Vampirates 5: Empire of Night (21 page)

"You underestimate her," Mosh Zu said, rising to his feet once more. "She's the only one of us who could have undertaken this mission. And, don't you see, she only seems different because she is adapting to her surroundings, like a chameleon. She's doing just what she needs to in order to win their trust."

"How can you be sure that's all it is?" Lorcan asked.

"We'll keep a close eye on her," Mosh Zu said. He crossed the room to stand beside Lorcan. "You're tired," he said. "No wonder. We're only halfway through the night, and look what you've already achieved. Go and get some rest. Your worries will weigh on you less." He rested his arm lightly on Lorcan's shoulder.

"All right," Lorcan said. "But if we think Grace is getting out of her depth, you must let me go and fetch her back. Will you promise me that?"

Mosh Zu seemed to weigh up his words. "I don't believe it will come to that," he said. "But, be assured, my friend,

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that I would never place Grace in a position I did not think she could handle."

"Come on," Darcy said, taking Lorcan's arm. "Mosh Zu's right, you need your rest. I'll walk you to your cabin." She nodded formally at Mosh Zu as she propelled Lorcan toward the cabin door.

"Good work, my friends!" Mosh Zu called after them.

Once they were a safe distance away from the captain's cabin, Lorcan turned to Darcy. "I'm worried about Grace," he said. "You and Mosh Zu might not be, but I know her better...."

"Excuse me!" Darcy exclaimed huffily. "You might be Grace's boyfriend, but I'm her best friend, so I think I know her
just
as well as you, maybe better. And I'm every bit as worried about her as you are. Something was up with her tonight. I can't put my finger on it exactly, but something wasn't right."

Lorcan was relieved someone else shared his concern. "How come you and I saw it, but Mosh Zu didn't?"

Darcy leaned against the corridor wall. "I know that Mosh Zu is incredibly wise and has many powers, and I'm going to sound really disloyal with what I'm about to say." She hesitated.

"Go on," Lorcan urged her.

"I think that Mosh Zu has been so far removed from

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real life, up high in the clouds at Sanctuary, that he's finding standing in for the captain a huge stretch. I think he's struggling. He's a healer, not a leader. He doesn't understand the complexities of running a ship, and I actually don't think he relates to people that well on a night-to-night basis. If I hear him tell me to watch the ripples spreading in a pool again, or any more of that stuff, I think I may scream." She came to an abrupt halt. "Oh dear, you're thinking ditzy Darcy's really lost her mind, aren't you?"

Lorcan shook his head. "On the contrary," he said, his voice firm but soft. "You've articulated it better than I ever could have. I feel just the same. I have the utmost respect for Mosh Zu, but he isn't the captain,
our
captain." He frowned. "We've been given this impossible task. For as long as
The Nocturne
has sailed, the crew has been conditioned to abandon violence and conflict and embrace ways of peace. Now, all of a sudden, we have to turn pacifists into a fighting force to rival not only Sidorio and his henchmen but the pirates, too. We're doomed to failure."

"No," Darcy said. "Mosh Zu was right about one thing. The task might seem daunting, but we
are
starting to make progress. We must carry on our work, making things right for the captain's return."

"Yes," Lorcan said, Darcy's belief reigniting the fire inside his own soul.

"Mosh Zu wasn't the right choice to stand in for the

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captain in his absence," Darcy said. "It should have been someone who knows this crew, and the ways of this ship."

"What are you saying?" Lorcan asked.

"I think you know what I'm saying," she said softly and slowly, her wide eyes boring into his.

Lorcan frowned, dropping his voice to a whisper. "You're surely not suggesting that
we
rebel against Mosh Zu?"

"No!" Darcy shook her head vigorously, her sleek bobbed hair swinging around her face. "Of course not! We have to sit tight for now. Keep a close eye on Grace--a
very
close eye--and patiently await the captain's return. In the interim, we must do Mosh Zu's bidding, but that needn't stop us from thinking our own thoughts, or talking to one another like this, need it?"

"No, Darcy," Lorcan said. "No, indeed not." He looked at her and shook his head. "You've changed," he said. "You're changing."

She nodded. "It's true. And I'm not the only one, Mister Muscles." She reached out and lightly prodded his bicep. Then, her tone grew more serious. "Oh, Lorcan," she said. "Don't you see? We have to change. All of us. And fast. Otherwise, there is no future for this ship, or for any of us. Everything that the captain worked so hard to build, for so long, will all just fall away. We can't let that happen."

Lorcan nodded, drawing her toward him. "You're right," he said. "We can't. And we won't."

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23 FIRST BLOOD

"Nice outfit!"

Connor cringed as he heard Stukeley's voice behind him in the corridor. He turned and found Stukeley and Johnny striding toward him.

"It really shows off Connor's legs, don't you think, Johnny?"

"Oh yes!" Johnny said. The two Vampirates cracked up laughing.

Connor stood there, nodding and waiting for their laughter to subside. They weren't telling him anything he didn't already know. He did look silly in the toga Lola had insisted he wear for the family portrait. It was bad enough he'd had to sit in it for the better part of two hours. He couldn't wait to change out of it.

"You know the best part--" Stukeley began.

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"Well, obviously, it's the gold laurel wreath!" Johnny exclaimed.

Connor flushed. Was he still wearing that? He reached up and grabbed it.

"No, mate," continued Stukeley. "No, the best part is that when the portrait is finished, we'll be able to look at Connor dressed in all his finery every single night!"

Connor groaned. He hadn't thought of that before. Worse and worse. "Thanks, lads," he said. "You've really made me feel better. Nice work!"

"We're only teasing!" Stukeley said, nudging Johnny. "Except the part about your legs!"

"Okay," Connor said. "That's enough! I'm going to my cabin to get changed into something normal, and then we can continue this conversation."

Connor couldn't get the toga and assorted Roman accessories off quickly enough. He was tempted to throw the hellish outfit away but suspected that Lola had paid a tidy sum for it so, instead, he slung it to the very back of his closet. Then he took out a selection of his regular clothes and carried them over to the bed. As he did so, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He noticed that the outside of his thigh, where Sidorio had wounded him with the flail a few nights before, no longer showed any trace of the wound. He ran his fingers over his skin. There

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was a slight scar where the flesh had knitted itself back together, but it was amazing how quickly and cleanly the deep wound had healed.

As he stepped into a fresh pair of pants, he felt the ship lurch into motion and had to steady himself to remain balanced. It wasn't unusual for the ship to move off during the night, though he hadn't expected them to ship out so soon. He buttoned up his pants and reached for his shirt.

There was a knock on the cabin door.

"Give me a minute!" Connor called. "I'm still getting changed out of my fancy dress!"

No doubt it was Stukeley and Johnny back for a few more easy laughs. Well, at least he wouldn't be fueling their fire anymore by wearing a gold-embroidered dress. In truth, he didn't mind their jokes. Stukeley was an old friend, and Johnny already felt like one. It made Connor think back to the days of the Three Buccaneers. He missed Bart, but maybe it was time for a new configuration of the trio. After all, Bart was mortal. These days, Connor had rather more in common with Stukeley and Johnny.

Another knock at the door.

"All right!" Connor yelled. "Keep your hair on!"

His boots still unlaced, he strode over to the door and opened it. But it wasn't Stukeley and Johnny. It was Sidorio who stood leaning against the door, arms folded. He grinned at Connor.

"I see you've changed out of your toga," he said.

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Connor nodded. "You, too." Sidorio was back in his trademark metal-and-leather armor.

"I never liked wearing a skirt, even when it was considered socially acceptable," Sidorio said. "I'm sorry, son, I could see you enjoyed that portrait sitting about as much as I did. But sometimes I have to do things to keep the wife happy!"

Connor nodded, feeling a surprising sense of fellowship with Sidorio. Although, now that he thought about it, Sidorio had been in good form throughout the portrait sitting, alleviating the serious mood and terminal boredom by cracking jokes. At one point, he had made Signor Caravaggio drop his palette, he was laughing so much. Lola had had to instruct them all to take the sitting more seriously or it would never be finished. It was at that point that Sidorio had asked his wife, "Couldn't you have found us a Vampirate
photographer
?" Lola had just scowled at him, so he had apologized and promised to behave himself.

"Anyhow," Sidorio said now, "I don't know about you, but after standing still for two hours I'm more than ready for some physical exercise."

Connor laughed and finished lacing his boots. "You're not suggesting another duel, are you? I've only just recovered from the last one."

Sidorio grinned, his now-familiar gold incisors gleaming in the light of the corridor. "No, son, not a duel. Something rather more exciting than that. Come with me." He had a sudden thought. "Oh, and bring your sword."

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Intrigued, Connor grabbed his sword and joined Sidorio out in the corridor. The interior of
The Blood Captain
was empty. Walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Sidorio across the high metal-grid, Connor felt no vertigo. On the contrary, it was as if they were walking on air through the deserted ship. He could tell from the way they were going that they would end up out on deck.

As they walked along, they chatted away. Part of Connor observed the conversation at a distance and wondered how he could have fallen into such an easy camaraderie with the most vicious of Vampirates. One element of it was simple necessity--to do a good job for Cheng Li and the Federation he had to bond as convincingly as possible with Sidorio, Stukeley, Johnny, and the rest of the crew. And yet, Connor realized, as Sidorio cracked another joke, he was actually enjoying the captain's company. It was hard to square this Sidorio with the monster he'd once attempted to destroy. Of course, he wasn't blind to the violence and mayhem of which Sidorio was capable, but now he saw another side to him. He knew that Stukeley and Johnny felt the same way. Sidorio was, strange though it was to admit, an easy kind of father figure. Then it struck Connor, like a star shooting across the night sky. He
is
my father. Before, the thought had filled him with horror and disgust. Now, he felt differently. He could feel a real connection.

As they stepped out on deck, the mystery of where the crew had disappeared to was immediately solved. The

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upper deck was thronging with a full crowd. The Vampirates were swift to register the captain's presence, and a pathway opened up through them, like a red carpet unrolling. Connor couldn't help feeling a sense of pride. He knew that he was being accorded the same respect as Sidorio, on account of being his son. It reminded him of the first time he had passed beyond the velvet rope at Ma Kettle's Tavern. He felt in a position of rare privilege; he was a VIP pirate and now, by some strange symbiosis of birth and destiny, a Vampirate VIP, too.

Sidorio marched through the crowd with easy authority. It was as if he'd been born to reign. At last he came to the bow of the ship, where Stukeley and Johnny were waiting. They raised their hands in salute, and it seemed that this mark of respect was not only for Sidorio but for Connor, too. He smiled to himself.
No more taking the heat about what I'm wearing now
, he thought.

"Is everything ready?" Sidorio inquired of his lieutenants.

"Yes, Captain," Johnny said. "Look, there's the ship. It won't be long now."

Sidorio stepped forward and Connor followed in his wake. Johnny had pointed in a north-north-easterly direction, where a sizable galleon was cresting the night waves. The galleon was flying the familiar skull and crossbones insignia. A pirate ship. Connor felt an immediate wave of alarm.

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"How long until we're adjacent?" Sidorio asked Stukeley.

"Less than ten," Stukeley answered. "We're closing in."

"What is that ship?" Connor asked, as salt spray came up and splashed his face.

"It's called
The Redeemer
," Stukeley said.

"It's a Federation ship, isn't it?" Connor's voice was hoarse. He could taste saltwater at the pit of his throat. He could barely get the words out.

Stukeley nodded.

Sidorio put his hand on Connor's shoulder. "It's so good to have you here with me. This will be the first of many battles we fight side by side. Forget the portrait.
This
is where our legend begins." Sidorio continued as his eyes met Connor's. "It is time that you had a name that befits your status and destiny. Connor Tempest is no more. From now on, my son, you will be known as Connor Quintus Antonius Sidorio."

Connor registered the words numbly. Was it true? Was Connor Tempest really gone? And, if so, who--or what--had taken his place?

Connor didn't take part in the attack, despite Sidorio's promise that they would fight alongside one another. He

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didn't need to. Within moments of the Vampirates' descent onto
The Redeemer
, the nameless captain and his crew were overpowered. At first, Connor felt utter revulsion, as the crew of
The Blood Captain
cut a swath through the subjugated vessel. But, as bodies crashed onto the deck and blood began to spill, he felt himself suspending judgment. Was this so very different from any other attacks he had witnessed, or been part of? Attacks were always brutal, whether your weapon was a sword slashing a man's chest or a pair of sharp incisors bearing down on his thorax. He couldn't understand how he could be so resigned to it. Around him, bodies seemed to fall in slow motion, spurting blood. He stood there, frozen to the spot, feeling a strange sense of dislocation. He was both there but utterly absent. It was a strange privilege to be at the heart of a battle yet to not even have to lift a sword.