“What good is sorry?” said Shanti. There were tears in her eyes.
Grace reached a hand out to her shoulder but Shanti quickly shrugged away her touch.
“Leave me be!” she said. “I don’t need sympathy from you.”
“It’s just I feel responsible,” Grace said. “Lorcan wouldn’t be in this state if it wasn’t for me.”
At last, Shanti turned to face her head on, tears working their way across her cheeks. “I am very well aware of that fact,” she said.
“You care for Lorcan,” Grace said. Of course she did. How could you not care for him?
But Shanti shook her head. “I’m not crying for him. It’s me. I had a good thing going on this ship. If he chooses not to take my blood, then there’s nothing left for me here. I’ll have to leave.”
Grace was puzzled. “Where would you go?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? I can’t go back to the places I came from. They don’t exist any more. Not since the floods. I’ve got no home, no family, no . . . no nothing. This ship was my last chance.”
“Lorcan’s appetite will return,” Grace said. “I know it will. And even if it doesn’t, well, surely the captain would let you stay.”
Shanti shook her head. “You don’t understand. You said it yourself. It’s all a mystery to you. Well, it’s plain as day and night to me. I made a deal, you see. Every donor makes the same deal. As long as you’re supplying blood, you’re fine. But if something happens to stop that — well, they have no need for you. It’s good-bye and good luck.”
Grace was shocked at Shanti’s words. She couldn’t believe the captain would run things in this way. He had always been so kind, so caring, toward her.
“You couldn’t understand,” Shanti said, each word dripping with pain and bitterness. “What would you know of having nothing in this world? Of having nowhere to go?”
Grace was about to answer the question but then she realized that no answer was sought.
“No, you couldn’t possibly imagine. When the floods came, I lost everything I had in this world, everything except my bones and blood. And I made a deal with the devil for them. It was the last chance. The very last chance. But it had its upside.” She paused, her words had come in such a torrent, she needed to catch her breath. “They’re all immortal, of course. That comes easy to them when they cross. But us lot — well, it isn’t the same for us. We’re only immortal so long as we’re with them, feeding them. When they stop feeding, age catches up with the likes of us.”
So that was why she looked so much older than when Grace had seen her at the feast. How old was she? Grace wondered. How much catching up was there left for Shanti to do? No wonder she was so angry at Lorcan — and at Grace.
“Shanti, I’m sorry about what’s happened. I really am. But I’m here to help Lorcan get better. I know he will.”
Shanti snorted, tearing her hands from the deck rail. “Maybe he will. And maybe he won’t. It doesn’t matter to me any more. Because even if he does decide to take blood again, it isn’t my blood he wants any more, is it?”
The woman glared at Grace, then began striding off across the deck. Grace turned and followed her.
“What do you mean? If he doesn’t want your blood, then whose?”
“Oh come on,” said Shanti, “I thought you were supposed to be clever!”
With that, she turned and threw her small, frail body at the door. In a moment, she had disappeared back indoors.
Her words resounded in Grace’s head. What was she saying? That Lorcan wanted her blood? Was the only way to cure Lorcan to become his donor?
Grace thought of what the captain had said when she’d asked how she could help.
“Search for the answer. It lies within you.”
Grace began to tremble, suddenly aware of the blood pumping through each and every vein within her body. Was this what Lorcan needed? If she truly wanted to save him, was this the price she’d have to pay?
41
FIRE
It was a simple plan that Molucco and the eleven other pirate captains had devised. To surround the ship and bring fire to it from all sides. So much fire that it would take an ocean to quench its heat. To leave its murderous squatters no possible chance to escape. Molucco knew that it meant his brother’s ship — along with his brother’s body and those of the crew — would burn away to ashes. But, with Porfirio gone, this, he had decided, was the right, true end. “Like the pirates of old,” he announced solemnly, “his ship shall be his funeral pyre.”
And so, that night, twelve ships set sail along the coast. The Diablo was, of course, at the front of the fleet. On the deck of each ship, a controlled bonfire had been prepared — ready for the cue when each pirate force would light their torches and make ready for simultaneous attack. Watching the preparations, Connor kept thinking about what the Vampirate captain had told him.
“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.”
What did he mean — an echo? And who was the captain talking about?
“You must be very strong, Connor. You must lead the way. Do not let him prevent you and your comrades from doing what you must.”
The captain seemed so confident that Connor could control the others, but he was still new to the crew. True, he had Molucco’s ear, but he was far from sure that he could command the rest of his comrades in the heat of battle.
“When the time comes, you will understand and you will act. ...Your destiny is not to follow, but to lead.”
Was this true? Connor thought again of his vision of becoming a pirate captain. Perhaps today would be his first test toward that goal.
The ship’s cannon roared. It was the sign. The rogue ship had been sighted. The Diablo adjusted its course. Connor looked back and saw the amazing sight of eleven ships moving in formation, each carrying perfect circles of fire — like small planets — through the night.
The ships turned toward their target, gathering around it like bees in a hive. The ship idled in the water, its sails furled. The pirates could see no sign of life aboard — but the empty deck bore the terrible, bloody evidence of the slaughter. A fresh siren sounded. On each ship, the pirates armed themselves with flaming torches. A second siren. And now, the pirates began throwing torches from all sides at the deck of the ship. Before long, the deck was ringed with flame.
“This is for Porfirio,” cried Molucco, sending a flaming torch straight toward the mast.
The pirates on The Diablo cheered as the sails began to carry the flames. The cheers were taken up by the other ships until there was a wall of sound around the circle of fire.
Suddenly, figures appeared on the deck of the ship. Connor looked closer. There were four of them — three men and a woman — and they were cowering amid the fire. Connor’s eyes roved across them — these monsters! There was a tall black man, his silver hair reflecting the flames. Then a taller, thinner, younger man. And a girl — a beautiful girl, but a monster nevertheless. And then . . . And then there was the fourth vampire. Connor recoiled. It was Jez!
Connor looked at Jez, remembering the last time he had seen him, lying in Molucco’s cabin after they had brought his corpse back over the wish. He remembered the moment, on the deck of The Albatross, when Jez’s life had finally left him. As long as Connor lived, he would never forget that moment. Suddenly he understood the Vampirate captain’s words. Amongst the exiles, you may see someone you think you know. He is not as he appears — only an echo. Here was the echo. It wasn’t Jez.
At Connor’s side, Bart paled in horror. Connor turned to his friend, who pointed, dumbstruck at Jez — or whatever Jez had become.
“It isn’t him,” Connor told him. “It looks like him but it isn’t Jez.”
Bart’s face was pure agonized confusion. “I don’t understand. Look at him . . .”
“It’s complicated,” Connor said, suddenly understanding the Vampirate captain�
��s words. “After Jez died, after we buried him, he was brought back to life. Well, brought back to something ...”
Bart shook his head. “You’re telling me my old buddy is a vampire?”
“He’s a Vampirate,” Connor said.
“The crew that rescued Grace?”
Bart was — understandably– struggling to take it in. But now Connor saw that other members of the crew had noticed “Jez” and were holding their fire. He had to do something. If they ceased the attack, who knew what danger might spring from this?
“It isn’t him!” Connor cried. “It isn’t Jez.” He climbed higher on the deck. “Trust me, it isn’t Jez!”
The pirates looked back at Connor, all wide-eyed confusion. They too had seen Jez die. They had seen his coffin thrown into the sea.
Across on the other ship, Stukeley looked uncertainly toward them through the leaping flames — his eyes betraying a mixture of fear, surprise, and confusion. And then he saw Bart. And something broke through the confusion.
“Bart!” he called. “Connor! The Three Buccaneers!” It was recognizably Jez’s voice.
“It certainly sounds like him,” Bart said, his face wracked with pain.
“You saw him die,” Connor said, urgently. “Remember that. You saw him die. Together, we threw his coffin over-board.” Connor turned to address the rest of the crew. “It’s a trick! We all saw Jez die. We were all there when we buried him at sea. This is a trick, I promise you, the cruelest kind of trick. But this is the crew that murdered Porfirio Wrathe and his crewmates. We must continue the attack!”
There was a moment when Connor thought he’d failed to reach them but then, suddenly, the crew began raising their torches once more. They hesitated, looking toward Bart. The implication was clear. He had been Jez’s best friend. Let him make the final call.
“Yes,” Bart cried, “Connor’s right. It’s a trick. I held my buddy when he died. That isn’t him! Unleash the torches!”
Connor knew what a terrible moment it was for Bart. This was the very end of the Three Buccaneers. As the pirates around them renewed their attack with extra vigor, Connor and Bart closed their eyes. When they opened them again, moments later, they could no longer see or hear Jez through the flames.
Gradually, the shrieks of Jez’s three companions also ceased.
Then it was like watching a ship entirely made of fire — from the prow to the stern, from the mast through the sails and rigging. The entire structure was starting to break apart, unmaking itself and tumbling into the dark waters below.
A siren sounded. The pirates’ work was done. The ship was destroyed and with it its murderous crew. Revenge, thought Connor, was a painful thing. It left no real satisfaction, but instead, a sense of revulsion and guilt and dirt. He wished The Diablo could sail away right now, job done.
But suddenly, Connor heard a roar and saw a vast figure emerge from the center of the flames. Connor’s eyes popped. It was Caesar — the stranger who had met the crew of The Diablo at Ma Kettle’s and led them to the Vampirate ship to rescue Grace. Caesar, who had mysteriously disappeared from the ship. Now, Connor thought he understood why. But he needed confirmation. He climbed up the rigging so that he was on a level with the monster’s eyes.
“Caesar!” he cried. “Caesar!”
The other pirates looked up at Connor and then over to the burning ship. Those who had met “Caesar” began to nod. But now, understanding was starting to spread. Something was seriously warped on that other ship — its crew was not what it seemed. They were, after all, demons.
Now, the lone surviving vampire turned to Connor. It was like looking at the face of the devil — his eyes burning with the same fire as the flames that hungrily ate his ship. Connor tried to look away but the sight, though gruesome, was too compelling.
“My name is not Caesar, idiot! My name is . . . Sidorio!”
Of course! It all made sense now. This was the vampire who had preyed upon Grace. This was the one the Vampirate captain had exiled. He had led the pirates to the Vampirate ship not to rescue Grace but to destroy the Vampirates. . . .
“Give me a torch!” Connor cried to one of the pirates below. “Quick, give me a torch!” One was passed up to him. Suddenly, he felt like a senior officer.
“This is for Grace!” Connor cried, launching the torch straight at Sidorio. It hit the deck right in front of him.
“And another!” Connor called to the pirates below. Quickly, another torch was passed up to him.
“This is for Jez!” Connor cried, sending the torch up through the air. It struck Sidorio’s side. A terrible flame rose up from his flesh — or whatever he was made of. Dark smoke began to rise above him.
“Fire,” roared Sidorio’s voice. “Fire only makes me stronger.”
“Another!” Connor cried. “Pass me another and gather all the remaining torches. We’ll throw them together.”
The pirates passed Connor another torch, then took up their own. Connor looked down upon the pirates of The Diablo. For a moment, they were his crew. Bart, Cate . . . even Molucco was looking up at him.
“And this,” Connor cried, staring across the water and the fire at the burning giant, “this is for Porfirio!” He launched his torch through the night sky. It flew up in a high arc, meeting the hundred other torches thrown from the crew. They rained fire on the deck of Porfirio’s old ship. Nothing, no one, was visible within the flames. The only noise was their hungry cackle. The only smell was the noxious smoke as the ship burned away to nothingness.
Then, above the crackle of the fire, came a louder roar. “Fire only makes me stronger!” But the voice was changed, somehow. Sidorio was a vain creature, thought Connor.
He would protest his power to the very end, but he could not possibly survive this latest attack.
But, to Connor’s amazement, the flames began to form into the shape of the monster, until he was five, ten, twenty, forty feet tall. The giant loomed angrily at them from high above.
“Death cannot take me,” it roared. “Death cannot take back the dead.”
As his words finished, the fire suddenly subsided. The terrible image of Sidorio vanished. And, suddenly, though his heart was pounding wildly, all Connor was looking at was a burning ship. A funeral pyre for Porfirio Wrathe and his crew. And, in some way, thought Connor, for Jez, too.
For a long time, Connor hung there on the rigging, watching the ship smolder away, becoming one with the waters which had borne it. Were the oceans safe again now? Had Sidorio’s tide of terror come to an end?
At last, he looked down and saw that Cate, Bart, and Molucco had gathered beneath him on the deck below.
“Come down!” Molucco called to him. “It’s over now!”
Connor clambered down the rigging, suddenly stunned from everything that had happened, chilled and shaking with deferred emotion.
As he reached the deck, Cate and Bart stepped forward and hugged him. It was exactly what he needed.
“You were awesome!” Bart said.
“A real hero!” added Cate.
Captain Wrathe nodded, holding out his arms to Connor.
“You saved the day. Mister Tempest. If it hadn’t been for you . . . if it hadn’t been for you . . .”
Connor shook his head. “I just did what any pirate would have done — for his captain — and his friends.”
As Connor fell into Captain Wrathe’s hug, he thought of the question the Vampirate captain had asked him.
“Is anywhere truly safe?”
A shiver broke through his entire body. One battle was over but another would not be too far away. They were pirates. This was what it meant to be a pirate.
Over Molucco’s shoulder, Connor watched the fleet of ships sailing off through the night. I’m part of all this, he thought. I chose this and I’d choose it again and again and again, whatever the dangers.
42
A MILLION MYSTERIES
Grace was waiting on deck as daylight faded away into dus
k. They had sailed through the gray ocean and sky into clearer waters but she still had no clue as to whether Sanctuary might be near or far. She hadn’t seen the captain to ask him. He was busy with his plans — and now, she had plans of her own.
As the sun fell into the obsidian waters, Grace looked down at the ship’s figurehead, waiting for Darcy Flotsam to wake. It happened just a few moments after the sun was finally swallowed by the waves. Grace heard a cracking sound and then saw the first sign of movement from below. Darcy’s neck lifted slightly, causing another small crack. Then her neat bob swished from side to side.
Crack-swish. Crack-swish. Next her arms jerked into motion — creee-ak — and soon her legs, too. She must have been aware she was being watched because she twisted her face up toward Grace and winked before turning back and diving into the water.
She disappeared under the water with a delicate splash and surfaced again a few feet away, smoothing back her sleek black hair and gazing around in wonder, as if she were looking upon the world for the very first time. She paddled about a little bit, then swam around the ship to climb up the ladder and join Grace on the ship’s deck.
“Good evening, Grace,” she said, dripping water all over the red deck boards. “Are you back for good?”
“Yes, Darcy,” said Grace. “At least, I hope so.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Darcy asked. “I can read you like a book, Grace Tempest. In fact, a good deal better. And I can see you’re in one of your agitated moods.”
Grace smiled. Somehow, whatever was happening aboard the ship, Darcy — with her strange ways and words — always made her feel better.
“Darcy, I need to ask you a favor.”
“A favor, eh? Well, ask away, and I shall certainly consider your request most carefully and come back to you with an answer toute de suite.” As she spoke, she made her way toward the ship’s bell.
“Wait!” Grace cried.
Darcy stopped in her tracks and turned. “Please, do be patient, Grace. You know it’s my duty to sound the bell. It is my responsibility to wake the crew.”
Vampirates: Tide of Terror Page 29
