Immortal War

by Justin Somper

  Holly and Camille came to a standstill, presenting the ashen-faced Nocturnal to their leader. Lola stepped forward to make a cursory examination of the man.

  “You’re a poor excuse for a Vampirate,” she declared.

  “I’m not a Vampirate,” he rasped. “I’m a Nocturnal. I serve Obsidian Darke and the—”

  “Enough!” Lola raised a gloved hand and slapped him viciously. “You are a traitor to your kind!”

  “Shall we finish him off?” Holly inquired hopefully.

  Lola paused as Nathalie and Jessamy deposited the hefty package they had been carrying onto the deck.

  “No,” Lola said. “No, we’ll take the little traitor with us. I’m sure we can think of some ways to bring him back to the right, true path. Take him away to The Vagabond!”

  Holly and Camille dragged the helpless Nocturnal away.

  Now Lola turned her attention to the body bag lying before her. It was black, with a long gold zipper glinting in the moonlight.

  “Open it!” she commanded.

  Jessamy crouched down and released the zipper. The others all leaned forward to see who—or what—was inside. As the mutilated body was revealed, there were gasps.

  “Who was that?” Johnny inquired.

  Lola smiled. “Don’t count him out just yet, Cowboy. He’s in a bad way, but I’m sure the Nocturnals can patch him up with their healing magic.”

  “What’s all this about?” Stukeley asked.

  Ignoring him, Lola addressed Nathalie and Jessamy once more. “Throw this one over the side to join the others.”

  The two Vampirates swiftly embarked on the task.

  “Jacqui!” Lola called across the deck. “Do you have the flares?”

  “Yes, Captain!” Jacqueline raced forward, flares and matches in hand.

  “The girl who played with fire!” Lola giggled as Jacqueline lit the flares. There was a whooshing noise, then a pop, and suddenly the whole deck was suffused with red light.

  “Time to make ourselves scarce,” Lola said, taking her husband’s arm. “You may take me home now. I think I shall have a little nap. And perhaps a foot rub wouldn’t be so bad.”

  Sidorio drew his disarmingly beautiful, unboundingly vicious wife close in to his side and escorted her swiftly across the deck. It was almost deserted now as the others, having executed their business, had returned to The Vagabond.

  Holly came marching across the deck to rejoin Mimma and Sidorio’s two deputies. She and Mimma exchanged a high five, as Stukeley inquired, “Do either of you know exactly what Captain Lockwood is up to this time?”

  He was met by two shaking heads.

  “But I got myself a ship,” Mimma said, smiling and twirling the keys around her finger.

  Johnny brought his own arm around Holly’s waist. “I reckon this calls for a drink.”

  Holly glanced at her antique fob watch. “It’s still happy hour at the Blood Tavern.”

  “Sugar,” said Johnny, grinning and rolling his eyes, “since they franchised that joint, every hour is happy hour!”

  “Well, either way, we’d better make ourselves scarce,” Stukeley said. “Here comes one of those Alliance ambulance vessels.”

  “They must have seen the flares,” Johnny said, his eyes sparkling. “This is all kinda crazy… but fun!”

  Mimma turned to Stukeley. “Can you give me a quick lesson in how to steer this behemoth?” she asked.

  Stukeley nodded, stretching out his hand. Giggling, the four young Vampirates raced hand in hand toward the steering column, their feet slip-sliding on the newly swabbed deck.

  4

  EMPTY CHAIRS

  Connor felt a knot in his chest as he saw the iconic stone arch that marked the entry point to the Pirate Academy harbor. His mind had been so busy since the will reading, he’d failed to perform the one task he needed to complete. Soon they would be heading into a Council of War with the pirate captains and there would no longer be an opportunity.

  Cate was on his side of the boat, expertly steering the vessel toward the center of the arch. On either side, flaming torches hungrily licked the ancient stones and illuminated the engraved words of the school’s famous maxim:

  PLENTY AND SATIETY,

  PLEASURE AND EASE,

  LIBERTY AND POWER.

  “Cate!” Connor said, immediately aware that the tone of his voice was all wrong. Too loud. Too urgent. He’d rehearsed this scene so many times in his head but now he knew he was going to mess it up.

  Her face met his instantly, unnerved by his expression and sudden awkwardness. “What’s up, Connor?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” He frowned. “Before we arrive at the jetty.”

  Cate smiled at that. “You’d better be quick about it, then. We’ve got about five minutes’ sailing time, max.”

  Five minutes! He should have stepped up to the plate when he’d had the chance. He’d let Cate down—and not just Cate. He reached his hand into his pocket, his fingers searching for the tiny but potent object inside.

  “Connor!” He could hear the impatience now in her voice.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s about Bart.”

  “What about Bart?” Cate asked, her tone of voice at once profoundly different.

  This was too big, too important a conversation to cram into a few minutes, but now that he had started, Connor had no option but to forge ahead. “When he came to find me on The Blood Captain he told me something. Something important…” Here, at last, were the right words. Suddenly he found himself distracted by the sight of figures clustering on the jetty and the trail of torches lighting the path up the hill.

  “Connor, what exactly are you trying to tell me?” Cate’s voice drew him back to her eyes. In them, he saw a depth of emotion he had never seen before. Not even when she had heard the news of Bart’s death—the confirmation of her worst fear.

  Connor looked straight into Cate’s eyes. “Bart was going to ask you to marry him,” he said. “When he came back. He was going to give you this.” Connor drew his fingers from his pocket but kept his eyes fixed on Cate. “It was his grandmother’s ring.”

  He lifted out the tiny circle of metal and passed it to Cate. Instinctively, she reached out her finger. Connor had been expecting to place the ring in her palm and, taken by surprise, he let the metal band fall to the deck boards below. He dropped down onto the floor, searching in the darkness for the tiny band. This was going from bad to worse. If he had lost the ring, he’d never forgive himself.

  Above him, Cate stood stock-still. “He was going to ask me to marry him,” she rasped. “After all this time.”

  “He always loved you,” Connor said, still desperately trying to recover the ring. “He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.” There it was! He reached out with relief and grabbed the tiny ring between his thumb and forefinger. Rising to his feet, he saw that they were now only meters from their mooring. Grace was standing on the jetty. She smiled to see him and raised her hand.

  He lifted his own hand and nodded, then swiftly turned and placed the ring carefully in the center of Cate’s palm. Her fingers closed tightly around it. Besides that small movement, she remained as still as a statue, her shock of red hair buffeted in the harbor breeze.

  “I’m really sorry not to have told you before,” Connor said. “I know how important this is to you. And it was to Bart, too. I’ve been trying to work out the right moment to tell you but I’ve completely messed this up. I’m so—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cate said, cutting him silent with a voice as brisk and efficient as her sword. “Connor, we haven’t really talked about Bart’s death. About our loss, yes, but not how it happened… who was responsible.” Her eyes met his, imploringly. “Connor, I need to know. Give me a name.”

  He shook his head. “What good would it do?” He could hear voices nearby now. Grace and Jasmine talking. The thought of them discussing him together was distracting.

&nbs
p; “I need a name, Connor,” Cate insisted, commanding his attention. “It’s not much to ask, under the circumstances.”

  He turned away for a moment, unable to bear the emptiness in her eyes. As he turned, he caught sight of Jasmine. She smiled at him and stepped forward to help moor the boat. Smiling back weakly, Connor turned again to Cate. “Let’s talk later,” he said. “After the Council.”

  Cate’s eyes held his. “A name, Connor. That’s all I’m asking for.” She was standing at the end of the boat now. There was no way down onto the jetty without stepping past her. Sighing, Connor lowered his eyes and gave her her answer.

  “Lola.”

  Cate’s expression didn’t change. She simply nodded, then turned and stepped down onto the jetty. He saw that her fist, which enclosed Bart’s ring, was still tightly clenched. Connor heard her saying hello to Jasmine and Grace, her voice now normal or some valiant imitation of it.

  Now he, too, stepped down onto the jetty, greeting first his sister, then Jasmine. As Grace fell into step with Cate, Jasmine held back for a moment, looping her arm through his.

  “Did you do it?” she asked, gently.

  “Yes.” Connor sighed. “But I made a complete fist of it.”

  Jasmine squeezed his arm. “It was never going to be easy. But you’ve told her now. And she has the ring.”

  Connor could hear Cate’s voice inside his head. I need a name. Well, now she had one. But he feared it would do her no good.

  Lorcan Furey—once a midshipman, next a lieutenant, now a commander—stood on the deck of The Nocturne as the ship made its final approach toward the Pirate Academy harbor. Not so long ago, the sight of a Vampirate ship approaching pirate territory would have been the cause of deep concern and evasive action. In the past six months, however, everything had changed. This time, they were coming in peace and partnership for a Council of War. It still seemed incredible to Lorcan that he found himself in a state of war and yet on the same side as the pirates.

  “We’re almost there,” Lorcan said, turning toward Obsidian Darke. The commander in chief of the Nocturnals stood a few meters away, across the lighted deck, talking with several other of the ship’s officers. At Lorcan’s words, Darke glanced up and nodded. As he turned back to his conversation, Lorcan took the opportunity to appraise his leader.

  The once nameless Vampirate captain had undergone a profound transformation to become Obsidian Darke. In many ways, his own metamorphosis encapsulated that of the Vampirates as a whole. Gone were the mask and cape that had kept his face and body hidden all these years. Now, his face was visible to all, its rugged features made still stronger by the moonlight and its complementary shadows. In place of his gloves and cape, Darke now wore close-fitting body armor. In a similar way, The Nocturne, which had formerly steered a discreet course across the ocean, now sailed proudly alongside pirate galleons. For so long, the captain had spoken in a mysterious, watery whisper. Now, his voice was loud and, when occasion called for it, gruff. He had found his voice in more ways than one. The partnership with the Pirate Federation was an equal one, and though the pirate side of the Alliance was far more numerous in terms of ships, Darke still stood shoulder to shoulder with his opposite number, Ahab Black, the commanding officer of the Pirate Federation.

  As The Nocturne slowed and cruised into its dock, Lorcan lingered at the deck rail, watching the pirate ships alongside them. It was a peaceful night—or at least it had that veneer. The sky was velvet black, punctured by diamond stars. It took him back to nights when he had stood on this same deck and held Grace in his arms. Such times seemed a world away now. Lorcan rarely got the chance to visit Grace at Sanctuary, and, when he did, he often found that she was engrossed in her work or exhausted after an intense healing session. But tonight she would be at the Council of War and he would be able to snatch some precious time with her.

  As he gazed out into the night, Lorcan thought back to special moments when they had simply wandered on deck, holding hands and naming constellations. It seemed hard to believe there had ever been times of such innocence; harder still, to have faith that they might return in this time of war.

  “Commander Furey!” Darke’s voice drew him away from his fantasies. “Come, we are about to disembark!”

  Lorcan took his place among Darke and his comrades as they walked across the gangplank and onto the dock. The first to greet them on shore was Ahab Black—not the most engaging or likable of men but a steadfast leader. He was followed by Barbarro and Trofie Wrathe and their son, Moonshine.

  Lorcan now greeted each of the pirate elite in turn. He was filled with respect for all of them and grateful for the chance this war had delivered, to get to know them. He shook hands with René Grammont and exchanged a salute with Pavel Platonov. He bowed before Lisabeth Quivers and Kirstin Larsen. Commander Lorcan Furey was on a cordial basis with each and every one of them, but at the end of the line were the pirates whom he called his real friends: Captain Li and the key members of her crew, Cate Morgan, Jasmine Peacock, and Connor Tempest.

  “Good evening, Commander Furey.” Cheng Li took his hand but also proffered her cheek. Perhaps it was only his imagination but, as his lips brushed her skin, she seemed to shiver, though she did not recoil. Lorcan thought once more of Grace, remembering that she had once said his lips were often as cold as ice.

  As Cheng Li moved on to greet Lorcan’s colleagues, Cate stepped forward and clasped him firmly by the hand. Lorcan and Cate had become close comrades since they had been thrown together to plot a groundbreaking combat strategy for the Alliance. Lorcan knew that Cate was not given to physical demonstrations of affection. At first he had thought this might express her unease at being in such close and prolonged proximity to a vampire, but he had come to realize that it was simply her nature. Since Bart Pearce had been killed, Lorcan had watched Cate withdraw further into herself, like a flower bud closing to protect itself against a rainstorm. She still executed her responsibilities in an exemplary fashion; if anything, she seemed more obsessive about her work than before. But it was clear to Lorcan that a certain light was missing from Cate’s eyes; that though she strived for victory in the war, she had given up any hope of a happy future for herself.

  He saw something of the same haunted look in the face of Jasmine Peacock, who now stepped forward. Jasmine had also lost her boyfriend to the war. Jacoby Blunt had been a young man of immense promise, cut down in his prime. So many good, brave men and women lost already. As Jasmine moved along the reception line, Lorcan shook his head. How many more would be lost before this war was won?

  Connor Tempest stepped forward and reached out his hand. Lorcan smiled at his girlfriend’s brother. “Good to see you again, Connor,” he said.

  “You, too.” Connor returned an amiable smile.

  Theirs was the friendship Lorcan had had to work hardest at—partly because it mattered to him the most. He knew how difficult it had been for Connor to discover that he was Sidorio’s son. The fact that he was a dhampir was a closely guarded secret. Neither Cate nor Jasmine knew, though they lived and worked alongside Connor. Lorcan had never spoken directly to Connor about his secret but he had sent word via Grace that he was always there if Connor needed someone to talk to. So far, his offer had not been taken up. Though brother and sister, Connor and Grace were profoundly different.

  “Come, my friends and allies!” Ahab Black’s voice now boomed across the grass. “The meeting chamber awaits us. We have a brief ceremony to conclude before we can begin, so we must make a start.”

  The assembled military leaders followed him as he strode back toward Pirate Academy. As Lorcan brought up the rear, he watched the Nocturnals following the pirates and marveled at just how much had changed. The pirates were voluntarily welcoming the Nocturnals into the heart of their world. Would the Nocturnals so easily do the same?

  As they approached the Rotunda, the single most important building in the Pirate Academy complex, Connor couldn’t help remembering the first t
ime he had walked this path. It had been morning then and sunlight had danced on the waters of the fountain. Now the same fountain was bathed in moonlight, while flaming torches lit the way up the hill from the harbor below.

  The first time Connor had visited the Rotunda, Commodore John Kuo had been his guide. Now Kuo was gone—one of the many pirates slaughtered by Lola and the Vampirates—and much had changed for Connor, even in such a relatively short space of time. He had earned his pirating stripes. He’d made his first kill. He’d discovered that he was a dhampir and that his biological father was none other than Sidorio, self-styled King of the Vampirates. Now he had also found out he was Molucco’s main heir and rich beyond his wildest dreams. Yet, on some level, Connor still felt like the same naive kid who had listened with undisguised awe as Cheng Li had explained how the vast, carved wooden doors to the Rotunda had been plundered by one of the academy’s founding captains, during a daring raid in Rajasthan.

  As his palm made contact with the ancient Indian wood, Connor remembered what Cheng Li had said that first time: Whenever I see these doors, I feel as if I am coming home. He doubted he’d ever share her feelings about the academy. His own history with this place was rather more ambivalent. Nonetheless, each trip back to the academy seemed to mark a staging post on his own personal journey.

  Now, following Cate, Grace, and Jasmine inside the Rotunda, he saw that the vast circular room was packed. The dome of the building was punctuated by glass portholes in varying shades of blue. Moonlight filtered through them, sending shafts of light down upon all those gathered beneath. It was as if they were convening at the bottom of the ocean.

  There was amphitheater seating all around the room, save for the center, where a raised platform had been set up. Around the platform itself was a ring of seats, soon to be filled by the great and the good of the pirate world. As Connor walked along the plush blue carpet toward the front, he saw that two glass cases, each containing a sword, were resting on the central table. Glancing up to the ceiling of the Rotunda, he felt a shiver of electricity race up his spine.