There was a ripple of laughter around the tavern. It served as an escape valve after the high tension of Barbarro’s arrival. Connor took advantage of the break from silence to give Bart a nudge. “You didn’t tell me Scrimshaw had a brother,” he said.
Bart grinned. “I have to keep some surprises up my sleeve,” he said.
As they spoke, the tall woman behind Barbarro stepped forward. She walked gracefully and was dressed in a regal coat, the same pale gold as the hair swept up onto her head.
“That’s Barbarro’s wife,” Bart hissed.
“Trofie!” exclaimed Molucco.
“Did he say Trophy?” Connor asked. “That’s an odd name.”
“It’s Trofie — F-I-E. Scandinavian, I think,” Bart said.
“She’s a lot younger than Barbarro,” Connor said.
“Yes, I think this face suits her.”
“What do you mean, this face?”
“Let’s just say it changes from time to time,” Bart said. “Snip, snip . . . if you know what I mean.”
Trofie extended her right hand. It glowed as golden as the rest of her, all except for her ruby-red fingernails. Connor watched as Molucco bowed before his sister-in-law and kissed her hand. This didn’t seem to entirely please her, for as Molucco stood up again, she reached into a pocket, pulled out a small handkerchief, and wiped her hand. As she did so, Connor was surprised to see the light bounce off it. Looking more closely, he saw that Trofie’s right hand was made of metal. It was literally as gold as her hair. And what he had taken for red-varnished nails were, in fact, actual rubies. He had never seen anything like it.
“What’s with her hand?” he asked Bart.
“Ah, yes,” said Bart. “There are conflicting stories about that. The official version is that Trofie was captured and held hostage by one of Barbarro’s rivals. He threatened to cut off her fingers unless she revealed the location of Barbarro’s secret treasure cache. Story goes that Trofie kept her silence for five days. And every day, they chopped off one of her fingers. On the sixth day, Barbarro rescued her, killed her captors, and took her to a surgeon who reconstructed her hand out of gold.”
“Wow!” said Connor. “That’s amazing.” It made him sick to think of such wanton violence. “So what’s the unofficial version?”
“Well,” said Bart. “Trofie Wrathe likes a jewel or two and Barbarro Wrathe believes in treating her to whatever her heart desires. Rumor has it that she got to the point where she had so many rings she literally couldn’t lift her hand. In the end it was a choice between her rings and her fingers.”
“And she chose . . . ?”
“She had her actual hand removed — apparently it’s in safekeeping in formaldehyde somewhere in case she ever wants it back — and then had her rings melted down to create this new gold hand.”
“Wow!” Connor said again. “Which version do you think is the truth?”
Bart shook his head. “Search me,” he said. “Chances are, we’ll never know. I certainly wouldn’t dare ask her. She scares me.” Bart shivered.
Connor turned his full attention back to Trofie. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” he heard Trofie say to Molucco. Her voice was icily precise.
“Madam,” answered Molucco. “The death of Porfirio Wrathe was a devastating loss to us all. To the whole world of piracy, in fact.”
Trofie nodded. Then she looked back over her shoulder. Connor saw she was beckoning to the lanky boy who had come in with them. “Moonshine, come and say hello to your uncle.”
The boy rolled his eyes and ambled forward. He was dressed casually in black drainpipe jeans and a leather biker jacket. “Uncle Luck,” he said. “How’s it hanging?”
Trofie dug a golden finger into his ribs.
“Ow!” Moonshine moaned. “That hurt!”
“Show your uncle some respect!” she said.
But Molucco beamed. “No need for formality where family’s concerned,” he said. “Why, Moonshine, you’ve certainly had a growth spurt since last we saw you. You’re as tall and thin as a mast.”
Moonshine looked faintly displeased with this remark but then, thought Connor, he had the kind of face that looked faintly displeased, period. It wasn’t helped by the smattering of acne on his cheeks or the livid purple scar that crossed one cheekbone.
Suddenly, as if becoming aware he was being watched, Moonshine glanced in Connor and Bart’s direction. As his eyes met theirs, his face froze. The look he gave Connor and Bart was venomous. Where had that come from, Connor wondered?
“Connor!” Molucco called. “Cate! Come and meet my family.”
Connor and Cate crossed the floor.
“This is our deputy captain,” said Molucco. “Cate, you’ve met Barbarro and Trofie before.”
Cate nodded, bowing before them.
“But I don’t think you’ve ever met their boy, Moonshine. And the three of you have yet to meet Connor Tempest,” Molucco said, reaching out an arm and pulling Connor toward him. “Connor’s the newest member of my crew. He’s only been with us these past three months but it’s hard to imagine a time without him. Why, he’s become like a son to me.”
Connor blushed at Captain Wrathe’s fulsome praise. Once more, he was struck by the captain’s generosity of spirit.
“A son, eh?” said Barbarro, shaking Connor’s hand. “That’s high praise indeed from my brother. Connor, this is my wife and deputy captain, Trofie.”
Connor waited nervously to see if she would extend her real hand or the golden one. It was the gold one that moved toward him. As he took it in his own hand, he felt something akin to an electric shock. It was as smooth and almost as supple as flesh but it was ice cold.
Trofie gave a small smile. “Hello, min elskling,” she said. “We’ve heard about you.”
“Really?” Connor said, surprised.
“Oh, yes,” Trofie said, her face still holding the smile. “We’re very well informed.”
“This is Moonshine,” said Barbarro. “Say hello to Connor, Moonshine.”
Moonshine surveyed Connor for a moment, giving the clear message he’d as much like to shake hands with a pile of his own vomit. At last, there being no clear alternative, he extended his hand to Connor’s. Connor noticed the blackened, chewed fingernails. They looked somehow familiar but he didn’t know why. He and Moonshine shook hands very briefly. Moonshine’s hands were as cold as his mother’s but clammier.
“How old are you, Connor?” Barbarro asked.
“Fourteen, sir.”
“Fourteen? Why, just the same as our Moonshine! Looks like you’re set to be firm friends,” said Barbarro, evidently blind to the looks of disgust now emanating from both mother and son. Connor saw that Trofie had wrapped her metal hand about her son’s waist. The ruby “nails” glistened.
“Well,” Ma Kettle said, taking charge. “You’ve all got much to catch up on! Come and sit up here and we’ll uncork a bottle of oyster champagne to mark this auspicious occasion.” She ushered Molucco, Barbarro, and Trofie into the booth where she and Molucco had been sitting before.
“Not you young men, though,” she said, firmly grasping Connor in one hand and Moonshine in the other. “You too, Bart,” she called across the room. “You boys are going to check out my newest attraction.”
“We are?” said Connor.
“Oh yes,” said Ma, “you are!” She called over her shoulder. “Sugar Pie! Is the band ready?”
“Yes, Ma!” came a familiar cry.
The cry was followed by the appearance of Sugar Pie, Ma Kettle’s beautiful assistant.
“Connor! Bart! It’s been a while. How are you both?” Sugar Pie kissed them each lightly on the cheek. Connor vowed not to wash for a couple of days. Speechless, he beamed from ear to ear.
“And this is Moonshine Wrathe,” Ma Kettle said to Sugar Pie. “Molucco’s nephew.”
Moonshine leaned in his cheek for Sugar Pie to kiss, but she took one look at his pockmarked face and gave it a quick pat with her hand.
/> “So, have you seen the dance floor?” she said, spinning around. They hadn’t noticed it before but now Connor saw that Ma had changed the layout of the bar. The section beneath the gallery of curtained booths was now a dance floor. It was made up of glass squares, like a chessboard, under which colored lights pulsed in time to the music.
“I assume you know how to tango,” Sugar Pie said.
“Absolutely,” Moonshine replied, puffing up his unimpressive chest.
“Excellent! Then you’ll partner Kat,” said Sugar Pie, pushing him toward the dance floor where a tall, dark-haired girl was waiting. “And you, Bartholomew,” she said, “you shall partner Elisa.” Grinning, Bart strode out across the floor and took his dance partner in his arms.
“And you, Connor,” Sugar Pie said, taking his hand, “you shall partner me.”
The musicians played a small overture as she led him onto the dance floor.
“Erm, the thing is, I really don’t know how to tango,” Connor stammered.
“That’s why you’ve got me as your partner,” said Sugar Pie. “I’ll lead. All you have to do is cling tight and let me do the rest.”
“But I thought the man was supposed to lead,” said Connor.
“Ha!” Sugar Pie laughed. “Not on this dance floor!”
Suddenly the tango music began in earnest and Connor was swept across the floor.
“That’s it,” Sugar Pie said. “Just hold on tight and don’t let go!”
Connor realized he had little choice as she dragged him along the floor. He had fleeting glimpses of the others as they passed, like speedboats cresting the surface of the sea. Bart winked at him as he elaborately dipped Elisa until her tousled hair was skimming the floor.
“Focus!” Sugar Pie instructed, pulling Connor’s face sharply toward hers and staring at him with her disarmingly blue eyes. “That’s better!” It did not surprise him that when the time came, it was she who dipped him, his head and shoulders falling backward until he was looking up at the velvet curtains of the booths overhead. They were all tightly closed.
“Excellent!” Sugar Pie cried, pulling him upright again. “You’re really getting the hang of this.”
Dazed, Connor found himself being marched back across the floor. Now he could see Moonshine, dragging Kat along in a rather brutal fashion. In everything he did, Moonshine seemed to express unknown depths of anger. Twisting Kat around, Moonshine gazed directly into Connor’s eyes.
The music came to a crescendo and Connor was left facing a look of pure hatred coming from Moonshine Wrathe. Connor frowned. How could you hate someone you’d only just met? He had a bad feeling about Moonshine’s arrival. Barbarro might have come to heal old wounds, but judging by the expression on Moonshine’s face, a new feud might already be starting. Connor couldn’t understand where the boy’s animosity had come from, but this was going to end badly. He could feel it.
4
DARK JOURNEY
As the mist cleared, Grace saw only empty ocean. The Nocturne had disappeared. She felt a shiver along her spine. There was no going back now. Glancing first at the captain, then at Lorcan and Shanti, she wondered what challenges lay ahead for each of them before they next returned to the ship.
“Now what do we do?” asked Shanti.
“It’s really very simple,” the captain said. “Now, we climb the mountain.”
“Well yes, but where are our mules? And lights? Surely, they’ve sent someone to guide us and carry our bags?”
Grace hated to find herself in agreement with Shanti but she felt these were all fair points. Nevertheless, it came as little surprise to hear the captain’s whisper. “We’ll make our own way. Everyone makes their own way to Sanctuary.”
Shanti struggled to take this in. “But how? It’s pitch black. We can’t. We don’t even have a map, do we? My shoes . . . Lorcan will never make it.”
Lorcan sighed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he muttered. Through the darkness, Grace reached out her hand and squeezed his.
“Well, it’s true!” Shanti continued, undeterred. “We’d be much better off waiting for daylight.”
“You’re forgetting,” said Lorcan. “I cannot walk in the light. The captain is the only one of us — the only Vampirate — who can do that.”
Shanti didn’t miss a beat. “If you’re already blind,” she said, “what more harm can the light do to you?”
This was a vicious barb, even by Shanti’s standards. Lorcan had no answer for it.
“Let’s talk no more about this,” the captain said. “We’re wasting time.” With that, he strode off along the path, his cape sparking against the trees on either side.
Shanti looked to the others for support. “This is madness,” she said. “Don’t you see? We’ll never make it.”
“You might well be right,” Lorcan agreed despondently. It was as if Shanti’s sharp words had stripped him of any remaining shred of confidence.
“We have to try,” Grace said, with grim determination. “We can’t give up before we even begin. I don’t think the captain would have embarked on this journey if he didn’t think it was possible.”
“What do you know?” Shanti said. “What do you know about anything?”
Shanti was so bitter, so angry with Grace. Grace knew that she blamed her for Lorcan’s blindness and for the fact that he had stopped taking Shanti’s blood. And though it made Grace uncomfortable to admit it, it was true that Lorcan had been blinded trying to protect her. So she did feel responsible for what had happened. But there was nothing to be gained by standing around blaming one another or apologizing again. The captain had said that Lorcan’s best chance of a cure lay at the top of this mountain. That was the one truth they all had to cling to.
“I’m going to follow the captain,” she announced. “Before we lose sight of him.” She turned to Lorcan. “Are you coming?”
He nodded.
Grace paused for a moment. It was an awkward question but she needed to ask it. “Do you need a hand?”
Before he could answer, Shanti looped her arm through Lorcan’s. “If anyone is to help him, it will be me,” she said.
But Lorcan shook his head and removed Shanti’s hand. “I can walk by myself,” he said, stepping forward. In spite of the bandages around his eyes, his steps were firm. “Grace, you lead and we shall follow.”
Shanti’s face flushed scarlet and Grace could see she was thinking of some fresh complaint.
“Come on then,” Grace said. “I can still see the flicker of the captain’s cape along the path, but we’ll lose him if we wait another moment.”
It was strange, thought Grace, how quickly you adapted to the darkness. The shimmer of light in the veins of the captain’s cape was not as bright as normal — just enough to tell her where he was, but insufficient to illuminate the way. And so she simply walked in his wake. Occasionally, a stray branch brushed her face or the top of her head, but already her other senses were making up for the lack of vision. She noticed how her hearing had grown more acute, as if the volume had been turned up on her footsteps on the path. It was strange how easy it was to distinguish her own steps from Lorcan’s heavy but firm tread and Shanti’s brisker pace. Try as she might, however, she couldn’t hear the captain’s footsteps ahead of her. She knew he was there from the constant flicker of light, but how come she couldn’t hear his footsteps?
She could smell the musty coat Lorcan was wearing and, behind him, the trace of Shanti’s perfume — quite incongruous against the mountain air. Grace walked on, her feet marching out a steady rhythm, her mind in a meditative state. Suddenly she heard a cry from behind her.
“What was that?” Shanti’s shrill voice pierced the air.
“What was what?” Lorcan asked.
“Something wet and furry just ran past me,” Shanti said. “Didn’t you feel it?”
“No,” said Lorcan, unable to keep a note of amusement out of his voice.
“Oh, yes,” Shanti said. “It
’s very funny, isn’t it? Climbing up a mountain path so dark we can’t see a step ahead of us, with wild beasts running among us.” Her voice was spiraling higher and higher into hysterics.
“There, there,” said Lorcan, calmly. “Don’t trouble yourself, Shanti. If you did feel a wild creature, remember that this mountain is their home. I reckon it only came out to take a look . . .”
“This time,” Shanti said. “Next time, it might attack.”
“It was probably just confused,” Lorcan said. “On account of your coat.”
He couldn’t restrain a laugh. Grace tried to resist joining in, but failed.
“Yes, yes,” Shanti said. “You two have your joke. You enjoy yourselves. But you’ll see that I’m right. This journey will be the death of us.” She paused, then continued even more pointedly. “Those of us who aren’t dead already.”
Her words echoed around them, turning the mood dark once more, reverberating in the chill night air. It had grown colder, Grace noticed. At first, she had thought she was simply becoming better at dodging the low-hanging branches, but now she realized that the vegetation was growing sparser on either side. They were moving into a more exposed area.
She noticed too how the path was steadily becoming steeper, requiring more effort to climb. Her legs were feeling the strain. It had been a long time since she’d embarked on physical activity on this scale. If only I’d gone on the morning runs at Pirate Academy, she thought wryly. Looking ahead, she saw the captain had come to a stop. Why? She wondered if he was finding it difficult, too. She caught up with him and waited for the others.
“The path grows steeper here,” the captain warned. Saying no more, he began walking on. The others followed. As the path turned, a shaft of moonlight illuminated the mountainside.
Shanti gave a small cry. Grace just shook her head. The light was meager, but it showed the path continuing right up the mountain on a cliff face so steep that the track had to zigzag back and forth. The path was cut into the rock and was barely a footstep wide, with a perilous drop.
“He cannot be serious,” Shanti moaned.
“Is it bad?” Lorcan asked.
Blood Captain Page 3
