Vampirates 3: Blood Captain (29 page)

48

THE LARIAT

“I’m only saying these things because I care so much about you,” Lorcan said to Grace. “We all do. Mosh Zu, the captain. We only want what’s best for you.”

“And the best thing for me is to never see you again?”

Lorcan nodded. “Yes. I know it’s difficult, but in time you’ll come to see I’m right.”

She was torn between laughing and screaming. Instead, her voice was measured when she spoke again. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll ever thank you for this.”

There was much more she might have said but she remembered Mosh Zu’s warning. As much as Lorcan had hurt her, she didn’t want to cause him a relapse. She realized she’d have to get out of the room. If she stayed a moment longer, if this conversation continued, she’d be sure to mention the rebellion aboard
The Nocturne
or the captain’s collapse.

“I’ll leave you,” Grace said.

He kept hold of her hand. “Don’t go now,” he said. “Don’t run away while you’re upset.”

She removed her hand from his clasp. “I just need some time to myself,” she said. “To think this through.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding a little surprised.

She couldn’t even look at him as she stood up and stumbled toward the door and then out into the corridor.

It was only once she’d closed the door behind her that the tidal wave of emotions really hit her. She could feel the sobs coming but she was determined to be far away from him when they broke through. She began running along the corridor, racing to get back to her room.

Along the way, she passed a few of the vampires. They glanced at her and no doubt noted the state of distress she was in. She could hear hushed voices behind her. She didn’t care what they were saying. She kept on running.

Somewhere along the way, she must have taken a wrong turn because she wasn’t on the corridor leading back to her room. Instead, she’d gone down to a lower level. It was unfamiliar territory, but at least the corridor was deserted. Drained and tired of running, she stopped and collapsed in a heap. The sobs broke through her.

Through her tears, Grace looked along the corridor. She remembered the awe she had felt on entering Sanctuary. This great place of healing. Well, it was true — Lorcan’s eyesight had been returned to him. But now that he was healed, he was pushing her away. She was happy for him that he had his sight back, but utterly devastated that he should now tell her to leave him and
The Nocturne
.

Her whole world seemed to be crumbling. The news from
The Nocturne
was so bad. A fresh rebellion and the most serious so far. What made it even worse was that it had been provoked by Jez Stukeley. In life, he had been such a good man, but after death — and under Sidorio’s tutelage — he had firmly embraced his dark side. It seemed incredible to think that the captain had weathered revolts by Sidorio but been broken by Jez’s rebellion. But from what Mosh Zu had said, it wasn’t simply the rebellion in itself that had laid the captain low; he had been fighting a long war of attrition with himself, trying to keep harmony on board
The Nocturne
, trying to help the vampires manage their blood hunger.

It seemed like everything Mosh Zu and the captain had been working toward was failing. Maybe you just couldn’t manage the vampires’ appetites and it would only bring you grief to try. Grace knew that this was a defeatist attitude, and yet it seemed that, at every turn, the work of the captain and Mosh Zu was being
defeated
. It was such a shame, such a terrible shame. They were trying to give those who had been cursed with immortality a way to bring meaning to their interminable existence. But most of the vampires couldn’t see beyond their own immediate cravings.

Grace shook her head. Things couldn’t be much worse. Jez had caused fresh unrest aboard
The Nocturne
. It now seemed clear that Sidorio was not gone but had only been resting, lurking in the shadows. How much longer, she thought. How much longer until he stepped out once more and launched a fresh attack?

When he did, it might be the end of the Vampirate captain. He had fallen terribly ill and now his very survival depended on Mosh Zu’s healing. Perhaps it would be the ultimate test of the guru’s powers.

And then there was Connor. She had done her best to heal him but she had no idea where he was now or what he was going through.

And last, there was Lorcan. Lorcan, whose healing seemed to have gone well. And yet that moment of elation had been all too brief, any sense of happiness snatched away by his cruel pronouncement that she must leave
The Nocturne
. Little did he realize that there might be no ship for either of them to return to.

What a mess, she thought. What a terrible mess! Images of them all flashed inside her head. Jez and Sidorio. The Vampirate captain and Mosh Zu. Connor and Lorcan. It seemed that her fragile world was collapsing on all sides. She had no idea how — or even if — they could all find their way out of this.

She could hardly motivate herself to get up from the dusty floor. What was the point? She let her head sink into her hands.

After she’d been sitting like that for a while, she heard the sound of whoops and cries in the distance. She lifted her head to listen. The cries were not so distant, she realized. Perhaps only around the corner. And she thought she recognized the voice. Maybe this was the one person who could raise her spirits.

Drawing herself up to her feet, she dusted herself down and, following the sounds, continued along the corridor. It twisted and turned and then led into a large internal courtyard. Standing in the middle of it was Johnny Desperado, lariat in hand, crying and whooping as he threw the rope and deftly lassoed his tea flask.

Grace smiled. He looked like he had some life to him. He was just the person she needed to see. Johnny would cheer her up.

She stepped into the courtyard. He was busy pulling in the rope and releasing the flask again. As she stepped forward, he turned and smiled.

“Here!” He threw her the flask. “Set this down for me, anywhere you like. And ol’ Johnny will lasso it for you.”

“Okay,” she said, laughing, and placed the flask on the dusty ground. She stepped back to watch Johnny perform his throw. She could see there was a real art to it. The lasso flew up and spun through the air, then seemed to float down over the flask. At that moment, Johnny drew in the rope and it tightened right about the flask. Grace had a sudden vision of Johnny lassoing a horse. She could tell how good at this he was.

As he reeled in the flask again, he chattered away. She couldn’t be sure if he was talking to her or to himself. “When you break in a bronco, it’s all about confidence building. You gotta take it a step at a time. Like building a friendship. You figure out what you can do with the horse to make her like you. No confrontation. Nothing good ever comes from confrontation. Not in the beginning, anyways. It’s all about knowing just how much pressure to apply, and when. Applying a little pressure, then relieving it, well that’s the most important message you can give a horse. You’re telling her she’s not trapped. There’s something she can do to relieve the pressure she’s feeling.”

Johnny shot Grace a glance as he threw her the flask again. He continued to chatter away as she went to place the container in a fresh position. “When a lariat tightens around a horse’s neck, even a trained bronco will want to fight. And an untrained horse, well, she’ll want to fight even harder. When she feels the lariat tighten, there’s nothing she can do short of total collapse to relieve this pressure she feels. Right then, right there, she’ll fight for her life.”

Johnny took the lariat in his hand once more. He raised his hand to throw it. As he let go of the rope, he winked at Grace. She watched the lasso sail up into the air. But the wink must have set him off balance because the noose wasn’t falling anywhere near the flask. Instead, it was high above her. Grace turned to Johnny. He had a strange expression on his face. Suddenly she felt a slight breeze as the loop of the lariat fell over her head and neck. It hovered there, then dropped a little lower to her elbows. Then she felt the pressure tighten.

Something told Grace that this was no longer a game. She looked nervously over at Johnny.

“Looks like I roped me a real wild one this time,” he said proudly.

49

THE SWORDSMITH AND HIS DAUGHTER

They approached Lantao from the south. Raising his head from the navigational chart to the island itself, Connor saw Lantao Peak, its highest point. It was wrapped in a thick blanket of lush green forest. He remembered Cheng Li saying that the swordsmith lived high above the water. He had a grim feeling that they would have to journey up that mountain — and down again — to fetch the weaponry Cheng Li had ordered for her crew.

The sloop was skimming past a long beach. Sheltered between two cliffs was a long stretch of sunbaked sand. If he’d still been traveling alone, he’d have been tempted to drop anchor and swim from the boat to the sand. But he only had to look at Cheng Li’s face to remind himself that they were on a mission. They had come to Lantao on business and there was no time to waste. He crossed the deck once more to join her at the steering wheel.

“Lantao has something of a pirate history,” Cheng Li said when he was back within earshot. “It has always been a popular base for pirates and smugglers.”

“Really?” said Connor, still gazing wistfully at the beach and thinking that the pirates and smugglers had chosen well.

Cheng Li nodded, her eyes fixed on the sweep of emerald green in the distance as she continued, “In the nineteenth century, the island was a base for Chang Po, an exceptionally gifted pirate.” She glanced at Connor briefly, as if checking he was paying attention, before continuing. “Chang Po was born a fisherman’s son, in the Xinhui on the Pearl River Delta. His life might have been very different — long, hard, and uneventful — but when he was fifteen years old, he was captured by a pair of pirates. Not just any pirates! These were the famed Cheng I and his wife Cheng I Sao.” Connor hadn’t heard the names before, but he sensed that they were deeply etched upon Cheng Li’s psyche.

“Fate had smiled on Chang Po,” she continued. “His captors were two of the most successful pirates of all time. This wife and husband team operated a whole fleet of pirate ships called the Red Flag Fleet. A few years after Chang Po joined their crew, the husband drowned and Cheng I Sao took over all his duties. She empowered Chang Po to manage the day-to-day operations of the fleet. He was just a year or so older than me at that point. Under Chang Po’s leadership, the pirates of the Red Flag Fleet defeated every force sent to challenge their power. For ten years his power seemed invincible. All the pirates of those times — whether his own or those of rival captains — believed that the gods protected him. They talked of him as if he were superhuman.”

“That’s impressive,” Connor said. “But you said he was invincible for ten years. What happened then?”

Cheng Li turned the wheel, keeping her eyes on the curving rock as they sailed around the southwest tip of the island. “The empire they had founded started to show cracks from within. Their captains and admirals began to bicker. Crews mutinied. There was a dismal battle with the Red Flag Fleet. Chang Po and Cheng I Sao decided to get out of piracy while they could.”

“Really?” Connor said. Somehow the two pirates Cheng Li had described did not seem cut out for a quiet retirement.

“Yes,” said Cheng Li. “Chang Po became an officer in the navy. He had an illustrious career there, too.”

“What about Cheng I Sao?” Connor asked.

Cheng Li smiled. “Although she gave up the fleet, she never quite left piracy behind. She ended her days as the director of a large smuggling operation.”

“She sounds like quite a character,” Connor said. “Him, too.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Cheng Li said. “But I’ll tell you the rest of their story some other time. We’re almost at our destination.”

“Why
did
you tell me about them?” Connor asked.

“Just a little local history,” she said, but there was something in her smile that made him suspect that wasn’t the whole story. Connor knew that Cheng Li did not waste her words any more than she did her sword strokes. This was not simply a colorful historical anecdote. She was laying out his options before him. Better the life of a fisherman or the admiral of a pirate fleet? That’s what she was asking him to consider. She might just as well have asked him to consider two other possibilities.
Better a pirate prodigy or the orphan of a lighthouse keeper in a dead-end town?

He was still pondering the question as Cheng Li began turning the sloop tightly around and slowing their speed as they approached land. Connor could see a small fishing town coming into focus. It was not the grand harbor he had expected to arrive at. There were rows of simple stilt houses constructed right over the waterway, with brightly painted fishing boats bobbing in the silvery waters beneath them. As Connor helped Cheng Li to anchor the sloop, he wrinkled his nose. The air was filled with a distinctive smell.

“Salt fish and shrimp paste,” Cheng Li said, breathing in deeply. “A speciality of the stores on the front here. We’ll have some while we’re here. It’s quite delicious.”

Almost the moment they had anchored their boat, they found one of the fishermen had brought over his craft to ferry them the rest of the way to dry land.

Cheng Li nodded to the oarsman as she and Connor climbed inside the boat. A few strokes later and they were climbing out again. Cheng Li tossed some coins into the fisherman’s leathery palm, then joined Connor on the wooden pier.

“So, how do we get to the peak from here?” he asked.

“Why would we want to go to Lantao Peak?” asked Cheng Li.

“Isn’t that where the swordsmith is? You said he lived high above the water, so I assumed . . .”

Cheng Li shook her head and pointed at one of the stilt houses. “He lives up there. I know you’re none too keen on heights, but I think you can cope with this. Come on!”

She began walking across the pier toward the stilt house. Following her, Connor thought that the house didn’t seem like a grand enough residence for the renowned swordsmith of Lantao. He had expected something more akin to a great temple. Instead, he found himself climbing a short, rickety flight of steps and waiting in an open doorway while Cheng Li drew down a bird-shaped bellpull.

Almost immediately, a girl appeared. Her hair was close-cropped but Connor was in no doubt that she was a girl. Her soft Chinese features were not dissimilar to those of Cheng Li but her face was somehow gentler.

“Mistress Li,” she said, putting her hands together and bowing. As she did so, her eyes closed and her long lashes cast shadows down her face.

“Mistress Yin,” said Cheng Li, mirroring the gesture. Rising, she pointed to Connor and spoke a few words that Connor didn’t catch, except for “Tempest.” He realized he was being introduced, and he put his hands together and bowed as the two young women had.

“Connor,” Cheng Li said, “this is Bo Yin, the swordsmith’s daughter.”

“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Connor Tempest,” said the young woman.

“And you,” Connor said, immediately captivated by the girl’s natural grace and beauty.

Bo Yin blushed and extended her hand. “Please, come inside. My father is working but I will tell him you have arrived.”

They entered the swordsmith’s home. And it
was
homely, in the best sense. A humble dwelling but filled with everything you could possibly want — a cluttered but well-organized kitchen, an inviting seating area, and shelves of books and artifacts. And then Connor noticed that on the wall hung just a few swords. Compared to the display of swords at the Pirate Academy, this was minimal indeed, but even from a distance, Connor could sense that the swords here were ancient and precious, with stories to tell. He stood in the center, taking it all in, while Bo Yin disappeared into another room to confer with her father. She emerged a moment or two later.

“My father is just finishing one of your pieces,” she explained to Cheng Li. “He asked me to offer you some soup and to say that he will join us shortly.”

“Excellent,” said Cheng Li, smiling softly as Bo Yin lifted the lid on a small pan. Again, Connor’s nostrils were tantalized by salt fish and shrimp. This time, it smelled even better, and all the more so as Bo Yin ladled out bowls of the tempting broth and carried them over to a low table.

“There’s no need to stand on ceremony,” Bo Yin said with a smile. “You must both be hungry after your long journey.”

“Actually,” said Cheng Li, “Connor’s eaten continuously ever since we left the Academy.”

“I always have a big appetite out at sea!” he protested.

“Boys,” said Cheng Li, exchanging a knowing look with Bo Yin.

They drank their soup hungrily and when Bo Yin offered them more, both Cheng Li and Connor gratefully accepted. She was ladling more broth into the bowls when a door creaked open and the swordsmith walked into the room. All eyes turned toward him. He was a little shorter than his daughter, with white hair tied back in a ponytail. His eyes seemed to dance about the room, Connor thought, as if he were a mole who had emerged into the daylight after a long spell underground.

“Father,” called Bo Yin from the stove. “Some soup after your labors?”

He nodded, then spoke in a soft voice. “If you please, Bo Yin.” Then he turned to Cheng Li, who had risen the moment he had entered the room.

“Mistress Li,” he said.

“Master Yin,” she said.

They came to stand before each other and bowed.

“Your own ship!” he said. “To think you are to have your own ship.”

She nodded. “It was only a matter of time.”

“This is true,” he said. “Your father . . . he would be
so
proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Cheng Li said, nodding. She turned and extended her hand. “Master Yin, this is Connor Tempest. Connor, Master Yin is the most talented swordsmith of his generation.”

Connor came to stand before Master Yin and they bowed to each other.

“I’ve heard much about you, sir,” said Connor.

“And I just a little of you, also,” Master Yin said.

Connor was surprised at this and all the more so when the swordsmith added, “He is the one, Mistress Li, is he not?”

Cheng Li nodded.

“Come, drink your soup, Father,” said Bo Yin, beckoning him over to the table.

Connor was left to ponder the swordsmith’s enigmatic words as Bo Yin set a wicker chair up close to the table. Clearly the old swordsmith could no longer bend sufficiently low to sit on the cushions.

The others all returned to the table and sat around it. Connor watched as Master Yin dipped his spoon into the bowl, savoured the taste, then swallowed. He nodded and smiled. “Just like your mother’s,” he pronounced. “Very good, Bo Yin.”

Connor looked at the dutiful Bo Yin and wondered if, in spite of her father’s love, she perhaps felt constrained by her life here. He had a sense that she wanted more from life than this. In her eyes, he saw something — a certain fellow-feeling. He was still weighing in his mind the two options that Cheng Li had presented to him — the fisherman or the pirate. But it was no longer a true contest. In his mind, the scales were already tipping firmly in one direction.

“So,” said Bo Yin, breaking through his reverie. “Tell me, Connor, what is it like to be a pirate?”

Before Connor could respond, her father gave a short laugh. “She always asks that,” he said. Then, imitating his daughter’s voice,
“What’s it like to be a pirate? What’s it like on a pirate ship?”

Bo Yin’s eyes flashed with pain and something else, but only for an instant. Connor wondered if anyone but he had noticed it. “And maybe one day I shall find out for myself, Father,” Bo Yin said.

He shrugged. “That’s right. Off you go and be a pirate and leave your poor old father to wither away in his house of swords.”

Bo Yin shook her head and sighed. “I’ll never leave you, Pop,” she said. She turned to the others, her eyes wide and wistful. “Still, in another lifetime, perhaps I too shall know the glory of being a pirate . . .”

Was that how long she’d have to wait? Connor wondered. A whole lifetime of making soup and pulling up her old father’s chair seemed too limited for a girl like Bo Yin. Suddenly, he realized just how free he was. Free to make his destiny.

He became aware of Cheng Li’s eyes upon him and looked away, his gaze settling on one of the swords on the wall behind Master Yin.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Cheng Li said.

Master Yin turned in his chair, his own eyes traveling to the sword. “Ah, yes,” he said, turning back to Connor. “That sword belonged to the great Chang Po. It’s inscribed with a dedication from Cheng I Sao. You know of these great pirates, I assume?”

Connor nodded. “May I have a closer look?” he asked.

“Of course!” Master Yin waved his spoon freely.

Connor stepped toward the sword. It was evident it had been through many battles, given the nicks in the blade and the hilt. But the blade was still sharp. With a rub of oil, it would be ready for use once again.

“Take it off the wall mount,” said Master Yin. “Swords are not meant for display alone. Give it a try!”

Connor was surprised that the swordsmith would be so cavalier with such an ancient and important artifact. Hesitantly, he reached toward the sword and lifted it down from the wall. As his fist closed around the hilt, he realized it was the first time he had held a sword since he’d thrown his own rapier into the ocean.

“It’s a perfect fit!” declared Master Yin. He turned to Cheng Li. “This is most auspicious.”

Connor gripped the sword and immediately began slicing the blade through the air. It felt as if the ghost of Chang Po were moving alongside him, guiding his hand. Suddenly, he was no longer in the stilt house but on the deck of a great ship, commanding the Red Flag Fleet on another successful raid on the Pearl River. He could smell the cannon and hear the melee as the battle got underway. He felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. Then he heard a cry.

“Bravo for Captain Tempest!”

He turned and realized that this was not Chang Po’s ship, but his own. His crew were approaching. They were smiling and laughing and applauding him. He could sense that they had won a great victory that day.