“I joined the Blood Moons so I would have the power to protect you,” he tried again.
“You made a deal with the devil so you could walk in Thomas’s shoes, not so you could do anything noble,” Molly hissed. “I hope you enjoy your marvelous new powers, Morgan.”
Molly turned to go back to her cell to await whatever the evening held for her. She knew she might be in worse hands with the Bureau, but she would not enjoy her freedom at the cost of her friends’ lives. As she left, her thoughts troubled her. Was her decision the best one? What about the baby? She could have led Morgan on long enough to jump ship and abandon him. No one would know where she was then. But could she get by in this part of the world? She knew none of the languages spoken for thousands of miles in all directions. Then there was another problem: what if ditching Morgan turned out to be more difficult than she thought? She did not want to be alone with him. Standing invisible among the crew, she shut her eyes and considered all her options. Then, taking a deep breath, she made her decision, transporting herself below deck and back into her cell in the brig.
“Molly?” called Morgan quietly, unsure if she had left and unable to see her. “Do not go with them! I’m sorry! Molly?” He received no answer. “I’ll find you! I will save you, I promise!” He listened through the calm breeze, the flapping of sails and clanking of the rigging, but Molly was not there.
The setting sun bled against the horizon like a broken egg yolk, spilling red and pink fire across the sky as it sank lower and lower. From the coast a dark army of thunderclouds marched out to touch the place where the islands of Bombay met the sea, but only for show. There would be no rain yet. Out past them the heavens began to peek through the thinning sky, which the sun turned purple and violet. Across the waves a small boat carried a heap of chests bearing the weight of what Jack Darcy anticipated would be the treasure of a lifetime—rubies, sapphires, African diamonds, Indian and Arabian gold, Chinese silk … All this and much more he imagined as he walked along the railing on the main deck, dressed in his finest lion-skin war wrappings, grey coat and plumed hat, smoking fresh tobacco in his grackle skull pipe. With a fist propped up on the hilt of Quarter at his hip, he waited patiently as the little treasure boat glided up alongside The Howl. His men turned cranks, moved cranes and hitched the boat to pulleys to hoist the boat high over the water to the main deck.
“Go and ready the prisoners!” ordered Jack, sending his men to collect Molly and the others while he happily inspected the treasure boat. One by one, his men heaved the chests out of the boat and onto the deck of The Howl, scooting them out of the way as more and more were unloaded and piled between the mizzen mast and the quarter deck.
Molly, Geoffrey, Ine, Leon and Chera sat indifferently in their cells, expecting the Blood Moons to come at any time to take them up onto the main deck and hand them over to the Bureau. When the sound of footsteps came from down the hall, everyone looked up and glanced around at one another and then at Molly. She did not offer them a pitiful or apologetic word, only a stoic and unafraid stare.
Up on the main deck, Jack yanked the last of the treasure chests out of the treasure boat and ordered his men to drop it back to the water. Lugging the heavy chest over to the others, he dropped it next to the hefty pile and put his hands on his hips, surveying his bounty with profound pleasure. As his men, hundreds in number, gathered around to gaze at their prize, Jack reached down and unclasped the lid of the chest he’d just set down. Standing up straight he lifted a foot.
“Don’t stare at these beauties too long, boys. You might go blind,” he said smartly, kicking the lid back to take in the glow of his riches. “What is this, now?” he said, chewing on his pipe stem and peering into the chest. It wasn’t gold, and it wasn’t silver. It wasn’t gems or jewels. The chest was full of glass flasks and vials, all filled with oils. A dark revelation dawned on Jack as his men stepped closer to look around him and over his shoulders. “Back, you fools!” cried Jack, turning and shoving his way through the crowd. “It’s trapped!”
A jingle of keys told Molly the Blood Moons had come to deliver them to their worst enemies. Silently, she and her friends stood up and prepared to be taken from their cells. In that moment, a fantastic roar blasted their ears and rocked the ship. Sheets of dust and dirt shook loose from the planks in the ceiling, and some of the boards cracked loudly. The werewolves outside the brig shouted in confusion and ran back down the corridor and up the stairs, leaving Molly and the others behind.
“What is going on out there?” Molly shouted, grasping hold of the bars keeping her in her cell. “The ship must be under attack!” Chera exclaimed, backing into a corner and watching the ceiling and walls.
“It sounds like the deal has not gone as planned!” yelled Leon. “We have to get out of here!”
“Everyone, get away from the bars!” Molly commanded. Pulling her strength from deep within, she held out both arms and brought her hands together as if to embrace the air. A shrill squeal pierced everyone’s ears as the iron bars caging them bent outward into the hallway, turning white with stress until they broke away and fell in a calamitous heap on the floor. Molly redirected the force and pushed on the brig door until it too bowed out and flew from its hinges. The damaged ceiling groaned again, and flurries of wood and debris filled the air. When it cleared, Molly ran for the door, prepared to confront any Blood Moons that might have been waiting. Instead, she came to a halt as she met a man dressed in a white uniform—the uniform worn by the Bureau’s commanding officers.
Perhaps ten years Molly’s senior, he was Indian, having neat dark hair and a groomed mustache. When he saw her, he commanded his soldiers to halt and drew a familiar blade. Molly recognized it as Leon’s. With the other hand the officer reached to his hip and pulled a flask of colorless oil from his red sash and popped the cork out with his thumb. As Molly thrust a hand forward to blast him backward, he threw the flask at her feet, where it shattered and filled the air with a silvery mist.
“Silence!” he yelled in a heavily accented, cracking voice.
Molly shut her eyes and cried out, waving the mist away with her hands and retreating back into the brig. But it was too late. The man had been prepared for her, using whatever concoction that had been in the flask to cast a spell of silence on her. She’d read about such things. It was old magic, used to keep an enemy from using spells or curses of any kind long enough to flee from them or defeat them while they were helpless. The man charged into the brig supported by a small squad of Bureau soldiers. He snatched Molly while she was dazed and held her with one arm, threatening the rest with Leon’s sword as his men restrained them all.
“You!” Leon shouted at the mustached man in charge. “That blade is mine!”
“Quiet, you!” the man shouted back. “You are under arrest by the authority of the Bureau of Immortal Affairs! You will not be harmed if you cooperate!”
“That’s the dirtiest lie I ever heard,” Chera mumbled into her hand.
“Quiet! Come along!” the man shouted. Shoving Molly aside, he walked into the cell that had been hers, stepping over the bars and debris on the floor. He had one of his men take Molly from him and whispered an incantation. Leon’s blade made a sharp chiming noise as the officer wound back and plunged it into the wall with a grunt. Then, like a woodsman he sawed the blade back and forth, carving through the thick hull of the ship and cutting a tall oval from the floor to just over his head and back down again. When he finished, he raised a leg and kicked the wall several times. When it didn’t budge, he sheathed Leon’s sword and took a small vial from his belt, uncorking it and throwing the contents on the wall. “Stand aside!” he ordered his men. The liquid on the wall sizzled and hardened, then exploded violently, blowing out the weak planks in the wall and leaving an opening to the outside air.
“Move the prisoners!” The sound of cannon fire thumped the air outside, and the mustached man seemed aggravated by it. “Move!” He turned his head mechanically and stamped a foot impatiently.
“Who told you the incantation?” Leon demanded as the soldiers in uniform pushed him past the mustached man and through the opening. “That was a family secret!”
“A secret no more. Udbala discovered it easily,” said the man, waving the back of his hand. He motioned for the soldiers to herd the others through the opening and outside, where a small boat bobbed on the waves, waiting for them. One by one, they were moved into the boat, the man in charge waiting until everyone else was in before jumping down. “To shore! Quickly!” he commanded, and the soldiers began to row.
A cataclysmic shower of fire, smoke, sparks and iridescent particles heated the air overhead as the small boat tumbled and lunged in the waves between The Howl and the British fleet as they vehemently exchanged fire over the bay. The navy had surrounded the Blood Moons’ fortress, attempting to pierce its thick hull from all sides. The war howls of Jack’s army screamed loudly over the boom of gunpowder, and the drums on deck resounded like thunder. Hundreds of cannons belched plumes of vibrant smoke from The Howl’s gun deck portholes, filling the air with whirling, scattering and shrieking streaks of color, trailing behind all manner of wicked magical ammunition.
Molly flinched and ducked her head as a flash of blue erupted from several cannons along the stern end of the port side gun deck, the cannonballs popping open in mid-flight and splitting into scores of smaller pieces of iron that ripped open the bow of the Galatea and struck down the masts of The Dartmoor, setting their sails, decks and crew alight with a most striking azure fire. Three navy ships—The Absolution, The Whip of Augeas and The Nightjar—avenged them, sending a volley of shots into the starboard hull of The Howl. The assault struck close to the bow as Molly and the others came around the side of the ship facing shore. Everyone ducked low and shielded their heads and faces from flaming splinters of wood that pelted the little boat. By that time all the soldiers were rowing their hardest, arms flexing and backs straining to push themselves out of harm’s way.
“Row!” yelled the mustached man over the cacophony of light and thunder. “No fear!” He stood and waved Leon’s sword, pointing to shore, dropping back down as a splintered mast came crashing down in front of the small boat’s bow.
“Help!” cried Geoffrey, nearly bouncing overboard as the boat leapt over a large wave and smacked the mast hard. One of the soldiers seized his arm and pulled him off the side but had to make a second grab for him when he spun around to pluck his spectacles from the air as they flew from his face.
The most chilling sound of metal against metal Molly had ever heard whined over the popping of cannon fire, crackling of magic and the roar of wind, water and fire. In the middle of the starboard hull of The Howl, a pair of rolling doors slowly parted, their wheels screaming under the weight that bore down on them. What followed it was a bang, the sound of the doors coming to a stop, and then a sharp creaking of wood under enormous stress. Molly turned her head to look back at the Blood Moons’ great warship, watching as a pair of eagles’ heads, cast in bronze, mouths wide open and eyes angry, emerged from the darkness of the exposed gun deck and loomed out over the water. The Raptors, each as big around as a bundle of tree trunks, aimed their throats straight ahead at Bombay.
“Oh, no. No-no-no!” Molly said in fright, clamping her hands over her ears and watching in awe and dread. As the others heard her, they looked at the bombards and then back at Molly. Quickly they, too, pressed their palms to their ears and winced in anticipation.
A dozen or so cannons and several scores of muskets popped on the decks of the Royal Navy ships gathered around The Howl as a sudden flash of light welled up in the throat of one of the Raptors, and in the next instant a crash of fire lit the bay like lightning as the stern-side bombard launched a projectile bigger and heavier than a full-grown bull into the city beyond the British fleet. When it struck the buildings along the waterfront, it plowed through them like a giant’s foot through a sandcastle, exploding inside the city and throwing earth, stone, windows, roofs and a whirlwind of destructive magical energy in all directions and high into the sky. The battle in the bay became quiet for a brief moment as all cannons along the gun decks of the British ships hushed and every pair of eyes and ears in the fleet turned to watch the smoke rising in Bombay, remnants of magic shrieking and scalding the humid, tropical air.
“And we’ll land!” The mustached man’s voice slowly became audible as the ringing in Molly’s ears faded. “I will go first, and then each of you will escort a prisoner!” As he instructed his men, he kept his eyes on the fighting. The navy ships opened fire on The Howl again with fury anew. The Bureau had outfitted the warships with magic of their own. They fired bright green cannonballs at the Blood Moons that spun and arched through the air, exploding along the main deck and spraying the werewolves with a nasty fluid that burned their skin and dissolved the planking underfoot, leaving the deck looking like Swiss cheese. After this there came a flurry of bright white shots that burst over the main deck and rained silver shrapnel on The Howl’s crew, many of whom fled for cover. As the Blood Moons were forced to defend themselves, a fast navy ship cruised in alongside The Howl and sprayed streams of fire into its hull and its gun deck portholes.
“Look out!” cried the mustached man. One of the navy’s large warships, the Max Raimond, had cut hard across the little shore boat’s path, approaching fast and threatening to crush them under its bow. The rowers leaned into their oars and turned the nose of the shore boat away. Just then, a rumble rose in the throat of the second of the Raptors. A loud crash and a bright flash spewed from its mouth and flew toward Bombay. The fireball arched low over the water like a meteorite, tearing through the Max Raimond and biting off the stern of the Calcutta’s Majesty as it dropped low and sunk itself into the ground close to shore. Like a humongous mole it burrowed down under the shorefront, tunneling under the British consulate building. All eyes watched as the earth bowed up like a soap bubble beneath the consulate building and then burst violently, throwing the foundation up through the roof and slinging fire and rubble across the streets in all directions.
Molly pulled her arms up close to herself as the shore boat bounced and lolled past the sinking Max Raimond. Hot flames licked at her face, and the flailing arms of Bureau sailors clawed at her from the waves, trying desperately to cling to her arms and the boat. The burning ship cracked in half, its bow and stern bowing to one another like dance partners as they slipped beneath the waves. The sails from the Max Raimond fell all around the little shore boat as the mustached man ordered his squad to keep rowing straight through the wreckage instead of trying to go around.
Just as it seemed the navy was running out of ships, another task force came from out of nowhere, sprinting across the water past the little shore boat. Cloaked in shadow, they appeared from the smoke crawling over the water, their sails dark and difficult to see against the thick smoke from the bright fires rising in Bombay behind them. Keeping to the darkness and steering ’round the treacherous wrecks in their paths, The Sentinel IV, the Valiant and the Oberlander maintained their distance and swept around the bow of The Howl. While far from the great warship they lobbed mortar shells at it from outside the range of The Howl’s smaller and more numerous guns.
“Whoa! Whoa!” the mustached man yelled hoarsely over the rumble of mortar fire in the distance. The shore boat was coming up fast on the docks of Bombay. The rowers pushed forward on their oars, and the boat spun slightly to the right as it slowed and bumped rudely against the wooden pillars holding up the dock. “Disembark!” ordered the officer in charge.
Like cargo, Molly and her friends were moved off the shore boat and onto the docks, and then prodded into the streets by the butts of long-barreled, English muskets. The mustached man led them along at a hasty pace, causing Geoffrey to trip over his feet at nearly every street corner. Leon received the most threats, for he did not like being touched at all. Ine, the pacifist of the group, kept quiet even after having her back bruised purple by an overzeal
ous soldier’s musket. Chera walked alongside Molly, the two exchanging stoic looks every now and again.
“Do not dawdle!” barked the soldier escorting Ine, bumping her in the back again. Ine picked up her pace but ignored the soldier, taking care to observe her surroundings, trying to remember the city. She had visited only once before, but she had familiarized herself with it. The mustached man did not realize he was leading her through a gallery of lovely hiding holes.
Molly turned once or twice to glance at Ine and recognized what her comrade was up to. She did not speak to Ine and pretended not to look directly at her. The guards were watching them all carefully. Very good, Ine, Molly thought to herself.
Ahead the mustached man poked his head around a corner and decided to take the group through a tight alleyway, for the street ahead was alight with flames and some untrustworthy magical residues were still hissing and hanging in the air. The belly of a burning mosque suddenly burst and threw fire and stone out into the street. An orange flash lit the windows in its minaret, and a tall tower cracked open near the base and middle, tumbling over like a dying man holding his stomach. Crashing into the adjacent buildings, it rocked the alleyway and caused Molly to shriek as an onion-shaped archway collapsed behind her, trapping a soldier underneath. Ine’s escort tried to help him but could not.
“Leave him! Escort those two prisoners. We do not have far to go,” the mustached man commanded, pointing to both Ine and Molly. With a reluctant nod, Ine’s escort snatched Molly by one arm and gave Ine a bump with his musket, stepping carefully over the fallen archway.
“Enemy approaching!” called one of the soldiers, holding up a hand to hush everyone. The mustached man stuck his head around a corner to look and quickly withdrew it again, pressing himself up against the corner of the alley.
“Be ready to fire,” he said quietly, signaling the men to let go of the prisoners and raise their firearms. Molly made eye contact with the others, letting them know not to try running. It was too dangerous. The streets were full of fires, deadly magic and now, Jack’s werewolves.
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