Blood Captain

by Justin Somper

  “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” Connor said.

  She set down the book and the pen and waited for him to begin. He imagined that this was what it might be like sitting in a psychiatrist’s chair.

  There was no point in delaying things any further. This was what he had come to her to talk about, seeking her out at Pirate Academy and embarking on this voyage with her. He had allowed himself to be distracted by her news. He had let the sunny day and the business of sailing wrap a comforting blanket around him — almost persuading himself that he still lived in the old world. The world before this terrible thing had happened. But there was no longer any place to hide.

  “I killed a man,” he said.

  She nodded.

  Instantly, he understood. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said. “News travels fast. It’s why you came to find me, Connor, isn’t it? To hear what I had to say on the matter?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I didn’t know where to turn. I couldn’t stay on board The Diablo. Not after they gave me the Blood Captain. I sailed around, going nowhere. I threw my sword into the ocean. Finally, I knew that there was one person who just might be able to help me.”

  “Me,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

  He nodded again.

  “All right, then,” she said. “Well, you’d better tell me all about it, don’t you think?”

  She was a good listener. He could tell she was taking in every word, every emotion that the words gave rise to. And she didn’t interrupt. She was patient, even when he had to break off to think of the right way to express his feelings clearly to her. It was important to tell her exactly what he felt. She sat and waited for him to get there in his own time.

  When he was done, she nodded, then remained silent and still for a time, as if her head was still computing the information, sifting through the various facts he had presented to her.

  “Well?” he asked, hoping to nudge her into speaking.

  She seemed surprised. “I can’t take away your feelings of guilt,” she said. “You killed a man. He awoke that morning with a life stretching out ahead of him, who knows how far? And you cut that short. There’s no denying or getting away from that fact.”

  Connor listened. He had thought he’d derive comfort from her words, but if anything, she was making him feel worse.

  “None of us can remove the guilt we feel when we take another’s life. But in my opinion, nor should we try to. Guilt is a reasonable price to pay, I think. There’s nothing satisfying or rewarding about taking someone’s life from them. Nor should there ever be.”

  “You’ve killed?” Connor said.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Several times.”

  “How do you come to terms with it?” he asked. “How do you move on and get on with your life? How do you continue to enjoy life as a pirate?”

  Once more, she considered his words before framing her answer. “When I kill, I feel exactly as you do now. They say that the first time is worst, that you become numb to it after that. But I reject that philosophy. I don’t want to feel numb. Why should I? There’s no strength in denying the feelings that are racing through you, the feelings that make you human. We feel guilt for a reason. Just as we feel fear or joy or fatigue. They are signs. We are not supposed to kill each other. But in the world we live in — like it or not — it happens.”

  “Okay,” he said, wondering where she was going with this.

  “The way that I move forward is by not killing unnecessarily. You’ve seen me in battle, Connor. I believe in precision. I’m not into wanton violence; I’m into results. During your rather brief spell as a student at Pirate Academy, I believe you heard John Kuo’s lecture on zanshin. Do you remember?”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Zanshin is the state of super-alertness in which you are ready to defend and attack in all directions.”

  “Yes,” Cheng Li said. “But it’s a state of alertness I believe in maintaining at all times — outside of battle as well as in the heart of it. The more alert you are as a pirate, the fewer life-and-death situations you will find yourself in. Being a pirate captain is not about being a killer. Sometimes you are forced into a situation in which you have no other choice. It’s you or them. Or it’s them or your comrade. It seems clear to me that you acted in this way. If you had not killed the security guard then most certainly Moonshine Wrathe would have been killed. You were given your orders and you followed them. In terms of the combat situation, you displayed a great mastery of zanshin.”

  He felt somewhat flattered by her words, but she had not yet finished.

  “Where you are less capable of zanshin, Connor, is in life away from combat. The raid on the Sunset Fort was a typical Molucco Wrathe ploy. A deed of derring-do for mercurial gain. There was no higher motive, no strategy. Oh, I understand that Cate’s action plan was quite clever — what I mean is, there was no overarching strategy at the end of the day. You allowed yourself to be caught, once more, in a situation where the dangers were quite unnecessary.”

  “You mean, like the attack that resulted in Jez’s death?”

  “Exactly.” Once more she nodded.

  “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m making an observation,” she said. “That’s all. You will never find that killing becomes any easier. There’s not a thing you can — or should — do about that. But what you can do is make sure that you reduce being in situations where you need to kill. You don’t need to leave piracy behind. You just need to think more about the kind of pirate you want to be. And the kind of pirates you want to be with.”

  Her words had not comforted him in the way he had hoped or expected they might. It wasn’t even comfort he felt right now. But he did feel somehow different about what he’d done. And just for a moment, he had a sense that he might be able to go forward. But then it disappeared, drowned out by the familiar tide of dread rising within him.

  “What is it?” she asked, quick to notice the change.

  “I understand what you say,” he said. “It’s just that I’ve never felt so scared before. I don’t understand it. I’m not in any danger now. In every moment of danger, I’ve done what was asked of me. But now here — on this calm night, in the middle of the ocean — I’m absolutely terrified. Why is that?”

  Cheng Li considered his words, then smiled at him. “It’s very simple, really,” she said. “The greatest terrors aren’t out there on the oceans. They’re not hiding in the shadows.” She leaned closer and put her hand over his heart. “They’re deep inside you. They’re in your blood.” She removed her hand and shook her head. “You’re no different. It’s the same for all of us.”

  48

  THE LARIAT

  “I’m only saying these things because I care so much about you,” Lorcan said to Grace. “We all do. Mosh Zu, the captain. We only want what’s best for you.”

  “And the best thing for me is to never see you again?”

  Lorcan nodded. “Yes. I know it’s difficult, but in time you’ll come to see I’m right.”

  She was torn between laughing and screaming. Instead, her voice was measured when she spoke again. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll ever thank you for this.”

  There was much more she might have said but she remembered Mosh Zu’s warning. As much as Lorcan had hurt her, she didn’t want to cause him a relapse. She realized she’d have to get out of the room. If she stayed a moment longer, if this conversation continued, she’d be sure to mention the rebellion aboard The Nocturne or the captain’s collapse.

  “I’ll leave you,” Grace said.

  He kept hold of her hand. “Don’t go now,” he said. “Don’t run away while you’re upset.”

  She removed her hand from his clasp. “I just need some time to myself,” she said. “To think this through.”

  “Oh,” he said, sounding a little surprised.

  She couldn’t even look at him as she stood up a
nd stumbled toward the door and then out into the corridor.

  It was only once she’d closed the door behind her that the tidal wave of emotions really hit her. She could feel the sobs coming but she was determined to be far away from him when they broke through. She began running along the corridor, racing to get back to her room.

  Along the way, she passed a few of the vampires. They glanced at her and no doubt noted the state of distress she was in. She could hear hushed voices behind her. She didn’t care what they were saying. She kept on running.

  Somewhere along the way, she must have taken a wrong turn because she wasn’t on the corridor leading back to her room. Instead, she’d gone down to a lower level. It was unfamiliar territory, but at least the corridor was deserted. Drained and tired of running, she stopped and collapsed in a heap. The sobs broke through her.

  Through her tears, Grace looked along the corridor. She remembered the awe she had felt on entering Sanctuary. This great place of healing. Well, it was true — Lorcan’s eyesight had been returned to him. But now that he was healed, he was pushing her away. She was happy for him that he had his sight back, but utterly devastated that he should now tell her to leave him and The Nocturne.

  Her whole world seemed to be crumbling. The news from The Nocturne was so bad. A fresh rebellion and the most serious so far. What made it even worse was that it had been provoked by Jez Stukeley. In life, he had been such a good man, but after death — and under Sidorio’s tutelage — he had firmly embraced his dark side. It seemed incredible to think that the captain had weathered revolts by Sidorio but been broken by Jez’s rebellion. But from what Mosh Zu had said, it wasn’t simply the rebellion in itself that had laid the captain low; he had been fighting a long war of attrition with himself, trying to keep harmony on board The Nocturne, trying to help the vampires manage their blood hunger.

  It seemed like everything Mosh Zu and the captain had been working toward was failing. Maybe you just couldn’t manage the vampires’ appetites and it would only bring you grief to try. Grace knew that this was a defeatist attitude, and yet it seemed that, at every turn, the work of the captain and Mosh Zu was being defeated. It was such a shame, such a terrible shame. They were trying to give those who had been cursed with immortality a way to bring meaning to their interminable existence. But most of the vampires couldn’t see beyond their own immediate cravings.

  Grace shook her head. Things couldn’t be much worse. Jez had caused fresh unrest aboard The Nocturne. It now seemed clear that Sidorio was not gone but had only been resting, lurking in the shadows. How much longer, she thought. How much longer until he stepped out once more and launched a fresh attack?

  When he did, it might be the end of the Vampirate captain. He had fallen terribly ill and now his very survival depended on Mosh Zu’s healing. Perhaps it would be the ultimate test of the guru’s powers.

  And then there was Connor. She had done her best to heal him but she had no idea where he was now or what he was going through.

  And last, there was Lorcan. Lorcan, whose healing seemed to have gone well. And yet that moment of elation had been all too brief, any sense of happiness snatched away by his cruel pronouncement that she must leave The Nocturne. Little did he realize that there might be no ship for either of them to return to.

  What a mess, she thought. What a terrible mess! Images of them all flashed inside her head. Jez and Sidorio. The Vampirate captain and Mosh Zu. Connor and Lorcan. It seemed that her fragile world was collapsing on all sides. She had no idea how — or even if — they could all find their way out of this.

  She could hardly motivate herself to get up from the dusty floor. What was the point? She let her head sink into her hands.

  After she’d been sitting like that for a while, she heard the sound of whoops and cries in the distance. She lifted her head to listen. The cries were not so distant, she realized. Perhaps only around the corner. And she thought she recognized the voice. Maybe this was the one person who could raise her spirits.

  Drawing herself up to her feet, she dusted herself down and, following the sounds, continued along the corridor. It twisted and turned and then led into a large internal courtyard. Standing in the middle of it was Johnny Desperado, lariat in hand, crying and whooping as he threw the rope and deftly lassoed his tea flask.

  Grace smiled. He looked like he had some life to him. He was just the person she needed to see. Johnny would cheer her up.

  She stepped into the courtyard. He was busy pulling in the rope and releasing the flask again. As she stepped forward, he turned and smiled.

  “Here!” He threw her the flask. “Set this down for me, anywhere you like. And ol’ Johnny will lasso it for you.”

  “Okay,” she said, laughing, and placed the flask on the dusty ground. She stepped back to watch Johnny perform his throw. She could see there was a real art to it. The lasso flew up and spun through the air, then seemed to float down over the flask. At that moment, Johnny drew in the rope and it tightened right about the flask. Grace had a sudden vision of Johnny lassoing a horse. She could tell how good at this he was.

  As he reeled in the flask again, he chattered away. She couldn’t be sure if he was talking to her or to himself. “When you break in a bronco, it’s all about confidence building. You gotta take it a step at a time. Like building a friendship. You figure out what you can do with the horse to make her like you. No confrontation. Nothing good ever comes from confrontation. Not in the beginning, anyways. It’s all about knowing just how much pressure to apply, and when. Applying a little pressure, then relieving it, well that’s the most important message you can give a horse. You’re telling her she’s not trapped. There’s something she can do to relieve the pressure she’s feeling.”

  Johnny shot Grace a glance as he threw her the flask again. He continued to chatter away as she went to place the container in a fresh position. “When a lariat tightens around a horse’s neck, even a trained bronco will want to fight. And an untrained horse, well, she’ll want to fight even harder. When she feels the lariat tighten, there’s nothing she can do short of total collapse to relieve this pressure she feels. Right then, right there, she’ll fight for her life.”

  Johnny took the lariat in his hand once more. He raised his hand to throw it. As he let go of the rope, he winked at Grace. She watched the lasso sail up into the air. But the wink must have set him off balance because the noose wasn’t falling anywhere near the flask. Instead, it was high above her. Grace turned to Johnny. He had a strange expression on his face. Suddenly she felt a slight breeze as the loop of the lariat fell over her head and neck. It hovered there, then dropped a little lower to her elbows. Then she felt the pressure tighten.

  Something told Grace that this was no longer a game. She looked nervously over at Johnny.

  “Looks like I roped me a real wild one this time,” he said proudly.

  49

  THE SWORDSMITH AND HIS DAUGHTER

  They approached Lantao from the south. Raising his head from the navigational chart to the island itself, Connor saw Lantao Peak, its highest point. It was wrapped in a thick blanket of lush green forest. He remembered Cheng Li saying that the swordsmith lived high above the water. He had a grim feeling that they would have to journey up that mountain — and down again — to fetch the weaponry Cheng Li had ordered for her crew.

  The sloop was skimming past a long beach. Sheltered between two cliffs was a long stretch of sunbaked sand. If he’d still been traveling alone, he’d have been tempted to drop anchor and swim from the boat to the sand. But he only had to look at Cheng Li’s face to remind himself that they were on a mission. They had come to Lantao on business and there was no time to waste. He crossed the deck once more to join her at the steering wheel.

  “Lantao has something of a pirate history,” Cheng Li said when he was back within earshot. “It has always been a popular base for pirates and smugglers.”

  “Really?” said Connor, still gazing wistfully at the be
ach and thinking that the pirates and smugglers had chosen well.

  Cheng Li nodded, her eyes fixed on the sweep of emerald green in the distance as she continued, “In the nineteenth century, the island was a base for Chang Po, an exceptionally gifted pirate.” She glanced at Connor briefly, as if checking he was paying attention, before continuing. “Chang Po was born a fisherman’s son, in the Xinhui on the Pearl River Delta. His life might have been very different — long, hard, and uneventful — but when he was fifteen years old, he was captured by a pair of pirates. Not just any pirates! These were the famed Cheng I and his wife Cheng I Sao.” Connor hadn’t heard the names before, but he sensed that they were deeply etched upon Cheng Li’s psyche.

  “Fate had smiled on Chang Po,” she continued. “His captors were two of the most successful pirates of all time. This wife and husband team operated a whole fleet of pirate ships called the Red Flag Fleet. A few years after Chang Po joined their crew, the husband drowned and Cheng I Sao took over all his duties. She empowered Chang Po to manage the day-to-day operations of the fleet. He was just a year or so older than me at that point. Under Chang Po’s leadership, the pirates of the Red Flag Fleet defeated every force sent to challenge their power. For ten years his power seemed invincible. All the pirates of those times — whether his own or those of rival captains — believed that the gods protected him. They talked of him as if he were superhuman.”

  “That’s impressive,” Connor said. “But you said he was invincible for ten years. What happened then?”

  Cheng Li turned the wheel, keeping her eyes on the curving rock as they sailed around the southwest tip of the island. “The empire they had founded started to show cracks from within. Their captains and admirals began to bicker. Crews mutinied. There was a dismal battle with the Red Flag Fleet. Chang Po and Cheng I Sao decided to get out of piracy while they could.”

  “Really?” Connor said. Somehow the two pirates Cheng Li had described did not seem cut out for a quiet retirement.