“Oh, him.” Connor nodded.
“Yeah, him,” Moonshine said. “And don’t start thinking that there’s a special friendship between me and him or that he was like my substitute dad. He only came down with glue and paintbrushes because my mom slipped him a nice fat bonus.”
Connor was unmoved. “So you had a tough childhood?” he said, glancing around the room. Under his breath, he muttered, “Get over it.” Poor little pirate prince, he thought. But frankly, he didn’t feel at all sorry for Moonshine.
He continued exploring the shelves, his eyes roving from a collection of rare seashells to a row of books called Lives of the Most Notorious Pirates. He noted Volume 16: The Brothers Wrathe. He was about to reach for the book when he became aware of a fresh squeaking sound, which he managed to distinguish from the music.
Turning again, he saw that Moonshine was standing before a large cage, which had previously been covered in a black cloth, now discarded.
“Hello, my lovelies,” Moonshine crooned. He reached into the cage and helped out two creatures from inside. When he turned around again, Connor saw that they were two largish rats, who, grateful to be free, were now crawling over Moonshine. Moonshine grinned. “I call them Flotsam and Jetsam,” he said. “Flotsam’s the one with the white patch. Isn’t she pretty?” He paused. “They’re twins,” he said, smiling strangely.
“Really,” said Connor, still trying to get the measure of his strange companion.
For a moment, Moonshine seemed quite transported by his pets. As they scurried up and down his arms, he looked more peaceful than before. He sat down in a globe-like chair that was suspended from the ceiling by a chain.
“What was your childhood like?” Moonshine asked as he continued to pet Flotsam and Jetsam. The question took Connor by surprise.
Connor decided to take the question at face value. “It was good,” he said. “My dad was a lighthouse keeper. We never knew my mother. It was just the three of us — my dad, my sister Grace, and me. We didn’t have much but we were happy. We lived in the lighthouse . . .”
“Ah,” said Moonshine, ruffling the fur under Flotsam’s chin. He was very gentle with the rats, thought Connor. Moonshine looked up again, through the thick strands of his hair. “Happy days in Crescent Moon Bay! Shame that Pops died, eh? Bye-bye, Dexter Tempest! Bye-bye, nice Crescent Moon Bay!”
Wow! Connor hadn’t seen that coming. Moonshine’s nastiness was deeper than he’d anticipated. But he was more struck by something else. “You know about me,” he said.
“We’ve done our homework,” Moonshine said. “Trofie and I always do our homework.”
Connor was beginning to see there was a strange bond between Moonshine and his mother.
“And how’s your weirdo sister?” Moonshine continued. “Still consorting with the Friends of the Night?”
Connor just shook his head. He was determined not to let this strange boy wind him up. Moonshine continued, undaunted. “Looks like little Gracie got all the interesting genes in your family. Just my luck that I get saddled with the wrong twin.”
“It’s okay,” Connor said, suddenly angry. “I can leave at any time.”
“Yes,” said Moonshine. “Yes, you can leave. You can go back to The Diablo and bed down in a hammock next to that himbo Bart. You can go back to your sword practice and toadying to my uncle. But you’d better remember something, Tempest. As much as he might tell you you’re the Next Big Thing, as much as he might flatter you that you’re the son he never had, you’re not his son. I’m the heir to the Wrathe fortune. Not you. Me!”
“Whatever,” Connor said. “I’m not some kind of fortune hunter, if that’s what you think.”
“Oh no?” Moonshine said. “You mean you’re actually here because you see Uncle Luck as some kind of replacement father figure?” He gave a hollow laugh and shook his head. “You’d better understand something. Molucco Wrathe isn’t the doddery old sea dog he’d have you believe. He’s as sharp as my shuriken. He uses people. He makes them think they’re part of the family and then he sends them into the line of fire. Your friend Jez, for instance —”
“Don’t,” Connor began, his voice cracking. “Don’t talk about Jez.”
Moonshine grinned. “Oh but I must, Connor,” he said. “I must talk about Jez Stukeley to illustrate my wider point. Molucco Wrathe pretended that Jez Stukeley was a prized member of his crew. But he still sent him into that duel with Captain Drakoulis’s prize fighter —”
“He didn’t send him,” Connor snapped. “Jez volunteered.”
“Same difference. Molucco let him fight when there was no way he could win. Molucco sent Jezzy boy to his death. And one day, for all his talk of you being the prodigal son, he’ll do the same to you.”
“No,” Connor said.
“Yes,” retorted Moonshine, just as emphatically. “Yes, he will. Because that’s what we Wrathes do. We’re users. Me. My parents. Uncle Luck. Why, even good old Uncle Porfirio. We’re all the same. We’ll tell you anything we feel like to get what we want. But when push comes to shove, we’re only out for what we can get for ourselves.”
“No,” said Connor again. “That might be true for you and your parents, but Molucco’s not like that. He saved my life. He’s always looked out for me.”
Moonshine laughed. “How long have you been on the scene, Tempest? Three months is it, now? You know nothing about this world, nothing about this family. Well, don’t worry. You’ll soon see things differently. If Uncle Luck’s being good to you right now, it’s only because he hasn’t worked out how to use you yet. But he will. He always does. We all do. If you really want to know what the Wrathes are, look at me. You might not like what you see, but I’m the only one of this whole crazed dynasty who tells it like it is.”
Connor looked at Moonshine’s acne-ridden, pockmarked face. He saw the livid purple scar. It wasn’t a pretty picture, but nor was the one he was painting of his family. Suddenly, the noxious smell of the cabin was too much for Connor. The rich food and drink he’d enjoyed earlier in the evening began to repeat on him and he had a sudden fear of throwing up. He needed fresh air, and fast!
Connor turned and walked briskly out of Moonshine’s lair. He began climbing the stairs two at a time. He found himself shaking, as if there were poison in his body. Perhaps there had been something wrong with the blowfish after all and it had just had a delayed reaction. No, he thought. The poison had come from Moonshine’s mouth — the vitriol of a lonely, jealous, threatened kid. There was no truth in what he’d said. None at all.
Behind him, he heard Moonshine close and bolt the door to his lair. One lock clanked shut after another. How fitting, thought Connor, that Moonshine chose to reside down there, with his pet rats, in the putrid darkness of his vast cabin. What a loathsome creature he was. But try as Connor might to dismiss Moonshine’s words, some of what he said had hit home. The seeds of doubt had been sown.
19
THE RIBBON
“Are you able to lean your head back for me a touch?” Mosh Zu asked Grace.
She did so and he came forward to inspect her neck. “So Shanti departs, but she leaves her mark, eh?” Stepping back again, he smiled. “I don’t think this wound will be too bad. I’m sure it hurts though. I’ll make you a salve. It should hasten the healing process.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Well,” he said. “You’re very composed. Others might have been a little disturbed to wake up and find someone’s hands around their throat.” As he spoke he busied himself with a pestle and mortar, taking down jars of herbs and oils and adding a little of each to a bowl.
Grace watched him. “Trust me,” she said, “I was disturbed. But I know that it wasn’t Shanti’s intention to hurt me.” She paused. “It was the ribbon.”
Mosh Zu nodded. “Yes, Grace. You are right. It was the ribbon. A good observation.” He began grinding the herbs to a paste with the pestle.
“I know you don’t like being asked quest
ions,” Grace said.
Mosh Zu looked up in surprise. “Why do you say that?”
“Olivier,” Grace said. “He told me that there was a rule at Sanctuary not to ask questions.” She smiled. “I think I’m going to struggle with it.”
“Yes.” Mosh Zu smiled, setting down the pestle and looking directly at her. “I see. Yes, I knew something was holding you back. I expected you to charge in here, brimming with questions. I know that’s how I would be myself, on my first day in this intriguing new place.”
Grace nodded. “I am. I mean, yes, I do have questions. But Olivier said that I was to wait for people to open up to me and not to ask . . .”
Mosh Zu nodded. “Well, Grace, here are some things you should know. Firstly, Olivier is a good man. He takes his duties here very seriously. He came to me when he was little older than you and he’s become almost indispensable to me.”
Grace noticed that Mosh Zu had said almost. This struck her as strange. There was something behind the word, as if he was giving her some extra information; but she couldn’t quite decipher what it was.
Mosh Zu continued. “Secondly, he is right in saying it is better not to push those who come here too much too fast. They come here because they have their own questions, which we can help them to answer. This must be our priority.” He smiled at Grace. “But you may ask me all the questions you want,” he said. “The rules, if you must call them that, do not apply between us.”
Grace smiled. This was a great relief to hear.
Mosh Zu took a small glass jar and poured the contents of the mortar into it. “Here you are,” he said, handing it to her. “Apply a little of the salve now, and then, if the wound is still raw, a little more before you sleep tonight.”
Grace unscrewed the lid. It was a pungent mixture. She recognized some of the smells.
“Is there rosemary in here?”
Mosh Zu nodded. “Yes. Now, you don’t need very much of it. That’s it. Just a little on each side.”
Grace applied the salve, then wiped her fingers on a cloth Mosh Zu passed to her.
“And now some tea and questions?” he said, smiling and indicating a circle of cushions in one corner of the room.
He poured her a cup of herb tea and another for himself, then sat down cross-legged on the cushions.
Grace watched as he lifted the tea bowl to his lips. She was surprised. When you had been around vampires as long as Grace had, you looked for signs. If Mosh Zu was drinking tea, did this mean he wasn’t a vampire? Was he an in-between like her and Olivier? Could the Vampirate guru — to use the captain’s own word — be an in-between?
“Yes,” Mosh Zu said with a smile. “I see you are full of questions. Where shall we begin, I wonder?”
Grace was in no doubt. “Tell me about the ribbons,” she said.
Mosh Zu sipped his tea. “Let’s make this more interesting,” he began.
Grace waited for him to continue.
“Why don’t you tell me about the ribbons.”
“I don’t know about them,” Grace said.
Mosh Zu took another sip of his tea. “You know more than you think.”
Grace shook her head. “Olivier led us along the Corridor of Ribbons on our way to our room but he didn’t explain about them. He said that you would.”
Mosh Zu set down his teacup. “Let’s consider what we know,” he said. “Shanti took a ribbon from the corridor. Thinking that it was nothing but a pretty strip of cloth, she pulled it down and used it to tie up her hair. She fell asleep wearing it, and the energy contained in the ribbon began acting upon her.” He looked up at Grace. “Did you notice anything strange about Shanti’s behavior before you yourself fell asleep?”
“Yes,” Grace said. “At least, she seemed very restless. She was tossing and turning so much, I almost woke her. I thought she might be having a bad dream . . .”
“And indeed,” Mosh Zu said, “that isn’t far from the truth. Certainly, the ribbon was controlling her thoughts. The dark energy contained within it was seeping into her head, changing her thought patterns.”
Grace was wide-eyed. “You’re telling me that the ribbon itself is evil?”
Mosh Zu shook his head. “Think about the sort of people who come here — vampires. You’ll meet some of them soon enough. The vampires who come here are those who are tormented. Perhaps they have only recently crossed and they are struggling to accept their new existence, what I call the Afterdeath. Then again, they may have crossed long ago but still they are conflicted.” As he sipped his tea again, Grace was hungry to know more.
“What are they conflicted about?” she asked.
“Many things,” Mosh Zu said. “It might be about their hunger — we can work on that — or perhaps they still struggle to leave behind the light and embrace the darkness. Then again, there are those who find the idea of eternal existence to be overwhelming. We can help them work through all these emotions.”
“But how does this link in to the ribbons?” Grace asked.
“When someone arrives at Sanctuary, no matter what afflicts them, we begin treatment in the same way. We work with them on the letting go of all their past hurts. Are you with me so far?”
She nodded.
“The more of their pain they can let go of, the better the chance we have of working successfully with them. And so each of them is given a ribbon. Then we begin working to let go of all their bad experiences — all the pain they endured in life, during death, and afterward. And equally, the pain they have inflicted upon others.”
“So the experiences are transferred into the ribbons?”
“Just so,” said Mosh Zu. “And when the patient is ready to move on to the next stage of treatment, we hang their ribbon in the Corridor of Ribbons. They are released from their past hurts, but the dark energy remains within the ribbon.”
“But isn’t it dangerous to keep the ribbons?”
“Evidently,” Mosh Zu said, tapping his own neck. “But where else should this energy go? It must go somewhere. And as much as I want each of them to free themselves from hurt, I do not want them to forget absolutely the road they have traveled. Sometimes they will need to be reminded. Sometimes we all need to be reminded.”
“So the ribbon Shanti took contained a dark energy.”
Mosh Zu nodded.
“Do you know who the ribbon belonged to? What experiences it contained?”
Mosh Zu nodded again.
“But you’re not going to tell me?”
He smiled. “Why don’t you tell me about the other ribbon?” he said. “The one she gave to you.”
“You know about that?” Grace said.
“Olivier saw it in your hands when he rescued you. He picked it up and brought it to me.”
Yes, Grace realized that in the throes of the attack, she had forgotten about the ribbon. And now, Mosh opened up his own hand and laid it out between them.
“I’m sorry,” Grace said, looking at the piece of cloth. “She gave it to me before we went to bed. I knew she shouldn’t have taken it. She didn’t mean any harm. I was going to make her take them back but events overtook us.”
Mosh Zu shook his head. “I’m not angry with you,” he said. “And not with Shanti either, as a matter of fact. You’re right. She didn’t know what she was doing. But tell me, what happened with your ribbon?”
“Well, it didn’t make me want to kill anyone,” Grace said.
Mosh Zu smiled. “No, it didn’t. Isn’t that interesting?”
“My dreams!” Grace said suddenly. “I had the most vivid dreams. Was that the ribbon? Did I somehow channel some of the experiences in the ribbon?”
“Perhaps,” Mosh Zu said. “Perhaps you should tell me about your dreams?”
She thought back. The boy lying on the ground, looking up at the star-filled sky. The boy with the horse. Whiskey. And the boy was called Johnny . . .
She relayed the fragments of her dream to Mosh Zu. He listened patiently, encouraging he
r to take her time, to remember each piece as vividly and thoroughly as she could. When she went from Johnny breaking in the bronco at the paddock to him riding the horse at the rodeo, her memory started to fail.
“If you need help,” said Mosh Zu, “take the ribbon once more.”
She looked down at the red ribbon, curled about itself in a wooden bowl between them. It looked so innocuous, but as soon as she picked it up, she felt a sudden energy. Instinctively, she closed her eyes.
“That’s good, Grace. Now, find your place. Find Johnny in the paddock.”
Grace nodded. “I’m there,” she said.
“Now what?”
“It isn’t the rodeo,” she said, puzzled. “He’s riding other horses, breaking them in. He’s in different places, with other people, but it isn’t a big rodeo. And then he begins riding across the country — that’s right . . .”
She opened her eyes again and let go of the ribbon.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “The rodeo was so clear before. I couldn’t have imagined it.”
Mosh Zu shook his head. “You didn’t imagine it. It comes later. It comes after he dies.”
Grace trembled. “After he dies.” Of course.
“So he begins riding across the country. Take it from there.”
Grace continued Johnny’s story. The rest of the dream fell into focus, right to the moment when she was lifted from the snow and felt a rope being fastened around Johnny’s neck.
“And that’s where I got to when I felt Shanti’s hands on me. It was as if the dream and reality came together at that moment.”
“That’s not so strange,” Mosh Zu said. “Your ability to channel Johnny’s story is amazing. Do you feel ready to know how it ends?”
Grace wasn’t sure. As she’d channeled Johnny’s experiences, she hasn’t just been watching them, she had felt his emotions, his hurt — the hurt he had somehow channeled into the ribbon.
“Perhaps you are not quite ready to take this step,” Mosh Zu said. “Perhaps you do not think you are ready. But I think you are.”
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