Vampirates 3: Blood Captain (6 page)

“All right,” he said at last. “That’s all for now.” He removed his hand.

Grace felt shaken to her core. “He’s in terrible pain, isn’t he?” she asked.

“Yes.” Mosh Zu nodded. “I thought this might be the case. You see, the wound around his eyes is only a distraction. The
real
wound lies much deeper. It’s like a thorn embedded deep within.”

Grace felt all her optimism suddenly drain away. “Can you . . . ?” She hardly dared to ask. “Can you work on him? Can you remove the thorn?”

“I can try,” Mosh Zu said. “It won’t be easy, though. It is a delicate operation and one that we cannot rush. We shall not use surgical instruments. We shall use the healing arts. And I would be grateful for your help.”

Grace was surprised but pleased. She had a certain foreboding at the scale of the work that lay ahead of them, but whatever it took to get Lorcan better, it would be worth it.

“We’ve made a start,” Mosh Zu said, more brightly. “That scream was the beginning. I know how it must have sounded to you, but actually that was Lorcan letting go of some of this deep-rooted pain.”

Grace frowned.

“You find that hard to believe, don’t you? But watch, I’m going to wake him now and you’ll see that he is more peaceful.” With that, he touched Lorcan’s head once more and the boy stirred.

“How are you?” Mosh Zu asked him.

Lorcan smiled. “I feel a little better,” he said, as if on cue.

Grace couldn’t believe her ears. Mosh Zu turned and nodded at her.

“I’m very tired all of a sudden,” Lorcan said.

“Yes, of course,” said Mosh Zu. “You need to rest. We do, too. We’ll leave you now, but I’ll have Olivier check in on you from time to time. And there’s a bell beside your bed — if you need anything, simply ring.”

Lorcan nodded. As he did so, Grace stifled a yawn. She couldn’t help it. Suddenly, she too felt incredibly tired.

Mosh Zu grinned. “Do you hear that, Lorcan Furey? Nurse Tempest has grown weary from ministering to you.”

“She’s very kind to me,” Lorcan said.

“Yes.” Mosh Zu nodded. “There is much kindness in Grace. And now I must find rooms for her and her weary traveling companions, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Lorcan said. “I think you should.”

“Sleep well, my friend,” said Mosh Zu. “Welcome to Sanctuary. I hope you will come to know deep peace within these walls.”

Grace reached over and squeezed Lorcan’s hand. “Sleep tight,” she said. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

But as she turned and followed Mosh Zu out of the room, she realized that Lorcan had a whole lot more than bedbugs to worry about.

9

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

As Grace and Mosh Zu stepped into the corridor, Shanti rushed over. Evidently Lorcan’s screams had broken through any sedative spell that might have held her back before.

“What’s going on?” she cried. “Why was he screaming?”

“It’s all right,” Mosh Zu said. “I know it sounded distressing . . .”

“Sounded distressing? It
was
distressing! It was like hearing someone die in there!”

“Nobody died,” said Mosh Zu, “I can assure you of that.”

“Mosh Zu began his healing process,” Grace added.

“What do you know about it?” Shanti lashed out. “I wasn’t talking to you anyway.”

“There’s no cause to speak to Grace in that way,” Mosh Zu said. “I know you’re tired and upset and worried about Lorcan. But you must try to contain this sizable rage you feel. Get some sleep, and if you have any further questions, when we gather again later I shall be pleased to answer them.”

Shanti opened her mouth to speak, but Mosh Zu had already turned from her. “Captain, won’t you come with me? We have much to catch up on,” he said.

The captain nodded. Mosh Zu now turned to Olivier. “If you would please take Shanti and Grace to their quarters?”

“Yes, of course,” Olivier said. He gestured for them to follow him along the corridor.

“Sleep well,” Mosh Zu said. “And Grace, thank you for your help with Lorcan. Please try not to worry too much. His healing has begun.”

Grace nodded and bade Mosh Zu and the captain farewell. She guessed they had a lot to talk about. She watched them walk away along the corridor, wondering at the many mysteries the two men alone were privy to.

“Come on then,” said Olivier. “We’ll go to the donors’ block first.” Grace caught the implication of his words. The sooner he was free of the troublesome Shanti, the better!

They took a turning off the corridor and began climbing back up again, though Grace didn’t think this was a path they had traveled before.

“The donors’ quarters lie at the top of the compound,” Olivier explained to Shanti. “This gives you access to the courtyard and other grounds as you wish. And you’ll find the food provisions plentiful here. Breakfast will be served shortly.”

“Breakfast?” Shanti exclaimed. “I don’t need breakfast! I need my bed.”

“Of course,” Olivier said, with some amusement. “But you will keep the donor hours while you are here. It’s simpler that way.”

As they talked, they entered a corridor, where people were already moving around.

“Good day, Olivier,” said a man as he passed.

“What’s this?” said a less pleasant-looking woman. “Newbies?” She looked Shanti up and down. “Isn’t she a bit old to be starting out?”

Shanti returned the woman’s stare. “Who are you calling a newbie?” she said. “I’ve been traveling on
The Nocturne
for quite some time.”

“As if!” the woman spat back at her. “You wouldn’t look like that if you did. Don’t you remember the lessons? Once you start sharing, you become immortal. Forever young —
preserved
. Look at you. It would be like preserving a dried prune!”

“That’s enough!” Olivier said.

Grace could see that Shanti, though defiant, was upset. She knew that every fresh line on Shanti’s face — and there were several new ones since their journey — was like a stab in her heart. Lost in reflection, she suddenly realized that the trainee donor was now looking
her
up and down.

“Now
that’s
more like it. You look like your blood is nice and fresh,” she announced. She reached out her hand and pinched Grace’s face.

“Ouch!” It was like having a bird peck at your cheek.

“Oh yes,” the woman said, withdrawing her fingers. “You’ll make someone a very nice donor.”

Grace shook her head. “I’m not a donor,” she said.

“No, dear. Of course not.”

Olivier placed a firm hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Grace is telling the truth. She is not a donor, merely a guest. Shanti, however,
is
a donor and she has indeed been traveling on
The Nocturne
. And now that we have clarified these matters, perhaps you might leave us and allow me to take these weary travelers to their rooms.”

In spite of his politeness, his voice was steely. The woman knew she had been outmatched.

“
Bien sur
, Monsieur Olivier,” she said, curtsying before him. “Toodles, ladies! I’ll be seeing you.”

As she sauntered off down the corridor, Olivier opened a door. “Here you are, Shanti. This will be your room.”

It was, as promised, little different from Lorcan’s.

“We’ll leave you,” Olivier said, stepping back into the corridor.

“Wait!” Shanti said. “When shall I see you again? Where is Grace’s room?”

“You’re a donor,” Olivier said. “These are your quarters. You’ll be alerted at mealtimes. Talk to the trainee donors, get to know them. They’re not all like that one!”

Like that one! Even if she
had
been repellent, couldn’t he give her the respect of addressing her by name? Grace found herself angry with Olivier once more.

He seemed blissfully unaware of the fact. “Come,” he said. “I’ll take you to your quarters, Grace.”

As he did so, there was a low wail from the neighboring room.

“What was that?” Shanti asked.

Olivier shrugged. “Some of them find it hard getting used to the idea of giving blood. You know how it is. You’ll be able to help them, I think.”

“No!” Shanti said, her face paler than ever. “Please, Grace, don’t leave me here. Let me come with you.”

“Impossible,” Olivier said.

“No,” Grace said, making a decision. “Shanti, pick up your bag and come with us. You can share my room.”

Olivier shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

But Grace was adamant. “Are we guests or prisoners here?” she asked. “Shanti is my . . . my friend, and I’m inviting her to share my room. If you have any problem with that, I suggest you summon Mosh Zu right now!”

Shanti looked so grateful she seemed about to cry. Olivier smirked.

“If this is your friend,” he said, “I wouldn’t want to be your enemy.”

“No,” Grace said, her voice steely. “No, I don’t think you would. Now please show us to our room.”

Olivier sighed and began walking back along the corridor. “This won’t work,” he said. “She’ll be waking during the day but you will be keeping vampire hours — sleeping by day and rising at sunset. It won’t work!”

“We’ll find a way,” Grace said.

“Thank you, Grace,” Shanti said, tucking her arm in Grace’s.

Talk about an unholy alliance, thought Grace.

They seemed to take the long way back, finding themselves once more walking down the Corridor of Discards and then the Corridor of Ribbons, before turning off to another row of doors.

“Here,” Olivier said, without his usual forced politeness. He pulled open a door.

It was as sparse as the other rooms, with a single bed in its center.

“Don’t you have any with two beds?” Shanti said.

“This isn’t a motel,” Olivier snapped. “I told you this wouldn’t work . . .”

“We’ll make it work,” Grace said quietly. “Thank you, Olivier, for all your trouble.”

“You’re most welcome, Miss Tempest,” he said. “And now I’ll bid you farewell. Enjoy your room . . . and your company!”

He let the door swing shut behind him. They were on their own at last.

“Oh, Grace,” Shanti said. “I can’t thank you enough! I couldn’t sleep in that other block. I just couldn’t . . . Thank you! Thank you!”

“No problem,” Grace said, feeling suddenly tired. Her head was starting to ache as much as her body. She had to sleep.

“Well then,” Shanti said brightly. “I suppose now we just have to decide who’s getting the bed tonight!”

“It’s okay,” Grace said, swiftly seeing how this was going to go. “You take it. I’m so tired, I can crash here.”

“Well,” said Shanti, lounging on the narrow bunk. “If you’re sure, Grace.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Grace took off her shoes and coat. “Perhaps, if I could just borrow one of the pillows,” she said.

Shanti frowned. “I usually sleep with two,” she said, uncertainly. “You could fold up your coat . . .”

Grace gave her a look.

“No, no, of course, here you are.” Shanti passed over a pillow.

“Thanks,” said Grace.

“Oh, and I got you something as a thank-you,” Shanti said.

Grace was puzzled. How had she got her anything in the time it had taken to travel from the donor block to here?

Shanti dipped into her coat pocket and produced two ribbons.

“One for you and one for me,” she said, holding both ribbons up to the light, clearly trying to decide which was the prettiest.

Grace felt a sharp pain in her head. “Where did you get those?” she asked.

“Where do you think?” Shanti said. “In the Corridor of Ribbons! Well, it’s not like they’re doing anyone any good there, flapping about in the breeze. But I thought they’d be just the thing . . .”

Having made her choice, she pulled her hair back in a ponytail and bound the ribbon around it tightly, finishing with a neat bow. “There!” she said. “Perfect!”

Grace shook her head. “I don’t think you should have taken them,” she said.

Shanti looked at her dubiously. “They’re ribbons, Grace. Trust me, I’ve pinched a lot more than ribbons in my time. Bet you didn’t even see me take ’em!” She looked rather proud.

“No, I didn’t,” Grace agreed.

“Well,” Shanti said, offering the other ribbon out on her palm. “Aren’t you going to take yours? You won’t mind me saying so, but your hair
is
a bit of a mess.”

Grace looked at the ribbon. She had a bad feeling about it. Stupid, really. It was only a ribbon. But she remembered how reluctant Olivier had been to explain the ribbons — preferring to leave Mosh Zu to do so. Clearly, they had some significance but all Shanti saw was pretty cloth, like a magpie. Still, she wasn’t going to get any peace unless she accepted the gift.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the ribbon in her hand. Her head was aching so much now. She really needed to sleep. “I’ll just put it here, under my pillow,” she said.

“Suit yourself,” said Shanti, plumping up her pillow.

Grace lay down on the bare floor and settled her tired head on the pillow. So this was Sanctuary — the place they had come so far to reach. It wasn’t what she had expected. Nothing like it. But perhaps tomorrow would be different. She hoped so. She really hoped so.

10

THE LOST BUCCANEER

“Don’t look at him,” Connor said, grabbing Bart’s shoulder. “Don’t look at him and don’t talk to him. It isn’t . . .” He refused to even speak the name. “It isn’t
him
.” He remembered what the Vampirate captain had told him. “It’s just an echo . . .”

However firm his words and tone of voice, Connor could not hold back the torment he felt inside. He could sense the same struggle going on inside Bart as he gripped his friend’s shoulder. He was relieved when, after what seemed like minutes of deadlock, Bart shook off his hold.

“It’s no good,” he said, glancing back at Connor. “He meant too much to me in life for me to shun him now.” Turning away again, he took two steps forward and came to a standstill before Jez.

“Is it you?” Bart asked. “Can it really be you?” He reached out his hand but it froze in midair, as if he couldn’t yet face knowing one way or the other. “I held you in my arms as you died. I watched the life flow out of you. I bore your coffin and threw it into the ocean. After all of these things, how can it really be you?” Tears rolled freely down his face.

Jez stood still, speaking very softly. “It
is
me . . . or what little is left of me.”

Bart shook his head incredulously. “You sound so like him.” Then he looked up at the moon. “This is so hard,” he said. Connor couldn’t be sure which of them he was speaking to.

“Won’t you shake my hand, old buddy?” Jez said.

“Don’t!” Connor implored Bart. “Turn away from him. It’s some kind of trick. He’s dangerous.” He wasn’t sure of his own feelings anymore; he said the words more out of duty than belief.

He watched as Bart reached out his arm to meet Jez’s hand. As their hands clasped, Bart let out a sob. “It
is
you,” he cried. “I don’t know how it can be, but it’s you.” He removed his hand and lifted his forearm to wipe dry his eyes. “I half expected my hand to slide through yours,” he said, dropping his arm again, “as though you were only a ghost.”

Jez shook his head. “Just because you can see me and touch me, it doesn’t mean I’m any more substantial than a ghost.” Now he looked beyond Bart, directly at Connor. “Please, Connor,” he said. “Won’t you come and shake my hand, too? It would mean so much.”

Connor realized he was trembling. “How can I shake your hand,” he said, “when the last time we met, I tried to kill you?” His vision was blurred by tears. Through them, he saw that terrible night once more. He saw the flaming torch in his hand and Jez, standing on the burning deck, screaming for mercy.

“That’s all forgotten,” Jez said now. “Well, no, we shouldn’t forget. But you had good reason to want to destroy me. I’ve done such terrible, terrible things. Why, lately, I’ve often wished to destroy myself.” He hung his head.

Connor couldn’t hold back any longer. He stepped forward and reached out his hand and felt Jez’s touch. His hand was icy cold. For the first time, he allowed himself to look directly into Jez’s face. It was pale and drawn. In life, he had always had a ruddy glow. In death — or whatever limbo this was — his skin had taken on a snow white hue, shaded blue by the moonlight.

Suddenly he felt a shiver. He was holding the flesh of a dead man. His former friend was now a vampire. Grace seemed to have no trouble engaging with vampires, but this was new territory for him. He had so many questions.

“I know this is a shock for you both,” Jez said. “More than a shock. If you knew how many times I’ve been on the verge of approaching you, but then shied away. After everything we went through together, I couldn’t bear the thought of you rejecting me . . .”

“We’re not rejecting you, buddy,” Bart said.

“No,” said Connor. “But what can we do for you? What do you want from us?”

“Mostly I just wanted to see you again,” Jez said. “I’ve been so alone.”

“What about Sidorio?” Connor could not help but ask.

“Sidorio is gone,” Jez said, matter-of-factly. “You did kill
him
. You destroyed all of them but me.”

Connor was surprised. How had Jez survived the fire? How had Jez survived when the mighty Sidorio had perished?

He thought of Sidorio’s boasts . . .

“Fire only makes me stronger.”

But it hadn’t.

“Death cannot take me. Death cannot take back the dead.”

But death
had
taken Sidorio and spared Jez. Connor’s mind was racing. Could it be that the reason Jez had survived was because he was not yet made of the same stuff as the others? Perhaps he was not yet the “echo” the captain had spoken of. Perhaps too many traces of Jez’s humanity still remained. Nevertheless, he had taken part in the brutal murder of Porfirio Wrathe and his crew. In his own words, he had done “terrible things.” And looking at him now, Connor reminded himself that there was much they didn’t know about Jez’s activities.

“What do you want from us?” he asked.

“I told you before,” he said. “I need some company.”

“No,” Connor said. “There’s something more than that. You want something from us.”

Jez smiled. “I remember when you first came to
The Diablo,
” he said. “And we trained you in swords. You were my backup in attack. That was months ago, but it feels like years to me. And now you are changed. You’ve grown in stature. I hardly recognize you.”

Connor frowned. “We’ve all changed,” he said. “Some of us more than others.”

“Well, you’re right,” Jez said. “I
didn’t
just come back to hang out with you. I came to ask you a favor. And it’s a big one.”

“What is it?” Connor asked.

“Anything,” Bart said.

“It’s very simple,” Jez said. “I want you to help me find my way back.” He paused. “And if I can’t, then I want you to kill me. Once and for all.”