Vampirates: Tide of Terror (4 page)

3

THE DEVIL AND THE ALBATROSS

The captains stood face to face. Well, as close as was possible, given that the captain of the containership was a good head taller than Molucco Wrathe. His face was tanned, angular and smooth as soapstone, save for a deep scar, which dissected his cheek like a purple river.

“Narcisos Drakoulis,” Captain Wrathe exclaimed in wonder. “I thought to have seen the last of you.”

“I’m sure you did, Wrathe.” Captain Drakoulis smiled, without a trace of warmth. “Many winters have come and gone since Ithaka.”

Connor looked from one captain to the other, wondering what dark history lay between them.

“Your crew mutinied. They took your ship. You were marooned. How did you do it? All this . . .” Captain Wrathe’s voice trailed off as he surveyed the deck, taking stock of Drakoulis’ hoards of fighters, their scimitars flashing like fire in the sunlight.

Drakoulis smiled again through tight lips. “Always have a Plan B, Wrathe. It’s the first rule of captaincy, is it not?” He raised his scimitar in the air, prompting his crew to repeat the gesture, so their weapons surrounded the pirates of
The Diablo
like a lethal fence.

“Keep still your weapons,” Drakoulis ordered, “for now.”

Connor shuddered, wanting to check Jez’s reaction but unable to tear his eyes away from Captain Drakoulis. There was such danger in the captain’s cold eyes and in his emotionless voice. Connor realized that today’s attack had been doomed. He cursed himself for being so gung ho. Now, he might never see Grace again. After everything it had taken to find her, now it might all come to an end on this very deck — at the hands of one of Drakoulis’ crew.

“There’s been a mistake, Drakoulis,” Molucco Wrathe said. “You know I’d never order an attack on another pirate captain’s ship.”

Drakoulis shook his head. “I know nothing of the sort.”

Molucco forged ahead, unperturbed by the icy tone of his enemy. “We thought this was a containership. We were misinformed . . .”

“Yes,” Drakoulis said, smiling again. “You were misinformed.” He paused, as if carefully weighing his words. “It’s curious how these . . . confusions, occur.”

Connor looked over at Jez now, and found him frowning. “We were tricked,” Jez hissed. “This was a set-up.”

“It’s time that you paid for your errant ways,” Drakoulis continued, “There’s a Pirate Code, Wrathe, which you seem to have conveniently forgotten — or else think you are somehow above. You have some fanciful notion, perhaps, of the Wrathe name — you and your brothers. You dive in and out of other captains’ sea-lanes — laying siege here, taking plunder there. Oh it’s all sport to you and your . . . playmates, is it not?”

Connor had heard other pirates rail about Captain Wrathe before. He thought back to his first visit to Ma Kettle’s Tavern, when a dozen other captains had unleashed their anger on Captain Wrathe. That had been frightening, but this was an altogether more dangerous situation. The other pirates had only wanted to vent their fury. Captain Drakoulis had planned and executed a cold-blooded mission to ensnare Captain Wrathe and his crew. Connor sensed that Drakoulis was seeking revenge for some ancient hurt. What had Molucco done to him? Connor looked with new eyes at the captain to whom he had pledged his allegiance.

“What do you want, Drakoulis?” Captain Wrathe’s question pulled Connor roughly back into the present — dire — situation.

“I already told you, Wrathe. The time has come to pay for your actions.”

“Let’s talk terms then, man, and we’ll both be on our way.” Captain Wrathe sounded as cocksure as ever.

Drakoulis resumed in his cold voice, “There is a price to be paid for your misdemeanors.”

“Name your price,” answered Molucco. “And remind me, is it gold or silver that tickles your fancy?”

Drakoulis looked at Molucco in disgust, shaking his head slowly. As he did so, Connor noticed that in contrast to Captain Wrathe — who was dripping in silver and sapphires — Captain Drakoulis wore no jewelry. His uniform was the same as the rest of his company — simple, black and unadorned. When he spoke again, his voice was full of disdain.

“How typical of you to think that I would wish for the same ephemeral rewards as you, Wrathe. The price of your transgressions will not be paid in metal, Captain. It will be paid in the only currency that matters — blood.”

At their captain’s words, the crew raised their scimitars once more. It was a perfectly smooth, coordinated movement. How well Drakoulis had rehearsed them. Connor could not begin to think what fresh horror would now be un-leashed. But he knew that Drakoulis’ pirates would be perfectly prepared, while he and his crewmates would be left floundering. He felt a flash of anger at Captain Wrathe for putting him and the others into this position. But the anger soon dissipated. Molucco Wrathe had welcomed him aboard his ship like a father. He had given Connor sanctuary in his darkest hour — given him back hope. Molucco might be an unruly rogue, but he was not an evil man. In stark contrast, it appeared, to Captain Narcisos Drakoulis.

“A duel,” Drakoulis announced. “The matter will be settled by a duel — to the death.”

Molucco flinched. It was no secret that his best fighting years were behind him. He was still a force to be reckoned with, but he had long since delegated the key combat to the younger members of his crew. Connor looked from Molucco Wrathe to Narcisos Drakoulis. In the stark white sunlight, the contrast was all too obvious. Captain Wrathe appeared overweight and overindulged while, beneath his tight black vestments, Narcisos Drakoulis was lean and hard and primed for the fight. It was no contest. If it came to swords, Connor and his mates would be returning to
The Diablo
without their captain.

But Drakoulis smiled at Molucco once more. “Of course, I’m not suggesting that you and
I
engage in direct combat. Why, it would hardly be worth oiling this scimitar for such sport. No, Wrathe, you shall put forward your best swords-man and so shall I.” Drakoulis’ dark eyes narrowed. “Best decide quickly who it shall be.”

Molucco frowned. He sought out Cate in the crowd. Connor held his breath. Was Captain Wrathe going to choose her for the duel? She must rank as one of the best fighters on the ship, certainly the most knowledgeable.

But to risk losing her would be a terrible gamble. And, as her friend as well as her protégé, Connor felt a wave of dread at the thought.

“All right,” Drakoulis announced, “while you dither about, allow me to introduce you to your combatant. Gi-daki Sarakakino, step forward!”

There was a united cheer from the ranks of Drakoulis’ crew as one of their number began a slow march to the center of the deck. Connor felt a flood of fear as he heard the heavy footsteps approaching. The man brushed past him and the weight of his tensed muscle sent a searing pain into Connor’s shoulder. He turned and saw a dark bruise already forming on his flesh. Looking up again, he watched Drakoulis smile and extend his hand to his chosen swordsman. Sarakakino shook it and then turned to salute his crewmates. Connor felt his heart sink. Few of the pirates of
The Diablo
could take on an opponent such as this.

Molucco was locked deep in conversation with Cate.

Captain Drakoulis shook his head. “It comes as little surprise that you struggle so to make a decision for yourself.”

For the first time, Molucco gave way to anger. “My ship is a democracy,” he snarled, “and I will have the opinion of my deputy on this matter.”

Drakoulis shot Molucco a contemptuous look but did not, for the moment, say anything more.

It was agony watching Captain Wrathe and Cate discussing the dire situation. Connor knew how much it would pain them both to have to elect a pirate to fight alone like this. Life on
The Diablo
was based on teamwork and there was real friendship among the crew members, cutting through the hierarchy without weakening it. There was no sense on
The Diablo
that even one pirate was expendable.

At last, Captain Wrathe turned from Cate and addressed Narcisos Drakoulis.

“Our decision is made.”

Connor, together with the rest of his crew, awaited the verdict.

“We will not submit to a member of our crew engaging in a duel.”

For a moment, Drakoulis said nothing. Then he turned to Sarakakino. Both men started to laugh. Drakoulis composed himself and turned back to Molucco.

“You act as if you have a choice,” Drakoulis said. “This isn’t a game, Captain. I have told you — it is time to pay the price.”

Molucco stepped up to Captain Drakoulis, infused with a new energy. “You spoke of rules before, Captain. And yet you issue your dictate like some kind of demigod.”

“Demigod?” sneered Drakoulis, “Why, isn’t every ship its own universe and every pirate captain god of all he surveys?”

Connor felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. There was madness in Drakoulis. Allied to his violence, who could tell the extent of the danger he posed?

“I’ll report you to the Pirate Federation,” Molucco said.

Drakoulis shook his head. “I don’t think so, Wrathe. You are on
The Albatross
now,
my
ship.”

The Albatross
, thought Connor, grimly. It was a curious name for a ship. The long-winged seabird was a portent of doom to sailors. And so it had proved to the crew of
The Diablo
. Clearly, the devil was no match for the albatross today.

“You’re out of your sea-lane,” Drakoulis announced coldly.

“This isn’t your lane, either.”

“It matters not,” said Drakoulis dismissively. “The Pirate Federation is cutting you loose, Wrathe. They’ve grown weary of your transgressions. Lord knows that they’ve tried their best to correct you. Even sending one of their spies into your crew —”

“A spy?”

Molucco stopped in his tracks, aghast.

“Yes — a spy!” Drakoulis imitated Molucco’s wide-eyed confusion. “Chang Ko Li’s daughter. You thought she was in training to be a captain, but all the time she was spying on you and reporting back to the Feds.”

This was news not only to Captain Wrathe. Connor watched the troubling accusation ricochet around his crewmates. It hit him hard too. He had experienced at close hand Cheng Li’s frustrations with Captain Wrathe, but he had never thought she was a
spy
. As his mind frantically rewound their conversations, he realized that it all fit. If only she were here to explain herself . . . but he hadn’t seen her in almost three months.

Captain Wrathe shook his head. “This is more of your madness, Drakoulis,” he said. “Mistress Li was completing her academy training. And the Federation chose
The Diablo
for her apprenticeship.”

“So where is she now?” Drakoulis asked, with a sneer.

“She’s back at the academy, on a teaching assignment.”

“Oh, that’s right, isn’t it? She resigned from your command due to
an exceptional offer
from the Federation. Or was it, perhaps, because she had failed in her mission to bring you into line?”

“No!” shouted Molucco.

“Why not ask her yourself, next time you bump into her at Ma Kettle’s? I think you’ll find Mistress Li to be
full
of interesting stories. That is, of course, if she still deigns to speak with you.”

Molucco looked thunderstruck. Connor felt equally be-wildered. He knew only a little of the Pirate Federation. Was it true that the Federation was spying on Molucco Wrathe and his pirates? Was Narcisos Drakoulis acting independently or had he been contracted as an assassin? Had Cheng Li really tried — and failed — to contain Molucco’s roguish ways? It seemed as if all Molucco’s chickens had come home to roost this time.

“We’ve talked enough,” Drakoulis spat. “It’s time to settle the matter. Which of your crew will fight the duel with Sarakakino here?”

As he spoke, his chosen combatant let slip his shirt, revealing a taut, muscle-bound chest and arms, channeled with thick veins. As Sarakakino’s shirt fell to the deck, he turned around and clenched his biceps. Across the tanned skin of his back was a vast tattoo of a bird, its long wings stretching out over his shoulder blades. Another albatross, Connor realized. If ever there was a portent of doom, this bird tattoo was it.

“I told you before,” Molucco said, “I’ll put no pirate of mine to the sword.”

“And
I
told
you
,” Drakoulis said, exploding with rage, “to put one man forward or I’ll unleash hell on the entirety of your crew!”

All about the deck, the curved scimitars were raised.

The two captains stood, face to face, in deadlock.

Then, to Connor’s surprise — and horror — he heard a familiar voice cry out.

“I’ll fight him, Captain Wrathe. Let me fight him!”

4

THE VISITOR

Grace lay on the bed in her cabin. Above her, the deck of
The Diablo
was quiet. That meant they’d gone — all of the pirates involved in the attack. Now, those that were left behind could only wait. This was the time she hated. She could just about cope with the idea of Connor going into battle — there was precious little she could do to prevent it — so long as she didn’t have time to dwell on it too much. While he was away, she liked to keep busy. Whenever possible, she used this time to do her duties, but today she’d been on the early roster and now she had a couple of hours to herself. She could always go and offer to help with more of the work, but time off aboard
The Diablo
was a luxury not to be wasted. Besides, she had slept badly the night before, and that — combined with her early start — had left her dog-tired.

She glanced about her small cabin. It was decidedly more spartan than the grand cabin she had occupied aboard the Vampirate ship. There, she had slept like a storybook princess in a vast bed, piled high with cushions and hung low with tapestries. Now, she bedded down on a simple single bunk with one pillow, which itself had seen better days. But Grace wasn’t complaining. She rather liked her new abode. It was comfortable enough, and it was certainly nice having daylight filter in, even if it was through a somewhat grimy porthole. Besides, better to have a cabin to yourself than to sleep — like Connor — in a dormitory where the other pirates’ snores and wheezes, coughs and farts played like a strange symphony through the night.

Besides the bed, there was little other furniture in the room — a small wooden chair that she chiefly used to hang her clothes at night, a small cupboard, and some shelves. But it was more than enough room for someone who had as few possessions as Grace. Uncurling herself slowly, she slipped down from the bed, and knelt on the floor. She reached her hand under the bunk, moving aside a box of old rope and a blanket, which were simply decoys to prevent prying eyes from finding the small case that she kept there.

Now, she took it in her hands and climbed back up onto the bunk. It was Darcy Flotsam who had given the case to her. “Because every young lady needs a place for her secret things,” she had said. It was typical of Darcy — the kind gesture, the rationale, and the case itself. It was, strictly speaking, a “vanity case,” deep red leather on the outside and shocking pink silk padding on the interior. It was intended for storing combs and brushes, makeup compacts, lipsticks, and the like. Grace had none of these and no desire for them. But with its hidden compartments and, most usefully, its small lock and key, the case was the ideal place to keep her secret things.

She turned the small key and lifted the lid, smiling as she surveyed the contents. There were the notebooks and pens she had brought with her — at the Vampirate captain’s urging. She reached in and extracted the small leather notebook in which she had started to write the “crossing stories” of the Vampirate crew — the accounts of what their lives were when they were mortals and how they had gone from that world to this. So far, few of the pages had been used. It only had Darcy Flotsam’s story — written in Grace’s best handwriting — and Sidorio’s much darker tale, hastily scrawled under somewhat different circumstances.

Her eyes ran over these last words. His tale was as thrilling to her as it was horrific. Lieutenant Sidorio had revealed that, many centuries before, he had kidnapped Julius Caesar and later been killed in revenge. In spite of the raw fear Sidorio instilled in Grace, she was glad to know his story and to have captured it in this book. She had plucked a dark secret that few others in this world knew, and to Grace that was as heady a thrill as if she had pressed the rarest of orchids between the pages of her notebook.

As she came to the last page of writing, she sighed. She would dearly love to add to the journal. Aboard the Vampirate ship, she had hatched a plan to chronicle the crossing stories of each and every member of the crew. That thought still sent a shiver of excitement through her, though she knew she had little hope of making it happen.

Grace’s eyes were growing as tired as the rest of her body. She closed the journal and placed it beside her on the bed. She lay back on the sheets and she closed her eyes. She brought her hand up to her neck, tracing the chain hanging around it. As her index finger followed its path down below her shirt, it found the heart-shaped locket Connor had given to her. Her fingers pushed it to one side and made contact with Lorcan’s Claddagh ring. As she touched it, there was a moment of electricity — real or imagined — as she remembered Lorcan’s gift to her when she left the ship.

Now, it was the ring, above all, which gave her hope. It reminded her of Lorcan’s words, his soft brogue, the way he looked at her as if there were depths of feeling he could not yet give voice to. The ring was the best kept of Grace’s secrets, hanging there where no one could see it, hidden under the locket. Sometimes, just sometimes, as the band of metal pressed against her clavicle, she felt a strange sensation — as if Lorcan were speaking to her, reassuring her that everything was going to be okay and that they would be together again. Sure enough, it was his voice that spoke softly to her now, pulling her away from the pirate ship into the sparkling blue waters of her dreams.

“Grace! Grace, wake up!”

“What?”

She was floating in such a delicious dream. She felt so rested and comfortable.

“Grace!” The voice came again. Louder. She recognized it but could not place it. And the dream was too comfortable to leave. She resisted.

“Grace Tempest! Please wake up!”

As the voice poured directly into her ears, Grace opened her eyes. She knew that voice — that strange, squeaking cockney accent.

“Darcy!” she exclaimed, twisting her head on the pillow. “Darcy Flotsam.”

Sure enough, Darcy was sitting beside the bed. Her brow was furrowed. “Well, I must say, you sleep awful heavy for a young lady.” Her frown quickly gave way to a smile.

Grace smiled back, drawing herself up to a sitting position and swinging her feet round toward Darcy. “Darcy! I can’t believe it’s you! How did you get here?”

“It’s a long story,” Darcy said. “Listen, I’m not sure how long I can stay. But I had to see you.”

Grace was beaming. She couldn’t have wished for a nicer awakening. There she had been, lost in a dream about the Vampirate ship and now one of her friends had appeared — not only on the ship but in her very cabin! Elated, she stood up, opening her arms to hug Darcy. Darcy rose to meet her and stepped forward.

But as Grace flung her arms about Darcy’s waist, Darcy must have moved suddenly, or else the ship did, because Grace’s arms flailed through thin air. She opened her arms again and reached for Darcy. This time, they were face to face. Darcy was looking at her strangely. Grace watched ...as her arms moved straight through Darcy. It was if she were made of air. Grace lifted her hand to her friend’s face, reaching out a finger toward her button nose. It poked straight through Darcy’s nose into nothing-ness. Grace recoiled, looking at Darcy curiously.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Darcy looked serious, folding her arms across her chest. “You see, I’m here, but I’m
not
here, Grace.”

“I don’t understand,” said Grace. “Can
you
see
me
?”

“Yes, yes of course I can see you,” she said, stepping forward. “And I can see you’ve made an awful mess of that pretty blouse I lent you.”

Grace glanced down, guiltily. It was true — the blouse was stained with oil from her earlier sword-cleaning duties.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said. “I had to get up really early to work and it was the first thing I threw on. I didn’t think.”

“Hush!” said Darcy, raising a finger toward Grace’s lips but not touching them. “We have more important things to talk about than stains and spills.”

“Yes,” Grace said. “Of course.” She still didn’t quite understand how Darcy came to be here but she could see from her friend’s anxious expression that she had come for a reason. “Let’s sit down,” she said.

Grace sat on the bed and Darcy sat down next to her. Only she didn’t exactly sit, Grace noticed, but hovered just above the mattress. It was very curious.

“How is everyone?” Grace asked. “How’s the captain? And Lorcan?”

Darcy’s head dropped for a moment. When she raised it again, there were buds of tears in her eyes. “That’s just it,” she said, “that’s why I had to come. Since you left, everything’s horrible, just horrible.”

Grace’s heart sank. “What do you mean? Whatever’s happened?”

For a moment, Darcy was unable to speak as the tears fell from her eyes, mixing with her eyeliner and falling like dark petals across her fine complexion. “Just a mo,” she managed to sniff, fishing in her pocket, “I think I’ve got a tissue in here somewhere.” But her hand came away empty.

Grace reached in her own pocket and instinctively offered Darcy her own handkerchief. They both looked at each other for a moment. Then Grace let the handkerchief go. They both watched as the small square of cloth floated straight through Darcy’s phantom hand and down to the floor of the cabin. Somehow, it made them smile. Darcy sniffed and brought the back of her hand up to her face, wiping away her tears and then wiping her hand clean on her dress. It was an uncharacteristic gesture for someone who cared so much about her appearance. Darcy shrugged. “Like I say, Grace, stains and spills.”

Grace nodded, smiling reassuringly at her companion. “Darcy, you must tell me what’s wrong. Perhaps I can help. You were all so good to me — well,
almost
all of you. I’ll do anything I can to help. You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about coming back to the ship. Why, just before you woke me up —”

A dark look crossed Darcy’s face. “You can’t come back!”

Grace was confused. “Why not?”

“It’s not a safe place anymore. You mustn’t even think of coming back.”

“Not safe?” Grace said. “But I was there when the captain banished Sidorio. And
he
was the only rebel Vampirate, wasn’t he?”

Darcy shook her head. “Not the
only
,” she said, “the
first
.”

“The first?”

Darcy nodded. “Sidorio
was
the only rebel, but since he was banished — since you left — there are others who challenge the captain’s authority every day and every night. They won’t settle for just taking blood at the Feast. They want more blood, more Feasts . . .” She broke off, tears in her eyes again.

“And what does the captain say?” Grace asked.

“He tells them ‘no.’ He says that these are the ways of the ship. Always have been. Always will be.”

“Well then,” Grace said. “The captain will keep control. He always does.”

Darcy shook her head. “It ain’t never been like this before. For as long as I’ve sailed on that ship, there’s always been ...there’s always been respect for the captain. But, after he sent Sidorio away, something changed. No one was ever sent away before.”

Grace remembered thinking at the time that it might be dangerous to send Sidorio away. But the captain had been so intent upon it. But Grace had been more concerned with what dark mischief Sidorio might cause in the world outside, than with what would happen on the ship after he’d gone.

“I wish I could help you,” Grace said. “I wish I could come back and talk to the captain.”

Darcy shook her head. “No, Grace. No, you must stay here — with Connor — where you’re safe.”

Grace smiled. “It’s a pirate ship, Darcy. It’s hardly safe. Even now, Connor’s off on an attack.”

“You two sure have a knack for landing yourselves in trouble,” Darcy said.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire,” agreed Grace, ruefully.

They smiled at each other. Grace reached out her hand as if to take Darcy’s.

“We can’t touch,” Darcy reminded her.

“I know,” said Grace, keeping her hand extended. “I know we can’t, but let’s just pretend we can.”

Darcy nodded, stretching out her own hand until her phantom palm lay almost against Grace’s flesh-and-blood one. It was near enough.

“So,” said Grace. “Tell me about Lorcan.”

But as Darcy opened her mouth to answer, she started to fade.

“Wait!” Grace cried. “What’s happened to Lorcan?”

Darcy shook her head, tears filling her eyes again. Then she melted away into the air and Grace was alone once more.