Vampirates 3: Blood Captain (11 page)

19

THE RIBBON

“Are you able to lean your head back for me a touch?” Mosh Zu asked Grace.

She did so and he came forward to inspect her neck. “So Shanti departs, but she leaves her mark, eh?” Stepping back again, he smiled. “I don’t think this wound will be too bad. I’m sure it hurts though. I’ll make you a salve. It should hasten the healing process.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Well,” he said. “You’re very composed. Others might have been a little disturbed to wake up and find someone’s hands around their throat.” As he spoke he busied himself with a pestle and mortar, taking down jars of herbs and oils and adding a little of each to a bowl.

Grace watched him. “Trust me,” she said, “I
was
disturbed. But I know that it wasn’t Shanti’s intention to hurt me.” She paused. “It was the ribbon.”

Mosh Zu nodded. “Yes, Grace. You are right. It was the ribbon. A good observation.” He began grinding the herbs to a paste with the pestle.

“I know you don’t like being asked questions,” Grace said.

Mosh Zu looked up in surprise. “Why do you say that?”

“Olivier,” Grace said. “He told me that there was a rule at Sanctuary not to ask questions.” She smiled. “I think I’m going to struggle with it.”

“Yes.” Mosh Zu smiled, setting down the pestle and looking directly at her. “I see. Yes, I knew something was holding you back. I expected you to charge in here, brimming with questions. I know that’s how I would be myself, on my first day in this intriguing new place.”

Grace nodded. “I am. I mean, yes, I do have questions. But Olivier said that I was to wait for people to open up to me and not to ask . . .”

Mosh Zu nodded. “Well, Grace, here are some things you should know. Firstly, Olivier is a good man. He takes his duties here very seriously. He came to me when he was little older than you and he’s become almost indispensable to me.”

Grace noticed that Mosh Zu had said
almost
. This struck her as strange. There was something behind the word, as if he was giving her some extra information; but she couldn’t quite decipher what it was.

Mosh Zu continued. “Secondly, he is right in saying it is better not to push those who come here too much too fast. They come here because they have their own questions, which
we
can help them to answer. This must be our priority.” He smiled at Grace. “But
you
may ask
me
all the questions you want,” he said. “The rules, if you must call them that, do not apply between us.”

Grace smiled. This was a great relief to hear.

Mosh Zu took a small glass jar and poured the contents of the mortar into it. “Here you are,” he said, handing it to her. “Apply a little of the salve now, and then, if the wound is still raw, a little more before you sleep tonight.”

Grace unscrewed the lid. It was a pungent mixture. She recognized some of the smells.

“Is there rosemary in here?”

Mosh Zu nodded. “Yes. Now, you don’t need very much of it. That’s it. Just a little on each side.”

Grace applied the salve, then wiped her fingers on a cloth Mosh Zu passed to her.

“And now some tea and questions?” he said, smiling and indicating a circle of cushions in one corner of the room.

He poured her a cup of herb tea and another for himself, then sat down cross-legged on the cushions.

Grace watched as he lifted the tea bowl to his lips. She was surprised. When you had been around vampires as long as Grace had, you looked for signs. If Mosh Zu was drinking tea, did this mean he wasn’t a vampire? Was he an in-between like her and Olivier? Could the Vampirate guru — to use the captain’s own word — be an in-between?

“Yes,” Mosh Zu said with a smile. “I see you
are
full of questions. Where shall we begin, I wonder?”

Grace was in no doubt. “Tell me about the ribbons,” she said.

Mosh Zu sipped his tea. “Let’s make this more interesting,” he began.

Grace waited for him to continue.

“Why don’t
you
tell
me
about the ribbons.”

“I don’t know about them,” Grace said.

Mosh Zu took another sip of his tea. “You know more than you think.”

Grace shook her head. “Olivier led us along the Corridor of Ribbons on our way to our room but he didn’t explain about them. He said that you would.”

Mosh Zu set down his teacup. “Let’s consider what we know,” he said. “Shanti took a ribbon from the corridor. Thinking that it was nothing but a pretty strip of cloth, she pulled it down and used it to tie up her hair. She fell asleep wearing it, and the energy contained in the ribbon began acting upon her.” He looked up at Grace. “Did you notice anything strange about Shanti’s behavior before you yourself fell asleep?”

“Yes,” Grace said. “At least, she seemed very restless. She was tossing and turning so much, I almost woke her. I thought she might be having a bad dream . . .”

“And indeed,” Mosh Zu said, “that isn’t far from the truth. Certainly, the ribbon was controlling her thoughts. The dark energy contained within it was seeping into her head, changing her thought patterns.”

Grace was wide-eyed. “You’re telling me that the ribbon itself is evil?”

Mosh Zu shook his head. “Think about the sort of people who come here — vampires. You’ll meet some of them soon enough. The vampires who come here are those who are tormented. Perhaps they have only recently crossed and they are struggling to accept their new existence, what I call the Afterdeath. Then again, they may have crossed long ago but still they are conflicted.” As he sipped his tea again, Grace was hungry to know more.

“What are they conflicted about?” she asked.

“Many things,” Mosh Zu said. “It might be about their hunger — we can work on that — or perhaps they still struggle to leave behind the light and embrace the darkness. Then again, there are those who find the idea of eternal existence to be overwhelming. We can help them work through all these emotions.”

“But how does this link in to the ribbons?” Grace asked.

“When someone arrives at Sanctuary, no matter what afflicts them, we begin treatment in the same way. We work with them on the letting go of all their past hurts. Are you with me so far?”

She nodded.

“The more of their pain they can let go of, the better the chance we have of working successfully with them. And so each of them is given a ribbon. Then we begin working to let go of all their bad experiences — all the pain they endured in life, during death, and afterward. And equally, the pain they have inflicted upon others.”

“So the experiences are transferred into the ribbons?”

“Just so,” said Mosh Zu. “And when the patient is ready to move on to the next stage of treatment, we hang their ribbon in the Corridor of Ribbons. They are released from their past hurts, but the dark energy remains within the ribbon.”

“But isn’t it dangerous to keep the ribbons?”

“Evidently,” Mosh Zu said, tapping his own neck. “But where else should this energy go? It must go somewhere. And as much as I want each of them to free themselves from hurt, I do not want them to forget absolutely the road they have traveled. Sometimes they will need to be reminded. Sometimes we all need to be reminded.”

“So the ribbon Shanti took contained a dark energy.”

Mosh Zu nodded.

“Do you know who the ribbon belonged to? What experiences it contained?”

Mosh Zu nodded again.

“But you’re not going to tell me?”

He smiled. “Why don’t you tell me about the other ribbon?” he said. “The one she gave to you.”

“You know about that?” Grace said.

“Olivier saw it in your hands when he rescued you. He picked it up and brought it to me.”

Yes, Grace realized that in the throes of the attack, she had forgotten about the ribbon. And now, Mosh opened up his own hand and laid it out between them.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said, looking at the piece of cloth. “She gave it to me before we went to bed. I knew she shouldn’t have taken it. She didn’t mean any harm. I was going to make her take them back but events overtook us.”

Mosh Zu shook his head. “I’m not angry with you,” he said. “And not with Shanti either, as a matter of fact. You’re right. She didn’t know what she was doing. But tell me, what happened with your ribbon?”

“Well, it didn’t make me want to kill anyone,” Grace said.

Mosh Zu smiled. “No, it didn’t. Isn’t that interesting?”

“My dreams!” Grace said suddenly. “I had the most vivid dreams. Was that the ribbon? Did I somehow channel some of the experiences in the ribbon?”

“Perhaps,” Mosh Zu said. “Perhaps you should tell me about your dreams?”

She thought back. The boy lying on the ground, looking up at the star-filled sky. The boy with the horse. Whiskey. And the boy was called Johnny . . .

She relayed the fragments of her dream to Mosh Zu. He listened patiently, encouraging her to take her time, to remember each piece as vividly and thoroughly as she could. When she went from Johnny breaking in the bronco at the paddock to him riding the horse at the rodeo, her memory started to fail.

“If you need help,” said Mosh Zu, “take the ribbon once more.”

She looked down at the red ribbon, curled about itself in a wooden bowl between them. It looked so innocuous, but as soon as she picked it up, she felt a sudden energy. Instinctively, she closed her eyes.

“That’s good, Grace. Now, find your place. Find Johnny in the paddock.”

Grace nodded. “I’m there,” she said.

“Now what?”

“It isn’t the rodeo,” she said, puzzled. “He’s riding other horses, breaking them in. He’s in different places, with other people, but it isn’t a big rodeo. And then he begins riding across the country — that’s right . . .”

She opened her eyes again and let go of the ribbon.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “The rodeo was so clear before. I couldn’t have imagined it.”

Mosh Zu shook his head. “You didn’t imagine it. It comes later. It comes after he dies.”

Grace trembled. “After he dies.” Of course.

“So he begins riding across the country. Take it from there.”

Grace continued Johnny’s story. The rest of the dream fell into focus, right to the moment when she was lifted from the snow and felt a rope being fastened around Johnny’s neck.

“And that’s where I got to when I felt Shanti’s hands on me. It was as if the dream and reality came together at that moment.”

“That’s not so strange,” Mosh Zu said. “Your ability to channel Johnny’s story is amazing. Do you feel ready to know how it ends?”

Grace wasn’t sure. As she’d channeled Johnny’s experiences, she hasn’t just been watching them, she had felt his emotions, his hurt — the hurt he had somehow channeled into the ribbon.

“Perhaps you are not quite ready to take this step,” Mosh Zu said. “Perhaps you do not think you are ready. But I think you are.”

She wanted to know. She couldn’t leave the story here. Taking a deep breath, Grace reached forward and took the ribbon into her hand once more. Again, she felt the sudden surge of energy within her.

“The vigilantes’re fastening the noose around my neck,” she said falteringly. “And ’round the necks of my two compadres. And I’m tellin’ them that it’s not fair. I didn’t do nothing wrong. I didn’t know they was rustlers, the pair of ’em. And though they lied to me right up to that moment, now they start tellin’ the vigilantes that I’m tellin’ the truth. I’m no rustler. I had no idea of their villainy. They know they’re gonna die hangin’ from that tree but even so they start beggin’ for me to be spared. But the noose tightens. They lift me up. Now we’re hangin’ side by side, like a line of washing. And then the noose tightens and I’m hanging there looking out at the prairie, at the infinite roll of sky and stars. And I’m thinkin’, So that’s it. Eighteen years old. I traveled all the way from Texas to South Dakota for this. And then everything goes black, no — everything goes blank.”

Grace opened her eyes, feeling the hot tears welling behind them.

“Here, let me take the ribbon,” Mosh Zu said gently.

As he did so, tears began to fall down Grace’s face.

Through them, she saw that Mosh Zu was smiling at her.

“You have such abilities,” he said. “Don’t you see? When Shanti wore her ribbon, all she took from it was its darkness, its violence. But you . . . you read his whole story from your ribbon.”

“But whose story was it?” Grace said.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Mosh Zu said.

20

NIGHT MISSION

“And what exactly
do
you need the safety boat for at this time of night?” asked the pirate in charge of the night watch. Just their luck, thought Connor, that Lieutenant Nosey, aka Jean de Cloux, was on duty.

“It’s a private errand for Captain Wrathe,” said Bart confidently.

“What kind of errand?” De Cloux was immediately suspicious.

“If we told you
that,
it wouldn’t be private, would it?”

“I think I’d better check this out with Captain Wrathe,” de Cloux said.

“Be my guest,” Bart said, as relaxed as ever. “I’m sure the captain would welcome you disrupting his precious sleep to question his orders.”

“Well . . .” De Cloux considered the matter once more. It was common knowledge that Captain Wrathe did not take kindly to being woken up, especially over trifles. “All right,” he said loftily. “I
shall
help you. But I’m going to have to check with Captain Wrathe in the morning.”

“Understood,” said Bart. “Quite understood.
Except,
as this is a private errand, the captain asked specifically that none of us mention it to him again or to any other members of the crew
at any point
.”

Connor smiled at Bart’s audacity, wondering if de Cloux would go for it.

De Cloux seemed to have taken Bart’s words at face value. “He said that?”

“Yes,” said Bart, preparing himself for the coup de grâce. “And he asked us to give you this.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small package, which he dropped into de Cloux’s palm.

De Cloux gave a sniff. “Is this what I think it is?” He prised open the small package. “Chocolate?” he said, in a faraway voice. “I’ve been dreaming of chocolate . . . dark, bitter chocolate . . .” He couldn’t seem to stop himself from breaking off a square. As it melted in his mouth, his expression was one of pure ecstasy.

“He knew that,” Bart said, sealing the deal. “And he asked us to give you this, to thank you for your silence.”

“Captain Wrathe himself asked you to give me the chocolate?”

Bart nodded, very somber. “From his own private supply.” He paused and reached out a hand to de Cloux’s shoulder. “What’s more, he said that if you were able to keep your silence, there
might
be a promotion for you before too long.”

“Promotion?” De Cloux’s eyes bulged in the lantern light. He couldn’t believe his ears. Nor could Connor. This had never been part of the patter they’d prepared. Bart was getting carried away with himself. It was all very well palming people off with contraband candy, but you couldn’t go around promising people promotions.

Connor coughed to get the others’ attention. “We should be going,” he said. “Time’s moving on.”

“Yes.” De Cloux nodded, carefully pocketing the rest of the precious chocolate. “You two get into the boat and I’ll winch you down.” He called over another pirate to help him.

“But where are they going to at this time of night?” the junior pirate protested.

“Don’t be impudent, Gregory!” de Cloux said, bristling with authority. “It’s the captain’s own orders, so just help me out and keep your mouth shut for once.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the chastened Gregory.

Connor was grinning to himself as he climbed into the boat, careful not to step on Jez, who was still hidden under the tarpaulin. Bart passed over two lanterns to Connor, then he climbed in himself as de Cloux started to lower the boat toward the water.

“Remember,” Bart said, as he gave the thumbs-up to de Cloux, “mum’s the word!”

“Mum’s the word,” repeated de Cloux, with an uncharacteristically good-humored wink.

Moments later, the safety boat slapped into the dark waters and Bart released the lines which held the satellite vessel to
The Diablo
and began steering the small craft away into the open ocean.

They had only traveled a few feet when a pale hand pushed back the tarpaulin and Jez’s equally pale face appeared. His pallor still shocked Connor but the laugh was the same old Jez Stukeley laugh.

“Poor de Cloux,” Jez said, between giggles. “He’ll be waiting until Christmas for Captain Wrathe to ask him into his cabin to discuss his prospects.”

Bart grinned. “He’ll be waiting a sight longer than that. Still, it’ll keep his silence.”

“Thanks, boys,” Jez said, sitting up beside them now that they were far enough away from
The Diablo
not to be seen. “Thanks for everything you’re doing for me.”

“All for one,” said Bart, “and one for all.” He grinned at Jez. “Didn’t we always look out for each other? Just because you’re dead, mate, doesn’t mean you stop being one of the Three Buccaneers, eh, Connor?”

Connor shook his head and smiled. “You can’t get away from us that easily!”

Jez beamed back. “And there I was thinking you’d let Brenden Gonzalez take my place.”

“Gonzalez?” Bart asked as he moved the tiller. “What makes you say that?”

Jez shrugged. “I saw you all dancing together, a few nights back, at Ma Kettle’s.”

“You were at Ma’s?” Bart exclaimed, surprised.

“Yes,” Jez continued. “I wanted to talk to you both then, but I didn’t have the guts. I just sat there in one of those curtained booths, sneaking glances at you guys on the dance floor. Gonzalez was with you then.”

They continued on for a minute or more in silence. Then Bart’s face suddenly turned as pale as Jez’s. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You were at Ma’s the night that Jenny Petrel was killed.”

“Jenny Petrel?” Jez repeated, blankly. Evidently, the name meant nothing to him.

“She was one of Ma’s serving girls. You remember Jenny. Pretty as a summer’s day.” He frowned. “They found her in one of the booths above the dance floor. No one heard anything. Little Jenny didn’t scream. No one even heard her cry, over the tango music. But when they found her . . . cuts all over her chest . . . she had bled to death.”

Jez shook his head sadly. “Poor Jenny,” he said.

“So,” Bart went on. “You were in one of the curtained booths where she was killed. You need to drink human blood to live now, right?” He sighed deeply. “Don’t you understand what I’m saying?” Bart looked gutted. “You did it, didn’t you?”

“Me?” Jez reacted as though the suggestion was utterly absurd, let alone repugnant. Then his expression grew normal again as he conceded, “I might have done it.” He paused. “I don’t remember.”

“What do you
mean,
you don’t remember?” Connor asked, appalled.

“How could you
kill
someone and not remember?” said Bart.

“It’s the hunger,” Jez answered matter-of-factly. “When the hunger takes over, you have no choice but to feed it. It drives you, then it numbs you. Afterward, your senses are dull for a time and you need rest.”

Connor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Clearly neither could Bart. Earlier, as they’d set out in the boat, it had seemed just like old times. But however much they might pretend that nothing had changed, that this was just another crazy adventure for the Three Buccaneers, things
were
different now. A line divided him and Bart from Jez. Strangely, it hadn’t mattered so much that he was a dead man, the living dead, a vampire . . . whatever you chose to call it. But now he had confessed to being a wanton murderer, and shown not an iota of remorse, not even a spare thought for his victim.

“I know what you’re both thinking,” Jez said. “I’m not stupid. Don’t you see? I hate this thing I’ve become. I told you that before. I need help. I’ll do whatever it takes. If I did kill that girl — and, yes, I probably did — well, that’s terrible. And it’s terrible that I don’t remember. But you don’t understand what this hunger is like. I’m not in control of my own body anymore — my own thoughts, my own needs. When the hunger comes over me, flows into me, there’s nothing I can do to fight it.”

Connor was somewhat reassured to hear these words. He’s not a monster, he told himself. Not, at least, a monster of his own making — a monster who
chose
to do evil. He managed to smile weakly at Jez. “The Vampirate captain will help you,” Connor said. “He’ll know what to do.”

Bart turned to Connor, suddenly all business. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s finish what we started. How do we find our way to the Vampirate ship?”

“Do you know where it’s anchored?” Jez asked excitedly.

Connor shook his head. “No,” he said. “But I met the captain. And he told me that when I needed to find it, it wouldn’t be hard.”

The captain had told him a lot more besides, thought Connor. Like how to kill Jez — or the thing Jez had become. He had told him to attack with fire. But fire hadn’t killed Jez, only Sidorio and the other Vampirates. How come Jez had been spared that night? Was it some residue of humanity that he alone retained? Not enough humanity to prevent him from killing Jenny Petrel, Connor reflected. They had to get him to the Vampirate ship and seek the help of the captain, before he committed another atrocity.

He looked at his old ally, trying to get the measure of him. Jez stared back. As he did so, the contours of his face suddenly changed. His eyes had disappeared, as if his eyeballs had fallen down into a deep, dark well. Out of this darkness rose twin balls of fire. It was terrifying yet mesmerizing to watch. Then, just as rapidly, the fire was gone again. Jez’s eyelids flickered and he stared back at Connor with his old, familiar eyes.

“What’s the matter, mate?” Jez said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He giggled to himself. But Connor couldn’t join in the joke this time.

“Your eyes disappeared, just for a second.” He turned to Bart. “Did you see it?” Bart nodded, his own face taut with fear. Connor turned back to Jez. “Your eyes disappeared. And in their place was fire.”

“Ah,” said Jez, as matter-of-fact as ever. “That generally means I need blood.”

“You need blood?”
Bart repeated, his voice rising in pitch. “We’re out alone in the middle of a dark ocean with you and you have a sudden fancy for blood! Remind me again, who came up with this brilliant plan?”

Seeing that Bart was bordering on hysteria, Connor took command of the situation. “How soon?” he asked Jez. “How soon do you need blood?”

Jez’s eyes disappeared once more and the fires returned. “Need blood now,” he said. “Need blood now.”