they’re Vampirates too, aren’t they?”
Connor was surprised how much emotion the captain could convey through the strange mask. He looked sad and weary.
“They are exiles. I gave them shelter for a time. But no more.”
“So you want them to die as much as the pirates do? Can they die a second death?”
The captain considered the matter.
“I do not wish hurt or death upon any living creature,” he said, “but, in this case, I fear the alternative.” He paused. “There is one more thing, Connor. Something important.”
“Yes? What is it?”
“Among the exiles, you may see someone you think you know. But do not be fooled. He is not as he appears — only an echo. You must be very strong, Connor. You must lead the way. Do not let him prevent you and your com-rades from doing what you must do.”
What did he mean? Connor frowned. Why did the captain talk in riddles?
As if he had read Connor’s thoughts, the captain smiled. “Because you will know, Connor. When the time comes, you will understand and you will act. You don’t need as much help as you think you do. Your destiny is not to follow, but to lead.” He reached out his hand once more. “Until we meet again, Connor Tempest.”
Connor shook the captain’s gloved hand. As he did so, he felt a wave of strength and determination pour into him. It was the strangest sensation — as if it was coming directly through the captain’s veins into his own. And there was one more mystery. As Connor held tight onto the captain’s hand, he had the strangest feeling. There was no logical explanation — but he was certain that it was a hand he had held before.
40
DONOR
Grace was too troubled to sleep. She pushed back the curtain over her porthole. It was light outside. On the Vampirate ship these daylight hours were the hours of rest, but she had not yet adjusted her circadian rhythms.
She stepped down from her bed and, slipping on Darcy’s coat once more, made her way out of the cabin and along the corridor. She pushed open the door to the deck and, feeling the sudden blast of cold air, stepped outside.
It was a brisk day, but she found the breeze somehow soothing. It ruffled her hair and massaged away her head-ache. The sound of the wind and the unsettled waters below helped to drown out the constant noise inside her head. She rolled the sleeves of the coat right down over her hands to keep them warm and walked up to the railing that ran around the edge of the deck.
All around her the sea was gray and choppy. As far as she could see, there was no sign of any other ships. And no sign of land — of Sanctuary, whatever it might look like. She wondered how far into their journey they were. Was this still the regular ocean or had they already passed into uncharted waters?
Her musings were interrupted by a light touch on her neck. At first, she took it to be the breeze, blowing up the collar of her sweater. But then it came again and she realized it was the hand of a fellow traveler. No one should be up here during the light hours. No one save the captain — and his hands were always gloved. She could tell that this was a bare hand. Feeling suddenly fearful, Grace slowly turned around.
“Hello,” said a small, delicate young woman. She looked familiar.
“Hello,” said Grace, trying to place her companion. She was tiny and very pretty, though also very pale.
“I’m Shanti,” said the woman, “Lorcan’s donor.”
Of course! Now, she recognized her. She had seen her with Lorcan the night of the first Feast. Grace had envied Shanti that night — envied her not only her beauty but the easy intimacy she shared with Lorcan. Now, Shanti looked older and more frail. Her brow was stitched with worry lines.
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“You’re Grace,” said Shanti, stepping forward and joining Grace at the deck rail. “Lorcan often talks about you.”
Grace was pleased with that information. She felt awkward, though. She had never talked to a donor before and, although the captain had explained something of the relationship between vampire and donor, she still had many unanswered questions.
“When did you get back?” Shanti asked her, turning her eyes out to the gray sky.
“Yesterday,” Grace said.
“And you’re going to stay, this time?” There was an edge to Shanti’s voice. Was she somehow jealous of Grace? She sounded as if she might be — though she surely had nothing to be jealous of. Still, Grace decided, she should probably tread carefully.
“I’m not sure how long I can stay,” Grace said, truthfully. “It’s not really up to me.”
“I don’t understand,” said Shanti, the wind toying with her long, dark hair.
“Nor do I,” Grace said, smiling as she turned toward her companion. “It’s all a mystery to me.”
Shanti continued to gaze into the distance. “What’s a mystery?”
“This ship,” Grace said. “The Vampirates. The donors. I really know very little. I didn’t even know that donors could come up to this deck.”
“We’re allowed up here during the daylight hours,” Shanti said. “But not after the Nightfall Bell.” She shrugged. “It’s for our own protection. Besides, we need to get a good night’s sleep. Sleep keeps us strong. Sleep makes our blood pure.”
Grace nodded. Things were starting to make sense.
“Not that it matters much any more.”
“Why not?” Grace asked.
Shanti shrugged, still refusing to meet Grace’s eyes. “What good’s a donor’s blood when a vampire refuses to feed?”
She sounded very hurt now. Of course — Lorcan had stopped taking blood since he had been wounded. It might have been a relief to his donor, thought Grace. But, looking at the girl, she saw that nothing could be further from the truth.
“I’m sorry,” Grace said.
Vampirates: Tide of Terror Page 28
