Just below the main deck, Molly waited for a few werewolves to climb down from above before she went up. The bright light nearly knocked her over. For two months she hadn’t seen the sun, and the stinging of her eyes made her wobble until she adjusted to it. On her way toward the quarterdeck, she looked toward the mast where Morgan always was, noticing that this time he was gone. He couldn’t have been released, because his shackles were gone as well. Molly walked to the port side railing where many of the crew were gathered, just in time to see the shore boats headed for the tropical coast of Zanzibar. Onboard one of the boats she saw Jack Darcy, which was fortunate for her. However, she spotted Morgan as well, slumped over in the back of the same boat. Was Jack going to sell him in Zanzibar? Morgan and Thomas had both once been slaves. Molly worried about Morgan, but she knew there was nothing she could do to help him at the moment. Sticking to her plan, she moved carefully again toward the quarterdeck and found Jack Darcy’s cabin. As she manipulated the locks on the doors, she found them to be more complicated than the ones in the brig. Being in broad daylight made her nervous. Her hands shook, and she sweated furiously as she worked. When at last the lock popped open, she gently removed it and waited for a moment to slip inside, carrying the lock with her and hoping no one would notice before she could leave and put it back on the door.
Jack’s cabin was spacious, full of chests that were sealed shut and huddled up together on one end of the room. It was not entirely neat, but there was a kind of natural order to it. Seven different cages housed seven very different and magnificently colored birds. Molly had never seen a single one of them before and wondered where they had all come from. Along the walls Jack had mounted the heads of strange animals, each looking like things out of fairy tales, and she was certain they were not ordinary in the least. She found it odd that Jack had no bed. Maybe the man never slept. As evil as he was, Molly would have been surprised if he could. He did have a large dining table, which looked as if it had been used more for drawing maps than eating. A number of tools had been left on the table, and there were piles of wood shavings here and there. Some brass rings lay about, with a polished magnifying glass next to them. Jack had been making something, but it was of no importance to Molly. She didn’t care what Jack Darcy amused himself with. His cabin and everything about him combined into a creepy mystery, and she needed to be quick about her business.
Molly nosed around in the locked chests that were shoved into one end of the cabin. Luckily none of them looked identical to another, and she found the chest into which she had seen the Blood Moons stow all her and her friends’ belongings. It was tempting not to take it then and there. Waiting for a chance to escape was much easier before the baby had become a factor. Molly thought about the chest, trying to envision a way she could break it open and smuggle its contents down to the brig. Maybe she could improvise a plan and get everyone into a shore boat and into Zanzibar. No, she thought. You’ll waste your friends’ lives and your own if you act without caution now. Keep to the plan.
Molly stood and backed away from the chest, staring at it pensively. Holding her stomach with one hand and running the other through her hair she chewed her lip and fought the urge to be hasty. She thought about just escaping on her own, but that did not last. She could not leave her friends, and in any case she needed their help as much as they needed hers. It was not an option. The more she thought about Zanzibar, the less she believed it was a place to which she wanted to run. Neither she nor any of her friends had been there before. At least Ine knew what Bombay was like. Additionally, Zanzibar was not a trustworthy place, judging from what she had learned about it. There was no way to steal a shore boat in broad daylight, and she did not know how much resistance to expect should she and the others attempt to take The Roatán Butterfly from the Blood Moons. Touching her stomach, which had become only slightly round since leaving South America, she decided to be patient.
A sudden rumble of footsteps approached Jack’s cabin. The Blood Moons were going to begin their normal midday detail. Molly knew soon she wouldn’t be able to get back to the brig safely or easily. Scurrying to the cabin door on her toes, she made no noise and put her back to the wall, looking out through the little window in the door. No one was close enough to see, so she slipped back out onto the main deck and shut the cabin door before hurrying along the deck toward the main stairway.
Down the steps she flew, passing the gun deck and the garden deck. For only a heartbeat she paused, looking twice down the corridor before deciding the risk of going to the gardens now was too great. She decided to make another trip after dark and apologize to the others for taking too much time in Jack’s cabin. Scratching her bare feet on the steps, Molly made her way down to the brig. Breathing heavily she jogged down the corridor, unlocked the brig door and shut and locked it behind her. Hesitantly she returned to her cell and closed herself in, sitting down with a sigh and leaning against the bars. Only then did she realize she was still carrying the lock she’d taken off Jack Darcy’s cabin door.
When the Blood Moons returned from Zanzibar later that evening, their arrival caused a great commotion. Everyone in the brig could hear the sound of thousands of feet moving like herds of cattle up stairs, down stairs, across the main deck, the gun decks and everywhere in between. It put Molly on edge because she knew it was only a matter of time before Jack Darcy discovered his cabin door had been opened while he was away. She chewed at her lip, listening to the sounds above with much anxiety. Would Jack suspect something of her or one of the others? Maybe he would think it was his own crew who had broken in, she hoped. After all, she’d left nothing behind to suggest she or the others were capable of getting out of their cells and all the way up to the main deck and into the captain’s quarters.
Jack did not immediately go to his cabin, however. Instead he was busy shepherding his new crew members onboard and assembling the old crew around them in a giant semicircle. This was an initiation night, and the crew loved initiations because Jack treated them like parties. Visits to Zanzibar always ended in the biggest parties, because it was the best place to pick up lots of new blood and loads of all kinds of drink.
Jack barked orders at his crew and did not begin the festivities just yet. Kicking along the last of the barrels of wine as he strode across deck, he spoke clearly and loudly to the new recruits, who huddled together in a ragged line, none sure what the wild-eyed and bearded man had in mind for them.
“Tonight,” began Jack, tilting back his head and walking along the line of silent slaves, “is the greatest night of your lives.” Some of the slaves, the older ones, were not afraid. In fact, they were grinning like Jack. They knew exactly what they’d gotten themselves into. “Tonight, you are slaves no more!” Jack shouted. “Tonight, you will become men again … better than men!” he declared. “You will cast away your old loyalties to your masters, your homes and yourselves, for you are now among the Order of the Blood Moon. You will become one of many who belong to the greatest order of werewolf kind in this world. You will think only of the Order and only of your kind and do what is in the best interest of the Order and its glorious fortress, The Howl!” At this, the excited slaves cheered along with the rest of the crew, and the nervous became more timid.
“Tonight,” continued Jack, “is a most fortunate night, for the moon above is already reddening. It offers you limitless power and the strength to consume any enemy you may have in this world … any!” he repeated, looking into the eyes of the new recruits, each eager to turn the tables on the world that had abused and controlled them. “Bring me the first!” he called out to the crowd. All the new recruits turned their heads and watched as Morgan Shaw was led into view, held at the arms and shoulders by two of Jack’s werewolves. “I will show you a glimpse of the power I offer each of you, and then you may choose to accept this gracious gift … or not.” Jack did not say what would become of any man who rejected initiation, but there was not a man among the slaves who was thinking about findin
g out.
“Let’s make some monsters,” Jack commanded his crew. The werewolves who had assembled on deck narrowed their eyes and fixed their gazes on the pale red moon high above. They wore traditional war garments of clans like the Helvetii. These were simple wrappings that hung high on the waist and were long and not legged, much like a kilt. They were black with red decorative stitching that bore the shape of the fanged crescent moon—the symbol of the Order. Hundreds of growls rose in the werewolves’ throats at once, and the crackling of bone and snapping of joints signaled their transformations, each growing larger, more muscular and grotesque, sprouting drooling, toothy snouts and tall, pointed ears. The main deck creaked as their bodies grew and their weight pressed down on the planks. Jack, biggest and most wicked of them all then turned to look up at the moon as well, his eyes blackening as he took a deep breath and released it.
The howl that resounded from Jack’s lungs reached Molly and the others in the brig. The silence that led up to it had put them on edge, for they could not hear Jack speaking to the crew, and they did not know why the great racket from earlier had ceased so abruptly. Molly scooted back into a corner of her cell and held her knees, praying that the madman hadn’t discovered his lock was gone. Suddenly she and the others heard the hammering of many drums beating as one, before beginning a steady and complicated rhythm that sent its vibrations down through the hull and into the bars of the cells in the brig.
The hundreds of Blood Moons on deck joined Jack in unison, filling the air with a haunting chorus of wails that made the planking buzz and the pots and pans in the galley rattle. Morgan Shaw twisted and struggled in the arms of the two werewolves holding him still. He had given in to Jack’s torture. He’d taken the cat o’ nine tails more than once and wasted away out in the elements, but that day in Zanzibar, when Jack threatened to return him to the slave trade, Morgan had surrendered. Anything was better than the life he’d once lived as a slave, when he and Tom had been taken from the crew of Isaiah Silverstein and made into cattle. The last thing he wanted was to wear an iron collar again and work all day and night like a mule for some malevolent ship master. Jack had beaten him. He’d found one tiny weakness in the wall that Morgan had built up and now he would make a Blood Moon out of him. The drums pounded his ears, and the wailing of the Blood Moons made his head spin.
The werewolves on deck howled again, and then their chorus dissolved into a frenzy of barking and snapping jaws. Hundreds of crazed faces sneered and snarled and ground their pointed teeth together, and when they had channeled the evil power of the red moon, one of them sank his teeth into Morgan’s shoulder, clamping down hard while the curse took hold of him. When the jaws released him, so did the two werewolves wrestling him still. The three backed away and all eyes watched as the newly infected recruit dropped to one knee, all the muscles in his face and body seizing and trying to control the strength running through him. The transformation was painful and unsympathetic in its speed and fury. Morgan clawed at his face as it stretched and long teeth sprang from his gums. All over his body grew a coal black coat of fur, and as his limbs and torso bulged upward and outward the pain dulled. His thoughts became simple and full of anger and spite. Most of it was directed at Jack Darcy, who’d coerced his goodness away from him so ruthlessly … but for a moment, he also thought of Tom. When he did, he suddenly felt the worst kind of feelings for his long-time friend. Jealousy struck him hard, and then jealousy turned to envy. All the times he’d ever fallen just shy of Tom’s talents, every woman stolen from him, every sparring match he’d lost—the memories burned his heart and lit a fire inside him. He began not to care about Tom anymore. He began not to care whether his friend’s dying wishes be fulfilled. As the werewolves around him roared in delight at the successful initiation, Morgan stood quietly among them, staring away into the thin air, thinking of Molly, down in the brig.
The Blood Moons repeated their ceremony, except this time they howled and howled, on and on, while each new member was initiated and everyone’s infection had plenty of time to take effect. While the drone of the howls rolled on, Morgan stood by idly, watching but not really seeing what was happening. In his head all he could hear were his angry thoughts, and as he stewed he made plans. When the howling ceased, he snapped to attention as Jack began to speak again and the werewolves shrank back to their human forms.
“Hear this! A lone soul among you does not wish to partake in the initiation!” Jack shouted this over the raucous cheering and chatter. “It is all right, my brother,” said Jack, stepping up to the man and placing a paternal hand on his shoulder, looking sympathetic. “There are many paths to choose from in this life, and the way of the Order is not meant for all of us.” Slowly Jack’s sympathetic frown turned to a diabolical grin as he looked up at his crew, who were snickering. “Some of us are meant to be great warriors, and others are meant to have their skulls tread upon by the great.” Jack backed away from the man, who glared at him with noble courage.
Morgan sympathized with him, but before he could feel too sorry, Jack called his name.
“Mr. Shaw! Please come and take your first step upon the path of the great. Right here.” Jack pointed to the trembling man’s forehead.
Morgan hesitated, looking at the frightened man, who looked back at him. He put his pity aside and decided that he needed Jack’s trust more than he needed not to kill this man for no good reason. Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, which hit his stomach and spread to his hurting soul, Morgan approached the man.
“Good,” said Jack, with a nod of approval. “You concerned me for a moment, boy.” He looked on sternly as Morgan delivered a boot heel to the man’s face. It did not kill him, because Morgan did not put his heart into the blow. Jack didn’t seem to realize it and simply invited the other werewolves to join in the beating. “Show Mr. Shaw how to step,” said Jack, “and be quick about it. Roll out the wine! I need a drink!” The others finished off the brave man hastily. Morgan lingered behind the crowd, watching through the shuffling bodies as the man went down, fighting hopelessly until it was over.
The festivities began shortly after and lasted until before dawn. Morgan was the drunkest man on the ship that night, even more than Jack, who was having too good a time to notice that the lock on his cabin door was missing … at least until morning.
Jack awoke with a pounding pain in his head. Opening his cabin door to the morning sunlight he thought his brain might explode, but when he reached for the handle on the cabin door, he realized the large lock that normally hung from it was gone. Anyone else might have first looked for the lock in other places, thinking it had simply been removed and forgotten about, but Jack was a suspicious and nervous man. He did not shout or cause a scene. He was certain he had not removed the lock, and if it was the work of a mutinous crew, he did not want to act as though he were aware. Shifting his small, robin’s egg eyes left and right, he watched the werewolves on deck. None of them paid him any mind. Not a single guilty or treacherous glance met his. Again, anyone else might experience relief in finding no immediate reason to believe a conspiracy was afoot, but Jack did not believe the world was so simple, and he assumed the culprits were not on deck or they were hiding their guilt well. In order to stay ahead of his imaginary enemies, he began to take precautions against anything that might go awry. Fear of mutiny led to fear of his prisoners’ escaping.
Jack was not stupid. He knew if his captives—especially the sorceress carrying a child—were to escape, he would not be able to recapture them without heavy losses to his crew and serious damage to his ship. The first order of business that day then was to secure the brig, which, until that time, Jack hadn’t seen any reason to secure any further. The ship was so far out to sea that if Thomas Crowe’s cronies were to break free, they had nowhere to go. In addition, to his knowledge, they were not attempting or planning to escape. For these reasons the guards Jack posted in the brig were confused when their captain ordered them to stay outside the brig nigh
t and day to watch the prisoners. In case that precaution weren’t enough, more guards were posted along the corridor all the way to the bottom steps of the stairs. These guards were not allowed to work in shifts, other than trading places with one another in the corridor. This was Jack’s way of keeping people where he could find them. The entire ship’s routine was reorganized in this way, such that no untrustworthy backstabber could hide among the droves by moving around the ship and performing different duties at different times of the day.
Jack did not forget Morgan just because he was now a Blood Moon. Morgan was not allowed to go onto the gun decks or below them at any time. To keep him from causing trouble, Jack had Morgan clean every inch of the decks on which he was allowed, all day every day. He did not want Morgan to have a moment to think too much. For good measure, Jack then turned over everything and everyone onboard the ship. Every werewolf, every room, even the prisoners were brought out of their cells to be searched for anything suggesting treason, especially the missing lock. Luckily by the time the Blood Moons came into the brig to harass the prisoners, Molly had been wise enough to destroy any trace of the lock. She couldn’t just jam it down a crack or hole in the floor as she could the orange peels, tomato stems and hard fruit cores or inedible vegetable waste. She had thought about tossing it in the latrine in her cell because she could hear water running through it but decided against it because she had a feeling it would be too heavy and would stay in the ship. It was a good thing she had simply disintegrated it slowly and quietly with magic, because Jack came prepared to tear up the floors and the walls if he had to.
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