I know that by now you have discovered the secret of those rings I gave to John Crowe. When you came back to me wearing one of them, I was afraid you already knew, but you didn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth when you came to Barcelona. I wanted so badly to see my daughter smile, knowing I spared you some truths that would have made you detest me.
I heard of what happened in Paris. I know you and Thomas must have been there during the riots. I heard of the great light that came from the sky during the night, and I knew such a phenomenon could only be caused by one kind of magic. That was you, wasn’t it, Lucia? Your mother’s ring fulfilled its purpose, and you carry its strength inside you. You have always been strong, Lucia, I am sure. What I wouldn’t give to see you now! I am so proud of you. I never thought my little girl would become such a talented sorceress. Only I wish I could have been a part of your life. I wish I could have been there to help you along.
Do you remember what I told you in Barcelona? I said that I could smell a change in the air, and it smelled like war. Times are changing, Lucia, and you must be careful. I have no doubt you are with Thomas, and that makes me happy. As long as you are with Thomas, I am sure you will be happy, too. You two must protect one another. You’re both the only thing the other will have soon. Tell Thomas that the Eighth is in London. You should both leave if you have the ability. Go somewhere far from Europe, but head west.
Do not come looking for me in Barcelona. I have left Spain, and I now belong to an effort that is working against the people who are bringing dark days. I cannot tell you the name of the place where I am staying, only that I can now watch over you, in some part. I can now watch over you the way I should have long ago. The cost is not being able to see you and speak to you directly, but I have accepted this. I had either to flee and hide or wait for the men in white uniforms to come knocking on my door. They are collecting us. Like hounds they find us, then tell us we may pledge our allegiance to them or die.
Take care of yourself, Lucia. I love you very much. Please forgive me for the poor choices I have made. I have forever changed your life, and I can never correct that. Think well of me. I would sooner die as a coward than as a bad father.
G.V.
Molly read the letter twice, and even after setting it aside, she watched it on the dresser next to the window, as if it were going to get up and tell her something more. Though she had thought there was more to talk to her father about, after reading his letter she believed all that needed to be said had been said. She’d brought the letter to her room thinking it was going to make her cry. Instead a quiet and serene atmosphere settled in the room. As she sat alone looking at winter outside the windows, Molly’s heart saw the light of understanding for the first time, crawling up and out of a labyrinth of mystery and hurt that for so long had starved and impoverished it.
I am so proud of you. Those were the only words in the letter that meant anything to her, and she didn’t quite understand them. No one had ever expressed any sense of personal gratification in Molly’s successes or any disappointment in her failures. In the absence of either praise or scorn, Molly had never a reason to want approval from anyone, and now that her father had granted her his, she felt more alive than before. She no longer felt like an orphan.
In Barcelona Molly had become a lover; in Tangier she became a fighter. In Stepney Hall she became a woman; in Paris, a sorceress, and in the wilds of Argeş Sa, an angel. Not until she came home to London and read her father’s letter did she see herself as a daughter. Only then, Molly realized, did she become proud of herself. By herself she cried, not because of what her father had done, and not because of her troubles or worries, but because someone was proud of her.
****
“Here she is,” said Morgan, spreading his arms and gesturing toward the ship.
“This is a good ship, Mr. Shaw,” said Tom quietly, taking in the sight of his new vessel through the low light of early morning.
“With you gone, I wasn’t certain what to do with her. I could have sold her easily, but I’ve never owned a ship, and just coming to the docks to look at her was right much fun,” said Morgan, walking along the dock by the ship’s boarding ladder.
“The Roatán Butterfly.” Tom read the name painted on the ship’s exterior. “What an unusual vessel, yeah?”
“My thoughts exactly,” said Morgan. “She’s a work of art. I just can’t imagine where she came from. She wasn’t made by the Royal Navy, but she sure could pass for a sister or cousin.”
“If the Royal Navy wanted to go pirate-hunting, this is what they’d saddle up on,” said Tom. “She’s meant to be agile and dangerous, and built more like a wasp than a butterfly. Look, she’s equipped with some autocast cannons.” Tom pointed along the windows in the hull. “A schooner might see her coming, but it couldn’t outrun her. She could strike twice before the first sting began to burn. She looks like a frigate, but she’s built to run like a sloop.”
“That’s a bit generous a description, Captain,” said Morgan, shaking his head and disagreeing.
“No, no, I’d wager she’s one of the best ships on the water, Mr. Shaw. I think I know who designed her, and if I’m right, you picked a good drunk to swindle.” Tom climbed the boarding ladder and strolled around the deck, running his hands over the new railings and masts and tapping the deck planking with his boots.
“So who’s the builder?” asked Morgan, following behind and rubbing his cold arms.
“Well, look at the way she sits in the water and the number of cannon she’s equipped for,” said Tom, pointing this way and that. “You would want to say she’s Navy. The problem is, she’s too light, and she’s too original. The Royal Navy doesn’t build luxury warships, and they sure as the sun don’t name them after things like butterflies.” Tom made a face and smirked. “I’d say the builder is Bart Drake.”
“You don’t say!”
“I do!”
“He’s going to breathe fire if he hears your sailing another one of his prizes,” Morgan said with a laugh.
“Let him sprout wings and scales, too,” said Tom. “I paid him for the last one, and this one’s better off in our possession anyhow.”
“You think the fellow who lost her to me had it built?” asked Morgan.
“Absolutely,” Tom replied.
“Lost his wife, his ship and the war!” Morgan put the back side of his hand to his forehead in a mocking swoon.
“We’ll blow some Yanks out of the sea in his honor if they give us any trouble,” suggested Tom, stepping off to one side of the deck as his crew began to load the ship.
“It’s only right,” agreed Morgan.
“Here comes trouble.” Tom sneered and jerked a thumb over one shoulder. Decius O’Delle and his friends in white uniform were approaching the docks.
“Good morning, Captain.” Decius stuck out a hand as he climbed aboard and shook Tom’s. “How do you do?” he asked Morgan, taking his as well. “Gentlemen, this is Macius MacNamara,” he said, stepping to his right and directing them to another man. “He will be overseeing my soldiers’ operations and reporting directly to me.”
Macius’s white uniform was decorated with black stripes at the shoulder; his belt held an assortment of short blades and hand knives. The uniform was custom made, allowing additional mobility in the arms and waist. Not for a second did Tom believe Macius was a soldier. Tom also didn’t believe Decius had been assigned to come along on the voyage to protect Tom’s ship, business, or anything at all. Macius’s discolored eyes were even more suspicious than Decius’s expertly crafted words, and when Tom stood in his presence, Macius exuded a lifelessness that couldn’t be masked by his long, stringy, blond hair or his crocodile grin. Whereas Decius was forward and deliberate, Macius was silent and unreadable, although he had an untrustworthy demeanor, like a spring-loaded trap hidden inside a grungy gift box.
“These ten soldiers have been assigned to this voyage,” added Decius, pointing to a line of nine
stiff and stone-faced men and a woman who scowled and stared off into the distance as if she’d rather be anywhere else in the world. “Miss Rocha!” Decius barked, addressing her. Without any further instruction, the woman stood taller and chewed the inside of her lip in annoyance. Decius didn’t notice, but Tom did.
“And these are the best of your best?” Tom asked, pretending to care.
“The very best. The pride of the Bureau!” Decius boomed the declaration, his American accent standing out.
“How far along are the crew?” Tom asked, turning to Morgan.
“They need some spurring, but I can have them ready to weigh anchor in less than an hour,” said Morgan confidently, arms crossed, surveying the deck hands coolly.
“Is your party prepared to leave?” Tom asked, turning back to Decius.
“Ready and waiting,” affirmed Decius smartly.
Tom went to Molly in his cabin, leaving Morgan to direct the crew and Decius to twiddle his thumbs on deck. Molly, arranging her things and his in the cabin they were sharing, jumped in surprise when the door flew open and then shut again with a bang. Tom stormed across the cabin, and before Molly could ask about his irritability, he answered.
“That man is here to ruin me!” He hissed through his teeth, keeping his voice low. “I would strangle him now if we weren’t in plain view of the streets and he didn’t have a litter of personal guards along with him!”
“Decius? He’s here already?” Molly groaned, dropping everything in her hands to the floor and wringing her hands through her hair. “How did they know to get here so early?” she asked.
“Unless they stayed awake all night sticking their necks out their windows to watch for us, I don’t have the faintest idea!” As he paced in circles, Tom worked his way through the details of the predicament and had trouble finding a solution that suited him.
“How are we going to get to wherever we’re going if they’re on the ship?” asked Molly, as she sat down on the bed. “Where are we going, by the way?”
Tom worked at settling his nerves and didn’t speak for a moment. “Alecandre Love’s figures and directions become unclear somewhere around Tobago, an island near the coast of the Captaincy General of Venezuela,” Tom mumbled, removing his hat and running a hand over his head. “The maps suggest that our destination lies farther south, but they don’t specify where. I assume we’ll be following the genamite compass from that point on.” Tom put his hat back on and began to wander about the cabin again as he spoke. “Before then, we’ll cross the Atlantic and sail straight for Antigua, most likely, in the Caribbean. From there, we’ll try to get to Tobago with speed.”
“Can we tell them we’re doing business in Antigua?”
“I shouldn’t think they would believe us. This ship is officially supposed to sail to Nassau in the Bahamas,” Tom said, frowning.
“Perhaps we abandon them in Nassau, then?”
“We can’t afford to sail that far out of our way just to get rid of them. We would lose time and put more distance between us and our destination.” Tom scratched his head and propped his other hand on his hip, brow lowered in thought.
A knock came at the cabin door. When Tom didn’t answer it, Molly stood up and went to open it. Leon was the last person either of them expected. Greeting them with half a smile, he came in and shut the door for Molly. Tom looked at him from across the cabin without saying anything, waiting for him to explain himself.
“Something the matter?” asked Tom, when Leon didn’t say anything.
“These people are working for the Eight. I think they had something to do with my father’s assassination,” he began. “I haven’t had the chance to meet with the Red Legion of London to sort all of it out, so I am not sure if they know who I am.”
“If you are staying in London, you should get your things off the ship because I leave within the hour, Mr. Beaumonte,” said Tom, yielding no ground.
“Beg your pardon, but you didn’t tell me that these men from the Bureau would be coming with us,” said Leon, in a less friendly tune. Leon said nothing else, and for a moment both men stood quietly, their postures tense.
“Funny,” said Tom. “No one told me that I was being strung along to Paris, either.”
“Thomas, this isn’t about—”
“You’re absolutely right. This isn’t about Paris, and it isn’t about you. So, if you want to save your own skin, go back into town.”
As much as Leon intended to maintain himself, his voice strained. “If you’re implying that I mean to run and hide—”
“What else should I think?” Tom butted in again.
“Nothing! After all, you of all men would be apt to recognize a coward, wouldn’t you?” Now Leon was yelling. The clover on his cheek shrunk and retreated toward his angry eyes. “I’ve done my running, and now I have murderers to find and honor to restore! But I guess anyone who’s killed his own brother wouldn’t understand.”
Molly saw the explosion in Tom’s eyes before the concussion of his voice blasted the cabin. Brother screamed as Tom tore it from its sheath. As if Decius’s arrival and the anticipation of death hadn’t been enough to aggravate Tom, Leon, whose past transgressions Tom was supposed to have written off at last, sent him over the edge. Snide remarks were petty offenses, but Tom would not be antagonized by a vampire who had neither his respect nor his trust. An old part of him—his younger, prideful self—also reminded him that Molly was watching. He would not admit to it, but his assumptions about what had happened between Leon and Molly in Paris were still not absolved, and this, more than anything, fueled Tom on.
Molly yelped and backed away from Tom, catching the table between them as he pushed it out of his way. “Thomas, no!” she shouted.
Leon drew Fantome in an attempt to parry but Tom struck the blade with his own with such a force that Fantome flew from Leon’s hand and buried itself in the cabin wall halfway to the cross guard. Leon, for once, looked stunned.
Tom stopped in place and turned to look at Molly through yellow eyes, gazing through a haze of rage that seemed to leak from his brain. Was she defending Leon? Had he frightened her? These thoughts kept Tom from moving further.
Leon breathed slowly, heart racing and eyes glancing from Tom to Molly and back. He had not come for a fight and wondered, like Tom, if Molly were defending him. For only a second the possibility intrigued him, but it passed.
“You can’t do this! Either of you!” Molly shot a glare at Leon, then at Tom. Pushing her hair out of her face and standing tall, she straightened up the table, angrily picking up things off the floor. “The Elder warned us about what’s happening to the world, and you’re both fools if you think beating your only allies away will do you any good!”
Leon pulled his épée from the wall only after Tom put away Brother. Both men exchanged silent looks of fury, but neither faced Molly.
“Neither of you has anything to prove but to yourselves,” finished Molly. Judging by the looks on their faces, both understood her differently, yet correctly.
“I’ll have you know I intend to stay on this ship,” said Leon.
“As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t have it any other way. If anyone’s to kill you it’s going to be me. That’s why I’m giving you orders not to leave,” Tom retorted.
“Is that why?”
“Actually, it’s because I can’t fathom the thought of being without you,” Tom spat sarcastically. “You signed yourself up for this voyage, now are you sailing with me, or aren’t you? I’d like to die knowing there was one bloodsucker with a spine in this world.”
“Certainly,” agreed Leon, walking up to Tom and extending his hand. “I’ll even mentor you on the sword while I’m at it.”
“It’s fortunate that you don’t sleep, or I’d give you the bilge to cozy up in.” Tom smirked and shook Leon’s hand.
When Leon left, Molly busied herself in the cabin, ignoring Tom. Finally he went outside as well. Climbing to the quarterdeck, he barked away a
t his crew, and with Morgan’s help he had the ship on her way in no time.
“Pardon me,” said Geoffrey. “Where is it you said you were from?” He tried not to look into the sun as he asked Ine the question. Three days into the voyage, neither of the two had any real duties onboard. Geoffrey had been brought along once more for his knowledge, should it be needed. Ine, however, was chosen by Tom to serve mainly the purpose of a spy. Her official orders were to keep a constant watch on deck, and her unofficial orders were to keep an eye on Decius and his bunch.
“I am from Kyoto, in Honshu,” she said softly, smiling. No one often asked, or cared to ask, anything personal of Ine. Since leaving Japan and everything she knew behind, she was a stranger to the outside world. Not until she learned English, mostly by memorization, had she begun to speak to anyone, and she had only made the habit shortly before joining Tom’s crew in London.
“Oh, so you’re from Japan? That is unusual,” said Geoffrey. “Nothing and no one ever comes or goes from there.”
“You’re right. It was difficult for me to leave, and dangerous.”
“How did you come to London?” Geoffrey, for once, wasn’t writing down every response he received, curious about the young woman for reasons not rooted in any scientific pursuit.
“By many ships,” was her answer, plain and obvious.
“Yes, that wasn’t the most interesting question, I guess.” Geoffrey pulled at his hair and thought. “So why are you sailing?”
“You ask many questions.” Ine smiled shyly. It was strange being the focus of someone’s interest. “I am searching for a good reason to die.”
“To die?” The answer came as an awkward surprise to him. He hadn’t taken Ine for suicidal, but then, he reasoned, Tom walked that fine line every day.
The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume Page 58