Demons of the Ocean

by Justin Somper

  “Here. Drink.”

  He took a leather flask from his pocket and dripped water gently over her lips. It felt good, though icy cold. She parted her lips and tried her best to catch the water. It took a moment for her mouth to start functioning properly again. She was so focused on drinking that she scarcely noticed as the boy cupped her head and slipped his bundled-up jacket under her as an impromptu pillow. But when she finished the mouthful of water and let her head fall back, she felt more comfortable than before.

  The softness beneath her head and neck contrasted with the hard surface that met the rest of her body. She was lying on a rough wooden floor. Twisting her head slightly, she could see a patch of red-painted floorboard on either side of her. But beyond that, in every direction, her vision was limited by a thick mist.

  Her head twisted back to the boy, whose face appeared to be floating in the mist.

  “Who are you?” she asked once more.

  This time, she could tell he understood.

  “The name’s Lorcan,” he said. “Lorcan Furey.”

  “Lorcan,” she repeated. It wasn’t a name she had ever heard before.

  “Here, drink some more.”

  He offered the flask to her lips again and she took another gulp.

  “Where am I?”

  The boy smiled. “Isn’t that obvious, missy? You’re at sea.”

  Although she couldn’t see beyond him, as he spoke the words, she felt the ship lurch in the waves and heard the crash of the ocean below.

  “How did I get here?”

  “Don’t you remember?” he said. “There’s been a storm.”

  As he said the word storm, her whole body reacted. Suddenly, she was back there in the heart of it, the mast cracking above her, the saltwater drenching her already-soaked body once again.

  “Found you floating in the water, like a fish,” Lorcan said.

  “Yes.” Now she realized that he was wet through, too, his hair and shirt slicked tight to his skin. His face was pale, almost as pale as the mist.

  “Didn’t get to you a moment too soon,” Lorcan said. “You were on your way down to meet the mermaids.”

  “What about Connor? When can I see him?”

  Lorcan looked at her sadly. In that terrible moment, she understood.

  “You only rescued me.”

  He nodded.

  “Let’s go back for him. It’s not too late. You remember where you found me? He must be near. You must have seen the boat.”

  He shook his head. “There was no boat. Just you, flapping about in the waves like a salmon in the Shannon.”

  Yes. She remembered the feeling of the water. So cold. So numbing. And then the memory ran out, like a dream that ends too soon. She desperately tried to summon up more, to go back. Her head ached from the effort.

  “A boat can’t disappear,” she said. “It just can’t.”

  “In a storm like this, even a ship the size of ours can disappear,” Lorcan said. “The ocean can be a wicked brute when he wants.”

  “But my brother, Connor! We’re twins. We’re everything to one another. I can’t go on without him.”

  Her heart began to pound. She felt the rhythm build, like a bomb getting ready to explode inside her.

  “Twins, you say?”

  Lorcan’s eyes were intense.

  “Midshipman Furey.”

  Grace heard the other voice, but could not make out through the mist who was speaking. The voice was only a whisper, yet it resounded clearly in her head.

  Lorcan turned away from Grace.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  There was a pause and Grace heard two heavy footsteps echo across the ship’s boards.

  “Midshipman Furey, you must go inside. The mist cannot last much longer.”

  There were a further two steps.

  Lorcan seemed to be in a trance. Maybe the ice-cold water was numbing his bones now, too. Perhaps the effort of rescuing her was catching up with him. Like her, his ability to see and speak was clearly lost.

  “Is this the girl?”

  The other voice. Although it was only a whisper, it was undeniably firm and in charge. It seemed to flow into every corner of her brain.

  “Yes, Captain,” Lorcan said at last. “She was near drowned. Says she has a twin brother.”

  “A twin.”

  “Yes,” Grace said. “My twin brother, Connor, is out there, somewhere. Please help me to find him.”

  “Twins.” Again, the whisper slowly took root in her head.

  Grace wished she could make out the captain, but the mist was still too thick to see beyond Lorcan.

  “Take her inside. The cabin next to mine. Do it quickly. We don’t want the others to know about this. Not yet.”

  “What about Connor?” Grace pleaded.

  “Take her to the cabin next to mine.” The whisper was as firm as before. As if he hadn’t heard her plea. Or was ignoring it.

  “And then what?” Lorcan asked.

  “Then come to my cabin. There is not much time. It will be dark soon and the Feast will begin.”

  The Feast? What was he talking about? Were they going to search for Connor? It wasn’t at all clear.

  “The mist is thinning, Midshipman Furey. We must go inside. There’s no time to lose.”

  As his whisper faded, Grace heard the heavy footsteps echo into the distance. She looked up into Lorcan’s blue eyes.

  “Please,” she said, “please look for my brother. If he’s down there. The water’s so cold.”

  Lorcan smiled weakly at her.

  “Let’s get you into the warmth.”

  “But you will look for him?”

  “Let’s worry about you for now.”

  He reached down and lifted her into his arms. As he carried her away through the mist, she felt as if she was flying through the clouds. Or else drowning. She wanted to tear herself away and dive back into the water to search for Connor. But her body was filled with a tiredness such as she had never felt before. And though he was little more than a boy, Lorcan Furey’s grip was strong.

  8

  MOLUCCO WRATHE

  Connor stared out into the darkening sky, trying desperately to see the other ship again. The Vampirate ship. The ship that carried Grace.

  “It isn’t coming back,” Cheng Li said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because, there is no Vampirate ship.”

  “But —”

  “Stop.” She raised her hand. “And please don’t sing me that shanty again. That’s all it is — an old shanty. A song your father sang, for reasons I cannot fathom, to send you and your sister to sleep. The idea that such a ship could exist is nothing but preposterous. I’m afraid your sister is gone. It’s a terrible blow, I know. But that’s the truth. You must face facts, boy.”

  But there had been a ship. He could see it again — inside his head, crystal clear. Turning in the ocean. Again, he saw the eyes of the beautiful figurehead and the glimmering sails that seemed to rise and fall like wings as the ship sailed away.

  Connor glanced back over his shoulder and watched Cheng Li dispensing orders to some of the pirates. With her back turned toward him, he could see that as well as the cutlass on her hip, she had two more weapons slung over her back. Though sheathed in twin leather scabbards, he had no doubt that the blades inside were as sharp and lethal as her tongue.

  “Make way for the captain.” It began as a murmur, but the noise soon began to build.

  Cheng Li was adamant that Connor had imagined the ship. He’d only just met her but he could see that once her mind was made up, that was the end of the matter. But maybe there were others on the ship who would believe his story — the captain, for instance.

  “Make way for the captain. Make way.”

  Cheng Li broke off her conversation and strode back to Connor. She looked rather irritated. Connor felt his own heart beating. In fear? In anticipation? For what kind of man must it take to command a mob of pirates?<
br />
  Suddenly, Connor saw Bartholomew and Cate striding toward him. Following in their wake, staggering slightly, was a man of indeterminate age with long tousled hair and small, circular blue glasses. He wore a long sky blue velvet coat over two silver holsters containing daggers, and his tall leather boots, as pointed as knives, jangled with silver spurs. The captain was laughing and engaged in quick-fire repartee with various pirates. He was firing insults over his shoulder, but with a broad smile that caused his skin to crinkle on either side of his glasses. Leaving waves of laughter behind him, the captain finally swaggered toward him. Connor could see that this man was loved and respected by his crew.

  “Here he is, Captain,” said Bartholomew, before stepping to one side with Cate.

  “Well, well, well,” said the captain, lifting his glasses. “What have we here? Been fishing, Mistress Li?”

  The captain walked around Connor, without saying anything. Connor marveled at the many colors in his hair. At first, he had thought it was simply different shades of brown, but no, there was gray in there — or rather silver, and then, as the light caught a fresh angle, green, too — like strands of seaweed. Among the distorted rainbow were two — no, three — dreadlocks, bound with seashells. It was an unusual look, but he carried it off with manly ease. For all his finery, and somewhat erratic way of moving, you could tell that the captain had physical strength, not to mention the charisma of a natural leader.

  The captain stopped in front of Connor, surveying his wet clothes. A bejeweled hand rubbed his stubbly jaw.

  “Hmm, you’re fresh from the ocean, by my reckoning, but not a saltwater fish.”

  He lifted his glasses, and for the first time his gaze bore directly into Connor’s face. The captain’s eyes were large and flecked with as many shades as his hair. His stare was mesmerizing.

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Connor, Connor Tempest.”

  “Tempest, eh?” He chuckled. “That’s very good! Connor Tempest, brought to us in a storm.”

  He reached out a hand. His fingers were laden with so many glistening sapphires it was a wonder he could lift them. “Molucco Wrathe, captain of this rabble. Welcome to my command, Connor Tempest.”

  Connor shook his hand. The captain grasped him in a firm handshake.

  “Thank you, um . . . Mr. Wrathe.”

  “That’s Captain Wrathe,” he said, but with a smile. “Now, tell me, Connor Tempest, how you come to be here.”

  Connor glanced at Cheng Li. Her face was set in an expression somewhere between boredom and impatience. Her arms were folded tightly and the twin holsters on her back were raised like dark wings, poised for flight.

  “Oh, I know Mistress Li brought you aboard. But before that. What were you doing so far out in these treacherous waters?”

  “We were caught in the storm. Me and my sister, Grace — we’re twins. We came from Crescent Moon Bay . . .”

  As Connor talked, he tried to keep Captain Wrathe’s gaze, but was distracted by the man’s hair. The wind was blowing it about and a long dark lock was now hanging down over one eye.

  “You’re not much of a storyteller, are you, boy?”

  Connor opened his mouth to continue, but as he did so, the lock of hair turned and moved back across Captain Wrathe’s forehead. And then Connor realized. It wasn’t a lock of hair at all. It was a small snake.

  “What’s up? Cat got your tongue, kid?”

  “I’m sorry, Captain Wrathe, but I think you have a . . . a snake in your hair.”

  There was no doubt about it. The creature had almost escaped from the tangle of hair and seashells and was easing its way down past the captain’s ear.

  “Aha,” said Captain Wrathe, smiling. “Hello, Scrimshaw, have you come to say hello to Mister Tempest?”

  He raised his hand and the snake slipped onto it, curling itself fondly about his wrist, like a living bangle. Connor watched, fascinated, as Captain Wrathe held out his arm in front of him, so that Scrimshaw could come nearer. The snake raised itself to look Connor in the eye. Connor wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do in response.

  “Say hello to the deputy captain, boy!” Molucco Wrathe chuckled. “Oh, I’m only joking, Mistress Li! Just my joke. We all know you’re second-in-command.”

  Connor said nothing. He didn’t want to make any sudden movement. This snake was small but it wasn’t a breed he recognized. It could be venomous, and its open mouth and outstretched tongue were rather too close for comfort.

  Captain Wrathe eventually moved his arm and Connor let out a small sigh of relief as the snake was carried away on it.

  “All right, Scrimshaw. You’ve gawked at Mister Tempest enough, now let’s pop you back.” Captain Wrathe lifted his hand up to his head and Scrimshaw obediently burrowed back into the unruly thicket of hair.

  “Now, where were we, kid? You were telling us about Harvest Moon Gulch?”

  “Um, Crescent Moon Bay, Captain. We live there. Well, we did. Our dad was the lighthouse keeper but he died and we lost everything. They were going to put us in the orphanage, or worse. We had to leave. So we put out to sea in our dad’s boat. We only meant to sail down the coast, but the weather changed. The storm caught us.”

  Connor’s words came out in a torrent. “The boat capsized. We were thrown into the ocean. The boat was breaking into pieces. I swam as hard as I could to the surface, trying to avoid all the stuff that was falling on me. I couldn’t see Grace. I got to the surface. There was a broken bit of seat that I made into a float. I looked for her. I searched in the water and all around me, but I couldn’t see her . . . I couldn’t see her.”

  Molucco Wrathe’s eyes were wet with tears. He lifted a large lace-edged handkerchief from his pocket to dab them dry.

  “What a sad tale, Mister Tempest. What a terribly, terribly sad tale. I’m just glad Mistress Li found you when she did. You’ll be a welcome addition to our crew. We need more young ones.”

  “Thank you, Captain Wrathe, but all I want is to find my sister.”

  “Your sister?” Molucco Wrathe raised a confused eye at him. “But I thought you said she was lost.”

  Connor shook his head determinedly. “I saw her being carried onto another ship. At first I thought it was this one . . .”

  “Another ship? Another pirate ship? Well, it seems your tale shall have its happy ending after all. We’ll find the ship and you shall be reunited with your sister.”

  Connor shook his head. “It wasn’t a pirate ship, sir. It was a different kind of ship.”

  He could feel Cheng Li’s stare burning into him, though he didn’t dare look in her direction.

  “A different kind of ship,” Captain Wrathe echoed. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

  “Have you heard of the Vampirates, Captain?”

  “The Vam-pi-rates? Can’t say that I have, my boy.”

  “There’s this shanty, sir —”

  “Captain Wrathe.” Cheng Li’s voice cut through the air, as sharp and potent as a sword.

  Captain Wrathe ignored her.

  “Captain Wrathe.” She would not be easily deterred.

  “Hold your thunder, Mistress Li.”

  “But Captain Wrathe, the boy is confused.”

  “I’m sure we’re all a little confused, Mistress Li, but I asked the boy a question and I intend to have his answer.”

  “The Vampirate ship is a dark ship that has been sailing through all eternity,” Connor said, realizing that he might not have much time. “It’s crewed by demons or, at least, vampires.”

  “What a tale!” Captain Wrathe said. “And how did you come to this knowledge, my boy?”

  “My father,” Connor said. “My father sang us the shanty.”

  “A shanty, eh? I love a good shanty. We all do, don’t we, lads?”

  The crowd of pirates shouted their approval — men and women, all but Cheng Li, who looked angry and bored. At least, thought Connor, the thrust of her anger now seemed directed at Captain
Wrathe rather than him.

  “Well, let us hear this shanty,” Captain Wrathe said. “Come, Mister Connor Tempest. You sing us your father’s song and we’ll see what we make of it.”

  Connor took a deep breath and began to sing.

  I’ll tell you a tale of Vampirates,

  A tale as old as true . . .

  As he sang, he watched the captain’s face. He seemed to be listening intently. Even his snake, Scrimshaw, leaned forward as if charmed by the singing.

  Connor’s voice was tired and cracked from the sea water he’d taken in while fighting for his life. He was grateful to reach the final lines.

  That thine eyes never see a Vampirate . . .

  . . . and they never lay a hand on thee.

  As he finished, there were shouts of approval from the crowd and a flurry of clapping. Then silence. Connor looked from Cheng Li to Captain Wrathe. The captain stepped forward and put his hand on Connor’s shoulder.

  “It’s a fine song, my boy. But I fear that’s all it is. I’ve been sailing the oceans since I was a babe in arms and I have never seen nor heard tale of such demons.”

  Connor shook his head. “I saw the ship.”

  “You saw it?”

  “I think so. It turned in the water. It was an old galleon with sails like wings, flapping —”

  “The boy is tired and confused,” Cheng Li said, stepping forward to the captain’s side.

  “No,” Connor said. “No, I did see it.”

  But he could see that, as much as he might want to, Captain Wrathe didn’t believe him, either. Now Connor was starting to lose trust in his own memory. Maybe he had been delirious and had summoned up the image himself. He didn’t know what to think anymore.

  “Back to business, everyone,” said Captain Wrathe. “Wait — Bartholomew, you stay here.”

  Obediently, the pirates peeled away. Bartholomew hung back, as requested by Captain Wrathe. And Cheng Li hovered, unasked, behind him.

  Captain Wrathe reached out his arm to Connor’s shoulder, gripping it in a way that made Connor think of his own dad. He tried to push away the memory, biting down on his lip to prevent tears from falling.