The Peregrine cried out as the captain stabbed downwards with his sword, catching Max on the side of the neck. Blood spurted, red and hot, against the wall. The Peregrine felt certain it wasn’t a fatal strike, but because of where it hit, the blood was going to flow fast and free.
Max grunted as the man threw himself off the table, landing hard atop the Peregrine. They fell against the wall, where van der Decken slammed his forehead against Max’s.
“You can’t win in this fight,” van der Decken hissed. “I can’t be harmed like a normal man.”
Max glanced down at the mystic blade he wielded. It had barely hurt the sea captain the first time it had found home, but the Peregrine wondered if the blow would have been more successful if it had found the villain’s heart…
The Peregrine drove the dagger straight into the captain’s chest, piercing the flesh and bone that would have been covering his heart. The blade, once dipped in the blood of Christ, embedded itself deep in the pulsating tissue. Water and a greenish-black fluid oozed from the wound, and van der Decken howled in a manner that he hadn’t since he was a living man.
The captain shoved Max away, one hand clutched over the seeping wound. His features were twisted in an expression of agony, and he gazed at Max through narrowed eyes. “That wasn’t a very nice thing you did,” the pirate hissed. “You hurt me. I didn’t think I
could
be hurt like that anymore…”
The Peregrine held up his blade, which was glowing brighter now. Having come into contact with evil flesh, its powers were renewed. “I can destroy you with this, no matter what you are. It’s not an ordinary weapon.”
Van der Decken studied him for a moment before backing away. “Aye. That I can see. There’s more to you than first meets the eye.”
“Tell me who you work for,” Max said, refusing to be baited into losing his train of questioning. He feinted another attack and was pleased to see that the sea captain flinched in response.
“Why not? I’ve no love for him, and it might be amusing to see him squirm a bit… His name is Fernando Pasarin.”
Max fought to keep the surprise off his face. Evelyn had mentioned Pasarin’s name in conjunction with the speech she wanted them to attend tomorrow. All of a sudden, the seemingly innocent conversation between Evelyn and Pasarin took on new meaning. It was then that he recognized van der Decken’s name, as well, for Evelyn had briefly summarized the findings that Pasarin had shared with her.
“Why would he want me dead?” Max pressed, hoping for more information.
“I don’t have any idea,” van der Decken admitted, moving towards the shattered remains of the door. Max made no move to follow him, for his head was beginning to ache terribly and the loss of blood from his neck wound was making him dizzy. “But,” the sea captain continued, backing up the stairs that led to the outside air, “if I were you, I’d keep watching my back… because you haven’t seen the last of him… or of me.”
Max saw the figure dissipate into thin air, leaving behind only a thin trail of ethereal smoke. The Peregrine quickly moved towards a table and grabbed a cloth, which he pressed against the wound.
“Mr. Davies? You okay?”
Max turned to see Josh, the burly farmhand who worked the fields for him, peering into the Peregrine’s Nest. Normally, he kept details about his vigilante career away from Josh and his housekeeper Nettie, but Max knew they both suspected more than they would ever admit. “I’m okay,” Max said, though he knew how he must have looked, blood pouring from his neck. “Help me upstairs, would you?”
Josh practically carried his employer, effortlessly lifting the smaller man in his massive arms. “What happened down here?” Josh wanted to know, looking around to see if there was any trace of Max’s attackers.
“It was an opening salvo,” Max said under his breath, growing ever more dizzy. “I think somebody just declared war on me.”
CHAPTER V
Pasarin’s Speech
The Next Day - The Douglass House, Downtown Atlanta
Max wore a small bandage on his neck as he moved through the crowd towards a couple of reserved seats for Evelyn and himself. The bandage’s presence attracted a few comments, but Max had been able to laugh them off with several witty comments about his ineptness in doing chores around the house.
At his side, Evelyn clung to his arm. They were both dressed well, though neither was ostentatious enough to flaunt their wealth. Max’s fortune was frequently tapped by his war on crime, but his business holdings retained enough financial power to keep them agreeably affluent.
“I can’t believe you actually brought us to this,” Evelyn whispered, casting a sparkling smile at one of their friends across the room. It was a university professor who sometimes attended parties at their home, but no one that she felt required a personal hello. “The man sent an undead pirate to kill you. That pretty much rules out going to his public appearances in the future, I’d think.”
“He made a point of telling you where he’d be,” Max answered. “I want to know how he reacts to finding out I’m still alive.”
Evelyn pursed her lips, well aware that Max didn’t want her with him at all. Normally, he wasn’t quite so protective, but with her pregnancy, he was worried that she might end up in the middle of a potential firefight. She’d steadfastly ignored his attempts to talk her into staying at home, however, and he’d eventually given up the argument.
They took their seats amid the gathering, which was made up primarily of academics and a few members of the media who were there to gawk at all the talk of ghost ships and buried treasure.
The Douglass House was a late nineteenth-century home that now served as the meeting place for the Giffen League, a conversational group dedicated to topics typically outside the norm: mediums, clairvoyance, and the like. The fact that they were playing host to the event would normally have been enough to turn off any serious academics, but Fernando Pasarin was well known in the field of ship reclamation and so the event had transcended the normal group of League members.
The speech was being held in a large circular room with a high ceiling. The walls were decorated with stately-looking portraits of the group’s members, all of whom were dressed and posed like members of the Victorian upper crust. It was the way they wanted to appear, of course, and was sadly different from the disheveled and irksome expressions they wore in real life—remnants of years of being scoffed at, Max mused.
A podium stood at the end of the room, where Pasarin would be addressing the group. Behind it lay another area, which was hidden behind a dark curtain. Max caught movement behind it and wondered if Pasarin was aware of his presence yet.
He was… and he was not at all pleased.
* * *
Pasarin stood behind the curtain, resting his weight on the walking cane he nearly always carried with him. He had his eyes closed, his lips moving nearly silently. He was not speaking to any of the League members who buzzed about him, their excitement an almost palpable thing. For them, this was a major coup, bringing in more audience members than a year’s worth of normal meetings.
For Pasarin, however, today was a day of annoyances. “You should have told me you’d failed,” he whispered under his breath.
From slightly beyond the mortal veil came van der Decken’s reply, tinged with amusement. “It’s painful not to get what you think is fair, isn’t it?” the pirate teased. “My men and I only sought safe haven from the stormy seas… a place to die like men, with dignity. But we were turned away, again and again.”
“I really don’t give a damn about your problems,” Pasarin said, raising his voice slightly. “You’re long dead, and your crew was cursed not just by chance, but by fate—all of you disturbed a temple belonging to Mother Hydra and Father Dagon, lords of the Deep Ones. For your crimes, you were given a pox that ate you from the inside out, so everyone was right to turn you away. You were all monsters, even before you came down with the plague.”
The sea captain did not reply at first, seething as he was at his master’s words. “And what does that make you, Mr. Pasarin, to be a man who reawakens monsters and sends them to do your bidding? If we are monsters, then what are you?”
Pasarin grunted and opened his eyes, dismissing the man from his thoughts. He knew that this entire affair was a dangerous game and any mistake, no matter how slight, could ruin his life forever. He couldn’t afford to let van der Decken goad him into recklessness.
“Mr. Pasarin? It’s time to begin.”
Pasarin glanced over at Theodore Hadleigh, the League’s current president. He was an aged man, with stooped shoulders and an unkempt white beard.
Pasarin masked his inner turmoil, smiling at his host. “Then let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?”
* * *
Max sat through the speech, nearly forgetting why he was there. Pasarin was a consummate speaker and he managed to enthrall his audience with a variety of tales, mostly focusing on deep-sea excursions that had turned up a fortune in buried treasure. The allure and romance of the sea was evident in every word, and Pasarin made steady eye contact with nearly every member of the audience, making them feel as if he was directing his speech to them personally.
But for Max and Evelyn, there was no direct eye contact. Pasarin’s gaze swept past them each time, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge their presence. Evelyn found the entire experience quite surreal. Just yesterday this man had showed her a massive amount of flirtatious interest, then later that night he had masterminded an attempt to murder her husband… and now here she sat, listening to him give a lecture.
“My life with you is so bizarre,” she murmured.
Max glanced over at her and arched an eyebrow. “What brought that on?”
“This. Everything.” Evelyn shrugged, keeping her voice low so as to not disturb the people around them. “Do you think if we moved away, the craziness would follow us?”
Max thought about it for a moment and then reluctantly nodded. “Yes. I think it would. After I left Boston, things quieted down considerably… I’ve never known if I attract weirdness
to
me or if I was drawn to where it would be anyway.”
Evelyn took her husband’s hand in her own and gave it a squeeze. “If you draw weird things to you, that explains why I fell for you so fast.”
Max laughed gently and looked back at Pasarin, who was wrapping up his talk. “And so, my esteemed ladies and gentlemen, that brings me to why I am here. I have told you of the discovery of
The Lucky Seven
, and my belief that it has inspired the legends of the Flying Dutchman. But what you may not realize is that to fully retrieve the entire vessel—to actually raise it from the depths of the ocean floor—is far too expensive an enterprise even for my company. I need assistance. Financial backing can come in the form of even minor donations, but everything will help. To bring this ship to the surface will allow us to investigate the many claims of the ship’s powers… and further educate us on a terrible tragedy from years past. Are there any questions?”
Evelyn was surprised to see Max’s hand go up immediately. Pasarin called on several others first but eventually was forced to acknowledge Max. “Yes?” he asked, keeping his face bereft of anything but polite interest.
“You mentioned in your speech that you believe the ship might be lodged in the doorway to hell. Assuming you were being honest and not just using hyperbole, why in the world would you want to bring the ship to the surface? Who knows what sort of undead monsters might be shambling around on the decks, corrupted by years of being so close to the infernal realms? I mean, why even old Captain van der Decken might come calling for you, ready to claim your soul for Satan.”
A number of chuckles filled the room and Max smiled in such a way as to imply that he was casting serious doubt on the claims of Pasarin.
For the first time, Pasarin’s façade seemed to crack. With a slight sneer, he leaned over the podium and addressed Max directly. “I’m not afraid of the creatures that slink around in the dark, Mr. Davies, and I suspect neither are you. Mankind never achieves anything without braving a few dangers. If this ship is the one that popped up throughout the centuries, don’t you think that’s worth exploring, regardless of how risky such an investigation might be?”
“I think that a man has to choose his battles carefully, or else he’ll get into a situation he can’t hope to win.”
Pasarin laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, I quite agree. It’s just a shame when I see a man who doesn’t realize that he’s wandered into dangerous waters.”
By now, people in the audience were beginning to wonder if they were missing part of the conversation. Evelyn shifted uncomfortably, wondering if Max knew what he was doing.
Her husband seemed unaffected by the rising furor around him, however. “Do you believe in ghosts, Mr. Pasarin? I mean, do you think that a man could bind one to his will?”
Pasarin’s eyes flashed and he looked away, visibly calming himself. “I think that’s all for today. The League can tell all of you how to contact me if you’d like to make a donation.”
As Pasarin turned to leave, Max rose from his seat, shouting at his back. “Where did we meet each other, Fernando? I can’t place it, but I do know you, don’t I? Isn’t that why you want me dead?”
Evelyn rose and grabbed her husband’s shoulder. “Wow. Very subtle.” She gestured around to several members of the media, who were quickly rushing towards them, pads and pencils in hand. “Don’t think that’s going to make the front page? Local socialite accuses speaker of wanting him dead?”
Max saw Pasarin duck behind the curtain. “Sorry. Lost it a bit there.”
“You really think so?” Evelyn asked sarcastically.
Max took her by the hand and hurried towards the door, pretending not to hear the shouts of the reporters from behind him. He needed to find out all there was to know about this Fernando Pasarin. Max was positive that he knew the man from somewhere, and that the reasons behind Pasarin’s obvious hatred for him would be found in that shared past.
CHAPTER VI
To Raise the Dead
Pasarin returned to his hotel room in a flurry of agitation. Immediately upon entering, he tossed both his coat and his walking stick to the bed and glared at Hendrik van der Decken, who was standing in the center of the room with a sickly grin upon his undead face.