Vampirates 3: Blood Captain (4 page)

“I’ll count to three,” he said. “Then we pull her up, okay?”

Grace nodded. The man smiled at her. It was a smile that instilled complete confidence and calm in her.

“One, two,
three
. . .”

Grace focused all her strength as they pulled Shanti up and onto the path. She lay on the ground, covered in dirt, sobbing. Grace’s own heart was pounding. They had both faced certain death. If it hadn’t been for the shepherd, it would have ended very differently. What a miracle he had been passing at that very moment.

“Thank you,” Grace said, turning to the man.

But he was nowhere to be seen, gone as mysteriously as he had arrived.

She glanced down at Shanti. “Well done!” she said.

“I nearly died,” Shanti said, twisting her head back toward the drop. “We both nearly died!”

“No,” Grace said, reaching out and turning Shanti’s trembling face toward her. “Don’t look down. Don’t look back. We must only look forward! Do you understand?”

Shanti nodded, too terrified to speak.

“Wait here!” Grace said. “Catch your breath. I must go and fetch Lorcan, then we’ll all go on together.”

“No!” Shanti cried out. “Don’t leave me!”

“It’s just for a moment, just to fetch Lorcan.” Grace wavered. “All right, let’s get you up on your feet first.” She held out her hand and helped Shanti to her feet. The girl was hobbling. For a moment, she feared that Shanti had twisted her ankle or worse. Then she saw what was wrong.

“The heel has come off one of your boots,” Grace said.

“Where is it?” Shanti asked.

Grace glanced over the mountainside. “It doesn’t matter where it is,” she said.

“But what am I supposed to do?” Shanti’s voice spiraled into panic. “I can’t go on, Grace. I’ve tried. Haven’t I tried? I really have but I can’t do this, not with one shoe without a heel.” She slumped to the ground and pulled herself into a ball, sobbing.

Grace made a decision. She crouched down and took Shanti’s foot in her hand. Grabbing the one remaining heel, she twisted it as powerfully as she could. It came off in her hand.

“What are you
doing
?” cried Shanti.

Saying nothing, Grace threw the redundant heel over the mountainside to join its partner. Shanti looked at her with rising panic.

“Now, just stand up and see how you balance,” she said to Shanti.

“I can’t walk without heels!”

“The important thing is, how does your ankle feel? Do you think you’ve twisted it?”

“But my shoes!” Shanti continued.

“If you’re really uncomfortable, we’ll swap boots,” Grace said. “I think we’re the same size.”

“You’d do that for me? But . . . but you said you didn’t like me.”

Grace smiled, in spite of herself. “I don’t think you like me very much either, Shanti, but we’re in this together. We have to work as a team.” Her smile faded and she looked more determinedly at Shanti. “It’s vital we get Lorcan to Sanctuary . . . for his sake and for yours. Whatever it takes.”

Grace’s words hit their target.

Shanti nodded gratefully.

“I’m going to get Lorcan now. He’ll be worried about us.”

But just as Grace set off, she saw that Lorcan was making his own way toward them. How had he negotiated that tricky and dangerous stretch of path alone? Grace had a sudden image of the shepherd who had helped them just now. Could it be?

“Are you both okay?” Lorcan asked.

“Yes,” said Grace. “Yes, we’re fine — aren’t we, Shanti? Shanti had a fall but she’s okay now. Aren’t you, Shanti?”

“Yes.” Shanti nodded, somehow getting the message not to give Lorcan any further reason to be alarmed. She paused. “Thank you, Grace. Why don’t we swap places? You lead for a bit?”

Grace nodded and went to the front of them. She glanced up the dark mountainside. How much farther did they have to climb? As the question formed in her head, she suddenly heard a familiar whisper.

“Not far now.”

She glanced ahead, seeing the lights flickering on the captain’s cape. He must have waited for them, or perhaps even come back for them. But if he had been so near, why hadn’t he helped? It seemed there was more than one mystery to ponder on this strange mountainside. But as Grace began thinking further about it, she heard Lorcan call out from behind her.

“Snow!”

For a moment, it seemed a random word. Then she felt it too as the first snowflake rested on her nose. Ordinarily, it would have thrilled her, but not here, not now. A snow flurry was the very last thing they needed if they were ever to make it to the mountaintop.

Soon the path beneath Grace’s feet was utterly white. A shiver passed through her. She realized she was being tested to her physical limits.

“It
can’t
be much farther!” she heard Shanti moan.

“Not long now,” said Grace.

“So you keep saying!” Shanti whined.

“Look up ahead,” the captain’s voice whispered through the breeze.

“Where?” said Shanti. “I can’t see anything.”

But Grace could see it. There, in the distance, twin lights pierced the darkness. Two flaming torches stood like giant sentinels on either side of the gates. The gates to Sanctuary. They had arrived. At last.

“About time!” sighed Shanti, as she too noticed the light.

“What a whiner!” Lorcan whispered in Grace’s ear. Grace smiled. Her thoughts exactly.

“Oh, Lorcan,” she said, excitedly. “We’re nearly there! What a journey it’s been . . . now we’re almost at the gates.” She looked up ahead. “Can you see?” As the words left her mouth, she could have kicked herself. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”

“It’s okay,” Lorcan said. “Don’t upset yourself, Grace. Why don’t you describe it to me so I can borrow your eyes to see?”

“There are gates made of iron,” she said. “They’re twice as tall as you, I’d say. There are spikes along the top and below is an intricate circular pattern, a bit like a clockface or sundial. It’s very beautiful.”

And that was how they came to the end of their journey — Grace describing the ornate fretwork of the vast iron gates lit by torches as they finally arrived at Sanctuary. Until they reached the gates themselves, and Grace fell silent. Suddenly the magnitude of their journey caught up with her. It wasn’t just a question of how far they had come but the importance of what lay ahead. This was the place that would decide Lorcan’s future — a future which she already felt was as deeply entwined with her own as the thick mountain vines were within the iron fretwork of the gates. It was impossible to separate one from the other.

5

ANOTHER KIND OF DANCE

Above the dance floor, where Connor even now turns his partner, is the row of curtained booths where those wanting — or
needing
— privacy can go. As the tango music starts, all the curtains are closed. But the melody soon pierces one of the booths. A pale hand reaches out and gently pushes back the velvet curtain. Just a fraction. Then a nervous eye leans into the gap, glancing down to the checkered floor.

The sight of the dancers is heartbreaking. There is little finesse in their steps, but there is so much life down there. So much life in their faces and limbs. The papery hand, the nervous watery eye, would do anything for a drop of that life.

Three pairs of the dancers are familiar. Of course they are. And it is as if they are flaunting their aliveness before his eyes. Once, he would have been down there himself, but now something much stronger than a velvet curtain separates them. They are on one side of it, striding and twisting across the floor. And he is on the other side, reduced to the role of watcher.

The sound of footsteps. A voice — high and light — from outside the other end of the booth.

“May I come in?”

He has barely formed the word “yes” on his cracked lips, when the curtain opens and a serving girl pokes her head into the gloom.

“Good evening, sir. Are you in need of something to drink?”

He nods. Yes, he thinks. How well she puts the question. Yes, he is very much in need of something to drink.

She is watching him, waiting for more of an answer. She watches him, but she does not truly
see
him. How can she? It is pitch dark inside the booth.

“Your candle is out, sir. Here, I’ll light it.”

“No,” he says. “No, I don’t like . . . fire.”

But his words are too slow and her hands are too swift. The candle is lit and now it grows and glows inside its glass. He shivers at the sight of it.

“You need something to warm you, sir. Look, you’re shivering.”

“What do you recommend?” he rasps, trying to keep the edge from his voice.

She shrugs. She has no idea of the danger she is in. “We’ve got everything you could wish for here. Rum, beer, wine . . . your choice, sir.”

He looks at her. She’s a pretty thing. A memory stirs. But he cannot be sure if he remembers her for herself or if she just has a certain look. Lately, this has been happening a lot. Faces merge. He finds it hard to distinguish one from another. That’s why he must act before it grows worse. He glances down at the dance floor once more. The music comes to an end and the dancers hug, congratulating themselves and each other on their prowess. After the merest pause, the tango begins anew. The partners swap but the dance continues. He lets drop the curtain and feels water in his eyes.

“Are you all right, sir?”

So, she’s still here. Part of him wants to tell her to get out, to run away. But, of course, he does not.

“Yes, I’m . . . all right.”

“Are you sure?” She steps closer to him, leaning in. “You look so pale. Like you’ve seen a ghost. I think maybe a brandy . . .”

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, there’s an idea. Fetch me a brandy.” Let her go. Let her go, and he will take his leave too — before anything happens. Before any line is crossed.

The candle flickers. She slides the candlestick along the table. Now, for the first time, she sees him properly.

“It’s funny,” she says. “You look so like someone I used to know. Well, not
know
exactly. Someone who came in here. Awful popular he was. A pirate lad.”

“Really?” He wants her to go. He doesn’t want to hear this. And yet he does. He needs her to stay.

“Yes, sir. You’re his spitting image . . . you could be his twin.”

A twin? He smiles at the thought.

“Terrible sad it was,” she continues.

“What’s that?”

“Terrible sad, what happened to him.”

“What did happen to him?”

“Killed, sir. Killed in a duel on a pirate deck, they say.”

“A duel.” The word sounds so noble. Not like his memory of that day. The hot sword. The unleashing of his blood. The life gushing out of him. The dying of the voices around him until everything was cold and silent and lonely. . . .

He is there again now. Not for the first time. And somehow, he cannot leave that place. Not yet.

“What was his name?” he asks. “This pirate lad — what was his name?”

“Why, sir, his name was Jez. Jez Stukeley.” She smiles. “A handsome pirate.”

He smiles, too. Softly, he asks, “Do you think I’m still handsome?”

“I should be going, sir.”

Yes, he thinks. You should have been gone long before now. But you stayed. And now the die is cast.

“Stay.” As the word slips from his mouth, his hand grips her wrist.

“Ow! You’re hurting me.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, softening his grip. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to . . . company. I’ve been away for some time . . .”

“Have you been on a voyage, sir?” she says, her innate inquisitiveness pushing aside her fear.

“A voyage?” he says. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. I’ve been on one hell of a journey. . . . Perhaps you could sit with me — just for a bit — and I’ll tell you something about it?”

She looks torn. “I’m not supposed to sit down on my shift, sir.”

“Please,” he says. “Just for a minute or two? After all, what is time?”

“You say some funny things, sir.” She smiles. “All right, then. I’ll sit just for a minute while you tell me about your voyage. And then I’ll fetch you a — wait a minute!” She pauses. There is a sudden light in her eyes. “What did you mean . . . when you asked me if you were
still
handsome?” The pitch of her voice rises. “What did you mean by that?”

“I think you know,” he says, as he pulls her toward him. “I think you know just what I meant.”

It is early in the morning when Sugar Pie draws back the velvet curtain. She and the other servers are doing their rounds, throwing out the clientele who are reluctant — or actually unable — to budge.

The candle has long burned out and it is dark inside the booth. But Sugar Pie can smell death. As she makes out the figure collapsed across the table, a deep pain breaks in her chest and she falls to her knees.

“What is it?” asks the boy at her side.

“Go and get Ma,” Sugar Pie says. Her voice is hoarse.

“But why? What’s wrong? Let me see —”

“Go and get Ma,” she says, more forcefully this time. The boy doesn’t need telling again.

“Oh, Jenny,” Sugar Pie says, surveying the wound on the girl’s chest. “Poor little Jenny. Who did this to you? And why?”

“What’s up?” Ma Kettle says, stepping inside the booth. Sugar Pie cannot find the words, so she simply moves aside to let Ma see for herself. “Oh no! Not Jenny!” Turning, Sugar Pie sees a tear fall from her boss’s eye. She hasn’t seen that in a while.

“Stabbed,” Ma says, horrified. “Right here. Right under our noses.”

Sugar Pie cannot look any more. So much blood. She glances down at the girl’s face. And notices the strangest thing.

“Look, Ma,” she says. “Look — it’s as if she’s smiling. In spite of everything.”

Ma Kettle sighs. “She’s gone to a better place, that’s why. Our little Jenny Petrel has flown to a much better place.”

Sugar Pie wishes she could believe that, but something tells her otherwise.

6

ARRIVAL

The weary travelers passed through the iron gates. Ahead of them, a column of lamps illuminated an empty courtyard, its surface covered in a thin layer of ice, which reflected the velvet black night sky. The courtyard was bordered by a walkway and low wooden buildings on three sides. As far as Grace could see, there were no doors or windows in these buildings — except for a pair of doors in the center of the block facing them, on the far side of the yard.

“We made it!” Grace said to Lorcan, feeling her spirits rise once more. They were perhaps only moments away from meeting the great Mosh Zu Kamal.

“Yes,” Lorcan said, his voice low and hoarse. “We made it.”

Grace wondered why he didn’t sound more excited. Now their strenuous journey was over, the rest should be smooth sailing. Lorcan would be given into the care of Mosh Zu Kamal and the healing process could begin. Wasn’t that cause for celebration? But Lorcan looked cold and wan and his face seemed utterly devoid of hope. Clearly, the climb had fatigued him more than he had let on. Even the captain looked tired. Now, the effort of their expedition was catching up with all of them. Perhaps, also, Lorcan was apprehensive about his treatment and what lay ahead. Grace squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s all going to be fine. You’ll see.”

Looking up, Grace saw that several figures were milling about. They were all dressed alike in matching crimson robes. Clearly, the new arrivals had been noted, for now two of the robe-wearers were striding toward them. As they reached the expedition party, they drew down their hoods. Grace saw that they were a young woman and man.

“Welcome to Sanctuary,” said the woman in a soft, precise voice. “It is an honor indeed to meet you and to welcome you and your company to this special place.” Her bright eyes surveyed the group. “My name is Dani.”

Her companion smiled warmly. “Good evening, Captain,” he said. “Perhaps you remember me from your last visit?”

“Indeed I do, Olivier,” the captain said. “How good to see you again.”

Olivier shook the captain’s gloved hand. “Mosh Zu is looking forward to seeing you again.” He turned to the others and said, “To those of you here for the first time, I should explain. We are two of Mosh Zu’s assistants. But as you can see,” he pointed at the other robe-wearers who were walking between buildings, “there are quite a few of us.”

The Captain introduced each of his party to Dani and Olivier. The assistants smiled warmly at Grace and Shanti. When they came to Lorcan, Olivier clasped him by the hand. “You are brave indeed to make this journey, brother,” he said.

“Brave, or foolhardy?” Lorcan asked with a laugh.

Olivier squeezed his hand once more. “Just brave, I think,” he said.

Behind them, the tall iron gates clanked shut. A lock was fastened. The sound of metal on metal echoed like a dull bell. The sound took Grace back to
The Nocturne,
to the tolling of the bells for nightfall and sunrise. The sunrise bell. The one Lorcan should have obeyed. The one he had ignored to save her. What a chain of memories a lock sliding into place could trigger.

“Come,” Olivier said. “You’re shivering. The air is biting cold here. Let’s get you into the warmth.”

He and Dani led them along the walkway, which had been cleared of ice, and around the courtyard. They came to the doors Grace had noticed earlier. Olivier pushed these open and ushered the travelers in. Then he turned to Dani. “It’s okay,” he said. “I can handle this from here. Aren’t you due to deliver the flasks to Block 2 about now?”

Dani nodded and, bidding the others farewell, set off across the courtyard. Grace wondered where — and what — Block 2 was. And what flasks was Dani going to deliver? But she was soon distracted as she followed Olivier.

Inside, the light was dim, but as Grace’s eyes adjusted, she saw they were in a long, narrow corridor, lit by more lamps, this time suspended on low chains just above their heads. The metal lamps swayed a little as the wind swept inside. The flames guttered, then settled again as Olivier closed the doors behind them.

Olivier smiled. “Welcome to Sanctuary, my friends. You are now in the Corridor of Lights. Please, walk this way.”

As they proceeded along the corridor, Grace felt her sense of anticipation rising. With every step, they were coming nearer to their meeting with Mosh Zu Kamal. She was intrigued to meet the great man — the one that the captain called his “guru” and who, he said, had mapped out the workings of
The Nocturne
so long ago. It was Mosh Zu, the captain had told her, who had helped him to make a refuge from the world and to welcome into it “the outsiders of the outsiders” — vampires who had been exiled from regular society and finally, in the cruelest twist, from vampire society itself, because they rejected the constant hunt for blood. It was Mosh Zu who had devised the system of donors, and who had helped the captain to train himself to feast no more on blood.

Grace was eager to meet and talk to him, but, she reminded herself, they had more pressing business here. The most important thing was to heal Lorcan. That was why they had struggled up the mountainside.

They turned a corner and the corridor grew a little wider. It was a good thing, too, because on either side, the walls were groaning with shelves covered in trinkets and photographs. There was not a patch of spare wall, and Grace could see that in places the items on the shelves were packed three and four deep. It was like walking through a junk shop or a shrine. It induced in Grace the same feelings of intrigue and sadness. Where had these things come from? Who did they once belong to? They were nothing but clutter now, but once they had meant something, perhaps everything, to someone.

As if reading her thoughts, Olivier announced, “This is the Corridor of Discards. These are the things that those who enter Sanctuary have left behind.”

Grace was even more intrigued by this, realizing that the items, like the vampires who sought Mosh Zu’s help, had come from all over the world and from vastly different historic eras. Their discards made a strange collage of the world that had been left behind. Grace wanted to linger but Olivier and the captain maintained a brisk pace. The corridor turned another corner, this one devoid of possessions, Grace noticed with a twinge of regret.

“What’s that smell?” Shanti’s voice cut across her thoughts. Grace glanced at her, to find Shanti wrinkling her little upturned nose.

Olivier smiled at her. “It’s butter,” he said.

“Butter? Is someone making pancakes?”

He shook his head. “We use it to fuel the lamps here.”

“It’s sickly,” Shanti said, wincing. “Can’t you get candles up here?”

Olivier kept silent. Grace could see in his eyes that Shanti was trying his patience.

The corridor turned again, and Grace realized that their path was sloping down at an increasing gradient. “Are we going underground?” she asked Olivier.

“Yes,” he said. “The main part of the compound is underground.”

Of course, Grace thought. That way, the vampires could move about freely without fear of being exposed to the daylight. She was intrigued to see more of the place. The corridor they were walking along made her think of pictures she’d seen of people entering the pyramids of Egypt. But from what Olivier said, she guessed that Sanctuary was more of an inverted pyramid, cutting down into the heart of the mountain.

Then Grace noticed something else. Suspended from the ceiling on a thin rope, between the lights, were ribbons. They hung down like cobwebs, different colors and lengths.

“What are these?” she asked.

“Ribbons,” Olivier said shortly. “We are in the Corridor of Ribbons.”

“Yes,” Grace persisted. “But what do they signify?”

“I think I should let Mosh Zu explain that,” he said.

Grace looked up at the ribbons fluttering above her. She could tell that there was an importance attached to these simple strips of cloth. All the more so, she realized, if she must wait for Mosh Zu to explain their significance.

As the corridor turned once more, Grace spied another set of doors.

Olivier pushed them open and Grace saw that the chamber beyond was squarer in shape and lit more brightly. The floor was tiled and there were chairs and tables in there — the first chairs they had seen since leaving the ship.

Shanti’s eyes lit up at the sight of them. “At last! I’d kill for a sit-down.”

“Be my guest,” Olivier said, pulling out a chair for her and placing a cushion on it. “Make yourself comfortable. We shan’t keep you waiting long.”

Shanti sat down, sighing in pleasure as her small body sank onto the silken cushion.

Grace eyed the chair beside Shanti enviously, but Olivier propelled her forward with a light touch. “Not much farther now,” he said.

Grace looked at him quizzically. She saw that the captain hadn’t stopped either, but instead was walking on toward another pair of doors. Grace realized that this chamber was only an anteroom.

“Come,” Olivier said, opening the doors. “Mosh Zu is waiting to meet you.”

Grace looked back toward Shanti. Was she to be excluded from an audience with Mosh Zu? Shanti wasn’t exactly Grace’s favorite person, but it hardly seemed fair to exclude her. Especially after her particular ordeals on the journey. Grace looked at Olivier, then turned toward Shanti, who had removed her shoes and was rubbing her tired feet.

“Shanti!” Grace called.

“
Whaaat?
” came the answering whine. Grace took a calming breath. Shanti certainly didn’t make herself easy to like.

“Put your shoes back on and come with us,” Grace said.

“But Mosh Zu did not invite . . .” Olivier began.

“That’s not fair,” Grace said. “We all came here together. It was as hard for Shanti as it was for the rest of us, worse in some ways. She fell . . .”

“It doesn’t matter,” Olivier said. “Mosh Zu knows his mind. She is merely a donor. After I have taken you to Mosh Zu, I will take her to the donor quarters.”

Grace was dismayed at Olivier’s dismissive tone but even more so at Mosh Zu’s purported attitude to Shanti. The relationship between vampires and donors was interdependent. The captain had always talked respectfully of the donors and the gift they proffered to their vampire partners. There was, surely, no greater gift you could offer than your very own lifeblood. Whatever you might feel about the character of an individual donor, you had to respect them. It surprised and angered her that Olivier and Mosh Zu would not do so. Her rising fury was stalled by the sound of the captain’s whisper.

He nodded to her and addressed Olivier. “Grace is right,” he said. “Shanti has earned her audience before Mosh Zu Kamal. Besides, Mosh Zu is a bountiful host and I’m sure he would want to welcome all of us to Sanctuary.”

Grace saw Olivier flush even as he nodded. “As you wish, Captain.”

It was a victory of sorts, Grace thought, but she still felt rather cross. She had liked Olivier initially but now she was rapidly cooling toward him.

But as Shanti joined them and the four of them followed him into the next room, her anger melted away, easily replaced by other distractions. This room was larger than the one they had come from. Its floor was tiled but it was largely devoid of furniture and its decorations were basic — a few simple wall hangings. Grace’s eyes settled on the shaved head of a man whose back was turned toward them. He was lighting candles at the far side of the room.

Behind her, Grace heard the doors of the room close. Olivier stepped forward.

“Your guests have arrived,” he announced, then stepped back.

For a moment, the other man showed no sign he had heard the words. He continued lighting the candles.

At last, he turned and began walking toward them. He was dressed simply in a white vest and baggy brown cloth trousers, tied and folded over at the waist. His feet appeared to be bare.

Grace couldn’t believe her eyes. She had expected the guru of the Vampirates to be an old man. But Mosh Zu, if this indeed was he, was a young man. He stepped forward, his face and body largely in shadow. Unless this dim light was deceptive, he was only a few years older than herself. And then some, she reminded herself. He might
look
to be in his early twenties but this was only an indication of the age he had been when he had died. Or rather, she reminded herself, when he had
crossed
.

“Mosh Zu,” she heard the captain say.

“Captain,” answered the man.

So this really was Mosh Zu. Grace couldn’t help but feel a little cheated. She had expected a wise old man. She watched as he and the captain bowed before each other, then he stepped closer and they hugged. It was perhaps the most human thing she had ever seen the captain do, a reminder that, in spite of the clothes that covered almost all of his body, there was, if not a heart, then at least a soul alive within the armored shell.

“And this is Grace,” said the captain. “I believe she has a special gift.”

“We have heard as much,” said Mosh Zu.

Grace was surprised and flattered by their talk, but as Mosh Zu turned his face toward her, she had another shock.

It was the face she had seen on the mountainside — the shepherd who had helped to rescue Shanti from her fall and then disappeared into the night.

He smiled at her, his dark eyes twinkling in the half-light.

“Welcome, Grace Tempest,” he said, looking at her. She felt his gaze go deep into her. Then he turned and his eyes took the measure of the rest of his guests.

“I welcome you all to Sanctuary,” he said. “May each of you find just what you need here.”

“All
I
need is a good lie-down,” Shanti muttered. For once, no one rose to the bait.

Grace looked at Lorcan. He was shaking. She took his hand in hers once more. She didn’t dare speak, but she tried to send the words through to him.
It’s okay, Lorcan. It
will
all be okay
.

“Yes,” said Mosh Zu, smiling at them beatifically. “Yes, Grace Tempest. You are quite right, I think.”