Vampirates: Tide of Terror (23 page)

32

TROUBLED SOUL

“Lorcan. Lorcan, you came. I knew you’d come.”

Once more she was gazing into his blue eyes. His wound had cleared completely, as if the act of saving her had somehow saved him, too. Of course. As if she needed any further sign that their destinies were linked.

“Grace!”

She smiled up at him, ecstatically — losing herself once more in the blue.

“Grace!”

Now her vision was blurred. She was losing him. She had a sudden sense of panic.

“Grace!”

It wasn’t his voice. It was . . .

“Connor!”

Her eyes opened and she found herself looking up into her brother’s eyes. She couldn’t piece it together. It was as if someone had simply pulled Lorcan’s head away to reveal her brother’s beneath. Connor let out a sigh of relief, but there was terrible anger and pain in his green eyes.

“Where’s Lorcan?” she asked.

He shook his head.

Her head was propped on a single pillow. She looked beyond Connor. She was in a bed, indoors. In a vast room, dimly lit and filled with other — empty — beds. What was this place? She had never been here before.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in the infirmary, Grace.”

Connor’s lips hadn’t moved.

Grace turned her head to one side.

A woman’s face gazed down at her. The gaze was more inquisitive than sympathetic.

“I’m Nurse Carmichael,” she said. “I run the infirmary here at the Academy, missy. You’re in
my
care now.”

Grace felt a sudden shiver. Her mission had failed. The Vampirate ship hadn’t come for her. Lorcan hadn’t rescued her. Then who?

A droplet of water fell onto her brow. She looked up. Connor’s hair was wet. So was his face and neck and, as far as she could see, his clothes.

“It’s a miracle you got to her in time,” she heard Nurse Carmichael say. Her accent, ironically, was not so very different from Lorcan’s.

“I saw her from her own window,” Connor explained, his breath short. “The moon came out from the clouds and I saw her standing on the wall. And jumping. I ran to her....I never ran so fast in my life.”

Grace looked up at Connor again. He was crying. He struggled to continue speaking.

“Why did you do it, Grace?”

“To find the Vampirates again.” Wasn’t it obvious?

“By ...by killing yourself?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, of course not —”

Her words were interrupted by Nurse Carmichael. “Your sister’s a very troubled soul, I think.”

Troubled soul?
What was she talking about?

“I found your note,” Connor said.

She glanced up. In his hands, unfolded, was the note she had hastily scribbled. Her words were clear, in spite of the smudging.

Connor,

Please don’t be angry with me.

I had to do this.

You have your journey and I have mine.

We’ll be together again soon.

Until which time, love Grace

“What a terrible note for a brother to find,” said Nurse Carmichael. “What a terrible way to say good-bye.”

What was she going on about? It wasn’t a good-bye note. Well, not
that
kind of good-bye note. They were getting it all wrong. Grace was filled with frustration, not least because, in spite of all the thoughts racing inside her, her ability to speak was severely impaired. As if she was still floating under the surface of the water. She struggled to break through as she heard a burble of speech pass from Connor to Nurse Carmichael and back again.

“Ask Cheng Li.” She managed to push out the words.

“What?” Connor said.

“Ask Cheng Li. She’ll tell you. She knew the plan.” Grace drew in, then out, another breath. “She helped me.”

“What nonsense!” Nurse Carmichael said. “What slander! Mistress Li is sleeping. This is some more of her madness, I’m afraid.”

Madness.
The word snaked through Grace’s head. Once more she saw her father standing at the edge of the wall.

“Sometimes madness is wisdom, Gracie.”

“You best go and get some sleep, young man,” Nurse Carmichael said.

“Shouldn’t I stay with her?” Grace could hear the sorrow in Connor’s voice. How could she reassure him that she was okay? Her plan may have failed, but it wasn’t the plan he thought it was.

“No point in that,” the nurse said. “I’ll put her to sleep in a moment. She’ll be out in an instant. Best thing for her.”

Put
her to sleep? How? Grace lifted her hand to Connor’s, having a sudden premonition.

Too late. The prick of the needle was no deeper than a mosquito bite, but in a second it numbed her and she sank once more into nothingness.

The last thing she heard was the nurse, her accent a wicked distortion of Lorcan’s.

“There. Safe now.”

33

A SIMPLE PLAN

It is a simple plan — to take a ship. It doesn’t matter
which
ship. And, as for
when
, well, sooner is better than later but, if not tonight, then tomorrow or the night after that will suffice. These things are worth considering for a moment or two, given how decisive the events of this night will prove.

To take a ship will mark the beginning of the second phase. There are five of them now, and soon, if Sidorio and Lumar are to be believed, there will be more — many more. They can’t simply rove from bay to bay in a mess of rowing boats, like water gypsies. Of course not! They must have one ship
to begin with
— and a plan for more. It not only makes practical sense — it delivers a clear message. They are a force to be reckoned with!

There will be no more aimless wandering, Stukeley realizes with a tinge of sadness — no sailing into a new cove each night and setting up camp there. Things began to change the moment the three strangers arrived. Sidorio has woken up to a new purpose. Lumar, in particular, seems to have the effect of propelling him forward in thought and action. His presence works some kind of alchemy upon Sidorio — transforming the base metal of his primal, confused notions into clear, resolute steel. At first, Stukeley suspected that Lumar would simply take over control, but he seems content enough for Sidorio to remain as captain. For now, at least. There is something about Lumar which Stukeley doesn’t like or trust.

The plan, such as it is, has led them to watch for ships these past few nights from a deserted lighthouse where they have set up an impromptu base. Like so much else in the dilapidated building, the lamp itself is broken, but Lumar and Olin set about fixing it. Now, the lighthouse is back in business, sending a glow out upon the dark waters of the rock-strewn bay. The watchers in the lamp room have no need of the light to see any ship that passes into the bay. That isn’t the point — the point is to draw a ship to them, to draw it in tight to the rocky shore, a fly caught flailing in their honeyed web.

On the night of the storm, the five of them are gathered in the lamp room. Stukeley hates it up here. There isn’t room for five and the enforced intimacy only makes him more aware that he is the outsider among long-time allies. In such close confines, the heat from the lamp is unbearably intense. The bright ball of light scares him. It reminds him of the sun and he is all too aware what damage the sun can do him now — part instinct, part the lessons Sidorio has drummed into him. Lumar sees his fear and laughs at him.

“Don’t worry, Stukeley,” says Lumar, “we’ll make a vampire of you yet! You see if we don’t!”

And Stukeley keeps silent, but, “I already am one,” he wants to say. “We were doing just fine before you came out of the night. And I’m still lieutenant.” But he says nothing and worries to himself on account of the fact that Sidorio has not called him lieutenant for several days now. They all call him Stukeley now, plain old Stukeley. As if they’ve demoted him without ever bothering to tell him. He needs to do something to remind the captain of his worth. But what?

He doesn’t have to wait long for his answer. The storm brings a ship their way. There have been other ships on other nights but, in the clement weather, they had no need to shelter in the crook of the bay. They sailed on and past, without so much as a wave of thanks up to the lamp room.

This ship, this night, is different. The storm is electric. Stukeley enjoys watching it from this perch. It is as if he is sitting above the weather. As if he is sending down darts of thunder and spears of lightning onto the sorry vessel below.

“Captain, we’re on!”

Lumar swings the lamp across the water. Sidorio and the others quickly move to the windows, locating the ship. It is bravely battling the elements which attack it from all sides.

“All right then, let’s go,” says Lumar.

Sidorio coughs. Only
he
may issue orders.

“That is, we should go, should we not, Captain? This is, is it not, the opportunity we have been waiting for?”

“Yes,” booms Sidorio. “Come one, come all. The ship will be ours.”

He steps outside onto the parapet. Stukeley follows him into the storm, glancing up as a torrent of water comes down over them. Stukeley darts back inside but Sidorio laughs. He stands there, on the low wall, surveying the land and seascape as if he is emperor of it all. Then, with a cry, he leaps off into the darkness, somersaulting through the air.

“The captain is in high spirits,” Lumar says to the others, his eyes bright. “Come Mistral, come Olin, let us join him. Stukeley, you stay here and shine the lamp until we give you the sign.”

When was this decided? This is some ruse of Lumar’s.

The three of them begin their descent while Stukeley stands alone — trapped with the ball of light he has grown to detest. He directs its beam across the ship’s sails, making a game of it. He watches as the ship finds its way out of the worst of the tides into the calmer nook of the bay, right up flush to the rock at the foot of the lighthouse.

Stukeley plays the light over the ship’s sails and up to the crow’s nest. He plays it across the ship’s flag — the skull and bones. A pirate ship, he realizes. Wasn’t he once a pirate himself? Or has he imagined that? He is getting so confused — unable to separate dreams from memories. It is all such a jumble in his head. Sometimes, it is easiest not to think too hard at all — just to do what you are told and exist in the moment.

He swings the lamp back over the ship. Something registers in his memory — like a stone thrown into water, sending out small ripples. But the ripple is enough to make him stop, to force him to think, even if thinking is difficult. There
is
something familiar about this ship.

Below, the captain and his three accomplices are putting out toward the ship in their small ferryboat. He watches as the boat dips into the water. As they let go of the shore, they are quickly propelled toward the ship. Stukeley plays the light direct upon them until, to his amusement, he sees Lumar signaling frantically up at him, his arms crossing back and forth with increasing speed. Stukeley understands what he is saying — he isn’t stupid — but still he waits for a moment before moving the glare of the light away and back onto the ship’s deck.

The deck. He looks down. Pirates, the size of ants, are scurrying back and forth across it, slipping and skidding on the wet surface. Again, a dim memory stirs. It is more of a sensation than a thought — the feeling of his worn boots on a slippery deck. The strain to balance. That is when he knows. He has been on that deck before.

The small ferry has reached the side of the ship and now the four comrades begin their ascent. This will be the most challenging part. Sidorio is more agile than the others. He goes first. Then Olin. Next Mistral, carrying a covered basket. Lumar is the fourth. Stukeley watches as they reach the deck. Watches as one of the pirates stops in his tracks and notices the newcomers. And that is when he sees a familiar face. Fascinated, appalled, he looks down. He feels a coldness spreading through him as if a hole has been torn through his skin. He opens his mouth and cries.

“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooo!”

“Take us to your captain,” Sidorio shouts to the pirate.

“We’ve come from the lighthouse,” Lumar adds, “with information on this stretch of coast, and,” he points to Mistral, “supplies.”

The pirate looks them up and down and calls over one of his fellows. But there is no time to deliberate. There is a lull in the storm but it mightn’t last for long. The pirate beckons them forward.

“Follow me!” he says.

And so they do — Sidorio at the head, closely followed by Lumar, then Mistral, and last of all Olin. They hurry into the narrow passageway inside the ship.

“The captain is in his cabin, with his deputy,” the pirate announces. He hammers on the door.

“Who is it? Enter!” comes the cry from inside.

The door is thrust open.

“Captain Wrathe, here are four visitors from the light-house. They come with information and supplies.”

There is a pause and then the voice booms back.

“Come on in, then. Come in. This is no time to hang back in the shadows.”

“Indeed,” says Lumar, stepping forward. “Captain
Wrathe
, is it? Pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Lumar.”

The four of them proceed into the captain’s cabin. Olin pushes the door shut behind them.

Up high in the lighthouse, Stukeley scans the deck frantically. Where are they? Where have they gone? But his lamp already knows the answer. They have made it inside. Their simple plan is coming together. They cannot be stopped.

But he decides it is worth a try at least. He lets go of the lamp and propels himself down the spiral stairway. He flies — two, three, four steps at a time. It seems like an eternity of stairs. Who knows what mischief will have been done in the time it takes him to descend?

He runs out of the building into the wet night. The waves are making a vicious noise. He sees the ferryboat, empty, bound to the side of the ship. He sees their other small bark tied to the rocks. He could take it out to the ship but, in his heart, he knows it is too late. He can feel it.

Then, as if he needed confirmation, he hears the first scream. It is not long before others follow. Even above the roar of the storm, the screams of men and women are easy to discern and distinguish.

He sees the pirates running back and forth upon the deck. He sees the fallen — those who have failed to escape the touch of the four strangers. He sees the others — who have been luckier, but who now throw themselves from the ship in order to be free. They jump down into the savage waters, which — though not so far from land — are deep and unpredictable. They should save their screams — they cannot afford to waste their breath.

There must have been more than a hundred and fifty crew on the ship. But finally, there are no more screams.

And, as alarming as the sound of their agony was, the absence of it chills him more. The four strangers have brought this ship to silence. Stukeley witnesses it all. He sees the fallen bodies sliding back and forth across the deck, slimy now with blood as well as spume. He sees the other bodies fighting to survive in the surrounding waters. They last out bravely but not for long. Perhaps one or two — a handful at best — will make it to the land. Whether their fear will allow them to survive the night remains to be seen.

At last, he sees a familiar figure step out onto the deck. It is Sidorio. His chest is puffed out. He is smiling.

When the pirates flooded out, they seemed like ants, utterly diminished by the ordeal. In contrast, Sidorio seems like a giant. He strides into the center of the deck, balancing himself expertly — as if he has simply swapped his regular surfboard for this super-sized one.

Without a moment’s pause, he looks up and meets Stukeley’s eyes through the distance and the darkness.

“Lieutenant Stukeley!” he booms. “Come and join us! There is blood for you here. Plenty of blood.” He laughs. “We have our ship! We have our ship!”

His words fly through the air and bring a smile to Stukeley’s face. There, he thinks to himself, his concerns for the pirate crew forgotten. He called me lieutenant. I am still his lieutenant!

“I’m on my way, Captain!” he calls back, already running to join him.

“We have our ship!” Sidorio calls once more.

Stukeley unties the small boat. He cannot get there fast enough.

Above them, the lamp of the lighthouse spins madly around, illuminating the chaos. Their simple plan has been accomplished.