Vampirates: Tide of Terror (6 page)

7

THE CLADDAGH RING

Morning came all too soon. Grace opened her eyes. She had slept only fitfully, her mind churning with thoughts. Connor was standing over her, bleary-eyed.

“I’d better go,” he said. “I want to make sure everything’s set for the funeral.”

Grace nodded. “I’ll see you there,” she said, “I won’t be long.” She stood up from the bunk and hugged him once more.

As the door closed behind him, she sat back down. Her lack of sleep and all the anxieties running through her head had made her feel rather sick.

Grace steadied herself sufficiently to look out through the porthole. There was little to see out there, beyond the slap of water and gray sky and sea, for the most part indistinguishable from one another. It was appropriately grim weather for Jez’s funeral.

Suddenly Grace felt a searing pain in her eyes. It was so sharp, it threw her away from the window and down onto the bunk. She lay there, catching her breath, her hand instinctively covering her eyes. What had happened? She opened her eyes again but, as she did so, felt another stab of pain. She closed them once more, trying not to panic. She didn’t understand
what
was going on.

Instinctively, she moved her hand up to Lorcan’s Claddagh ring. As her thumb and finger closed around it, she felt instantly calmer. Was it her imagination, or was the ring slightly warm to the touch? She gripped it and, as she did so, the heat of the metal increased.

As it did, she began hearing noises in her head. She heard the sound of footsteps and distant voices. Somehow, without opening her eyes, she knew that the noises were not from
The Diablo
. She was having a “vision” — if you could call it that when she could see nothing, save a dull, foggy darkness.

The ring grew still warmer in her hand. She had the sense that she was moving. Her footsteps were far louder than any she had ever made before. It was as if she were wearing heavy boots, thumping irregularly onto deck boards. She felt her hand reach out and push against something. A door. Her hand extended. The door must be opening. She could hear the creak of an old hinge. And then a voice.

“Lorcan.”

The name electrified her.

She listened, waiting to recognize the voice.

“Lorcan,” it said again. It was a girl’s voice, but she could not place it. “What are you doing here? It’s morning. Time to rest.” There was caution in the girl’s voice, fear, even.

The ring was almost too hot to touch now. But Grace was desperate not to let go, sensing that if she did, the vision would be lost to her.

“I’m sorry.” She immediately recognized Lorcan’s soft brogue. It was magical to hear it again, whatever the circumstances.

“Have you lost your way?” It was the girl again. Fear had given way to pity. Grace could hear it in the changing tone.
Lost your way
? What did she mean?

If only Grace could see the ship as well as hear it. She pressed her thumb and finger to the ring even more tightly. It was burning her now. Still she saw nothing beyond the fog but, as the metal seared into her skin, Grace heard the sounds of the Vampirate ship even more clearly.

“I’m sorry.” Lorcan again.

“No,” the girl answered. “It’s okay, Lorcan. It’s okay. Give me your hand. I’ll take you back to your cabin.”

“I can find my own way back,” he said, his voice un-characteristically proud and angry.

“Wait!”

But the girl’s voice was fainter now. Grace had the sense of movement again. Uneven movement. Hands reaching out. And then a tumble. She felt sick as the sensation of falling took over her body. The ring was too hot to hold now. She gasped and released her hand. Her eyes pulled open.

She lay on the bunk in her small cabin on the pirate ship, breath racing through her. Her thumb and finger felt raw and painful where the Claddagh ring had burned into her. And yet, when she lifted her hand, there was no mark. Nothing at all. She couldn’t understand it.

She knew she had made a journey to the Vampirate ship. Not a journey like Darcy had made to
The Diablo
. This was more of a vision — like the first time Grace had met the Vampirate captain and her head had been filled with a sudden image of flesh tearing and crimson blood on dark skin. This new vision was more sustained than that though, more
linear
. It was as if she had been inside Lorcan’s head. She had been able to hear his conversation. She had felt the movements of his arms and feet. She had, she realized now, felt something of his pain. It was something to do with his eyes. As if . . . please, no ...as if he couldn’t see properly.

Now Grace felt ice-cold panic spreading through all the veins in her body as memories flooded back to her, like the returning tide. The morning that Connor had boarded the Vampirate ship, Lorcan had stayed out on deck to protect her. He stayed out even
after
Darcy struck the Dawning Bell — when all Vampirates were called back inside, out of the light. Light was dangerous to them — extremely dangerous. Only the Vampirate captain himself could venture out into the light. But Lorcan had stayed there, because of
her
. Was it possible that, in doing so, he had wounded his eyes? Blinded himself even?

What had Lorcan’s note to her said?
Something to remember me by. Travel safe.
Travel safe! Could Lorcan be sending her a message through the ring? She
had
to get back to the Vampirate ship. But how?

Just then the cannon sounded. Grace jumped. Cannon fire was the signal to come up to the main deck. Jez’s funeral was about to begin. She was late!

8

BURIAL AT SEA

The first thing that Grace noticed as she stepped out onto deck was how quiet it was. This was all the more unusual, given that the full crew of
The Diablo
now stood across it. She shut the door carefully and joined the crowd. The pirates opened up their ranks for her. Gratefully, she moved forward until she had a clear view of proceedings.

At the stern of the ship stood Captain Wrathe and Cate. They were at the right of Jez’s coffin, which was draped in the skull and crossbones flag. To the left of the coffin stood Jez’s pallbearers, including Bart and Connor. Grace watched them from the crowd, wondering how Connor was holding up. The last funeral they had attended was their father’s. How long ago that seemed already. Then they had stood together, at the front of the congregation, leaning upon one another for support. She scanned Connor’s face, but he looked distant. Jez’s loss was written all over his features.

The cannon sounded once more and now Captain Wrathe, dressed in funereal black velvet — trimmed with silver — turned to address his crew.

“Pirates of
The Diablo
, this is a dark morning indeed. But the darkness in the skies above and the waters below are only mirrors to the darkness in our hearts. For today we say good-bye to one of our finest men, Jez Stukeley.

“Jez came to us as a young lad — eight years ago — and from the start he kept us amused with his sharp wit and his love of a good tale.” Molucco smiled. There were a fair few nods and muted chuckles among the ranks of pirates.

“He was one of the most companionable of crew-members,” Molucco continued. “He was never too busy to help out another fellow in need, whether it be with a ship-board chore or in the field of battle. . . .”

Grace winced at the term.
Field of battle.
He made it sound so noble. It wasn’t.

“And it was here that Jez Stukeley marked himself out, time and time again, as one of our most capable, courageous, and effective men.” Molucco glanced at Cate, who was nodding solemnly. “Yesterday, I’m afraid that my actions placed all of us in mortal danger....”

Grace’s ears pricked up. She hadn’t been expecting such frankness from the captain, but perhaps she had underestimated him.

“I regret this, deeply. Let me assure each of you that I have been searching my soul and that I shall continue to search it when the events of this day are complete. But whatever the circumstance, brave, honorable Mister Stukeley came to our aid. He threw himself into the fire so that we might be saved. He fought a fine fight, full of flair and determination. He might well have prospered.” Again Cate nodded. “But fate has taken Mister Stukeley from us . . .”

Grace wondered at that. Where did you draw the line in the sand between fate and your own actions? Was it simply Jez’s destiny to die on that other deck, or was it Molucco’s actions which had led him there?

“We find ourselves at a terrible loss, knowing that no more shall we be entertained by his wisecracks, and no more shall we be able to depend upon one of our most able.” Molucco raised a large handkerchief to his eyes and wiped away the tears that were welling there. “Bravest, dearest comrades, I know you all have your own memories of Mister Stukeley. And now, I’d ask you to spend a minute or two remembering him as you would wish to.”

Silence fell once more about the deck. The only sounds were the churning waters beneath and the flapping of the sails in the wind. Grace looked up to the crow’s nest, thinking back to the very first time she had met Jez.

It was the day after she had joined the ship. As excited as she had been to be reunited with Connor, she had felt disorientated by leaving the Vampirate ship — and her friends there — so precipitously. She had gone up to the deck of
The Diablo
, just as she had sometimes made for the deck of the Vampirate ship. She had stood at the deck rail alone — until Jez had joined her, bringing two hot mugs of tea with him. They had sat chatting — or rather, he had talked to her, nonstop. She couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said but he had been kind and warm and funny. Just as he always was. She remembered how at that moment she had felt she could make a home for herself on
The Diablo
.

Remembering this brought tears to her eyes. She fished in the pocket of her coat and found a lacy handkerchief. Wiping her eyes, she glanced over at Connor. He smiled back at her faintly. He was trying to be strong, she knew. But she saw there were tears in his eyes too. Devoid, as always, of a handkerchief, Connor simply lifted his hand and brushed the tears away.

“Well, then,” Molucco said softly, bringing the spell of silence to a close. “We come to the next part of our proceedings. Jez’s longtime comrade — and great friend — Bartholomew Pearce, will now say for us the Pirate’s Prayer. Bartholomew...”

Molucco turned. Bart stepped slowly forward, clutching a piece of paper in his hand. He lifted his eyes to the assembled and began to speak.

Mother Ocean, Father Sky,

Send this pirate to his rest.

He was one among the best —

Set his spirit free to fly.

Brother Sun and Sister Moon,

Bathe him in your balmy light.

Now no longer need he fight —

The one you called back far too soon.

Lightning, thunder, wind, and rain,

Let his cutlass blunt and rust,

As his body turns to dust —

Free from every mortal pain.

Spring tide, neap tide, morning, night,

All you things that frame our days,

Carve him out a resting place —

Wherever will his cares be light.

Creek and harbor, gulf and reef

Waters shallow, waters deep,

Grant him now eternal sleep —

And anchor us who reel with grief.

Bart hadn’t had to look once at the piece of paper in his hands. Grace guessed that it was an old poem, but the way Bart spoke it, each word seemed fresh and potent.

There had even been a temporary lull in the wind, as if the elements themselves were paying heed to the pirate’s pleas for his lost comrade.

Now, Bart turned and signalled to Connor and the four other pirates beside them. The six men, all wearing black armbands, arranged themselves around Jez’s coffin. On a quiet count, they lifted it as one and walked slowly and somberly to the prow of the ship. The skull and cross-bones flapped in the breeze.

They held the coffin aloft for a moment and then let it drop down into the waters below. It met them with a terrible thud. Grace’s heart wrenched at the sound. But the noise was soon overwhelmed by a volley of cannon fire, during which Bart, Connor and their fellows resumed their positions.

At the close of the cannon fire, Molucco Wrathe turned to his crew.

“This has been a sad day, my friends, but there are two halves to mourning a death — first, the sadness and then, the celebration of a fine life. Tonight, we shall direct ourselves to Ma Kettle’s Tavern to drink a toast or two to Mister Stukeley.”

There were sounds of approval across the deck — and although they were more muted than usual, the noise was a sign that things would soon return to normal about
The Diablo
. It seemed terribly sudden to Grace, but perhaps this was just the way things had to be aboard a pirate ship.

“And now,” said the captain, “go about your business. Let no man say that
The Diablo
isn’t the finest pirate ship on all the seas.”

Connor stood with Bart on one side and Grace on the other. He needed them now, more than ever. He had always known that the life of a pirate could be brief. His first night aboard ship, Bart had told him, “I’ll be lucky to see my thirtieth birthday.” Connor had registered the words, but only now did he really understand how true they were. The Three Buccaneers were supposed to have been invincible. Jez was only twenty-three — far too young to die. But, thought Connor, when you sign up to be a pirate, you accept that you are never too young to die. He was only fourteen, but he could just as easily lose his own life during the next battle. He couldn’t risk leaving Grace all alone in the world. He’d have to smarten up and stop day-dreaming. And he’d have to watch Captain Wrathe a little more carefully, too. He couldn’t shake the feeling that, in spite of the captain’s fine eulogy, Jez Stukeley had died a needless death.