In the absence of business during the long, harsh winter, the hotel retained only a skeleton staff. This mattered little to the newlyweds. Their needs were quite simple.
Now, the maître d' made his way toward the unconventional but unerringly generous couple sitting at their table at the edge of the snow-covered beach. Tonight, the woman with the curious heart tattoo was dressed in a full-length fur coat, the man in a greatcoat, enhancing his somewhat militaristic air.
"Sir." The elderly host cleared his throat, then announced, "The musicians have arrived. Just as you requested." His message delivered, the elderly host began trudging back through the snow.
Lola clapped her hands in delight. Gazing lovingly at her husband, she exclaimed, "Musicians! Bravo!"
"You said you wanted music." Sidorio's eyes bore into hers. "Anything my wife desires, she gets."
Lola smiled. "Anything?"
He winked. "Try me."
"A new ship," she said, not missing a beat. "One like
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Trofie Wrathe's. The Typhon ." She paused, then smiled. "No, not like The Typhon . I want The Typhon itself."
Sidorio looked amused. "Her golden hand wasn't enough for you?"
Lola pouted momentarily. "Her rancid son stole that back. No matter, it served its purpose." She smiled when remembering how she had lately employed Trofie's hand as the centerpiece of her unorthodox wedding bouquet.
"Fine," Sidorio said. "So, I'll get you her ship. What else? Anything I can get for you this very night?"
"Well," said Lola, "I am quite thirsty, as it happens. How about you?"
Sidorio nodded, smiling. Then, he whistled to the maître d', who was still forging his way back through the snow to summon the musicians. As Sidorio's whistle whipped through the night air, the old man stopped dead in his tracks, turned, and began to plod back, his snowshoes slow and none too steady.
"Bring us a magnum of your finest vintage," Sidorio barked.
The old man raised a wild eyebrow, the wave of white hair encrusted with ice. "Our finest is expensive, sir--in a magnum, especially."
Sidorio shrugged, losing no time in pulling gold from his pockets. "Don't bother me with talk of money. You know perfectly well I have enough gold here to buy this lowly hotel, if I choose to. Just fetch us the wine."
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Noticing Lola watching him admiringly, he added, "My wife is a connoisseur. She has a very sophisticated palate."
"Very good, sir!" The host gave a nod, then turned to embark on his latest epic journey through the thickly falling snow.
Lola slipped off her shoes and let the bare flesh of her soles connect with the icy ground. It felt utterly delicious. Once more, she shivered with pleasure.
The musicians arrived. They were young and clad in coats, hats, scarves, and fingerless gloves. They climbed onto the old iron bandstand. With minimal fuss, they took up their instruments and began to play. The music was entrancing, blending the innocent air of an old folk song with the insistent rhythm of a tango.
Lola stood up, letting her fur coat slide down from her shoulders into the well of her chair. She reached out a hand. "Dance with me, husband!"
Sidorio rose to his feet and enfolded her tiny hand in his powerful grip. They walked across the snow-covered beach, a short distance from the bandstand. The lead singer--a young woman with wild, dark eyes and lashes reminiscent of thick spider's legs--smiled as the couple began to dance. Their style was unusual but full of flair.
Lola shrieked with delight as Sidorio dipped her low over the ice. She let her head fall backward, exposing the fresh scars about her neck, while strands of her long,
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raven hair brushed the snow and her eyes gazed wildly up at the full moon.
After their dance, Sidorio led Lola back to their table. In their absence, the aged host had deposited the magnum of wine and a pair of glasses. Already, the bottle and glasses were dusted with fresh snowflakes.
"I'll pour," Lola said, brushing snow from the wine bottle. Lifting it up to the light, she glanced at the bottle's yellowed label. Then she uncorked it and poured its dark, glutinous contents out onto the moonlit snow.
Sidorio grinned.
The musicians began a new song--the violin and accordion building the rhythm. The singer slapped her tambourine and stomped her feet with increasing vigor, utterly caught up in the frenzied world of her song.
Lola extended the empty bottle to her husband, swinging it precariously between her elegant fingers. "Lola's thirsty," she declared, mimicking a young girl's voice. Then, reverting to her normal tone, she smiled prettily and asked, "Won't you fetch me a proper drink, dearest?"
Nodding but saying nothing, Sidorio seized the empty bottle and set off through the snow. Lola glimpsed the fire in his eyes, the deep pits of flame that revealed that his own appetite was as strong and deep and demanding as her own.
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Inside the warmth of the hotel restaurant, the maître d' noticed that the music had stopped. He squinted out through the window, but a veil of fresh condensation impaired his view. He lifted a feeble hand to the glass, wincing as his old flesh made contact with the freezing pane. Rubbing his fist against it, he cleared a peephole.
Peering out, he saw that the bandstand stood empty. He adjusted his line of vision and corrected himself. The bandstand was not in fact empty but carpeted with bodies. The musicians were slumped on it, lifeless. A river of red, illuminated by the moon, flowed urgently into the virgin snow.
The man--the impossibly tall stranger with the impressively deep pockets--walked back across the snow. Rocking between the thick thumb and forefinger of his left hand was the wine bottle. As he strode on, some of the contents of the magnum spilled over the brim and spattered on the ground.
Feeling waves of nausea, the old man frowned. He turned away from the window and sought comfort in the sight of the pile of gold coins. They gleamed in the candlelight, as bright as if they had been minted that very evening. He cupped the coins in his hands and cradled them carefully. This was more money than he had ever seen in his long life, certainly more money than he would ever see again.
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Outside, Sidorio offered the bottle to his wife. Lola reached out her glass, and Sidorio poured a tasting portion of the liquid inside. She had trained him well. Mouthing her thanks, she swirled the liquid around the glass and lifted it to her nose, the better to savor its distinctive aroma.
Glancing up, she caught her husband dismissing the other glass and, instead, lifting the bottle directly to his thick lips. He drank thirstily. She watched him, half appalled, half entranced.
Sidorio, growing conscious of his wife's glance, drew the bottle away from his mouth and smiled, innocently, at her. His lips were smeared with blood. Like a naughty child caught with a mouthful of chocolate, he extended his tongue to lick up the traces.
Lola laughed. "You're such a brute, my darling," she said, her words laced with affection. She reached out her glass once more. "A refill, please, if you've left anything for me! It's a mixed blend, but rather tasty."
"Plenty for us both," he said. "And plenty more where this came from."
Lola sipped her wine thoughtfully. "You know, Sid, you're the roughest of diamonds, but once I have finished with you, you will shine with all the light of Lucifer."
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Sidorio raised his glass. "A toast," he said. "To you and me. Together always. Husband and wife."
Lola raised her own glass. "To us, my darling. Together through eternity." She drank, then gazed at her husband, fresh fire in her eyes. "You asked me before what I wanted. Well, there is one more thing...."
Sidorio nodded. "Go on."
"I want to grow an empire with you. Hand in hand."
"I want that, too," Sidorio said. He paused. "And I want my children to be part of it."
Lola hesitated. "Grace and Connor?"
Sidorio nodded. "I can't pretend they don't exist. Even if Connor did try to destroy you."<
br />
Lola considered for a moment. "He did cast a certain cloud over our wedding by stabbing and then decapitating me. But"--she shrugged--"I'm sure we can forgive such waywardness in the young. Connor and Grace are your flesh and blood. And, by marriage, my stepchildren. It is only fitting that they should become part of our empire." She smiled at Sidorio. "You should invite them to visit us, when we return. I'd so enjoy getting to know them."
"Would you really?"
As Lola nodded, Sidorio thought his heart might break from happiness. In a short space of time, he had gone from feeling that he had lost everything to the sense now that he was being overloaded with gifts. Fortune's wheel was certainly spinning fast.
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"Nothing would make me happier," he said, "than you and I building an empire, with Connor and Grace at our side."
"Let's not waste a moment," Lola said, refilling her glass. "Let's cut short our honeymoon and return to the ships this very night."
Sidorio smiled. "Sometimes it's as if you can read my every thought."
Lola gave a little laugh. "There is no time to be wasted in the quest for world domination...." They clinked glasses. "Though there is a small supply of vintage still to be drained back at the hotel.... Perhaps we could finish that first?"
"Indeed," said Sidorio. "We should drink a toast to our family!"
Arms entwined, they turned and headed leisurely back toward the hotel, their footsteps muffled by the snow.
The entrance door closed quietly behind them. All that could be heard was the tinkle of gold coins clattering to the floor.
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4 VOYAGERS OF THE NIGHT
Grace Tempest and her friend, Darcy Flotsam, joined the throng making their way along the corridors of the ship. Dressed in their finery, they were all journeying down to the banquet hall on the bottom deck, where the weekly Feast would take place.
Scanning the faces of the Vampirates around her, Grace saw clear signs of their hunger--a silvery-gray paleness to the visible flesh and a distant quality to their eyes, as if they were not entirely present in this realm. Such signs were always most pronounced just before the Feast, when the Vampirates were at their lowest physical ebb and in most urgent need of blood. In spite of the Vampirates' evident weakness and pressing hunger, it was a remarkably orderly crowd that made the weekly passeggiata
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through the ship, their footsteps beating time with the percussive music drifting up from below.
Since the captain's disappearance, Mosh Zu had taken command of The Nocturne , and it was a credit to the guru's quiet authority that there had been no further rebellions or incidents of random blood-taking on his watch.
Mosh Zu had made it very clear upon his arrival that he expected members of the crew to exercise self-discipline with regard to their blood hunger and to confine their blood-taking to the weekly sharing that followed the Feast. He gave them a simple choice--either they respected this modus vivendi or they departed the ship and took their chances in the world beyond. A few had chosen to leave and seek out Sidorio and his renegade disciples. But that had been during the first nights of Mosh Zu's command. Since then, order had been fully restored.
When the captain returned, Grace mused, it would be to a ship of Vampirates brought firmly back into line.
Darcy nudged Grace gently. "You look lost in thought," she said. "What's on your mind?"
"I was just thinking about the captain," Grace said. "I find it impossible not to, on nights like this."
Darcy nodded. "Me too. He's missed so many Feast Nights now." She hesitated before continuing. "I know it's a terrible thing to say, Grace, but I'm starting to doubt he'll ever return."
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"Darcy!" Grace exclaimed in shocked tones, causing some of those walking ahead of her to turn and glance back. Grace lowered her voice before continuing. "He is coming back, Darcy. I know it. He wouldn't just go away and leave us. You, of all people, know how weak he was, but Mosh Zu says he is making a steady recovery now. He'll be back soon, I'm sure of it."
"I'd like to believe that," Darcy said. "Truly, I would. It was horrible seeing someone so powerful brought down so low."
Grace nodded. She had experienced the same gut-wrenching emotions, standing over the captain during Mosh Zu's healing catharsis. But she had to hold on to hope. "He'll be back," she repeated firmly, to reassure herself as much as Darcy.
The two friends had reached the entrance to the banquet hall. Darcy took Grace's arm, and they stepped across the threshold together.
Inside the spacious cabin, the music was louder and there was a hubbub of conversation amongst the well-dressed diners. As usual, a long table stretched down the center of the room. It was laid with damask tablecloths, fine china, sparkling crystal, and shiny silver cutlery. But there were place settings only on the far side of the table. Standing behind this side of the table, ready to be served a delicious, nutrient-rich dinner, were the donors.
For every Vampirate who traveled aboard The Nocturne --with the exception of Mosh Zu--there was a
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donor. These men and women, of a variety of ages and backgrounds, had each made a pact with the Vampirates to give a weekly portion of their blood in exchange for bed, board, and one further gift: immortality. For, in return for their blood, the donors remained as ageless as their Vampirate partners.
Looking along the line of faces, Grace remembered attending her first Feast and thinking that she herself was to be a donor. She had even taken her place on the donor side of the table. Initially it had looked as if she was to be Sidorio's donor, or the captain's. But though it was the captain who had led her out of the banquet hall that night, he had had no plans to take her blood. Like Mosh Zu, the captain was a highly evolved Vampirate--a pranic vampire--who had no need to feast on blood. Grace had been let off the hook that night; and, though she continued to attend every Feast and to sit on the donor side of the table, it had always only been as a guest.
As the Vampirates arrived in the room, each sought out his or her donor. The pairs bowed before one another, then sat down, ready for the Feast.
"I'll see you later," Darcy said to Grace, gently squeezing her arm. "Enjoy your dinner!"
Grace watched as her friend strode off to meet her donor, James--or "My Jim," as Darcy fondly referred to him. It was easy to misinterpret the relationship between Vampirate and donor as a romantic one but, in the main, this was not the case. The relationships were intimate,
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certainly, and, for the most part, tender. Every Vampirate and his or her donor were aware of the great gift that the Sharing bestowed upon each party. But there was a marked gulf between gratitude and romance. Indeed, thought Grace, the only instances she knew of in which the Vampirate/donor relationship had become more complicated had ended in tragedy.
Grace's thoughts turned to Sidorio and his original donor, Sally--Grace's own mother--and then to Stukeley and his donor, Shanti. Both Sally and Shanti had since passed on. Sidorio and Stukeley were forging their own dark command. And the captain was missing. So much change but, inside Grace's head, the five of them lingered in the room like ghosts at the feast.
"Grace! About time!" Grace turned her head and saw Oskar, Lorcan's handsome donor, smiling and gesturing toward the seat next to his. Nodding, Grace made her way over to join him.
As Grace slipped into the space beside Oskar, he cast an approving glance over her. "You look amazing !" he said. "Great dress! It really brings out the color of your eyes."
"Thank you," she said, her spirits instantly lifting, as they invariably did in Oskar's sunny company.
Oskar was poised to launch into further conversation, but a hush had begun to descend upon the room. Mosh Zu had arrived and was making his way toward the table. At his side was his trusty lieutenant, Lorcan Furey.
Lorcan reached the table first. He bowed to Oskar, then
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reached out and took Grace's hand, lifting it to his lips and kis
sing her fingers. His lips were as soft and cool as a mountain stream.
"Hello," she said, suddenly as nervous as if they were meeting for the first time.
"Hello, you," he said in his warm Irish brogue. "I swear, Grace, you look more beautiful every time I see you."
Grace beamed up at him. He was dressed in a tuxedo, a crisp white shirt with pearl studs, and, knotted around his neck, a blue silk cravat--an exact match for his twinkling azure eyes. "You look very handsome yourself," she said.
"Blah, blah, blah," Oskar said, with a grin. " You're so beautiful, Grace! No, you're so handsome, Lorcan! And what, pray, am I? Chopped liver?!"
Lorcan smiled winningly. "My, my, Oskar. How well you look tonight."
" Thank you! " Oskar said, with some emphasis, as if he had waited years for this sole compliment.
Lorcan shook his head from side to side, in mock dismay, as he sat down. "Of all the donors aboard this ship, how come I ended up with the most high-maintenance one?"
"Just lucky, I guess," said Oskar, always intent upon having the last word.
Grace and Lorcan laughed at Oskar's sharp tongue and shameless vanity, then adopted a more serious demeanor as Mosh Zu arrived at the table and stood in the place opposite Grace. Although theirs was not a comparable Vampirate/donor relationship, they still bowed to one
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another--a mark of respect from both sides. Mosh Zu gestured to Grace that she should sit down. He remained standing.
The doors to the banquet hall were closed. The musicians in the corner of the room stilled their instruments. The men and women standing along both sides of the table fell silent, their faces bowed over the candles that flickered along its center. Mosh Zu began to speak. His fellow Vampirates joined in with his stirring words:
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