He imagines life — or its alternative — taking hold of the dormant organs caged in his chest. And still he smells cedar and sandalwood and senses the ritual is not yet quite complete.
At last, he hears a sigh. At first it is as soft as the waves lapping the rocks in the distance. And then it comes again, louder. Mouth open in curiosity, he looks down as the wet eyelashes flicker and part. White eyeballs appear like glistening pearls from a dark oyster.
Then the pale violet lips open, too. They splutter to expel a small pocket of air and seawater. And a voice follows, surprisingly clear and strong.
“Is it time to get up already? I was having such a nice old dream!”
10
LIEUTENANT STUKELEY
“You all right, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
Sidorio looks down into the coffin at the pirate, dead just moments before, now stirring and stretching and beaming at him as if he is a long-lost friend.
“I’m all wet,” the man says now. There is a thin layer of water in the coffin and it has soaked his clothes. He smells of the sea.
“Here,” Sidorio says, reaching out a hand once more. The pirate grips it and Sidorio pulls him up onto his feet.
The pirate stands for a moment, then his legs wobble and he staggers. Sidorio has to move fast to prevent him from crashing back down and doing himself an injury on the sharp edges of the broken coffin.
“Thanks, mate,” the pirate says, still holding tight. “I’m feeling a little funny. Like I’ve had a bit too much rum!”
Sidorio holds him until he seems to be bearing his own weight.
“Oh, that’s much better. Yes. There we go!”
But as Sidorio takes his hand away, once more the mariner’s legs buckle and he falls down in a heap onto the sand.
“Maybe I’ll just sit here for a moment and get my bearings.”
“Good idea.”
Sidorio stands back and looks down at the pirate, still stunned by his own achievement. He has brought him back from the darker shores. He, Sidorio, has performed the ritual. It is a sign that his powers are growing. The tide is already beginning to turn.
“You’re a big fella, ain’t you?” the pirate says, looking up at him.
Sidorio shrugs.
“What’s your name?”
“My name is Sidorio, but you must call me Captain.”
“Right you are, Captain. I’m Stukeley, Jez Stukeley. You can call me Jez.”
“Henceforth, you will be known as Stukeley,” Sidorio says. “I will be your captain and you will be my lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant? That’s a nice promotion!” He seems pleased.
Sidorio hesitates. The pirate seems quite unfazed by what has happened to him. He remembered the ritual but he doesn’t remember this part. What are you supposed to say to the returned? How fragile are they? Now that Stukeley is growing used to breathing again, he hardly seems fragile at all. He is sitting straighter, and his wet clothes have dried out. Now, he starts unbuttoning his shirt.
“I just want to see it,” he says. “I never got the chance before.”
What is he talking about? Sidorio watches as Stukeley unfastens the first few buttons of his shirt and reveals the flesh of his chest, which is pale as marble except for a deep indigo gash.
“So that’s it,” Stukeley says, nodding. “That’s the fatal wound. Have to confess, I’m a bit disappointed. I expected something more dramatic.”
Sidorio crouches down to his level.
“So you know...you know you were killed?”
Stukeley stares at him, his eyes twinkling in the moon-light. “Me — killed? No, I ...What are you going on about, mate?”
Sidorio is lost in confusion until Stukeley breaks out laughing.
“Of course I know I was killed, mate. I don’t just hang out in coffins for a lark! I’m not some vampire, you know.”
“Well ...,” Sidorio begins.
“No!” Stukeley exclaims. “You’re having me on! Me — a vampire? That’s impossible. Are you serious? Have I got fangs and everything?”
“Not yet, but you will. If everything turns out right.”
“Wicked! I don’t s’pose you’ve got a mirror, have you?”
“Go take a look at yourself in the water, if you wish.”
Stukeley pauses for a moment, then draws himself up to his feet and staggers forward to the edge of the ocean. Sidorio watches him as he bows forward, trying to get a clear reflection in the agitated waters. The pirate turns, shell-shocked.
“I can’t see my reflection.”
Sidorio nods his head, smiling. “That’s right. You are changed. You see?”
“Yes, Captain.” The voice is different now — full of respect and awe.
Sidorio wonders at his actions. It is all happening so fast. Barely an hour ago, he was thinking how things might change, how he might have company. Now, he has a lieutenant, but already his excitement at his own power has given way to a stirring sense of the burden of respon-sibility. Stukeley turns from the water and runs toward him, smiling.
“I can’t believe I’m back. Thank you,” he says, smiling. “Thank you for bringing me back.”
“What was it like there?”
“You’ve been there yourself, haven’t you? You must know.”
“It’s different for everyone.”
Stukeley shrugs. “Honestly, I can’t remember much. Just losing the duel — which was quite unfair if you ask me — and lying on the deck, feeling like I was being pulled away from my mates, their voices getting softer and softer. But after that, I don’t know. It’s all a blank.” He turns and looks at the remnants of his coffin. He smiles again. “They must have given me a proper burial at sea. Not everyone gets one of those, mate. I’m pleased to bits about that. Oh, and I remember the captain saying they’d have a bash for me at Ma Kettle’s . . .”
“Which captain?” asks Sidorio. “Which ship?”
“Captain Wrathe’s ship,” Stukeley answers. “The Diablo.”
“The Diablo, eh? The Devil.” Sidorio smiles once more. “My kind of ship.”
A curious look crosses Stukeley’s face. “How long was I gone?”
Sidorio shakes his head. “I don’t know. But I don’t think your coffin would have lasted much longer.”
“What day is it now?”
“I don’t have any interest in the passing days.”
“You say some strange things, mate. I’m just trying to establish how long I’ve been gone.”
“My guess,” says Sidorio, “is that you weren’t . . . gone ...for very long. But why does this matter?”
“Do you know a place by the name of Ma Kettle’s Tavern?”
Sidorio thinks for a moment. “Yes, I’ve been there before.”
“Well, I think there’s every possibility that my wake is happening there this very night.”
Sidorio smiles. “And you’d like to go?”
Stukeley beams back. “Seems kind of rude to miss it, don’t ya think?”
Sidorio pauses. “If we do go, no one must see you. Nothing must threaten my plans. Our plans.”
“What exactly are our plans?”
“All in good time, Lieutenant. All in good time.”
“Whatever you say, big guy.”
“Whatever you say, Captain.”
Stukeley nods. “Whatever you say, Captain.”
“This is the beginning,” Sidorio says. “This is the turning of the tide. I have been waiting for so long. Before I am finished, the ocean will turn red with blood. Now, at last, the tide of terror begins!”
11
REUNION AT MA KETTLE’S
Grace stood beside Connor as The Diablo made its way toward a rocky outcrop.
“There it is!” Connor said.
A neon light came into view, flashing erratically through the darkness.
“Ma Kettle’s Tavern,” Grace read.
“I hope you’re ready for this, Grace,” said Cate, who
stood on her other side.
“Is anyone ever quite ready for Ma’s?” asked Bart, with a smile.
After the sorrows of Jez’s funeral, the pirates already seemed in better spirits. Grace still found it difficult to put aside her sadness, but perhaps Captain Wrathe was right when he said there were two halves to mourning a death — the painful good-bye and the celebration of a life. It was just unbearably sad that the life in question had been snuffed out so soon.
As the ship docked, the excited crew surged to the front of the deck to disembark, and Grace had to focus all her attention on keeping together with Connor and the others. For a time, she had her head down, battling to find room for her feet among the thronging crowd. Connor reached out his hand and pulled her through the crew to join him at the front. When she next glanced up, Ma Kettle’s Tavern stood directly before her — its huge waterwheel illuminated by the moon. Above it, a skull and crossbones flag was flying at half-mast.
“Out of respect for Jez,” Bart said proudly. Grace nodded, squeezing his arm comfortingly.
They climbed the stairs to the first platform of decking. “Watch your step, Grace,” Connor told her.
She looked down and saw the treacherous gaps in the wooden floor, giving way to the ocean below. The dark water was placid now and she could see her face reflected in it, as if there were another Grace trapped beneath the surface of the water, waiting to be rescued. The mirage was strong enough that she might even have dipped her hand into the water to check, but the others were surging on ahead and she didn’t want to be left behind.
The crew made their way forward, deeper into the tavern toward a roped-off section, where their tables were waiting for them. “Look,” Connor said, pointing at the wooden placard saying The Diablo which marked their territory. “Only the VIP captains have these.” He beamed at Grace. She smiled back faintly. This world seemed to make such easy sense to him. He was so accepting of its rules.
The pirates arranged themselves around the tables, and the volume of chatter increased as they began bantering among themselves and with other crews at the neighboring tables.
A distinguished-looking man, with a neat white beard and moustache, appeared at Captain Wrathe’s side. “I was sorry to hear about what happened, Molucco,” he said.
“Why, thank you, Gresham.”
“That Drakoulis is a nasty piece of work. I thought we’d seen the last of him.”
“As did I,” Molucco said with a shake of his head. “As did I.”
“Let me stand your crew a round of rum,” Captain Gresham said. He turned and called out, “Can I get some service here? I say, can I get some . . .”
“What’s all this din?”
A woman appeared between the two captains. She was dressed in a vast gown of dark cloth, patterned with white skulls and bones. Connor nudged Grace. “That’s . . .” But Grace needed no introduction. She knew at once that it was Ma Kettle. Today, Ma was wearing a black lace veil, which she now lifted, to offer first one cheek then another to Captain Wrathe.
“I’m so sorry, Lucky,” she said. “These are dark times.”
“Dark times indeed, Kitty,” said Molucco, clasping Ma Kettle tightly in his arms.
Ma Kettle now turned to the rest of the crew. “Tonight, the drinks are on the house, boys and girls. A sign of my love and respect to Jez and the rest of you.” There was thunderous applause and Ma Kettle blew a kiss to the approving crowd. Before she had finished speaking, her serving girls had lined up shots of rum along the length of each table. Grace glanced down at the glass which had been placed before her. She had never had rum before. But she didn’t look down for long. Ma Kettle was too intriguing to remove your eyes from for any period of time.
“Bartholomew,” she was saying now, clasping Bart to her rather ample bosom, “this must be a particular blow to you. You were like brothers, I know.”
Bart nodded. “For all of us, Ma. But for me and Connor especially.”
Ma nodded sadly, turning her gaze on Connor. “Hello again, Mister Tempest. Well, what a difference a few months makes! Look at you, Pirate! And I hear such things about you. A superstar in the making, they say!”
Connor flushed the color of an overripe tomato. Grace wondered if Ma Kettle would embrace him too — knowing that Connor would die with embarrassment if she did — but instead Ma simply reached out a hand and rested it on Connor’s shoulder.
“I’ve no doubt you’re feeling a stew of emotions,” she said. “It’s terrible when we lose a close comrade — a friend. Bloody terrible, so it is.”
Connor nodded. But Ma hadn’t finished with him just yet.
“Now Ma’s going to give you some free advice — which you’re at liberty to take or leave, my sweet. Number one — death. It never gets easier. Whether you’re four-teen years young like you or ...well, as old as the coral reefs like me . . . losing someone close to you will always be the most bitter blow. Number two...don’t bottle up your emotions. You have to let them out. That’s one of the reasons we lay on a party, see.” She swept her hand across the panorama of the tavern. “When a good pirate like Jez is lost, we must celebrate his life. We must drink and be merry and tell tales of the times we had together. Some people think it’s distasteful. They’d have us keep silent and stoic and walk around in black from head to foot all day and night. But we have to celebrate life itself, d’you see? Life! It’s the most wonderful treasure, my sweet. And Jez Stukeley may only have had three and twenty years of it, but he made his mark. He left people behind who love him, who will remember him. In the end, that’s the best any of us can hope for. Don’t you agree, Lucky?”
Molucco stepped up behind her and took her hand, kissing it tenderly. “You always were most eloquent, Kitty. I couldn’t have spoken truer words myself.”
Ma smiled at Connor. “I wish you a long life, Connor Tempest,” she said. “But, more important than that, I wish you a life of love and laughter, friendship and adventure and not a minute of boredom.” She kissed her hand and rubbed it on his cheek. “An old pirate tradition,” she said, smiling.
Then she turned her gaze on Grace. “And who’s this young beauty?” Now, it was Grace’s turn to blush.
“This is Mister Tempest’s twin sister, Grace,” Molucco said.
“Yes,” Ma Kettle said, coming closer, “I see the resem-blance now. What a pretty young lady you are.” She reached out her hand and ran a finger down Grace’s cheek-bone. “Such beautiful skin. Smooth as silk. To think I had skin like this once. And now look at me, a wizened old sea monster!”
At once, all attention turned back to Ma Kettle as Molucco, Bart, and the others plied her with compliments. Grace watched, fascinated by this extraordinary woman.
“Yes, yes, boys, stop fussing over an old shipwreck like me. Now, enough gassing. Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable? The girls and I have put together a little entertainment for you, to cheer you up from your sorrows.”
She turned and called — or rather, screeched — over her shoulder. “Sugar Pie, are you ready?”
“Aye, aye, Ma!” came the call of a much sweeter voice.
“Come on then. Sit down, everyone. That’s right. Lucky, you come next to me.” Ma Kettle fussed about with her vast skirts as the lights of the tavern were suddenly dimmed and blackness fell all about them.
Then there was the sound of an accordion, and suddenly a pool of light broke on a stage, revealing the prow of a ship, and its beautiful figurehead. This must be Sugar Pie. She was wearing a pirate captain’s hat and looking out at the audience through a telescope. Grace could not help but think of Darcy Flotsam, especially when the figurehead tucked the telescope away and winked at the audience.
Now two further pools of light appeared on either side, revealing two more ships’ figureheads. Each blew a kiss out to the audience and each was rewarded with whoops of approval. Now, the accordion was joined by other instruments, as the three figureheads disengaged them-selves from the ships’ prows and slipp
ed down along blue and white ribbons to land on the decking below. The shapes of waves had been set among the wooden planks. It was quite an elaborate set. They might have been at a proper theater, not a rough tavern, thought Grace.
The crowd burst into applause. The central figurehead, still wearing a captain’s hat, put a finger to her lips. All at once there was silence.
“That’s Sugar Pie,” Connor whispered to Grace, a dreamy look on his face.
“Oh really,” said Grace, smiling at her brother. “And who might she be?”
“Just ...,” Connor began, but was at a loss for words.
“An old friend,” said Bart.
Grace smiled, nodding and heartily enjoying Connor’s embarrassment.
And now, Sugar Pie set her hands on her hips and began to sing:
I’ve grown a little bored of ocean-faring.
To me the ocean’s just not what it seems.
I was promised loot and plunder, but I guess I made a blunder
And now I’m calling into question my ocean-faring dreams.
I was told the sea was quite the place for action . . .
At this, she winked.
High adventure was sure to come my way.
Well I’ve been sailing day and night, looking out for Captain Right —
But all I’ve seen is ruddy reef and bay.
I’ve done everything my officer commanded,
Kept my cutlass oiled and ready for attack.
But a girl can’t wait forever — I’m at the end of my tether!
So I’m furling up my sails and changing tack.
There was a whoop from the crowd.
I used to dream of capturing a captain
Who’d join me up and take me ’board his junk.
He’d sail the seven seas, taking plunder where he pleased
And share out all his riches — my ocean-faring hunk!
I used to dream of marrying a captain
And being his trusted deputy on board.
The crew’d respect my rank, else I’d make ’em walk the plank!
Vampirates: Tide of Terror Page 7