Vampirates 3: Blood Captain (19 page)

32

THE PASSAGE TO INDIA

Connor watched with some sadness as the familiar skull and bones flag was lowered from the mast of
The Diablo
. The mast looked naked without it.

“It’s only temporary,” Cate said, as Gonzalez folded the flag away and sent a different one up the ropes. “It’s all part of our disguise, Connor. We can’t allow the Emperor or any of his team to think, for one moment, that this is a pirate ship. They’re doing the same over on
The Typhon
right now. There’ll be a few other changes too — cosmetic of course, nothing that will impede our usual operations. And the captains will be barred from the operation. Their faces are too well-known!”

Connor looked up again as Bart, high in the crow’s nest, lifted the new flag into position. It was deep blue with a white logo on it — a pair of outstretched hands carrying a ship. Beneath the picture were three letters — O.R.C.

“Do you like it?” Cate asked.

“What is it?”

“It’s supposed to suggest security and safety. It’s the logo of the Oceanic Removal Company.” She turned to Connor once more. “Us!”

She gave Bart the thumbs-up. “Good work, Bart. Now hurry on down and we’ll begin our combat training session.”

In the buildup to the raid, Cate had increased the level of combat training onboard. There were daily practices. Such was Cate’s reputation that Barbarro and Trofie had sent their crew members over to
The Diablo
for the duration.

“It’s important that, for the purposes of this attack, our two crews are one,” Barbarro had said, when they’d announced the news.

So now there were, temporarily, twenty-five extra crew members on
The Diablo
. They trained together, ate together in the same mess hall, and bunked down in the same dormitories. Mostly, they were good guys, thought Connor as he arrived on deck, ready for the day’s combat session.

“Hey, Tempest! How’s it goin’?” Two of his new mates high-fived him as he joined them to begin the warm-up.

Bart arrived just ahead of Cate. It was good, in the midst of all the current changes, to have his best buddy at his side.

“Okay,” Cate announced. “Let’s begin with a physical warm-up. Keep your weapons on you and we’ll do three circuits of the deck.”

Connor heard someone laugh behind him. “I mean, really,” he heard a dark murmur. “Could she be any more like a gym teacher?”

Connor glanced over his shoulder and saw Moonshine Wrathe sniggering away with one of his flunkies. He gave Connor a malicious glance before turning and setting off on Cate’s warm-up jog. Connor ran off alongside Bart.

“I gather little Moonshine is in top form again today,” Bart said as they ran.

“Oh, yeah,” Connor agreed. “Remind me, exactly how did he make the attack squad?”

Bart laughed. “I don’t think there was ever much doubt that he’d be given the nod. But did I tell ya what I overheard Barbarro tell Molucco?”

“No.” Connor shook his head.

“Just that he wished Moonshine was a bit more like you — that he needed toughening up if he was ever going to be a
real
pirate.”

“Wow!” Connor said, flattered and a little surprised that Barbarro Wrathe had made such a comparison.

“Of course,” said Bart as they pounded across the foredeck, “I’m sure Trofie Wrathe has very different reasons for putting mummy’s little darling in the squad. No doubt she sees it as his rightful place as heir to the kingdom.”

“Yeah,” Connor agreed. “It’s just a shame that he isn’t a bit more reliable with his sword.”

Bart nodded. “You’re not wrong there, Tempest. Vicious? Yes! Reliable? No!”

“Okay, everyone, great stuff!” Cate said as the last of the crew made it back to the central portion of the deck. “Now, let’s break into our pairs and work on some attack sequences.”

This was the point in the day that Connor dreaded. Because, of course, they had paired him up with Moonshine. “But why?” Connor had pleaded with Cate after the first grueling workout. “Just because we’re the youngest? I’m taller than him, and way more experienced.”

“I know, Connor,” Cate had said. “But my hands are tied. The request, or should I say
command,
came from on high. Very specific instructions from Barbarro Wrathe that you and Moonshine should be paired up together.”

As Connor had walked off, shaking his head, Cate had called after him. “You should be flattered by this. Evidently Captain Wrathe thinks his son has something to learn from you.”

That was all well and good, but the reality of his day-to-day sparring with Moonshine was that the pirate prince wasn’t open to learning anything from anyone. Instead he was intent on doing it all in his own unique and unpredictable fashion.

“Right,” Cate said, clapping her hands. “Let’s pick up from the maneuver we began working on yesterday. I hope you’ve all put in some extra practice hours between duty shifts!”

Connor and Bart had worked on the maneuver together long into the early hours. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bart and his partner from
The Typhon
execute a step-perfect sequence of attack and defence plays.

“A-hem! A-hem!” he heard Moonshine’s plaintive cry. “Any chance you could peel your eyes off your beloved Bart for just a moment so that we can get down to this?”

Connor turned to him. “Ready when you are!”

Moonshine lunged at Connor with his sword and Connor effortlessly positioned his blade to repel the attack. They managed a few basic parries but it was soon clear that, as usual, Moonshine was hopelessly out of his depth.

“You haven’t practiced this at all, have you?” Connor said as they tried to begin the sequence for the fourth time.

“I
would
have,” Moonshine said. “Naval Scout’s honor and all that. But, the thing is, I had a really busy evening.”

Connor could imagine. Moonshine, alone of the guest crew, was allowed to return home to
The Typhon
at night. Clearly the thought of sharing a cabin was a step too far for the pirate prince. So instead . . . a nice five-course dinner with Mater and Pater, then off to his dungeon to play Pirate Pinball and have quality time with his beloved pet rats.

“Besides,” Moonshine said now. “It’s
weeks
until the raid! There’s plenty of time to practice.”

But as the days and weeks went past, Moonshine’s swordplay showed little sign of improvement. Some days, he was all right. But on other days, it was as if he were starting from the beginning again. There was no denying, when it came to vicious instinct, that he was right at the front of the line. Connor had the scrapes and scars of varying vintages to prove
that
. But in a complex team attack, vicious could only carry you so far. Connor knew from his experiences with his mates on
The Diablo
that working as a team was vital to success in the heat of battle when the deck was crowded. You could certainly improvise to a degree but you had to keep rigorously focused on your own piece of the jigsaw, otherwise — with fifty men and women on your team — it was all too easy to descend into utter chaos.

He voiced his ongoing fears one night during dinner to Bart.

“He’s a loose cannon,” Connor said. “There’s just no telling what he’ll do next.”

“I know, buddy,” said Bart. “I hear you. But when we’re actually engaged in the raid, it won’t matter. If the operation goes to plan, we won’t have to draw our swords at all. It’s more of a hustle than a rumble, when you think about it. We’ll only have to draw our swords if our cover is blown. And so much time and effort has gone into planning this, that I really can’t see that happening.”

Connor shook his head. “I know all that. But what does Cate always say?
Expect the unexpected!
I’m not just worried about Moonshine. I’m losing the edge on my own technique because I’m not getting any decent practice with him.”

“Is that your way of saying you’d like an extra sparring session with yours truly later?”

Connor nodded. “That would be great! If you don’t mind.”

Bart shook his head. “Just get me another beer and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Connor frowned. “You really shouldn’t drink and draw,” he said, thinking of Cate’s rules.

Bart laughed. “I’m way under the limit, buddy. Just need a little tonsillary lubrication and I’ll be fine!”

Later, they spent another forty-five minutes up on deck, sparring as the sun set around them — a raging fire of orange and red. It ended with Connor throwing himself from the mast into Bart’s general direction. In an attack situation, he would have winded Bart, but he signaled his intent so that his friend could dive away. As they both dusted themselves down, Bart slapped Connor on the back.

“You have zero to worry about!” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with
your
technique. Nothing wrong at all.”

With just a few days to go until the raid, the biggest challenge became seamanship. As the twin galleons plowed across the waters toward the Sunset Fort, they encountered the roughest sailing conditions Connor had ever experienced on
The Diablo
. Combat training had to be set aside as all crew members worked together to navigate through the turbulent waters.

Belowdecks, there was a lot of throwing up and dark murmurings about whether they’d actually reach their destination before the ocean just swallowed them up.

Cate called Connor to her cabin. He found her sitting at her desk, calmly drinking a glass of milk and nibbling a cheese sandwich.

“Aren’t you feeling just the least bit queasy?” he inquired.

Cate shook her head. “I never get seasick,” she said. “I’m lucky that way.”

As she spoke, they heard a chorus of moans on the other side of the cabin wall, indicating that others were not so lucky.

“So,” Cate said. “How are you feeling about the attack? Ready to rock?”

Connor nodded. He and Bart had managed a few further bouts before the seas became too unruly. His confidence in his own abilities had returned. Now he was pumped with adrenaline and keen to get on with things. He told Cate so.

“Great stuff,” she said, tapping the grid she had laid out in front of her. “I’m just allocating the final pairings now,” she said, pen in hand. “And I’ve decided to pair you up with Moonshine Wrathe.”

Connor immediately groaned.

“I know it isn’t what you’d choose, but you must have seen this coming. You’ve been partnered with him all these weeks. In his way, he’s comfortable with you. And you, better than any of us, know his strengths and his weaknesses. You can protect him if push comes to shove.”

“
Protect
him?” Connor said. “I thought this was a raid for profit. Isn’t that the goal we should all be working toward? Not protecting the weaklings!”

Cate shook her head. “Connor, I’m going to level with you. You’re a highly valued colleague — and a good friend. Yes, of course, the overall aim of our operation is to get in and out of the fort as cleanly as possible, and return with as much of the Emperor’s treasure as we can. But make no mistake about this, your role is to ensure that, if we move into a combat scenario, nothing happens to Moonshine.”

Connor shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“Because I’d have had you on my case day in, day out, imploring me to rethink,” Cate said. “But surely you must have guessed. Why else would I pair one of my strongest swordsmen with my weakest?”

Connor frowned. “So all that guff about Barbarro expressly asking for me . . .”

“Not guff — charming expression, by the way. Not guff at all. He did say that. I don’t think he’s under any illusions about his son’s martial abilities. I can’t quite say the same for Trofie. Who knows what goes on in her head?”

“Let me get this straight,” Connor said. “You’re telling me that my prime role in this attack is to look after Moonshine?”

Cate shook her head. “Not your
prime
role, Connor. Your
only
role. You can let the others take care of the main business. Just bring Moonshine Wrathe back to this ship alive and in one piece. Or it will play very badly for all of us.” With that, she picked up her sandwich and took another bite.

“Now,” she said, chomping down a mouthful of gorgonzola and seaweed, “if you don’t have any further questions, I’d better get on with finalizing this strategy document. I have to have it ratified by both captains tonight.”

Connor shook his head. As he walked out of her cabin, her words kept swimming around his head.
Just bring Moonshine Wrathe back to this ship alive and in one piece.
He couldn’t believe the injustice of this mission.

As he began descending the stairs to the mess room, who should he bump into but Moonshine himself? He looked even paler than usual — a ghostly white tinged with just a hint of pale lime.

“Are you all right?” Connor asked. As he spoke, the ship lurched dramatically to one side. Moonshine slipped on the stairs, his arms flailing.

Connor reached out and grabbed him firmly by the arm. “It’s okay,” Connor said. “I’ve got you.”

Moonshine looked at Connor strangely then opened his mouth as if to speak. He seemed to think better of it and closed his mouth again. Then, he opened it once more and threw up all over Connor.

Connor stood there, frozen in disbelief, as the semi-masticated remains of Moonshine’s dinner — curry, if he wasn’t mistaken — slowly dripped down his head and chest.

“I’m sorry,” Moonshine mumbled, and for once, he did seem to mean it. Then he lurched forward again and a fresh spray of vomit hit Connor square across the face.

33

THE BERRY PICKERS

The door to Olivier’s rooms was ajar. As Grace stepped inside, he looked up and smiled. “I got your message,” she said. “What’s this urgent business? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Grace,” he said. “I just had this idea. I have to go on an errand and I thought you might like to come.”

Grace shook her head and sighed lightly. “An errand?
That
was the urgent business you interrupted my precious sleep for?”

Apparently oblivious to the note of sarcasm in her voice, Olivier pointed to the pile of panniers on the counter. “We’re going berry picking! Now grab a basket in each hand and follow me! Oh, you might want to take one of those jackets too. It can get very cold out there.”

After ferreting around in one of the storerooms on the edge of the external courtyard, Olivier emerged with a small pushcart. “You can put the baskets on this,” he said. “They’re light enough now, but once we’re done, you’ll be very glad of it!”

“Exactly how
many
berries are we planning on picking?” Grace asked.

“Quite a lot!” Olivier said, as they waited for the heavy gates of Sanctuary to be opened for them.

“Do you go out every day?” Grace asked.

He nodded. “I have to. The vampires get through a lot of our berry tea. But you know what? It’s no hardship. I’m still mortal, after all. Just as you are. As much as we might accustom ourselves to the darkness, we still have need of occasional forays into the light.”

Grace noticed that the early afternoon sun was high and the mountainside was bright and pretty warm, though there were still clumps of snow on the grass. It was lovely to be out in the air and to see the countryside surrounding Sanctuary in the light of day. The mountain looked so different from how she remembered it from the arduous climb that had brought her here. She tried to work out the route they had taken.

“Come on, slowcoach!” Olivier chided her. “If you’re running out of puff already, you won’t be much use to me at all.”

Grace shook her head and ran over to catch him up. “I’m not out of puff,” she said. “I was just trying to work out the route we took to get up here from the shore.”

Olivier laughed. “I really wouldn’t give that too much thought.”

“Why not?” she said, not liking the edge in her voice.

“It’s a very changable mountain,” he said. “It never looks quite the same from one day to the next.”

“How can that be?” Grace said.

“It just is,” Olivier said. “Everyone finds their own way up here. For some, the journey is intensely grueling. For others, it’s a simple hike.”

Grace pondered these words as they continued along the snaking path, Olivier trundling the pushcart loaded with their panniers. They were approaching an area closed in by dense bushes. When they reached it, Olivier brought the cart to a standstill. “This is our first stop,” he said.

Grace could see that the dark, green black bushes were heavy with fruit.

“Now,” said Olivier. “There are seven panniers. One for each kind of berry. It’s very important that we don’t mix them up.”

Grace nodded. “I understand,” she said. “But how do I make sure?”

Olivier lifted the lid of the first pannier. Attached to the inside of the basket was a detailed picture of one of the berry plants. It looked like something you’d see in a naturalist’s book. It was a beautifully detailed and precise pen and ink illustration.

“Did you do this?” she asked.

He nodded. “I thought it might make it easier for you.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You’re very talented. I had no idea.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes Sanctuary is a lonely place for us in-betweens. When I can’t sleep or when time just weighs heavily on me, I like to draw.”

He began opening up the other panniers. She could see that he’d attached an equally detailed drawing to each of them.

Olivier sighed but smiled. “Come on,” he said. “Stop admiring my doodles and let’s get these berries picked. Otherwise we’ll be here until sundown.”

In any event, they
were
on the mountainside until sundown. Not because of Grace’s slowness but because they were having such an agreeable time. Grace didn’t find Olivier the easiest of people to talk to, which puzzled her when — as
in-betweens
— they seemed to have so much in common. But as the sun warmed their backs, he gently thawed and they chatted away agreeably about Sanctuary, about Mosh Zu and
The Nocturne
, and about drawing, all the time moving from one bush to the next, trundling the cart along and filling the panniers.

“Let’s just fill this last basket and then we’ll head back,” Olivier said at last.

“All right,” Grace said, nodding. She was tired and a little hungry but nevertheless it had been lovely to spend the afternoon out on the mountain, and she was sad in a way to have to head back.

“Don’t look so down in the mouth,” he said. “You’ve been a real help to me. You can come and help with the berry-picking whenever you like.”

It was a cheering thought and, smiling, she set about the final batch of picking. As she did so, Olivier brushed past her. “There’s someone on the mountain,” he said, his voice suddenly businesslike once more.

“Where?” She stood up but couldn’t see anyone.

“He was over there,” Olivier said, pointing, “but he’s hidden behind that cluster of trees now. I’ll go and have a word with him. We’re not expecting anyone new tonight.”

“I’ll come with you,” Grace said, setting down the basket.

“No, no, you finish up here. It won’t take a moment.” He began walking away.

“I thought you said you let people find their own way up the mountain?” she called after him. “I don’t understand!”

“You don’t need to understand,” Olivier said, a little sharply. “Just finish packing the basket!” He strode off across the path.

The view down the mountain always intrigues him. Each time he comes here, it summons so many memories. Memories that take him back, all the way back, to the beginning of his story. But the mountains of his beginnings were not cloaked in grass and heather or dusted with snow. The Taurus Mountains were parched by the sun — so high, with a climate so extreme, that nothing good could survive there.

Cilicia Tracheia
— “Craggy Cilicia” — they called it. He remembers taking his first, wobbly steps to the very edge of his father’s lands — his steely ambition constrained only by the limited capability of his two-year-old limbs. Even then, he was more ambitious than anyone had a right to be. Some things never change. Still, he managed to get there — half-walking, half-crawling to the cliff edge — hands caked in the red dust of the dead earth. Even now, he remembers that first glance down the cliff, to the turquoise ocean far below. He was drawn to the water instinctively, like a jackdaw glimpsing a glittering jewel. He remembers reaching out with pudgy arms, almost falling but caught — just in the nick of time — by his father’s strong, encircling hands.

One memory triggers the next. No longer a boy now, but six feet tall and then some, in the first flush of early manhood. Standing firmly, determinedly, on the same rocky edge. Now he knows something of the cruelty of the world. Knows that if he stays, the harshness of this land will wring every last drop of life from him and drive him to join his mother and father in their dry, hot graves. Now, as he looks down to the shimmering sea below, it seems to him like a much-needed drink of water. He is parched from this desiccated land. He has a desperate thirst . . .

“Hello! Hello!”

He turns. Someone is scurrying down the slope toward him, waving. He recognizes the figure and grins to himself. The first time he saw him, he mistook him for a young woman on account of his robes. Now, he knows the man’s face. And his name.

“Good evening,” Olivier says, extending his hand. “It’s good to see you again!”

Sidorio shakes the hand but says nothing in return.

“How are you this night? Have you thought any more about my proposal?”

“Remind me,” Sidorio says. They have played this game before.

Olivier smiles and glances up at the peak. “Why, for you to come to Sanctuary, of course. We could do so much for you there.”

“So you say.” Sidorio shakes his head. “So you
keep
saying.”

Olivier pauses. “I want to help you,” he says. “And I think you want to be helped.” He pauses, more daring than usual. “Else why would you climb this mountain each night?”

Sidorio grins, his twin gold teeth exposed in the moonlight for a moment. “Maybe I just like the view from here.”

“The view’s even better up there.” Olivier points. “It gets better the higher you climb.”

Sidorio shrugs. “This view’s good enough.”

“Come on,” Olivier urges. “What have you got to lose?”

“Nothing to lose, nothing to win,” Sidorio says.

“I hear you, friend. But why not follow me? You’re halfway up the mountain already.”

Sidorio smiles, but his eyes are dead. “Am I halfway up, or halfway down?”

Olivier returns the smile. Are they destined to play this game every night? He glances over his shoulder. Then Sidorio sees that tonight he is not alone. A little farther up the mountain, the man’s companion is busy packing up baskets. Sidorio sees it is a girl. Not just any girl.
That
girl! How is it that they seem to cross paths wherever he goes?

“Grace!” Olivier calls over his shoulder.
Grace!
That was her name. The girl who has no fear of him. The one who only asks him questions. Sidorio turns away. It will be better if she doesn’t see him.

“Take the cart and start walking back!” Olivier calls to her. “I’ll follow you shortly.”

“All right!” she answers. There is no question now. It is her voice.

After she has gone, Sidorio asks. “Who is that girl?”

“Her?” Olivier says. “Her name is Grace. Why do you ask?”

“What is she doing here?”

“She’s like me,” Olivier says. “An assistant to Mosh Zu Kamal, the great Vampirate guru.”

“Really?” Sidorio’s eyes widen. “She’s young for such a job.”

“Yes,” Olivier says, unable to remove a certain bitterness from his voice. “Yes, she’s young. But she has a talent for healing.” He pauses. “So my master says.”

“You disagree?” Sidorio looks deep into Olivier’s eyes.

Olivier gazes back, suddenly needing to articulate his feelings and sensing this is someone he can trust. “Have you ever felt like you were being replaced?” he asks.

Sidorio nods. “Go on,” he says. “Tell me.”

And Olivier tells him. It feels good to let these words out — like lancing a boil. There is no one he can confide in at Sanctuary, no one to tell dark thoughts like these. But here, on the mountainside, he is free to speak his mind. The stranger — for, in truth, this man is no more than a stranger to him — is a good listener. He might even be a healer of some kind. He seems able to draw out the darkness from deep within you. When Olivier finishes, the stranger nods and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“If I were you,” says Sidorio. “I’d do something about this.”

“You would?” Olivier says. A flicker of something — instinct? — tells him that this is wrong. But once more, he looks into the stranger’s eyes and that fragile instinct disappears. Replaced by a deep hunger for the stranger’s advice.

“You
must
do something about this,” Sidorio says. “Before it gets out of control.”

He’s right. Olivier nods. Of course, he’s absolutely right. “What do you suggest?” Once more, he eagerly searches the man’s face.

Sidorio appears to ponder the matter. “Give me time to think,” he says. “Meet me here tomorrow night. We’ll talk some more.”

Olivier is bereft. Must he wait until tomorrow?

Sidorio begins walking off into the darkness.

“Wait!” Olivier calls. “What’s your name? I don’t know your name.”

Sidorio turns, gazing back at him. “Until tomorrow, my friend.”

Olivier is left hungry by these words, both spoken and unspoken. “Just one more thing before you go . . .” he calls.

Sidorio stops in his tracks once more, an eyebrow raised in expectation.

“It’s just that I hope you’ll consider my proposition,” Olivier says. “That one night you will come to Sanctuary.”

“Oh yes,” Sidorio says, reassuringly. “One night, I shall. And that night is drawing ever closer.”

Olivier smiles at this. At last, a breakthrough! After all their meetings on the mountainside. He feels better than he has in a long time, as he strides back up the path to catch up with Grace.

Olivier has withdrawn into himself again, thought Grace, as they made their way back to Sanctuary. He had grown affable out on the mountainside, as if mellowed by the sunshine. But now, as they approached the gates, he was closing down again. No, she thought. No, it had started when he’d seen the stranger.

“Who was he?” she asked.

“Just a traveler,” Olivier said.

“A vampire?” Grace asked. “Someone seeking help? Why didn’t you bring him along with us?”

“You ask too many questions,” said Olivier, frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“What I say. I’ve tried to be patient about this, I really have. But you know what? If you’re so gifted that you’re going to be Mosh Zu’s first assistant, then you’re going to have to work some of this out for yourself!”

“His first assistant?” Grace was dumbfounded. “What do you mean?
You’re
his first assistant.”

“For now,” Olivier said. “But that will change soon.
You
must be blind if you can’t see it. Mosh Zu is training you to take over from me. Or rather, he’s having
me
train you. And once I’ve done my job, I’ll go back to being a regular assistant and you’ll take my place.”

“No,” Grace said. “No, that’s not fair. It’s not what I want.”

Olivier gave a hollow laugh. “It hardly matters whether it’s fair or what you or I think about it,” he said. “It boils down to this. You have been chosen.”

They had reached the gates. Olivier gave the signal for them to be opened. Grace walked on ahead, dumbstruck by what he’d told her.