Vampirates 5: Empire of Night (3 page)

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to go wrong. It had happened when he and the rest of Molucco Wrathe's crew had been surrounded on the deck of
The Albatross
. Connor and Bart's dear friend Jez had lost his life as a result. Blood had flowed again during the pirates' raid on the Sunset Fort, this time through the characteristically selfish actions of Molucco's nephew, Moonshine Wrathe. Connor had had to kill, for the first time, to save Moonshine's life. Afterward, he had been deemed a hero, but the experience had led him to question his suitability for life as a pirate.

Now Jacoby and Connor came to a stairwell, spiraling down into the bowels of the ship. They could see their targets twisting and turning beneath them. As they shouted insults up at the pirates, Connor was struck not so much by his adversaries' colorful language as by the pitch of their voices. He had known from the outset that their targets were young, but exactly
how
young?

He had to shelve this thought temporarily in view of more pressing concerns. Top of the list was determining where the two targets were heading--and why? Their actions defied all logic. You never ran down from an open deck to the very bottom of a vessel--it was one of the first lessons in strategy ingrained in the minds of pirate apprentices at Pirate Academy. But Connor's opponents had never studied at Pirate Academy. They were "beach pirates"--treasure-hungry kids hoping to take the fast track to fame and fortune. A few years back, they just might have succeeded. Not now. Things were changing at

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lightning speed. The Pirate Federation was coming down hard on non-Federation vessels and their self-appointed captains. With the growing external threat on the oceans, the Federation could no longer turn a blind eye to the rogue elements within the pirate fraternity. Cheng Li and Cate had been crystal clear about the purpose of this mission--to shut down this ship and its young command with immediate effect.

Jacoby threw himself down the stairwell. As always, Connor was dazzled by his friend's athleticism. Sometimes, Jacoby's lithe and sinewy body seemed to have more in common with a panther than a human. Connor followed, not giving himself credit for the fact that he was every bit as athletic as his comrade.

"This way," cried Jacoby, as Connor's feet made contact with the floor of the lower deck. They raced along another corridor, toward the door at the end. Their opponents had to be in the cabin behind it. There was nowhere else for them to go. Connor held Jacoby back for an instant, alert to the fact that they might be racing into a trap. Jacoby got the message without a word being exchanged. It was the Synchronicity of Comrades--Connor remembered Jasmine referring to a lecture at Pirate Academy on that very subject. A lecture given by the academy's recently assassinated headmaster, Commodore John Kuo.

Kuo may have gone, but his teachings lived on. Perhaps that was the best you could hope for by way of a legacy.

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Together Jacoby and Connor scanned the terrain, assessing the possibilities. Satisfied that there was only one, Jacoby turned to Connor. Connor nodded in anticipation, and the two of them charged along the corridor and hurled themselves at the cabin door.

Their adversaries had piled their weight against the other side of the door, but it wasn't enough to stop Jacoby and Connor from breaking through. They found themselves crashing into a large, dark cabin. In essence, it was like many other cabins they had seen before. In the center of the room stood a long, heavy banquet table, surrounded by tall chairs. But attached to the walls on each side of the cabin were hundreds and hundreds of swords of all shapes and sizes. It looked as if the walls were made of steel. This was a true armory. Their opponents would have no shortage of weaponry with which to threaten them. But where
were
their opponents?

Looking up, just in the nick of time, Connor saw a small but athletic figure curled around the iron chandelier that hung in the center of the room, above the table. Catching Connor's gaze, the assailant swung on the chandelier to gain momentum, propelling himself toward him. As he did so, there was a battle cry, and the second assailant flew out from under the table with the force of a cannonball, ricocheting into Jacoby.

Without flinching, Connor leapt up onto the table and met his opponent head-on. For the first time, he saw his

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face--the boy could be no more than nine or ten years old. In any other circumstance he'd have applauded the kid's ambition, but now wasn't the time for praise. The beach pirate grinned as he drew his sword. Connor immediately blocked it with his rapier.

He heard Jacoby clash swords with the beach pirate's captain, but couldn't risk glancing away from his own opponent. The young boy was full of raw energy, and Connor had no doubt that if he was allowed to gain the upper hand, he would be merciless. Connor wasn't about to let that happen. He drew his adversary in, allowing him to make the moves, confident that sooner or later he would outfight the kid and seize victory.

Connor met every strike of his opponent's sword. The boy was slight and couldn't rival Connor in force, but he utilized his own weightlessness to great acrobatic effect. The lightness and agility of his movements were dazzling. He made Connor, at fourteen, feel old and heavy by contrast.

Connor was impressed by both the boy's nerve and his raw talent as he made a fresh lunge at him. He could imagine the teachers at Pirate Academy piling praise on the boy or Cheng Li taking him under her wing as she had lately with Bo Yin. But, in a flash, the kid's inexperience in combat revealed itself. He had allowed himself to be backed into a corner. The fight was over. The beach pirate had been easily outmaneuvered by the professional. In the throes of conflict, they had seemed equals, in spite of

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their difference in age. Now Connor found himself staring at a terrified kid. Albeit one who spat and hurled a stream of profanity at him. Connor decided it was time to teach the kid a lesson.

He extended his blade to touch his opponent's face. Carefully, Connor drew the tip across the boy's cheek, watching as a neat line of blood appeared on his downy skin. He could see the raw terror in the boy's eyes, knew that he had clarified who was now calling the shots. He had the power to choose life or death for his opponent. It was then that Connor realized just how angry he was. Angry that these "beach pirates" were out at sea, messing with real pirate crews, like his own, who had serious business to accomplish. Angry too, that he had been denied the full, challenging fight that another professional would have given him--a fight he needed, that his body and mind were crying out for. But, mostly, angry with himself. For things utterly beyond his control.

"It's over." He heard Jacoby's voice, addressing the young captain who had been forced easily into submission. Jacoby turned to his comrade. "It's over, Connor. Draw down your sword!"

Jacoby's voice was so clear, so confident. It had been an open-and-shut mission for him. That was how Jacoby saw each battle, each mission, each passing day and night. In patterns only of black and white; no gray.
Things will never be that simple for me
, Connor thought bitterly. For him, there would be no more simple beginnings and

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endings. Not after what he had learned about himself, about what he was and his inability to do anything to change it. Forevermore, for all gnawing eternity, his only truth would be that his name was Connor Tempest, son of a vampire.

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THE BLACK SEA, ODESSA, UKRAINE

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3 THE HONEYMOONERS

"I do so love it here," Lola declared, turning her gaze from Sidorio out to the frozen sea. "I knew you'd choose the perfect spot for our honeymoon." It was so cold that the ocean waves were freezing as they hit the shore. It was a rare and magical sight, made yet more magical by the violet tint of the moonlight and the soft hush of the waves in the distance, sounding their final sighs before they changed from liquid to ice.

A fresh drift of snow began to cover the table between them. Lola turned to face her husband, reaching out her hand to him. "How clever you are," she said.

Sidorio smiled. In his achingly long time roaming this world, he could pretty much count on the fingers of one hand the times he had been called "clever." He shifted his gaze from his wife's glowing face to the building behind

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them. A soft light emanated from the windows of the all but deserted hotel. In former times, the rococo building had been a royal palace, and it clung onto a certain epic grandeur. The Lockwood Sidorios were the only guests at the hotel and had secured the suite of rooms once used by Peter the Great and his wife, the Empress Catherine. "How fitting," Lola had said as she had snatched the key from the desk clerk, who doubled as the maître d'.

In the absence of business during the long, harsh winter, the hotel retained only a skeleton staff. This mattered little to the newlyweds. Their needs were quite simple.

Now, the maître d' made his way toward the unconventional but unerringly generous couple sitting at their table at the edge of the snow-covered beach. Tonight, the woman with the curious heart tattoo was dressed in a full-length fur coat, the man in a greatcoat, enhancing his somewhat militaristic air.

"Sir." The elderly host cleared his throat, then announced, "The musicians have arrived. Just as you requested." His message delivered, the elderly host began trudging back through the snow.

Lola clapped her hands in delight. Gazing lovingly at her husband, she exclaimed, "Musicians! Bravo!"

"You said you wanted music." Sidorio's eyes bore into hers. "Anything my wife desires, she gets."

Lola smiled. "Anything?"

He winked. "Try me."

"A new ship," she said, not missing a beat. "One like

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Trofie Wrathe's.
The Typhon
." She paused, then smiled. "No, not like
The Typhon
. I want
The Typhon
itself."

Sidorio looked amused. "Her golden hand wasn't enough for you?"

Lola pouted momentarily. "Her rancid son stole that back. No matter, it served its purpose." She smiled when remembering how she had lately employed Trofie's hand as the centerpiece of her unorthodox wedding bouquet.

"Fine," Sidorio said. "So, I'll get you her ship. What else? Anything I can get for you this very night?"

"Well," said Lola, "I
am
quite thirsty, as it happens. How about you?"

Sidorio nodded, smiling. Then, he whistled to the maître d', who was still forging his way back through the snow to summon the musicians. As Sidorio's whistle whipped through the night air, the old man stopped dead in his tracks, turned, and began to plod back, his snowshoes slow and none too steady.

"Bring us a magnum of your finest vintage," Sidorio barked.

The old man raised a wild eyebrow, the wave of white hair encrusted with ice. "Our finest is expensive, sir--in a magnum, especially."

Sidorio shrugged, losing no time in pulling gold from his pockets. "Don't bother me with talk of money. You know perfectly well I have enough gold here to buy this lowly hotel, if I choose to. Just fetch us the wine."

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Noticing Lola watching him admiringly, he added, "My wife is a connoisseur. She has a very
sophisticated
palate."

"Very good, sir!" The host gave a nod, then turned to embark on his latest epic journey through the thickly falling snow.

Lola slipped off her shoes and let the bare flesh of her soles connect with the icy ground. It felt utterly delicious. Once more, she shivered with pleasure.

The musicians arrived. They were young and clad in coats, hats, scarves, and fingerless gloves. They climbed onto the old iron bandstand. With minimal fuss, they took up their instruments and began to play. The music was entrancing, blending the innocent air of an old folk song with the insistent rhythm of a tango.

Lola stood up, letting her fur coat slide down from her shoulders into the well of her chair. She reached out a hand. "Dance with me, husband!"

Sidorio rose to his feet and enfolded her tiny hand in his powerful grip. They walked across the snow-covered beach, a short distance from the bandstand. The lead singer--a young woman with wild, dark eyes and lashes reminiscent of thick spider's legs--smiled as the couple began to dance. Their style was unusual but full of flair.

Lola shrieked with delight as Sidorio dipped her low over the ice. She let her head fall backward, exposing the fresh scars about her neck, while strands of her long,

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raven hair brushed the snow and her eyes gazed wildly up at the full moon.

After their dance, Sidorio led Lola back to their table. In their absence, the aged host had deposited the magnum of wine and a pair of glasses. Already, the bottle and glasses were dusted with fresh snowflakes.

"I'll pour," Lola said, brushing snow from the wine bottle. Lifting it up to the light, she glanced at the bottle's yellowed label. Then she uncorked it and poured its dark, glutinous contents out onto the moonlit snow.

Sidorio grinned.

The musicians began a new song--the violin and accordion building the rhythm. The singer slapped her tambourine and stomped her feet with increasing vigor, utterly caught up in the frenzied world of her song.

Lola extended the empty bottle to her husband, swinging it precariously between her elegant fingers. "Lola's thirsty," she declared, mimicking a young girl's voice. Then, reverting to her normal tone, she smiled prettily and asked, "Won't you fetch me a
proper
drink, dearest?"

Nodding but saying nothing, Sidorio seized the empty bottle and set off through the snow. Lola glimpsed the fire in his eyes, the deep pits of flame that revealed that his own appetite was as strong and deep and demanding as her own.

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Inside the warmth of the hotel restaurant, the maître d' noticed that the music had stopped. He squinted out through the window, but a veil of fresh condensation impaired his view. He lifted a feeble hand to the glass, wincing as his old flesh made contact with the freezing pane. Rubbing his fist against it, he cleared a peephole.