He paused, and stoked the fire again.
“But what if the other crew members want to take blood in greater quantity, or more often?”
“That is not an option, Grace, not so long as I am their captain. They do not need to feast more often and they do not need any more than a given dose of blood. Taking more would not only endanger the donor, but themselves. It would unbalance them, create . . . what is the term for it? Mood swings. The problem is, the more you take, the more you think you need. But there’s the difference, you see — between what you need and what you convince yourself you want.”
“But,” Grace could not let it go, “what if there were vampires under your command who wanted to take blood in a less controlled way?”
“Then they would have to leave the ship and make their own way in the world. It is not the way we do things here. Vampires are much maligned, Grace. We’ve been demonized. Why, think of the shanty.
If pirates are danger, and vampires are death . . .
“You know it’s true. And of course, I understand why. We’ve done it to ourselves. We’ve felt the hunger and based our whole existence on it. But I have found another way. And myself, I no longer even need blood.”
This was welcome news to Grace. Her clenched hands slowly began to relax. But how could it be so?
“There are a few of us for whom this is the case. The need for blood is really for prana, for energy. I have been taught to feast on that alone.”
“So you take energy from your donor?”
“I don’t have a donor, Grace,” he said. “And no, nor am I looking for one, so you can relax. The taking of prana works a little differently. But it’s complicated and I think that’s a discussion for another time. Your head must be spinning with all you have seen and heard this night. You look tired and I confess that I feel the same. But let me reassure you that it is a natural fatigue and I have no need to draw energy from you or anyone else. I hope I have given you such reassurances that you can return to your own cabin and rest.”
“Yes,” Grace said, getting up from the chair. “Yes, you have. Thank you.”
“Good.” He settled back into his chair and rested his head on his chest.
Behind him, the fire dwindled a little. Grace thought that the veins in his cloak were glowing softly, but perhaps it was just the reflection of the embers.
Quietly, she turned away and walked to the door. As she reached the threshold, his words came into her head again.
“I do so enjoy our talks, Grace.”
She smiled. “I do, too. Sleep well.”
She pushed open the door and stepped out onto the dark, deserted deck.
A pleasant breeze was blowing and Grace made her way once more to the guardrail. Turning back, she looked up at the ship’s winglike sails. The moon was shining low tonight and scattered light onto the sails, making them glow like the captain’s cape. She could swear she saw the same veins dimly on the underside of the material. What material was this? Was it the same fabric that the captain’s cloak was made of?
“The moon is full tonight, is it not?”
She was no longer alone. Without turning around, she recognized the voice. It was Sidorio. Grace’s blood ran cold.
“And when the moon is full, I have a high hunger.”
As she turned, she saw a horror far worse than she had anticipated. In his thick, heavily veined arms, Sidorio carried a man — the man who had sat opposite him at the Feast. He was sprawled out, and appeared to be sleeping, but a shaft of moonlight revealed that this was a sleep from which he would never wake. Sidorio had drained too much of his blood.
And now, the vampire strode across the red deckboards and, without a moment’s hesitation, tossed the corpse over the side of the ship. Grace heard the dull splash as it landed in the water. The sound ricocheted in her head like gunfire. Never had she felt such danger. Never had she felt so completely alone.
Sidorio walked back toward her. As he stepped into the shaft of moonlight, his features were distorted, his eyes once again pits of red fire, like Lorcan’s had been and the cook’s, too. Clearly, he was still in the dark throes of a terrible hunger. Taking too much from his poor donor had not sated him but, as the captain had foretold, awakened an insatiable appetite.
Grace couldn’t run. It was all she could do not to slump to the floor, drained of all energy and resistance.
Sidorio opened his mouth in a horrible smile and the light bounced off his two dagger-sharp gold teeth.
“Let’s go to your cabin,” he said.
32
MA KETTLE’S TAVERN
Bart and Cate had not lied. Ma Kettle’s Tavern was unlike any place Connor had ever been before. As he jumped down onto the dockside, Bart slapped him on the back.
“Welcome to the dark side,” he whispered in Connor’s ear. “What d’ya think of the place?”
It truly was incredible — a cross between an old pub and a pier. It was set on wooden stilts some ten feet or more above the water and looked completely unstable, as if at any moment the whole structure might collapse in on itself and sink into the sea. At the back of the structure rose a vast waterwheel, sloshing noisily as it revolved, like a sea monster guzzling the ocean water then spewing it out again.
As Connor followed Bart and Cate into the tavern, he glanced down between his feet. There were patches of apparently solid decking, on which stood long tables and benches. But, between these, there were vast gaps in the flooring, which gave way to the waters below. It was unclear whether the wood had rotted away over time, or if there just hadn’t been enough to complete the floor in the first place.
It would, thought Connor, be easy to fall through these, and indeed, as he walked carefully along, he looked down to see more than one worse-for-wear pirate flailing about in the water. Ropes hung down from the wooden beams at regular intervals, presumably to help the fallen pirates climb back up again — if they were able. Otherwise, it was a premature end to their night out.
The fearless serving girls ran along the narrow rafters, as nimble and sure of foot as gymnasts, carrying foaming mugs of beer to the waiting pirate crews. But, as agile as they were, the girls were not to be messed with. Bart nudged Connor as Toothless Jack whispered something in one of the server’s ears. She leaned back, smiled at him, and then shoved him firmly down into the water. Stepping away from the splash-back, the girl continued on her way, giving Bart and Connor a wink.
“That should sober him up,” she said.
“Actually, he hasn’t started drinking yet,” Bart said.
The girl shook her head and laughed. “I’ll see you guys later. If you need anything, anything at all, just ask for Sugar Pie.”
She continued on her way and the lads turned to watch her, spellbound.
“I think I’m in love,” Connor said, his eyes wide as saucers.
“Ooh dear,” Bart said, “I think we’ve finally found something to fall out about.”
“Stop dawdling, boys,” cried Molucco Wrathe, putting his arms around their shoulders and propelling them forward. “Ma Kettle’s reserved us a table or three in her VIP section. Let’s round up the crew and get the party started . . . before Mistress Li tells us it’s against regulations!”
As far as Connor could see, the party was already in full swing. Above the noise of the waterwheel was that of the band, playing very loud music — a strange blend of jazz, rock, and sea shanty. Connor had never heard anything like it before, but it was noisy and it was fun, just like everything else around here.
Just as Captain Wrathe had said, a section of long tables had been roped off up ahead. In the center of the tables, Connor noticed a heavy wooden marker with a painting of The Diablo on it. Reserved for Captain Wrathe and his crew, read the script underneath the picture.
“All the major players have these,” Bart told Connor. “Like I told ya, this is the hot spot for pirate crews from miles around. There’s really no place like it.”
They sat down at
a table and, almost immediately, two mugs of foaming beer were placed in front of them. Bart lifted his tankard in the air.
“Bottoms up!”
“Wait a minute!” It was Cutlass Cate. “Should Connor be drinking beer?”
“Of course he shouldn’t,” said Captain Wrathe, joining them. “He’s far too young. Get this boy a hot rum punch!”
Cate shook her head in disbelief, then smiled.
“Has everyone got a drink?” Captain Wrathe called.
“Aye, Cap’n,” came the roar from down the long table — now packed with members of his thirsty crew.
“Excellent!” cried Captain Wrathe, jumping up onto the table.
“A toast then, if you please, my fellows. To a most satisfactory day’s pirating and to the finest crew of pirates that ever sailed the seas!”
“What did you say, Wrathe?”
Connor turned just in time to see one of the other pirate captains leap onto a neighboring table, his heavy boots booming like thunder as he landed.
The band decided this was too good to miss and stopped their music to watch.
Looking around, Connor saw that another three ferocious-looking pirates had also leaped onto the tables around them. Six more followed suit.
Unabashed, Captain Wrathe beamed. “Why, good evening, my fellow captains. I see Ma has a full house tonight! And how, pray, are we all faring on this balmy evening?”
“We were faring handsomely until you arrived,” one of the others shouted. The man’s crew roared with laughter and drummed their feet on the deck in approval. “And we’d be faring better yet if you stopped steering your poxy ship into our sea lanes!”
“That’s right!” cried another of the captains. “The rest of us play by the rules, but you just zigzag around the ocean like a drunken whale.”
There was more laughter, but it had a nasty edge.
“Fellows,” Captain Wrathe said, attempting to maintain a jocular tone, “perhaps I have been a little naughty of late, but is this the place —”
“Naughty?” snarled the first pirate. “You’re not going to get out of this that easily.”
“That’s right,” said the second. “We want back what’s rightfully ours.”
“What’s rightfully yours?”
“Booty, Wrathe. We know for a fact you went fishing in our sea lane today. And everything you took now belongs to us.”
At this, the man’s own crew whooped in approval and began bashing their tankards on the table.
“And so shall ye reap,” muttered Cheng Li.
Connor saw Cate give her an angry look. With the increasing clamor, he was starting to fear not just for Captain Wrathe’s safety but for the fragile structure of the tavern.
Captain Wrathe seemed a little shaken but he soon recovered his composure. “I’m sorry to have offended, my fine fellows, and come morning, let us meet and make amends. Yes? It’s hard to teach a salty old dog new tricks, but I shall try to mend my wanton ways. But tonight, let’s have no trouble, eh?”
He looked from one of the other captains to the next. They were stony faced, but he called back, “Won’t you join me in a toast? Come on, let no man take against me tonight — for I’m in a sentimental mood. Come on, raise your glasses!”
Connor looked around the tavern. Every single table had stopped its noise and horseplay. Every pirate’s attention was focused on Captain Wrathe. Connor remembered Bart telling him that Molucco Wrathe had something of a reputation and clearly he had not been wrong.
“Here’s to the life of a pirate,” Captain Wrathe cried, turning as he spoke to include all the crews. “A short life but a merry one!”
He drained his tankard of beer in a single go. Quickly, Sugar Pie took away his empty tankard and replaced it with a full one.
There was a moment’s silence in the tavern and then the other captains and crews lifted their tankards and shouted together, “A short life but a merry one!”
There was much drumming of feet and slamming down of tankards as every man and woman in the tavern took part in the toast. The whole building trembled.
Captain Wrathe held his hand aloft and silenced the uproar.
“Where’s Ma Kettle?” he shouted. “I want to buy every last rascal in this tavern another drink. You may think the captain of The Diablo is a fool, but let no man say he is an ungenerous fool!”
There was another noisy cheer and, without missing a beat, the serving girls clambered along the rafters, their hands improbably balancing clusters of overflowing tankards. Once again, Connor watched in awe, never having seen anything like this spectacle.
“Well, look who’s rolled in with the tide,” came a distinctive, smoky voice, “and made enough of a racket to rouse me from my beauty sleep.”
Bart nudged Connor, who slopped his drink over the table and onto his boots. “You don’t want to miss this, mate!”
Connor turned, just in time to see a striking woman in a vast black ballgown swaggering toward their table. As she came nearer, Connor saw that her outfit was made entirely of skull-and-crossbone flags, sewn together. Ma Kettle was older than her “girls” but she was a fine-looking woman with jewel-like eyes and a shock of blood-red hair, in which she wore a tiara in the shape of a cutlass.
“Give a girl a leg up,” she said, as she reached their table.
With no further urging, six pirates leaped up, stretched out their hands, and lifted Ma Kettle onto the table.
“Why, thank you, gentlemen,” she said, gracefully curtsying to them before continuing along the table to greet Captain Wrathe.
“It’s been a while, Lucky,” she said, warmly embracing him. Captain Wrathe’s sapphire-studded fingers clutched her tenderly to him.
As Ma Kettle hugged Captain Wrathe, Connor saw that on the back of her dress was a rendering of the skull and crossbones in sparkling rhinestones. On a lesser character it might have looked tacky, but Ma Kettle was pure rock and roll.
“Kitty,” Captain Wrathe said, stepping back and beaming at her, their fingers still entwined. “My sweet Kitty, as beauteous now as when first we met. When was that now? Do you recall?”
“Let’s not put a date on it, eh?” said Ma Kettle, smiling prettily. “But of course I remember the day I first clapped eyes on my Lucky. You were the most handsome pirate I had ever seen. And frankly, my darling, the years have only made you more delicious, you old rogue.”
Connor was surprised to see Captain Wrathe blush tomato-red.
“Kitty, my dear, I have a new crew member. A very special lad whom I should like to introduce to you.”
He pointed down toward the bench where Connor sat between Bart and Cate.
“Ooh, hello, Bartholomew,” said Ma Kettle, waving. “Now there’s a beautiful man. If I was ten years younger . . . all right, maybe twenty or thirty or so.”
Bart blew Ma Kettle a kiss and she mimed a catch.
“All right, Kitty, but look past that handsome devil Bartholomew to his young neighbor. Mister Tempest, come up and be presented to pirate royalty.”
Connor stood up, finding himself a little wobbly on his feet. Carefully, he climbed up onto the table and approached Ma Kettle. Not knowing exactly what to do, and already a little worse for wear, he decided to bow.
“Well, aren’t you a treasure?” Ma Kettle said. “A fine young pirate, I can tell. And, believe me, I’ve seen a few. You stick with Lucky, young man, and you won’t go far wrong.”
She winked at Connor, then called over her shoulder. “Sugar Pie, my angel, make sure the girls are extra nice to young Mister Tempest tonight. And if any other pirate gives the boy so much as an ounce of trouble, give him a punch and tell him he’s barred until spring!”
“Aye, aye, Ma,” called Sugar Pie, giving her boss a cheeky salute.
“Thank you,” Connor mumbled, blushing. He climbed down, rather embarrassed by the attention.
Ma Kettle led Captain Wrathe off for a private chat and a dance. “Come on,” she cried at the band. “
Start playing! I don’t pay you to stand and gawp!”
“You don’t pay us at all,” cried the bass player.
“Oh, shut up, Johnny, and play!”
Connor laughed. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Cheng Li standing behind him.
“Let’s walk and talk,” she said.
Connor stood up, still feeling a bit wobbly.
“You should leave your beer here, buddy,” said Bart, chuckling.
Cheng Li led Connor away from the main bar, off along a boardwalk lined with jacaranda trees, strung with twinkling lights. It was deserted but for them, and quieter as they moved away from the bar.
“It’s been one full week since I rescued you, boy,” Cheng Li said. “And a lot has happened in that week.”
“Yes,” Connor agreed.
“You have impressed me greatly, boy. Today, most of all.”
He swelled at her praise.
“You showed great bravery today, but also, you showed mercy.”
He wasn’t entirely sure if that was a compliment coming from her.
“I said some things to you before the raid. Things that I should perhaps not have burdened you with. We must each fight our own battles. I am, after all, deputy captain.” She rubbed her jeweled armband as if to add more luster to the gem.
“We’re part of a team,” Connor said. “I was flattered you confided in me. And I would never discuss what you said with anyone.”
Cheng Li stopped for a moment in her tracks. She looked directly at him.
“That would be deeply appreciated, boy.”
“No problem,” Connor said. For the first time, he felt he was speaking to her on something like a level footing.
“The thing that impresses me most about you, Connor, is the way you haven’t let your grief for your sister cloud your actions.”
He smiled. “Ah, but you see, I know she’s all right. She’s coming back soon.”
“What do you mean? I do not understand.” Her dark eyes frowned in confusion.
Connor smiled as he spoke. “My dad told me. I don’t have to wait much longer. Grace is alive and we’ll be reunited soon.”
Demons of the Ocean Page 18