She wanted to know. She couldn’t leave the story here. Taking a deep breath, Grace reached forward and took the ribbon into her hand once more. Again, she felt the sudden surge of energy within her.
“The vigilantes’re fastening the noose around my neck,” she said falteringly. “And ’round the necks of my two compadres. And I’m tellin’ them that it’s not fair. I didn’t do nothing wrong. I didn’t know they was rustlers, the pair of ’em. And though they lied to me right up to that moment, now they start tellin’ the vigilantes that I’m tellin’ the truth. I’m no rustler. I had no idea of their villainy. They know they’re gonna die hangin’ from that tree but even so they start beggin’ for me to be spared. But the noose tightens. They lift me up. Now we’re hangin’ side by side, like a line of washing. And then the noose tightens and I’m hanging there looking out at the prairie, at the infinite roll of sky and stars. And I’m thinkin’, So that’s it. Eighteen years old. I traveled all the way from Texas to South Dakota for this. And then everything goes black, no — everything goes blank.”
Grace opened her eyes, feeling the hot tears welling behind them.
“Here, let me take the ribbon,” Mosh Zu said gently.
As he did so, tears began to fall down Grace’s face.
Through them, she saw that Mosh Zu was smiling at her.
“You have such abilities,” he said. “Don’t you see? When Shanti wore her ribbon, all she took from it was its darkness, its violence. But you . . . you read his whole story from your ribbon.”
“But whose story was it?” Grace said.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Mosh Zu said.
20
NIGHT MISSION
“And what exactly do you need the safety boat for at this time of night?” asked the pirate in charge of the night watch. Just their luck, thought Connor, that Lieutenant Nosey, aka Jean de Cloux, was on duty.
“It’s a private errand for Captain Wrathe,” said Bart confidently.
“What kind of errand?” De Cloux was immediately suspicious.
“If we told you that, it wouldn’t be private, would it?”
“I think I’d better check this out with Captain Wrathe,” de Cloux said.
“Be my guest,” Bart said, as relaxed as ever. “I’m sure the captain would welcome you disrupting his precious sleep to question his orders.”
“Well . . .” De Cloux considered the matter once more. It was common knowledge that Captain Wrathe did not take kindly to being woken up, especially over trifles. “All right,” he said loftily. “I shall help you. But I’m going to have to check with Captain Wrathe in the morning.”
“Understood,” said Bart. “Quite understood. Except, as this is a private errand, the captain asked specifically that none of us mention it to him again or to any other members of the crew at any point.”
Connor smiled at Bart’s audacity, wondering if de Cloux would go for it.
De Cloux seemed to have taken Bart’s words at face value. “He said that?”
“Yes,” said Bart, preparing himself for the coup de grâce. “And he asked us to give you this.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small package, which he dropped into de Cloux’s palm.
De Cloux gave a sniff. “Is this what I think it is?” He prised open the small package. “Chocolate?” he said, in a faraway voice. “I’ve been dreaming of chocolate . . . dark, bitter chocolate . . .” He couldn’t seem to stop himself from breaking off a square. As it melted in his mouth, his expression was one of pure ecstasy.
“He knew that,” Bart said, sealing the deal. “And he asked us to give you this, to thank you for your silence.”
“Captain Wrathe himself asked you to give me the chocolate?”
Bart nodded, very somber. “From his own private supply.” He paused and reached out a hand to de Cloux’s shoulder. “What’s more, he said that if you were able to keep your silence, there might be a promotion for you before too long.”
“Promotion?” De Cloux’s eyes bulged in the lantern light. He couldn’t believe his ears. Nor could Connor. This had never been part of the patter they’d prepared. Bart was getting carried away with himself. It was all very well palming people off with contraband candy, but you couldn’t go around promising people promotions.
Connor coughed to get the others’ attention. “We should be going,” he said. “Time’s moving on.”
“Yes.” De Cloux nodded, carefully pocketing the rest of the precious chocolate. “You two get into the boat and I’ll winch you down.” He called over another pirate to help him.
“But where are they going to at this time of night?” the junior pirate protested.
“Don’t be impudent, Gregory!” de Cloux said, bristling with authority. “It’s the captain’s own orders, so just help me out and keep your mouth shut for once.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the chastened Gregory.
Connor was grinning to himself as he climbed into the boat, careful not to step on Jez, who was still hidden under the tarpaulin. Bart passed over two lanterns to Connor, then he climbed in himself as de Cloux started to lower the boat toward the water.
“Remember,” Bart said, as he gave the thumbs-up to de Cloux, “mum’s the word!”
“Mum’s the word,” repeated de Cloux, with an uncharacteristically good-humored wink.
Moments later, the safety boat slapped into the dark waters and Bart released the lines which held the satellite vessel to The Diablo and began steering the small craft away into the open ocean.
They had only traveled a few feet when a pale hand pushed back the tarpaulin and Jez’s equally pale face appeared. His pallor still shocked Connor but the laugh was the same old Jez Stukeley laugh.
“Poor de Cloux,” Jez said, between giggles. “He’ll be waiting until Christmas for Captain Wrathe to ask him into his cabin to discuss his prospects.”
Bart grinned. “He’ll be waiting a sight longer than that. Still, it’ll keep his silence.”
“Thanks, boys,” Jez said, sitting up beside them now that they were far enough away from The Diablo not to be seen. “Thanks for everything you’re doing for me.”
“All for one,” said Bart, “and one for all.” He grinned at Jez. “Didn’t we always look out for each other? Just because you’re dead, mate, doesn’t mean you stop being one of the Three Buccaneers, eh, Connor?”
Connor shook his head and smiled. “You can’t get away from us that easily!”
Jez beamed back. “And there I was thinking you’d let Brenden Gonzalez take my place.”
“Gonzalez?” Bart asked as he moved the tiller. “What makes you say that?”
Jez shrugged. “I saw you all dancing together, a few nights back, at Ma Kettle’s.”
“You were at Ma’s?” Bart exclaimed, surprised.
“Yes,” Jez continued. “I wanted to talk to you both then, but I didn’t have the guts. I just sat there in one of those curtained booths, sneaking glances at you guys on the dance floor. Gonzalez was with you then.”
They continued on for a minute or more in silence. Then Bart’s face suddenly turned as pale as Jez’s. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You were at Ma’s the night that Jenny Petrel was killed.”
“Jenny Petrel?” Jez repeated, blankly. Evidently, the name meant nothing to him.
“She was one of Ma’s serving girls. You remember Jenny. Pretty as a summer’s day.” He frowned. “They found her in one of the booths above the dance floor. No one heard anything. Little Jenny didn’t scream. No one even heard her cry, over the tango music. But when they found her . . . cuts all over her chest . . . she had bled to death.”
Jez shook his head sadly. “Poor Jenny,” he said.
“So,” Bart went on. “You were in one of the curtained booths where she was killed. You need to drink human blood to live now, right?” He sighed deeply. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying?” Bart looked gutted. “You did it, didn’t you?”
“Me?” Jez reacted a
s though the suggestion was utterly absurd, let alone repugnant. Then his expression grew normal again as he conceded, “I might have done it.” He paused. “I don’t remember.”
“What do you mean, you don’t remember?” Connor asked, appalled.
“How could you kill someone and not remember?” said Bart.
“It’s the hunger,” Jez answered matter-of-factly. “When the hunger takes over, you have no choice but to feed it. It drives you, then it numbs you. Afterward, your senses are dull for a time and you need rest.”
Connor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Clearly neither could Bart. Earlier, as they’d set out in the boat, it had seemed just like old times. But however much they might pretend that nothing had changed, that this was just another crazy adventure for the Three Buccaneers, things were different now. A line divided him and Bart from Jez. Strangely, it hadn’t mattered so much that he was a dead man, the living dead, a vampire . . . whatever you chose to call it. But now he had confessed to being a wanton murderer, and shown not an iota of remorse, not even a spare thought for his victim.
“I know what you’re both thinking,” Jez said. “I’m not stupid. Don’t you see? I hate this thing I’ve become. I told you that before. I need help. I’ll do whatever it takes. If I did kill that girl — and, yes, I probably did — well, that’s terrible. And it’s terrible that I don’t remember. But you don’t understand what this hunger is like. I’m not in control of my own body anymore — my own thoughts, my own needs. When the hunger comes over me, flows into me, there’s nothing I can do to fight it.”
Connor was somewhat reassured to hear these words. He’s not a monster, he told himself. Not, at least, a monster of his own making — a monster who chose to do evil. He managed to smile weakly at Jez. “The Vampirate captain will help you,” Connor said. “He’ll know what to do.”
Bart turned to Connor, suddenly all business. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s finish what we started. How do we find our way to the Vampirate ship?”
“Do you know where it’s anchored?” Jez asked excitedly.
Connor shook his head. “No,” he said. “But I met the captain. And he told me that when I needed to find it, it wouldn’t be hard.”
The captain had told him a lot more besides, thought Connor. Like how to kill Jez — or the thing Jez had become. He had told him to attack with fire. But fire hadn’t killed Jez, only Sidorio and the other Vampirates. How come Jez had been spared that night? Was it some residue of humanity that he alone retained? Not enough humanity to prevent him from killing Jenny Petrel, Connor reflected. They had to get him to the Vampirate ship and seek the help of the captain, before he committed another atrocity.
He looked at his old ally, trying to get the measure of him. Jez stared back. As he did so, the contours of his face suddenly changed. His eyes had disappeared, as if his eyeballs had fallen down into a deep, dark well. Out of this darkness rose twin balls of fire. It was terrifying yet mesmerizing to watch. Then, just as rapidly, the fire was gone again. Jez’s eyelids flickered and he stared back at Connor with his old, familiar eyes.
“What’s the matter, mate?” Jez said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He giggled to himself. But Connor couldn’t join in the joke this time.
“Your eyes disappeared, just for a second.” He turned to Bart. “Did you see it?” Bart nodded, his own face taut with fear. Connor turned back to Jez. “Your eyes disappeared. And in their place was fire.”
“Ah,” said Jez, as matter-of-fact as ever. “That generally means I need blood.”
“You need blood?” Bart repeated, his voice rising in pitch. “We’re out alone in the middle of a dark ocean with you and you have a sudden fancy for blood! Remind me again, who came up with this brilliant plan?”
Seeing that Bart was bordering on hysteria, Connor took command of the situation. “How soon?” he asked Jez. “How soon do you need blood?”
Jez’s eyes disappeared once more and the fires returned. “Need blood now,” he said. “Need blood now.”
21
THE RIBBON CEREMONY
Grace knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Mosh Zu called from inside.
Grace squeezed Lorcan’s hand before pushing open the door. The room was small and sparsely furnished.
Two other people — a man and a woman — were already sitting in the center of the room. Beside them was an empty chair, presumably for Lorcan. As Grace led him toward the chair, she quickly glanced at the others.
The man was dressed in white from head to toe. His face was as pale as his clothes. The woman, in contrast, wore an elaborate ball gown. On closer inspection, Grace saw that it was in tatters. Her eyes traveled up to the woman’s neck. Around it hung a diamond necklace, glittering in the soft lamplight. The woman caught her looking and smiled softly, her fingers touching the necklace. The man had already turned away, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor.
As Lorcan sat down, Grace noticed there were no other chairs.
“Should I go?” she asked Mosh Zu.
“No,” he said. “I’d like you to stay.” He glanced up at the others. “If that’s all right with you.”
The woman shrugged. “Pourquoi pas?”
The man said nothing, his eyes still glued to the floor.
“Take a seat on the floor, wherever you wish,” Mosh Zu said to Grace. She nodded and sat down, cross-legged.
“We are all here, so we shall begin,” Mosh Zu said. “I want to welcome you to Sanctuary. I’m so pleased that you have found your way here. You may stay as long as you need. You have, doubtless, wandered this world for a long time.”
Grace’s eyes traveled across the faces of the three vampires. She noticed that the woman was no longer smiling and the man dressed in white had at last lifted his eyes and was staring at Mosh Zu.
“I know how tired you must be,” Mosh Zu said. “Sanctuary will help to take away that tiredness.” He smiled at them. “We will work hard to remove the burdens you have been carrying for so long.”
There was something incredibly soothing about Mosh Zu’s voice, thought Grace. And, though he was not talking to her, she sensed that her own burdens might become lighter through her time here.
“I will not ask much of you today,” Mosh Zu said. “For today marks only the beginning of a new journey for you. A journey that, I hope, will bring you peace and a new beginning. Think of Sanctuary as a place to shed all that pains you.”
He let the words settle upon the three of them. Grace saw the relief in their faces.
“Tell me your names,” Mosh Zu said. “When and where you were born, and when and where you died. That is all I need at this point.”
He nodded to the woman. She was, Grace noticed, still running her fingers over her diamond necklace.
“My name,” she said, “is Marie-Louise, Princesse de Lamballe.” She paused, as if expecting some congratulation or recognition. Mosh Zu said nothing, simply nodding and waiting for more. “I was born in Turin in 1749. I died in Paris in 1792. I was a companion and confidante of . . .”
“That’s all we need, thank you,” Mosh Zu said, cutting her off — but softly. Grace could tell from the woman’s expression that she had been keen to tell more of her story. But now Mosh Zu nodded to the man dressed all in white.
“I’m Thom Feather,” he said. “Born Huddersfield, 1881. Died Wakefield, 1916.”
Unlike the princess, Thom Feather did not offer any further information.
“Thank you,” said Mosh Zu, turning now to Lorcan. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Lorcan’s shoulder. “And now you,” he said.
“My name,” he said, “is Lorcan Furey.” Grace watched him intently as he continued. “Born 1803 in Connemara, died 1820 in Dublin.”
“Thank you,” Mosh Zu said. “Thank you all for choosing to come here.”
Grace wondered then how the others had heard about Sanctuary. And how had they found their way here? Had they, like the expedition party from
The Nocturne, had to clamber up the mountainside? What other option was there? If so, how had Thom Feather’s clothes remained so stark white? And how had the princess made it in such an impractical dress? This was something she must ask Mosh Zu about when the time was right.
“I have something for each of you,” Mosh Zu said now. He took up a wooden box and passed it first to the princess. “Please take a ribbon,” he said.
“Must I?” Strangely, the princess trembled.
Mosh nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I know it has unfortunate associations for you, but you must.”
What did he mean by that? Grace saw how surprised the princess was at his words. She watched as the woman lifted a green ribbon from the box and held it, trembling, in her fingers.
Next, the box was passed to Thom Feather. He looked inside it and gave a hollow laugh. “I suppose the white one is for me,” he said, taking it out of the box.
Finally, Mosh Zu passed the box to Lorcan. Grace watched as Lorcan extended his arm and searched the air before him for the box. Mosh Zu waited patiently. When Lorcan frowned, he placed his hand on his shoulder again. “There’s no rush, Lorcan Furey. Take your time.”
Lorcan’s fingers finally found the box and took hold of the ribbon inside. “Well done,” Mosh Zu said, closing the box and stepping back again.
“Now,” he said. “I want each of you to make a fist and hold the ribbon tightly within it.” His eyes passed over the three of them. “Good,” he said. “Now, you must be brave. Next, I’m going to ask you to let go of your pain; wherever that pain has come from — whether it is from your life, your death, or the Afterdeath. Don’t force it. You probably won’t be able to shed too much of it, at first. But we’ll repeat this night after night. And in time, you will be free from these terrible burdens.”
He smiled. “Now, as you focus on releasing your pain, maintain your hold on one end of the ribbon but let the other end drop.”
He waited and watched as each of the three followed his instructions. Behind him, Grace watched just as intently. Could it be true? Could their pain really be traveling into the ribbons themselves? She could see the intensity of the expressions on their faces. Even though Lorcan’s eyes weren’t visible, she could see his determination in the set of his jaw.
Blood Captain Page 13
