Vampirates: Tide of Terror

by Justin Somper

  “So Lorcan must have found me in the light too.”

  “But he can’t have, can he? From everything we know now, Lorcan couldn’t have come out in the light.”

  “No, you’re right. But there was the mist . . .”

  “Yes, the mist you found yourself in when you arrived on the ship . . .”

  “The same mist which came down when Connor and I were reunited on the deck.”

  “It’s as if the Vampirates generate that mist themselves,” Cheng Li said, thoughtfully. “Could that be possible?”

  “Yes,” Grace said, excitedly sitting up. “I remember something now. I remember when I first arrived on the ship, the captain said something to Lorcan about moving me inside before the mist rose.”

  “It’s not conclusive evidence,” Cheng Li said, “but we’re not dealing with hard facts here. It’s my belief that the Vampirates — well, the captain at least — can create a mist to act as a protection for those who cannot usually go out in daylight. But they can’t control how long it lasts. Wait . . .”

  “What is it?” Grace asked, excitedly.

  Cheng Li lay there, her eyes closed. “It’s close, Grace. There’s something we’re so close to, but it’s just out of reach.” She opened her eyes again. “Do you think it’s possible that you found the ship, rather than it rescuing you? Maybe you are meant to save it?”

  “But it did find me. I was drowning in the ocean. There’s no getting away from that.”

  “Yes, there is,” Cheng Li said, suddenly sitting up straight. “It all depends how you frame the story, doesn’t it? Think outside the box, Grace.”

  Grace had never seen Cheng Li so intense.

  “Take yourself back to Crescent Moon Bay, to before the storm. Take yourself back to the room at the top of the lighthouse.”

  As Grace heard Cheng Li’s words, she closed her eyes and pictured herself once more up in the lamp room, surveying the bay beneath her.

  “Now what?” she said.

  “Take yourself back,” Cheng Li said. “Your father has died. The lighthouse has been repossessed by the bank. You’re running out of options in that terrible town. And so . . .”

  “And so?”

  “And so, you look out to the ocean and you send a signal into the night to come and rescue you.”

  “What kind of signal?”

  “We don’t know that. But a signal that you somehow knew how to make and that the Vampirates recognized.”

  Grace gasped.

  “What?” said Cheng Li. “What is it?”

  “I think we’re on to something,” Grace said excitedly. “I just remembered something the captain said to me. It was the first night that I met him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I asked him what he wanted from me. And he said . . . he said . . .”

  She could hear the whisper all over again . . .

  “What do I want from you? Grace, it was you who sought me out, was it not?”

  Grace opened her eyes again, finding Cheng Li staring intently into them.

  “I thought he was just talking about that night, Cheng Li. I thought that he meant I had gone to find him on the ship. But what if he meant more than that. What if he meant that I had sought out the ship itself?”

  Cheng Li nodded, as excited by the discovery as Grace.

  “You’ve been asking the wrong question, Grace. It’s an easy enough mistake to make. The question isn’t how you can get back to the ship — it’s what do you want from that ship. What is it that connects you to the Vampirates in the first place?”

  “But I can’t find that out until I’m back there. And we don’t seem any closer to working out how I can do that than we were hours ago.”

  “Yes, we are,” said Cheng Li, beaming. She slid off the bed, padded across the room and unfastened the shutters. The breeze blew across them, carrying a spray of jasmine blossom inside.

  “It’s just a thought,” Cheng Li said, smiling at Grace, “but why don’t you just wait for another storm? Perhaps when the conditions are the same, history will repeat itself.”

  27

  THE CREW

  Stukeley is getting good at surfing. Really good. Well, he reflects, as he paddles through the water, he has certainly had time to practice. Most nights, he and the captain find themselves on a beach somewhere along the coast. They make shelter there for a day or two, then move on somewhere new. They always keep to the coast. The captain maintains he has a plan, but Stukeley is no longer sure of that. The captain speaks less and less each day — and he didn’t exactly start off full of chit-chat. Sidorio only truly comes alive when the hunt is on. Then, he is a different man — a different creature — altogether. Afterwards, he is full of dark jokes and strange tales. But before long the energy drains away, like the tide retreating back across the rippled sand.

  Sometimes, Stukeley feels lonely and thinks of Bart and Connor and his other old mates. But he can’t dwell on such memories — it’s too painful. Besides, with every passing day, his memory grows dimmer and dimmer. He is ceasing to be one thing while not yet becoming another. Caught in this limbo, he grabs his board and races out into the water, watching the waves and waiting. When you’re out there, surfing, you can forget about everything except the breaking swells and the intricate energy of the water itself. Just as he now feels the tide shifting and raises himself up to a sitting position on the board, steering it around with his hands to optimize his position.

  He is changing — in ways subtle as well as profound. Each night, his ability to see through the darkness grows sharper. Now, he can surf with or without the moon, seeing the shape of the distant waves clearly, irrespective of the given light.

  The dark waters begin to lift, and again he presses his body flat against the board, waiting for the wave to strike.

  As it does, in a perfect motion, he jumps up onto the board and begins his journey back toward the shore. This is a good one. He’s caught it just right. He can feel the power of the swell, propelling him toward the beach. It is deserted but for the lone figure in the center, constructing a fire.

  The wave takes him all the way into the shallows. He jumps down, exhilarated, and lifts his board out of the water. Hoisting it under his arm, he runs toward the fire, still puzzled at how quickly the air dries his skin and clothes.

  “Did you see me out there, Captain? Did you see me ride that perfect wave?”

  Sidorio does not look up from the fire he is constructing on the sand. “No.”

  The captain sets another branch of driftwood in the center of the fire. Stukeley wedges his board into the sand and crouches down, helping to stoke the fire.

  “No,” says Sidorio again, pushing Stukeley’s hand away roughly.

  “What’s wrong, Captain?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Won’t you have a surf, yourself? The waves are amazing tonight.”

  Sidorio says nothing and continues adding kindling to the fire.

  Stukeley glances back to the water, considering returning for another wave. He watches the tempting rise and fall of the water. As he does so, he suddenly sees a small boat lifted by the waves.

  “Look, Captain!”

  “What now?” This time Sidorio raises his dark eyes. He looks furious at the fresh interruption, but Stukeley doesn’t care. This is important.

  “Look at that boat. It’s coming into shore.”

  “Where?”

  Suddenly, the campfire bursts into flame. Sidorio stands up and follows Stukeley’s gaze out to sea. There is the boat and an indeterminate number of figures clinging on to it as it rolls down over a breaking wave and is propelled toward them.

  Stukeley turns to the captain for guidance. A decision will have to be made and it is the captain’s prerogative to make it. When the boat and its inhabitants reach the shore, there will be only two ways this could go. Either they’ll find a way to get rid of the travelers or else they will make a fresh kill. Which is it going to be? />
  They have feasted already tonight but that is not, Stukeley knows, always decisive.

  “There is no sating of the appetite,” Sidorio has told him. “Take what you will.”

  He glances once more at the captain, expecting a sign. But the captain is glued to the spot, his eyes empty as he watches the figures climb down from the small bark and push it through the shallows and onto the pebbled shore. Then the figures look over and one of them waves. There is no escape now. They have definitely been noticed.

  “What shall we do, Captain?”

  Still no answer comes.

  The boat safely grounded, three figures make their way across the beach toward them. The shapes begin to define themselves — two men and a woman, one of the men tall and almost as broad as the captain himself. He strides with the same sense of purpose and now he waves again and opens his mouth.

  “Sidorio! Hey, Sidorio!”

  His ears must be tricking him. Stukeley turns. The captain is smiling. Stukeley turns back and sees the tall man striding forward, breaking into a run.

  “Sidorio! It is you!”

  “Lumar.”

  Now the captain strides forward to meet the stranger. Stukeley follows, at a slight distance. He is intrigued but unnerved. He watches the captain and the first of the strangers embrace. Could this all be part of the captain’s plan?

  As he watches the captain greet the other two travelers, Stukeley becomes less nervous. Hasn’t Sidorio always said there will be others? Besides, now he will not be alone with the captain and his dark, silent moods. All in all, this must be a good thing, mustn’t it?

  “Stukeley!” The captain is calling to him. The eager lieutenant runs over to his captain’s side.

  “This is Stukeley,” the captain says, in a tone that makes Stukeley swell with pride. “My lieutenant.”

  He draws closer.

  “This is Lumar,” Sidorio says. “An old friend.”

  The first of the strangers draws forward and reaches out his hand. The man is of similar build to Sidorio but his skin is black and his head close-cropped with silver stubble that shines like sharkskin in the moonlight. He is dressed somewhat like Sidorio, too, in clothes that speak of the military and of the sea.

  “Well met, Stukeley,” Lumar says, with something of a smile. His voice is rich and sinister as an old churchyard bell.

  The handshake is firm, though the hands are, like Stukeley’s own, icy cold.

  “This is Olin.” The second man steps forward and looks not so much at Stukeley as through him. Their hands meet briefly. Olin is tall and thin, dressed in a long cape, with a hood covering his head. His face is lean and angular inside it, the bones almost pushing through the pale skin. When his hand touches Stukeley’s, it is like having a wet fish run through his fingers. Stukeley is pleased when Olin steps backward and allows the third traveler to present herself.

  “And this is Mistral,” Sidorio says.

  A woman steps forward. Like Olin, she is wearing a cowl, but she draws it back and he sees a length of fine blond hair uncoil itself. Stukeley freezes. Mistral is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen — so beautiful, that the sight of her erases the memories of all the girls from his past. She smiles softly at Stukeley and he feels his heart flip over on itself as she extends a soft pale hand toward him. He reaches out his hand, as if to hold a fragile flower, and bows to kiss her fingers. She is wearing several small rings, and his lips brush the cool metal.

  He glances up to find her smiling.

  “How charming,” she says, before stepping back again, in line with her traveling companions.

  Sidorio turns to Stukeley. “I told you they would come,” he says. “Didn’t I tell you?” His eyes are gleaming wildly.

  Lumar addresses the captain. “We had to leave. There was nothing left for us on that ship.”

  “The rules,” hisses Olin, “the rules no longer made sense to us.”

  “The captain’s ways are tired,” says Mistral, drawing her hands across her chest, perhaps against the cold. “We must find new ways.”

  “We knew,” intoned Lumar. “We knew that you would lead us to new ways, Sidorio.”

  Sidorio nods. He seems possessed of a fresh energy, thinks Stukeley. Perhaps it was the waiting that proved so burdensome to him. Now that more of the crew have joined them, perhaps his real work — whatever it might be — can begin.

  “I have such plans,” Sidorio announces to the group. The others all smile and nod. “But come, travelers. Come, warm yourselves at my fire.”

  He extends his hand and they begin walking toward the fire, which is now burning as brightly as if Sidorio has harnessed the moon itself and embedded it in the heart of the beach.

  Stukeley watches closely as Lumar places his hand on Sidorio’s shoulder.

  “It’s good to see you again,” he says.

  “Yes,” agrees Sidorio. “But how did you find me?”

  “Like will find like,” Lumar says with a dark smile. “There will be others,” he adds. “This is merely the beginning.”

  28

  A GLORIOUS FUTURE

  “So, what’s bugging our pirate prodigy?” Jacoby asked, as they tucked into breakfast on the sun-drenched terrace. Connor sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Afraid so,” Jacoby said. “You were happy enough during Krav Maga but you’ve barely said a word since then. And you keep jiggling your knees under the table, O tense one. What’s up?”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

  “Uh-oh,” Jacoby said, spearing a strip of bacon, “Thinking. That’s a dangerous business!” He crunched the bacon between his teeth.

  Connor pushed his plate away, though it was still half full of food.

  “Now, I’m really worried,” Jacoby said. “Usually you leave your plate so clean it’s like you never used it. You better start talking, Connor Tempest. What’s eating you?”

  “You know that I’m only here for a week, right?”

  “Oh, of course, yes.”

  “Well, it’s day five already. I’ve only got two more days left.”

  “Time certainly has flown.” Jacoby smiled. “Though sometimes it feels like you’ve been here forever!”

  Connor looked gloomy.

  “. . . in a good way,” Jacoby added.

  Connor nodded. “The thing is ...I don’t think I’m going to be ready to leave on Sunday.”

  Jacoby crunched through another strip of bacon. “Then stay.”

  “It isn’t as simple as that,” Connor said. “You’re forgetting that I’m signed up to Captain Wrathe. It’s my duty to return to The Diablo.”

  “Well, sure,” Jacoby said, “eventually. But I’m certain Captain Wrathe can survive another week without his Boy Wonder. And I’m certain Commodore Kuo would be pleased to extend your stay.”

  “Yes, I think Commodore Kuo would be happy enough,” Connor said, “but I’m not so sure about Captain Wrathe. He’s not a huge fan of the Academy.”

  “No?” Jacoby said, tearing apart a blueberry muffin. “Why’s that?”

  “Lots of reasons. For one thing, he doesn’t think you can be educated to be a pirate. He reckons that either you have it in your veins or you don’t.”

  Jacoby shrugged. “Maybe there’s some truth in that.”

  “Maybe,” Connor said, “but I’ve learned so much since I got here. And, if I stayed, I could learn so much more.” He was surprised at the undertow of yearning in his own voice.

  “So go talk to Kuo,” Jacoby said, “and let him square it with the Wrathe.”

  Connor frowned. He just couldn’t see the two captains sitting down and discussing this amicably.

  Jacoby suddenly grinned. “Here’s an idea. How about you stay here and I go back on The Diablo as your substitute? I’d kill to get out on the ocean for real.”

  “It is awesome,” Connor said, remembering the sense of freedom he always experienced when The Diablo was coursing through the open ocean. Su
ddenly, he was flushed with warm memories of the ship and his crewmates.

  “I do want to go back,” he said, “just not yet.”

  “Then drink up your pomegranate juice and go talk to Commodore Kuo,” Jacoby said.

  “Talk to Commodore Kuo about what?”

  Jacoby and Connor looked up to find Cheng Li hovering at their table. She had arrived silently. Neither one knew quite how long she had been there.

  “I was just saying,” Connor said, “that is ...I was just wondering . . .”

  Cheng Li gave him a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

  “He wants to know if he can extend his stay,” Jacoby said with a broad smile.

  “I see,” Cheng Li said.

  “He’s worried about how Captain Wrathe will react,” Jacoby continued, “but I think Commodore Kuo can handle him.”

  “Oh you do, do you?” Cheng Li said, glancing up at the Academy clock. “Jacoby, isn’t it time for your Marine Biology class?”

  Jacoby followed her eyes to the clock-face which hung over the terrace, encircled by bougainvillea.

  “Oh yeah. Connor, we’d better get a move on or we’ll be late for class.”

  “That’s okay,” Cheng Li said. “You go on and tell Captain Solomos I have borrowed Mister Tempest for important Academy business.”

  “It’s very cruel of you to cut me out of the conversation, just when things are getting exciting,” Jacoby grinned, “but okay, Mistress Li. If it helps Boy Wonder’s cause — who am I to complain?”

  He jumped up out of his chair and winked at Connor. “Later, buddy.” They knocked knuckles while Cheng Li slipped down into the chair Jacoby had vacated.

  “Well,” Cheng Li said, as Jacoby jogged off down the hill toward the Biology lab, “I must say, Connor, you’ve established yourself here at the Academy even more quickly than I anticipated.”

  Connor shrugged. “I just wish I didn’t feel so torn. I know my duty is to Captain Wrathe and my crewmates on The Diablo. But I really like it here. And I’m learning so much.”

  Cheng Li beamed from ear to ear. “I knew you would. We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. As talented as we are naturally, still we hunger for more knowledge.”