Vampirates 3: Blood Captain

by Justin Somper

  As she entered the corridor, she began running. She wasn’t sure exactly where she was going. But she had a sudden desperate urge for air.

  Outside, she saw Johnny racing off to catch the back of the line descending the mountain. Shaking her head, she stood alone in the courtyard. The air was cold and she realized it was starting to snow. She looked up at the eddy of snowflakes swirling down to meet her. She remembered the vision she’d had of Johnny’s life and death, of falling snow. She shut it out. It was too painful to think about him now.

  Remembering the kitchen garden where she’d retreated once before, she decided to go there now, to get away from them. To get away from all of them. She darted away from the main square and took the path to the garden. It was a relief, at first, to be alone there. It looked even prettier than she remembered it, as snow fell over the fountain and the benches surrounding it.

  She thought of the time she had lain there, Lorcan’s ribbon around her neck and then, after the princess’s interruption, in her hand. She had been searching for answers that night, searching for a way to help Lorcan. Now, any such thoughts were banished. Lorcan had gone, presumably following Johnny and Sidorio’s other fresh recruits. Now, all Grace sought was peace. But although this place might offer it, it was too cold. She’d have to go back inside or catch her death by staying here. Sadly, she retraced her steps out of the garden and into the main courtyard. She dropped her head to keep the snow from falling into her eyes.

  By the time she saw a figure walking toward her through the falling snow, he was almost upon her. She glanced up for a moment. He was dressed in a military greatcoat, its shoulders already dusted with snowflakes. As his intense blue eyes met hers, he quickened his pace.

  “Lorcan!” she cried.

  “Grace! You’re covered in snow! You must be freezing!” He opened his greatcoat and drew her inside it.

  “You’re shaking,” he said. “How long have you been standing out here?”

  “I thought you’d gone,” she said miserably. “I thought you’d followed Sidorio and I’d lost you all over again.”

  “Are you crazy?” he said. “You think I’d choose Sidorio? Over you?” He shook his head. “Never!”

  She sighed with relief and relaxed into Lorcan’s chest. This more than made up for Johnny. This gave her some belief that things might once again be right in the world.

  “Come on,” Lorcan said. “Let’s get you inside before you catch your death.”

  Together, they hurried back into the warmth.

  53

  THE TIES THAT BIND

  “Hello, stranger!” Sugar Pie smiled as she entered the booth. “How many nights in a row is this? Six?”

  Connor shook his head. “Nine.”

  “Maybe tonight’s the night, eh?”

  “I hope so,” Connor said. He was growing tired of waiting for Molucco and his crew. The burden of his impending discussion grew heavier the longer it was delayed. After returning from Lantao, it had been impossible to try to track The Diablo at sea. Coming back to Ma Kettle’s had seemed the obvious idea. The moment the ship was back in these waters, they’d be sure to hit the tavern.

  “Let me get you another drink,” Sugar Pie said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you sure I can’t tempt to you to anything stronger?”

  He shook his head. Shrugging, Sugar Pie turned to exit the booth. Before doing so, she glanced back at him. “I’m worried about you,” she said.

  “Please don’t be.”

  “It’s just that you look so much older, Connor. The first time you came in here, you were just a boy. Now you’re a man. But you’re not a happy man. And you know what they say about a pirate’s life. It should be short but merry — with an accent on the merry!”

  “I have some things to sort out,” Connor said. “Once they’re done, I’ll be the same old Connor you always knew.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep . . . ,” Sugar Pie said. “Right now, I’d settle for a smile.”

  He did his best.

  “Well, that’s a start,” she said. “There’s something I want you to know, Connor. You’re always welcome here at Ma Kettle’s. Whatever the future has in store for you.” She paused. “You’re one of the good guys.”

  It was just what he needed to hear. When he looked back at her, there were tears in his eyes. Suddenly all the pain and sorrow and guilt swimming around inside broke through him like a wave.

  “Oh, Connor,” Sugar Pie said, seeing him struggling with his emotions. She sat down and wrapped her arms around him. He didn’t fight it, just let her hold him. It felt good to let everything out.

  “Better?” Sugar Pie asked.

  He pulled back from her and nodded. This time, he felt the muscles in his face relax and he was able to give her a proper smile. He’d often dreamed of finding himself in Sugar Pie’s arms, but in somewhat different circumstances.

  “Okay, then,” Sugar Pie said, standing up again. “Now, I’m going to get you that drink.”

  After she’d gone, Connor leaned over and pulled back the velvet curtain, looking out across the dance floor and the rest of the tavern. It was quiet tonight, but then again, it was a Tuesday. He wondered if Ma’s new security procedures had deterred some of her regulars. In the wake of Jenny Petrel’s murder, Ma had banned all weaponry from the bar. Even now, her head of security — a nice guy who went by the name Pieces 08 — was busy frisking newcomers and putting their swords, daggers, shuriken, and other accountrements into the cloakroom for the duration of their stay. It was ironic, thought Connor. Because it wasn’t a sword or dagger or shuriken that had put an end to young Jenny’s life. It was a pair of teeth and a hunger beyond all human understanding. And that was a whole lot harder to prevent.

  “What’s all this, then?” Connor heard a familiar voice. “What an indignity! Whoever heard of such a thing as a pirate being stripped of his daggers!” There was no doubting that voice. Connor’s heart began to race. He looked down over the edge of the booth and there, sure enough, was Molucco Wrathe, in the center of the tavern, his face a picture of bewilderment as Pieces 08 gently but firmly explained that there were no exceptions to Ma Kettle’s new security rules.

  As the debate continued, Connor exited the booth and made his way down the narrow staircase to the ground floor.

  By the time he got there, Pieces had succeeded not only in taking Molucco’s twin silver daggers off him but a few other smaller weapons which he’d evidently secreted under his vast coat. Connor watched from afar as Pieces collected up the armory and loaded it into a metal box, handing Molucco a numbered ticket.

  “Where’s Kitty?” Molucco was asking. “Someone tell Kitty Kettle that I’m here. And tell her I’ll have no truck with numbered tickets unless there are good prizes to be won!”

  He was poised to set fly with another protest when his eyes met Connor’s. His mouth dropped open, but he was unusually silent. Then he smiled and said Connor’s name, beckoning him closer.

  “Dear boy, is it you? We’ve been so worried!” Molucco held out his arms and Connor hugged him, more out of protocol than the desire for any warmth. There were things he needed to say to Molucco Wrathe and he couldn’t get sidetracked by the captain’s overblown displays of sentimentality.

  “Let me look at you!” Molucco said, holding Connor’s face between his jeweled hands. “You’ve lost weight! Have you been eating? Oh, Mister Tempest. How good it is to know you are safe and well and have come back to us!”

  Connor looked up at him through his vise-like grip. He could see that Barbarro, Trofie, and Moonshine Wrathe had followed Molucco inside. They looked a little less enthusiastic about this reunion.

  “Good evening, Connor,” said Trofie, at least putting on a display of concern. “We’ve all been so worried about you, min elskling.”

  As Captain Wrathe finally released him from his grip, Connor nodded to Trofie. “Thank you,” he said. “But I’m fine. I’ve been trave
ling.”

  “Yes, yes,” Molucco said. “And we must hear all about it. It’s a night of comings and goings, and no mistake,” he said. “My dear brother and his family are bidding us farewell, for now.”

  Moonshine grinned at Connor. “You know how it goes. Places to raid, people to maul.”

  “Actually,” said Trofie, smiling indulgently at her son, “I had a yen for cooler climes.”

  “And,” added Barbarro, “what my dear wife wants, my dear wife gets.” He placed one arm on Trofie’s shoulder, the other on Moonshine’s.

  Molucco beamed at Connor. “So it is with us nautical families. Our ships are forever sailing. But as one ship voyages out, so another returns to safe harbor. Come along, Mister Tempest. Your dear friends Bartholomew and Cate will be here soon. Let’s go into the VIP area.”

  “Yes, let’s,” agreed Trofie. “I’d give my left hand for a glass of champagne.”

  “Actually,” said Connor, addressing Molucco alone, “I’d like to talk to you alone, sir, if that’s all right. I don’t want to keep you from your party but perhaps we could step outside for a walk?”

  “A walk?” Molucco boomed. “Well, yes, why not? So long as it’s all right with the head of security.”

  “It’s fine by me, sir,” said Pieces 08 with a smile. “And don’t worry. Your private arsenal will be quite safe with me.”

  Shaking his head, Molucco gestured for Connor to lead the way back out of the tavern and onto the boardwalk. As Molucco had said, Bart and Cate were in line at the door. They both turned, surprised, then grinned and waved at him. He nodded and mouthed, “I’ll see you later!” He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted from this important task. He had already walked on as they turned back to each other, their faces etched with expressions of concern.

  Connor and Molucco walked to the end of the boardwalk but it was louder out here than inside the tavern, not least as word spread down the line of the newly imposed security measures.

  “This is no good,” said Molucco. “We can’t talk here.” Connor grimaced. He had to have the captain alone. “We’ll go aboard the ship,” Molucco said. “In fact, we’ll take a sneaky rum in my cabin before rejoining the others.”

  “Perfect!” Connor nodded, thinking that he’d forgo the rum.

  It was strange being back in Molucco’s cabin. It was at once a familiar yet foreign place to him. He recognized the treasures contained within and yet he saw it with different eyes. The eyes of a stranger, he realized. Already, he was distancing himself from the captain and the ship. Already, he was stepping back from the crew.

  “There!” said Molucco, placing a large glass of rum in front of him and pouring the remains of a decanter into his own. “Sit down, take the weight off your feet!” They both sat at a highly polished table that Connor decided must be a new acquisition, perhaps from the raid on the Sunset Fort.

  “So, Mister Tempest. Tell me, where have you been?”

  “All over,” said Connor, trying to keep his tone as measured as possible. “I’ve been sailing around, thinking about everything that’s happened, everything I’ve done.”

  Captain Wrathe nodded, taking a draught of rum.

  “I’m sorry I left you like that,” Connor said. “I didn’t mean to worry you or anyone else. I just had to deal with what I’d done.”

  He waited for the captain to say something encouraging but he simply sipped his drink and nodded. “And now you’ve made peace with yourself and come home.” Molucco lifted his glass. “Welcome back, Connor!”

  Connor frowned. “I haven’t made peace with myself,” he said. “I’m not sure that I ever will. I killed a man. In cold blood.”

  “You saved my nephew’s life!” Molucco said. “And the Wrathe family will always be grateful to you for that. Take a drink of your rum, boy. You’ll feel better.”

  Connor shook his head. “I acted to save Moonshine and I’m not sorry I did that. But I can’t let go of the fact that I killed that security guard.”

  “The first time’s never easy,” Molucco said. “But you’re a pirate, lad. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Especially with your prowess at swords. It will get easier, you’ll see.”

  “I don’t want it to get easier,” Connor said.

  Molucco’s face was a picture of confusion. “You want it to get more difficult?”

  “Yes,” Connor said. “No. No, I just don’t want to become accustomed to killing. For no good reason.”

  Now Molucco frowned. “You think that saving my nephew’s life was no good reason to kill?”

  Connor paused. He’d have to choose his words very carefully now, very carefully indeed. “I think,” he began, “I think that Moonshine could have avoided getting himself into that situation in the first place.”

  “Oh,” said Molucco, swigging more rum. “You do, do you? Suddenly, you’re the expert on attack strategy.”

  Connor shook his head. “You don’t need to be an expert.”

  “No,” said Captain Wrathe. “You don’t need to be an expert. You’re a junior ranking pirate, Connor Tempest. In some circles, they call the likes of you rapier fodder. You’re paid to fight, not to think. You can comfortably leave that to the senior members of the crew.”

  Connor was silent but his expression said it all.

  “Unless,” continued Molucco, “you’re not happy with what the senior crew decides. In which case, you had better get happy, and fast.”

  Connor had known that he’d have to contend with Molucco’s anger at some point and now he could see it had arrived, like a rogue wave rising from a calm sea. Connor gritted his teeth and prepared for the emotional white water ahead. With Molucco Wrathe, it was ever thus.

  “I’m surprised,” said Molucco, “that if you’re so ill at ease with the way I run my ship that you came back from the wilderness at all. Why not just sail off into the sunset?”

  Connor shook his head. “That wouldn’t be right. Or fair. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me . . .”

  “I should think so. I rescued you from the ocean with my own hands!”

  This was a bare-faced lie, rather typical of Molucco’s mythmaking, but it was hardly the moment to remind him that in fact it was Cheng Li who had fished him out of the water.

  “You gave me a home,” Connor said simply, “when I had none. And I can never fully repay you for that.” He sighed. “But The Diablo no longer feels like my home. I just don’t feel I can be the pirate you want me to be.”

  Molucco shook his head sadly. “A pretty pass this is, Mister Tempest. A pretty pass. You were like a son to me.”

  Connor had expected him to trot out this well-worn phrase. “But I’m not your son,” he said. “And when the chips are down, I’ll always come second to Moonshine, to your real family.”

  Molucco seemed surprised at his words. “So that’s it, then? You’ve come back to tell me thanks but no thanks. After all I’ve done for you.”

  “Yes,” Connor said.

  They sat in silence for a good while longer. To say it was uncomfortable was an understatement.

  “So is that all?” Molucco said at last. “Or is there more?”

  Connor took a deep breath. There was one more thing he had to tell Molucco. It would be safer not to but he owed him the truth — the whole truth. However explosively Molucco reacted now, he had to hear it from Connor.

  “There is one more thing,” Connor said. “I saw Cheng Li.”

  Molucco’s eyes widened. Surely he wasn’t going to enforce his petty rule of not having her name spoken in his cabin? They were way past all that.

  “She’s to be given her own ship,” Connor continued.

  “Muchas gracias for the news flash,” Molucco said. “But I was aware of that fact. And I can guess where this is going. You want to join her crew, don’t you?”

  Connor nodded. There was another prolonged silence. He expected the captain to unleash another torrent of rage, but instead, he shook his head an
d sighed. “I might have expected that Cheng Li would have been at the root of all this. She’s poisoned you against me. Got at you when you were at your most despondent and vulnerable and —”

  “No,” Connor said, daring to interrupt his captain. He had so far overstepped the mark that now there was no going back. “No, it wasn’t like that. She took me to Lantao. She was collecting weapons from the swordsmith there. We talked . . .”

  “Oh, I’m sure you had plenty to talk about,” Molucco said bitterly. “I’m sure she was full of advice, as she warmed you up to the idea of betraying me.”

  Now Connor was angry. Or, rather, he realized quite how angry he’d been all along. He could no longer batten it down. “Actually,” he said, “she told me to come back and make my peace with you. I would have sailed with her then and there but she told me to come and talk to you. She said that you were my captain, whatever I felt, and that my first duty was to you. That I must honor my articles.”

  It was the coup de grâce. They both knew it. Every card Molucco Wrathe had to play had been played. Now, he stood up and drained the last of his rum. Then he staggered over to a heavy wooden filing cabinet and ran his hands over its three drawers. “A to I, J to R, S to Z!” He heaved open the bottom drawer and started rummaging through the files inside. Finally, exclaiming “T for Tempest,” he lifted out a green card file and began flicking through the leaves of parchment inside. The papers covered the color spectrum from cream to yellow to beige to brown. Such was the length of time that some of Captain Wrathe’s crew had been articled to him.

  “Here we are,” the captain announced with no joy. “Tempest, Connor.” He took out the creamy sheet of Connor’s articles and stuffed the rest of the file back in the drawer. He walked back to the table where they had been sitting. A candle was burning in its center and the captain brought the paper into the glow of the candlelight as he began to read. “On this, the sixth day of the sixth month in the year two thousand five hundred and twelve, I, Connor Tempest, being of sound mind and able body, do solemnly swear my allegiance in perpetuity to Captain Molucco Wrathe . . .”