Vampirates: Empire of Night
Justin Somper
Contents
A BAY SOMEWHERE OFF THE WEST COAST OF AUSTRALIA. THE YEAR 2512.
PROLOGUE: THE THREE GIFTS
SIX WEEKS EARLIER
1: IF YOU CAN KEEP YOUR HEAD...
2: BEACH PIRATES
THE BLACK SEA, ODESSA, UKRAINE
3: THE HONEYMOONERS
4: VOYAGERS OF THE NIGHT
5: THE HOMECOMING
6: TIFFIN
7: WORSE THAN DEAD
8: THE SHARING
9: THE INVITATION
10: PERSUASION
11: THE WICKED STEPMOTHER
12: DIVIDED LOYALTIES
13: AN AUDIENCE WITH THE FEDERATION
14: NEWS OF THE CAPTAIN
15: A COUNCIL OF WAR
16: SECRET AGENTS
17: THE PERFECT HOSTESS
18: BUSINESS OF THE NIGHT
19: CONTACT
20: DUEL
21: DAYBREAK RENDEZVOUS
22: CHANGES
23: FIRST BLOOD
24: MANEUVERS
25: JOHNNY'S SURPRISE
26: NO WAY OUT
27: BLOOD BROTHERS
28: CODE SILVER
29: SLUMBER PARTY
30: UNDER ATTACK
31: THE MORNING AFTER
32: THE HUNT
33: WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT GRACE
34: CONNOR'S DECISION
35: FORBIDDEN FRUIT
36: SIDORIO'S SON
37: THE UNINVITED GUEST
38: THE FOURTH BUCCANEER
39: FAMILY PORTRAIT
40: THE QUICK AND THE UNDEAD
41: THE ALLIES
42: THE THIRD GIFT
43: TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES
44: CHOICES
45: HEARTBEATS
For Sue, Sherri, and Scott, thanks for welcoming me into your crew!
A BAY SOMEWHERE OFF THE WEST COAST OF AUSTRALIA. THE YEAR 2512.
Prologue
THE THREE GIFTS
Connor,
My son, heir to my empire.
Here is the first of three gifts to mark this auspicious first night of blood-taking. Come to my cabin when the clock strikes midnight, and I will present you with your other two gifts.
Your blood father,
Sidorio
Connor stood at the captain's door. Instinctively, his hand dropped to his belt, his fingers seeking out his sword, resting in its sheath. Connor squeezed the sword hilt, as he often did in times of stress. It reminded him of the moments when he was utterly in control--when his sword was drawn and he was in the midst of battle. If only
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he could achieve the same simplicity and clarity in the rest of his life as he did when he was engaged in combat.
Adrenaline surged through his body. Adrenaline is a strange thing , he thought. You need it to fuel you in times of pressure. Yet too much of the stuff almost paralyzes you. His life had changed and he knew there was no going back. He couldn't even be sure that his sister, Grace, would still be alive by morning. When he had last seen her, she had observed that they were in control of their own destinies. She could not have been more wrong , Connor thought bitterly now. They were no more than flies, caught in a steel web.
The gold watch that had accompanied Sidorio's note weighed heavily around his wrist. Connor glanced at it now, glimmering under the corridor lights. There were only seconds until midnight. He could delay no longer. He took a breath, lifted his hand, and knocked on the metal panel. There was a pause, then the sound of bolts sliding back. The heavy door opened and Connor stepped inside.
"Connor," Sidorio said, pushing the door closed. "Welcome! It's good to see you again. And you found the first of my three gifts. It suits you."
"Yes," Connor said. "Thank you, Father."
"Come here," Sidorio said, beckoning Connor deeper into the cabin. "I have the second of your gifts."
Connor walked on. Sidorio was standing in front of a long chest made of blue-lacquered wood with silver let
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ters etched into its surface. "This was the war chest of Kublai Khan," Sidorio said, running his hands along the surface. "It was kept in his battle tent so he could select which weapon he favored on any given day. This chest was a wedding present from my wife." There was something almost respectful in the way Sidorio opened the top drawer and pulled it toward them both. Inside was an array of swords unlike any Connor had seen before. They surpassed even the captains' swords housed at Pirate Academy and those in Master Yin's workshop.
"These are weapons fit for an emperor," Sidorio said. "And therefore for an emperor's son." He placed his hand on Connor's shoulders. "Choose one for yourself, my boy. This will be the second of my three gifts."
Connor was momentarily dazzled as his eyes traveled across the spikes of polished metal, set among a sea of blue silk. Any one of these swords was a rare prize indeed. It scarcely mattered which he chose.
"If none of those are of interest to you," Sidorio said, "open the second drawer, or the third. Take your time." He stepped back, allowing Connor full access to the war chest.
Connor did not need to open any other drawers. There, in the corner of the top drawer, was the sword that was calling to him. It was not an obvious choice, being one of the simplest of the weapons, but Connor saw with his experienced eye that this was the perfectly designed sword. He knew in his heart it was the one that Master
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Yin, pirate swordsmith of Lantao Island, would have singled out.
Connor reached into the drawer and lifted his chosen sword. As he clasped the hilt in his hand, he knew he had made the right decision. It felt like the very best of swords, as if it were an extension of his arm. He had no doubt it would prove useful should he ever use it in combat.
"Is that the one?" Sidorio asked.
Connor nodded. "Thank you, Father . It's incredible."
"You've made a good choice," Sidorio said, pushing the drawer closed again. "And now, let's sit."
The words were innocent enough, but Connor's heart was hammering as he fell into step with Sidorio and walked back to the table. Sidorio nudged Connor gently toward the opposite chair. Connor sat, letting his old sword hang down at his side and laying the newly acquired one at his feet.
On the table was a folded velvet cloth edged with brocade. Connor's eyes traced the detail in the brocade and then traveled back up to the cloth and what lay upon it. A golden goblet, its handles fashioned to look like two writhing snakes.
Sidorio lifted the goblet in one hand. "This belonged to Caesar, once." He turned to Connor, his voice proud and strong. "Now Caesar is dust, and the goblet belongs to me."
He placed it back on the table, beside a crystal decanter,
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which had been filled to the neck with a dark, somewhat opaque, crimson liquid.
Sidorio wasted no more time. Connor watched as his father's hands removed the crystal stopper from the decanter and upended the vessel, pouring a generous amount of liquid into the two-handled goblet. Then he set the decanter back on the table and reinserted the stopper. Sitting down, he lifted the goblet to his thick lips and drained its contents in one swallow. Connor watched. Sidorio swallowed it so easily. It would be his turn next.
Sidorio set the goblet down on the table and then lifted the decanter and refilled it. He held the cup out to Connor.
Connor could see his pale reflection in the ruby-red liquid. He had anticipated that his hand would tremble as he took hold of the goblet, but strangely it did not. He was possessed by a surprising serenity. This was a good sign, he thought--a sign that he was ready. Besides, he figured, it was
n't as if this was actually the first time he had taken blood--he had just never drunk it straight like this before.
"My son," Sidorio said, his lips stained dark by the drink. "Blood of my blood. Heir to my eternal empire. Drink."
Connor lifted the goblet to his lips. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but, as he took his first sip, he was surprised at how natural it felt. He took a second sip, aware
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of Sidorio watching him attentively. The Vampirate smiled as Connor finished the contents of the goblet. That wasn't so difficult , thought Connor, pleased with himself. He felt warm, somehow glowing, inside. And he felt strong, too, invincible, as if new energy was pumping through him.
"Good?" Sidorio asked.
"Yes." Connor nodded.
"More?" Sidorio's hand was already on the decanter.
"Yes, Father."
"That's my boy!" Sidorio refilled Connor's goblet. "We'll share this one. Half for me, half for you." Smiling, he brought his lips to the cup, then passed it across to Connor.
Connor drank and felt the glow within him expanding and, with it, the energy. He felt very powerful--as if he could fight off an army single-handedly if he had to. If he chose to.
"Another?" Sidorio asked.
Connor nodded.
Time blurred, until Connor was suddenly aware of Sidorio tapping the empty decanter. "It appears we've drained this dry. But I can have more sent up, no problem." His expression grew serious. "Next time we feed, my son, we shall dispense with these formalities and hunt for fresh blood together. Side by side."
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Connor recoiled at Sidorio's words. Hunting for blood felt like a step too far. But, after everything else that had happened these past six weeks, he couldn't rule it out. As Sidorio had observed, Connor Tempest was long gone. He was Connor Quintus Antonius Sidorio now.
Sidorio had resumed speaking. "Now it is time for your third gift. I think you'll find I've saved the best for last."
"The watch and sword are incredible gifts. I can't believe it gets much better than this," Connor said, wondering what Sidorio's third gift could possibly be.
Sidorio lifted one of his chains from around his neck. At first Connor was disappointed. After the excitement of the first two rare and luxurious gifts, some secondhand jewelry was a definite anticlimax. Then he noticed that suspended on the chain was a key. And engraved into the metal of the key was a number.
Intrigued, Connor turned the key over in his hand and looked up at Sidorio. "What is this?" he asked.
"The key to cabin number three twenty-nine," Sidorio said. "Your third gift is waiting for you there. All you have to do is open the door."
"Shall I go now?"
"If you like," Sidorio said. "In fact, I'll come with you."
Connor nodded. "Sure, okay... Father."
Once more, his use of the word brought a soft smile to Sidorio's lips. They got up from the table. Connor reached for his new sword. He wasn't about to let it out of his sight. It was way too beautiful.
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Sidorio proudly led Connor from the cabin, and they made their way out into the corridor. Other crew members were waiting outside. They made no effort to disguise their interest in Connor. He did not mind or feel at all self-conscious. Who could blame them for being interested in him? Connor felt as if he was walking in a golden spotlight. In the brief time he had spent in the cabin, his role as their future commander had been sealed. He was the captain's son, heir to the eternal empire of night.
Father and son strode purposefully along the corridor. At the end, they came to another door. Sidorio paused, then pointed. "Cabin three twenty-nine," he said. "Your gift is waiting inside."
Connor reached forward with the key.
"I should warn you," Sidorio said, leaning closer as Connor positioned the key in the lock. "It isn't quite ready for you."
"What do you mean?" Connor asked, turning the key. He felt the bolt turn and the metal door give way. He stepped into the cabin. Sidorio followed.
"There," Sidorio said. "My final gift. As I said, not quite ready for you."
Connor couldn't speak. As he looked into the heart of the cabin, every fiber of his being froze. Was this some trick, some hallucination brought on by his first proper
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taste of blood? No. It was what it was. He could see it and sense it. Sidorio's third gift. This, this horror , was truly Sidorio's idea of the best gift of all.
"What have you done?" Connor rasped. " Why have you done this?" He shook his head, then opened his mouth once more and let out a deep, keening wail.
13
SIX WEEKS EARLIER
15
1 IF YOU CAN KEEP YOUR HEAD...
Sidorio stood on the beach, cradling in his hands the decapitated head of his new bride.
Lola. He opened his mouth to speak her name, but it was too painful to say the word and know that she was gone. To know that she would never again glance up at him, her eyes sparkling with dark purpose. That she would never again smile and take his hand. Never again lift one of her favorite antique glasses, filled with her own special vintage, and sip from it with all the grace of her aristocratic lineage....
He gazed down at her in wonder. Even in this state, with her face turning as pale as the reflection of the moon on the still sea, her beauty was peerless. Lady Lola Elizabeth Mercy Lockwood Sidorio. It was not yet an hour since they had been married, and already she had been
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taken from him. Cruelly dispatched at the altar by his own son. A tear welled up in Sidorio's eye. It was not a familiar sensation. The bead of water escaped and fell like a raindrop onto Lola's cheek. Sidorio had a sudden hope that the water might somehow revive her. That she was not dead but only sleeping. But deep down, in the knot of his stomach, he knew she was gone. He was alone again.
Sidorio lifted his eyes for a moment and saw a small boat skimming away across the water: the pirate squad heading back to its ship, their terrible mission completed. Already, they were too far off for him to distinguish between the silhouettes of the vicious captain Cheng Li and her youthful assassin. But Sidorio held the image of the boy's face clearly in his mind. For it was the face of his own flesh and blood. His son, Connor.
"My boy," he rasped in agony.
From somewhere came a sound resembling a sigh. Instantly, he glanced down at his wife's head, wondering if there was any conceivable way the sound had emanated from her. But no. It was merely a rogue wave, lapping against the shore. Lola's face was as impassive as ever. Sidorio traced the line of his wife's cheek. Her skin had begun to change now--not only in color but also in tone--no longer the smooth alabaster he was used to.
Sidorio stared down at the tattoo of a black heart painted around Lola's left eye. That black heart, that
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closed eyelid, covered the most precious of jewels. Sidorio willed Lola to open her eyes just one more time. If only he could see her beautiful mahogany-colored eyes for one last, fleeting moment. But no, a single moment with Lola would be too tormenting. He would always want more. Even if he could turn the clock back a mere hour, when all eternity was spread out before them, he would always feel ravenous for more time with Lola, whose skin was growing more wrinkled with every second. Now that the seal of her immortality had been broken, the hungry years were racing to catch up with her and consume her. It was a terrible thing to behold.
Sidorio thought back to their first meeting. It had been on another beach, not dissimilar to this one. She and her crew had been playing games with him; but, as she had confessed that night, it had all been a ploy to catch his attention. How had she put it? She was so dexterous with words. "How else can a minnow signal a whale?" That's right! He could almost hear her voice. He smiled momentarily. How long, though, he wondered, before he lost the ability to recall that distinctive, cut-glass tone of hers? How long before even this memory was lost?
His thoughts moved on to the time he had trespassed onto her ship, The V
agabond --a considerably smaller vessel than his own, the mighty Blood Captain . That night, he had interrupted her as she prepared for her nightly bloodbath. It was part of her secret beauty
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regimen, but she had broken it for him. Instead, they had drunk together from the antique glasses she prized so dearly. She had fed him sweetmeats.
This memory soon spiraled into another--the first time they had gone hunting together. Lola was always clear that she preferred to drink blood from a glass, but still she had hunted with him, telling him she wanted to know his ways--not only to know them but to experience them. He had tried to do the same for her, too, though he had never quite understood the appeal of the glass over the human vessel. Those nights they had hunted together, like two rampant wolves, had been nights of the purest joy he could ever remember. To think of them now brought only coldness to his immortal bones and a dull, heavy ache to his head. In his hands, Lola's face grew more wrinkled with every passing minute. Her skin was so dry, it was starting to flake. She was being ravaged before his very eyes. Sidorio began to fear his beautiful wife might simply turn to dust and slip through his fingers into the night air.
He closed his eyes, urging darkness to engulf him. Now, even to think of her was a constant source of pain. But she was within him. Images of her filled his being as completely as blood cells: the time she had helped him pick out new clothes, like the wedding suit he was wearing still, though he would never again have use for such finery; the evening she had placed her tiny hand on his and shown him how to swirl the vintage inside the glass
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to release its aroma; then that moment--that magical moment--when she had consented to become his wife...
She had become his wife, but, more than that, she had become his world. Now she was gone.
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