Blood Captain

by Justin Somper

  He stopped reading and glanced up at Connor. “You know, of course, what perpetuity means?”

  Connor nodded. “I know that the articles are binding forever. I know what I’m asking is unprecedented. I could pay you. I don’t have much now but we could come to an arrangement.”

  Molucco’s hand trembled for a moment. In the candlelight, his sapphire rings glittered like the ocean. When he spoke, his voice had taken on a new tone. “An arrangement is impossible.”

  What did he mean? Was he going to refuse point-blank to let Connor go? His eyes gave nothing away. They were distant, empty.

  Suddenly, Connor smelled burning. He looked down and saw that the sheet of paper bearing his articles was alight. His contract with Captain Wrathe was literally going up in smoke.

  He opened his mouth to alert Captain Wrathe to the accident. Then he realized it was no accident. The captain was feeding the paper into the hungry fire. It was incredible how quickly the paper burned. Connor watched as the flames licked away at his signature and the spot of his own blood he had spilled beneath it. Now, Captain Wrathe held up the last jagged edge of paper as it duly turned to soot. He blew it off his fingers and, taking a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, carefully wiped the soot from his skin. He looked up at Connor coldly.

  “There are no longer articles binding you to this ship. Which begs the question, why are you still sitting here in my cabin?”

  He turned and walked away from the table. As he did so, Scrimshaw uncoiled himself and glanced back at Connor. Connor expected the snake to hiss, out of loyalty to his master, but if anything, he seemed to be regarding Connor with some sadness.

  “Thank you, Captain Wrathe,” Connor said.

  There was a pause as if the captain hadn’t heard him. Then he spoke, without turning around. “Don’t thank me, boy. Don’t talk to me. You’re nothing to me now.”

  Connor could take no more of this. He turned and walked as fast as he could out of the cabin and across the deck. He had got what he wanted, had secured his freedom, but it didn’t feel anything like victory.

  As he climbed down the ladder and jumped down onto the pier, his heart was pumping wildly. He looked up and saw Bart and Cate walking toward him.

  He couldn’t stop the tears from flowing again.

  “What’s the matter, Connor?” asked Cate anxiously.

  “I’m leaving,” he said. Seeing their surprise, he added, “For good this time. Captain Wrathe has released me from my articles.”

  He saw the expression that passed between Bart and Cate. They knew how serious this was.

  “Where will you go now, buddy?” Bart asked, tears welling in his own eyes.

  “I’m signing up to Cheng Li’s crew,” Connor said. “I need a fresh start. But before I do that, I’ve got one more important journey to make. One more person I have to see.”

  Cate nodded and managed a stab at a smile as she spoke. “Grace.”

  Connor nodded, too. He couldn’t bear to draw this out. There was so much he wanted to say, such a strong bond between him and the two people before him. “I’m really bad at goodbyes,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the jetty, where his small boat lay waiting for him.

  “Then let’s not make it goodbye,” Bart said, stepping forward and hugging his friend. “Make it hasta la vista. This isn’t the end! We’ll see you soon, buddy!” He gripped Connor tightly then stepped back, tears flowing down his face.

  “He’s right,” said Cate. “Just because you’ve left The Diablo, nothing changes between us. Our friendship goes deeper than that. You can always count on us. Always.”

  Connor nodded but his eyes were streaming now and he couldn’t stay there and let it get any worse. “I really have to go now,” he said, as much to himself as to his friends. As he turned away, he glimpsed Bart put his arm around Cate’s shoulder.

  His legs threatened to buckle but he kept walking down the boardwalk until he reached his small boat. He let slip the mooring line, jumped aboard and began maneuvering it away from the harbor, out onto the dark sea. He didn’t look back, couldn’t look back, but the bright light of Ma Kettle’s neon sign flashed over him like the rays from a setting sun.

  54

  THE LIBERATOR

  “Now, this,” says Sidorio, eyes bright, “this was a great idea! Good work, Stukeley!”

  Stukeley shrugs. “You wanted a bigger ship and more crew. I thought we’d kill two birds with one stone.”

  “A prison ship!” Johnny D says. “You know, they used to call these hulks.”

  “Like the Incredible Hulk?” Sidorio asks, grinning.

  “Not exactly,” says Johnny. He and Stukeley exchange a look. In a few short weeks, they have become firm allies — each recognizing their need for the other as the future dawns. They stand, on either side of their captain — his two trusty lieutenants. The power — the brains — behind the throne.

  Their own hijacked ship looms close to the prison hulk. The hulk will do them much better, they all agree. It’s bigger, for a start, and it looks ugly, barren, like some kind of sea monster. “It sends out the right message,” Stukeley says. Johnny D nods.

  “Not long now, lads,” says Sidorio. In a short time, they will board the hulk and take it for their own. A new era — for all of them — will begin. No more false starts, thinks Sidorio. Everything’s coming together. He thinks briefly of three former comrades — Lumar, Olin, and Mistral. Those who perished in the fire. They were weak. There can be no weakness in his team. He turns from side to side, observing his twin lieutenants. There’s a darkness about these two. No weakness there. He addresses them both. “Is everyone ready?”

  The two lieutenants turn and survey their teams. Behind them on the deck are ranked the two halves of the newly forged crew — those who Stukeley lured from The Nocturne and those who came alongside Johnny D from Sanctuary. Out of them, it was Johnny D’s enthusiasm that had marked him out for a senior role.

  “Yes, Captain!” Stukeley and Johnny D answer in unison.

  “Excellent! We’ll go in first. And each of you, pick five of your crew — ones you know to be bloodthirsty. They’ll come in with us. The rest should be poised to follow once we’ve taken out the guards.”

  Stukeley and Johnny D quickly make their selections. The chosen men and women step forward. The others are ready to follow. There’s a sense of energy and purpose as the ship draws level with the prison hulk. Everyone knows that tonight marks the beginning of something.

  “Okay, crew!” Sidorio cries. “Follow me!” He jumps from one ship to the other, somersaulting in midair. He has the athleticism of a teenager, Stukeley thinks. The captain is at his best in these situations. Turning, Stukeley sees that Johnny D is already ushering the rest of their team forward. One after another, they take flight from one deck to the next. Thirteen pairs of feet drum across the upper deck of the prison hulk.

  Sidorio summons them over. He has found the stairs leading down. But why bother with stairs when you can simply jump? “Follow me!” he says to his lieutenants. In a single motion, the three of them descend into the depths of the ship. As they land, they face three stunned guards. It’s like a mirror, but a distorted one such as you’d find in a carnival tent.

  “Who are you?” asks the bravest of the guards. “Where did you come from?”

  “Didn’t you see?” Johnny D replies. “We floated down from the sky like angels.”

  “Yeah, I saw that, but how did you get on board?”

  Stukeley smiles. “Looks like you made a mistake. You were so intent on no one breaking out of your prison, you didn’t do too much to stop anyone breaking in.”

  “Who’d want to break in here? Do you know the category of prisoners we’re carrying?”

  “Yeah,” says another of the guards. “Category D — for doomed.”

  The third guard now finds the confidence to speak. “When they locked up this lot, they really did throw away the key. These guys ain’t never gonna see the l
ight of day again.”

  Sidorio shrugs. “The light of day is overrated.” Smiling, he lifts his head and surveys the lines of cells above them. Behind thick white bars, the prisoners are watching them. They look like row upon row of caged birds at a street market. That’s all about to change, thinks Sidorio. Sidorio the Liberator. Has a nice ring.

  “Sir, I think it’s about time you stated your business or moseyed back to where you came from,” says the first of the guards, stroking his moustache.

  “My business?” Sidorio stares at him blankly.

  “What is it that you want?” The guard speaks slowly, as if Sidorio is stupid or something. Bad mistake.

  “What do we want?” Sidorio appears to ponder the question. His hand rests on his jawline and he pats his finger against his lips. “What do we want? What do we want? Oh yes! That’s right!” He looks straight into the eyes of the guard. “We want this ship.”

  “No can do!” the guard says, drawing strength from his two colleagues, who now stand on either side of him. “This prison ship is state owned and operated. I’m not aware of any instructions to pass over control. No one briefed me on this.” He turns to guards numbers two and three. “Did either of you guys see a memo or anything from HQ?”

  They shake their heads. Guard number two speaks. “We ain’t had a memo from HQ since Christmas!”

  “Details!” says Sidorio. “I’m not what you’d call a details kind of a guy.” With that, he approaches the first guard. The moustached one opens his mouth to speak but something stops him.

  “Sorry,” says Sidorio, “I didn’t hear that.” He knows that the cocksure guard has seen the twin gold teeth. The argument has now taken on a whole new dynamic.

  Thinking fast, the guard concedes. “You know what? I think I do remember a memo. The ship is yours. The prisoners, too!” He tries to detach the keys on his chain but his hands are trembling.

  “Here,” says Sidorio, “let me help you with that!” He reaches out and tears the bundle of keys clean off the guard’s belt. The other guards watch him, surprise and terror visible in equal measure on their stricken faces.

  “You see how they’re all numbered,” the first guard says, his voice at least an octave higher than before. “Each little bitty number there corresponds to the numbers on the cells.”

  “Thanks for the tip!” Sidorio says, tossing the bunch of keys to Johnny D, who catches them in his palm.

  “Okeydokey,” says the guard. “Well, me and the boys’ll just leave you to your business.” He grips the others’ arms and starts to move away.

  Sidorio glances up at the ranks of cells ranged along the vast deck. From every side, the prisoners look down upon him. They are silent, watchful. Sidorio smiles up at them. “What do you think?” he asks. “Should we let your guards go free?”

  “No!” cries one of the prisoners. The word echoes around the ship.

  “Nice acoustics!” says Johnny D, nudging Stukeley. Stukeley nods and smiles back at him.

  The first prisoner’s shout is taken up by another. And another. Soon, the whole ship is thronging with the chant: “Don’t let them go! Don’t let them go!” Feet drum against the metal floors.

  The fear on the guards’ faces is clear now. It’s like their old faces have been stripped away and all that is left is a pool of raw terror.

  Sidorio shrugs and turns to the guards. “Sorry, boys, but these guys in the cages are going to be working for me soon and I need to keep them on our side.” With that, he tears the guard’s shirt and undershirt in one brisk movement. Holding the guard still with one hand, he brings his gold teeth to the man’s thorax. He punctures the skin and begins to feast.

  As he does so, the prisoners start cheering. Sidorio is reminded of the stadium back in Rome. He went there once or twice. In another lifetime, he might have been a gladiator. Maybe he has become one now — of sorts.

  The two other guards are as still as statues, watching the shell of the man who used to be their superior brought down lower than they knew it was possible to go. One of the guards digs deep and manages to ask, “Who are you?”

  Sidorio lifts his head and beams. “I’m the stuff of your nightmares. . . . Actually, I’m the stuff your nightmares wake up screaming about.”

  The guard trembles at this. So does his companion.

  “We really shouldn’t drag this out,” says Stukeley to Johnny D.

  Johnny D nods his head. “That would be bad manners,” he agrees.

  Together, they move toward the terrified guards. There is the tearing of cloth and the puncturing of skin. The lieutenants take their fill.

  The prisoners are going mental now. There’s a strange combination of celebration and trepidation in the air. The noise is intense. In these airless quarters, it bounces back upon itself. It’s like a wave building and building. The cheers border on hysteria. But don’t they realize? They must realize. What started with the guards will end with them.

  As Sidorio drops the husk of the guard to the deck, all sound ceases. The drumming of the feet stops too. All the prisoners are waiting to hear what happens next. Sidorio allows Stukeley and Johnny D to finish feasting, then raises his head and smiles a bloody grin.

  “Okay, everyone,” he begins. “As you may have gathered, we — like you — are from the wrong side of the tracks. We’re here to take this prison hulk and turn it into a pirate ship — but a special kind of pirate ship; a ship of Vampirates. That’s vampires who are pirates. Is everyone following so far?”

  There is no response. Fear has started to take over.

  “I can’t hear anything.” Sidorio turns to address Johnny D. “Johnny, I can’t hear my crew.”

  Now Johnny shakes his head and looks up at the rows of barred cells. “When your captain asks you a question, you answer him,” he says. “And he just asked you if you were following his gist. To which you gotta reply either yes or no, but preferably yes.”

  There was a moment’s pause and then a muted cry of “Yes!”

  “Good call,” said Johnny. “I’ll hand you back to the captain, then. Oh, and I’m his deputy — ahem, joint Deputy, Johnny D — by the way. I’m looking forward to meeting y’all properly later!”

  “As I was saying,” Sidorio continues. “This ship today ceases to become a prison. It becomes a Vampirate ship and I’m the captain. Now, this being a Vampirate ship, it’s important that all crew members are vampires.” He nods to Johnny. Johnny looks up to the top of the stairs and clicks his fingers. At this sign, the waiting ranks of vampires begin descending the gridwork stairs.

  “Here are some more of my crew,” announces Sidorio.

  Everyone watches as the vampires begin filing down the central gangway.

  “That’s right, people, come on down!” Sidorio says. He glances up once more. “But hey, good news for you people in the cages! We’re still recruiting. Yes, there’s a place for each and every one of you on the crew. The only thing we have to ensure is that each of you is a vampire . . . oh, and don’t worry if you’re not yet a vampire because my crew will be passing among you and you very soon will be.”

  He spins around. It has been centuries since he addressed this size of audience. He thinks back. The last time he had this many people waiting on his word was in Cilicia. Before Caesar. That was when he last had this much power. Too long ago. Much too long ago. But now, the wait is over. He turns to his lieutenants.

  “What are you waiting for?” He points to the key chain in Johnny’s hand. “Let’s get busy!”

  Johnny slides the keys off the chain and splits them with Stukeley. They hand a key in turn to each of the vampire crew. Soon, every vampire in the ranks has the key to a numbered cell. They begin climbing up the gridwork stairs to complete their first mission.

  Sidorio stands, his two lieutenants on either side. “I think this is going to prove a very effective recruitment drive,” he says. “Good work, boys.” He rests his arms around their shoulders.

  Johnny D turns t
o him. “Shouldn’t we have a name for this ship?”

  “Absolutely!” says Stukeley. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Your captain’s one step ahead of you,” says Sidorio with a grin. “Welcome to The —”

  But his voice is drowned out by a scream. The crew has reached the cells. The recruitment process has begun.

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” says Stukeley. “I think I missed that.”

  “I said, The Cilicia,” says Sidorio.

  Stukeley and Johnny exchange a look.

  “What?” Sidorio says. “You don’t like it?” He seems crushed.

  “It’s not that I don’t like it,” Johnny D says. “It just doesn’t quite state our business, if you know what I mean.”

  “It’s the place I came from,” says Sidorio.

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” says Johnny D. “It’s backward-looking. It’s all about where you came from. Maybe what you want as the ship name is where you’re goin’.”

  Sidorio hesitates. He hasn’t thought of it this way before but the kid has a point. “So, have either of you got any suggestions?”

  Johnny D shakes his head. “I’m terrible with names,” he says.

  Stukeley speaks. “I did have one idea,” he says to them both.

  “Well,” says Sidorio. “We’re all ears.”

  Stukeley clears his throat. “The Blood Captain,” he says.

  “Nice!” says Johnny.

  “There’s this pirate tradition, you see —” says Stukeley. But his words are drowned out by Sidorio.

  “The Blood Captain. I like it! Yeah, let’s go with that!”

  55

  THE COLLECTOR OF SOULS

  “I’ve called you all here to tell you about the captain,” Mosh Zu said, standing in the center of the meditation room and addressing Grace, Darcy, and Lorcan. “I need your help to heal him. We don’t have much time. I’ve begun the preparations but I want to explain as best I can what we’re going to do and why.

  “The captain was in a very bad way when you brought him here, Darcy. If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking and courage, he might have perished on that deck. But by bringing him here, you gave him a chance. I managed to stabilize his condition, and for the past two nights and days, he has been resting. I had hoped that rest, combined with some gentle healing techniques, might prove sufficient. Alas, that is not the case. The time for gentle healing is past. I’m going to have to try something more radical.