Connor hung his head. It was hard for all of them to move on from that fateful day — from the apparently easy victory that had turned into a nightmare for them all. It was the day that had ended with the death of their friend and comrade, Jez.
“Hey,” Bart said. “We were all caught unaware by that.”
“Yes,” Cate said. “But I’m —”
“We know,” said Bart. “You’re deputy captain!”
Cate shook her head. “I was going to say that I’m not supposed to be caught unaware by anything.”
Connor could see the hurt in her face. He wished he could say something to make her feel better but he felt a little out of his depth.
“Now, look,” Bart said. “Young Tempest here conquered a major fear today and we’re supposed to be celebrating. So can we all put a smile on our faces and get a bit merry?”
“Amen to that,” said Gonzalez, grabbing some drinks from a passing serving girl.
“My, but you’re pretty!” Gonzalez said. “Are you new?”
The girl blushed, shook her head and continued on her way. Bart laughed. “That’s little Jenny, you drongo,” he said. “Haven’t you seen her before?”
“Can’t say I have,” Gonzalez said. “But I’ll be looking out for her now! Little Jenny!”
Hearing her name, the girl glanced over her shoulder. Gonzalez raised his tankard in salute. “Ah, she’s like a little angel, that one.”
Bart shook his head with a smirk. Cate came over to Connor. “I’m sorry about before,” she said. “You did good today and you deserve a celebration.”
“It’s okay,” Connor said. “I know things aren’t easy for you.”
“No,” Cate said. “But those are my problems. And I shouldn’t have bothered you with them.”
“Yes you should,” Connor said. “You might be deputy captain, but first and foremost you’re our friend.”
Just then, there was a loud cry across the tavern.
“Molucco Wrathe!”
Connor, Bart, Cate, and Gonzalez turned. Across the room, they saw Molucco and Ma freeze and then look slowly round. The voice boomed across the room again.
“Molucco Wrathe!”
A tall, imposing man strode across the room into the center of the light. A striking woman and gangly boy followed some steps behind. Connor could tell by the man’s clothing he was a captain. There was something strangely familiar about him.
“So that’s why the captain was all worked up!” exclaimed Cate.
“What do you mean?” Connor asked. “Who is that?”
“That’s Barbarro Wrathe,” Bart said. “Molucco’s brother.”
2
THE EXPEDITION PARTY
The chill night air licked the deck of The Nocturne as the galleon rested in the waters of a small cove at the foot of a vast mountain. So vast was this peak that it was impossible to see just how far it stretched into the air, however much Grace Tempest strained her neck backward to look. It didn’t help, of course, that it was pitch black, save for the sliver of moonlight that fell unhelpfully across the other side of the deck. To most ordinary people, it would seem incredibly foolhardy to embark on an expedition up icy, unknown mountain passes in the middle of the night. But, Grace reminded herself, not one of the people embarking on this expedition could be termed “ordinary.” Indeed, some would say it was stretching things to even describe her traveling companions as “people.”
As she leaned backward in vain, Grace felt the woolen beret slipping from her head. Feeling an immediate resulting chill, she pushed the hat back into position and resumed an upright position. The beret, like the rest of her outer clothes, had been lent to her by her friend Darcy Flotsam, who now stood beside her on the deck.
“Are you sure you’re warm enough, Grace dear?” she inquired. “I could easily pop back into my cabin and fetch you one of my furs. Just say the word!”
Grace shook her head. “I told you before, Darcy. I won’t wear fur. No animal should have to die to keep me warm.”
Darcy shook her head in disbelief. “But it’s so soft and toasty! And it’s not like the poor fox that made my coat is about to spring to life again any time soon. So where’s the harm, eh?”
“No, Darcy,” Grace said firmly. “Not under any circumstances. This coat is quite warm enough, thank you.”
Darcy smiled at Grace as they waited for the others. “I so wish I was coming with you,” she said. “I don’t think I’d enjoy the climb, it’s true, but I’d do it to stay close to you and Lieutenant Furey.”
“I know, Darcy, and Lorcan does, too.” Grace smiled at her companion. “But the captain seems to think that the fewer of us leave the ship the better.”
They both looked toward the closed door of the captain’s quarters. Inside, he was briefing his deputies on how to manage the ship during his absence.
“It’s very rare for the captain to leave the ship,” said Darcy, turning back to Grace. “It shows how much he cares for Lieutenant Furey that he would take this risk.”
Risk? Grace hadn’t thought of it in those terms before, but now she realized that with the recent turmoil on the ship and the rebellions following Sidorio’s departure, it would indeed be a risk for the captain to leave the other Vampirates for even a few days. Sidorio had questioned the rules of the ship, in particular the captain’s limiting of blood-taking to the weekly Feast Night. Though Sidorio had been banished and was now gone, he had left the seeds of discontent behind him. Others among the previously compliant crew were now asking why they could not take blood more often. Grace knew that the captain had exiled three more of the crew since Sidorio had left. They had joined up with the renegade Vampirate and embarked on a terrible spree of wanton bloodshed until they had all been destroyed — by her brother, Connor. Connor the hero.
It was strange to think of her twin in such a way. So much had happened to them both in the few short months since their father had died and they had left their home in Crescent Moon Bay. How naïve they had been then, thought Grace. They had thought that leaving would offer them an escape route. And, in some ways, it had. But their journey had thrown them both into dangerous situations, where their very lives were under threat. Now Connor was, to his sister’s great discomfort, a pirate warrior aboard the notorious ship The Diablo. And, perhaps to her brother’s even greater alarm, Grace was a regular passenger aboard the ship of vampire pirates, or Vampirates, called The Nocturne. Both brother and sister yearned for the other twin to join them — to see that their choice of ship was the right one. But it was a tribute to their relationship that they had lately come to the understanding that each must go their own way, for now at least.
And so here she was, on the deck of The Nocturne, awaiting the captain and her dear comrade Lorcan, about to embark on an important mission to the top of the mountain and a mysterious place called Sanctuary. There, they would meet the Vampirate guru, Mosh Zu Kamal, and appeal to him to cure Lorcan of his blindness.
Glancing back up toward the mountain, Grace wondered just how long it would take to reach Sanctuary. It might prove to be a very arduous trek indeed. Already she was concerned about how Lorcan would manage. It was not just a question of his blindness but the fact that he had recently grown so weak. Why, just a few days earlier, it had been effort enough just to get him up onto the top deck.
“My business is concluded.” She heard a familiar whisper and saw a new figure emerge onto the deck. Clad from head to toe in black, it was as if he had been sculpted out of the dark night itself. Others would be perturbed by the sight of this tall, imposing man with his leathery cape, which sometimes flickered with veins of light like the winged sails of the Vampirate ship. They would be intimidated by the fact that he always wore a mask and never removed his hands from their dark gloves. Some might recoil at his voice, which did not go out into the air, as other voices do, but instead arrived in your head as an icy whisper, never varying in volume or pitch.
But in her relatively short acqua
intance with the Vampirate captain, Grace had come to know him as a wise and compassionate being — more humane than anyone she had ever met before, save perhaps her dear departed father. In a way, she realized, she had come to view the captain as a father figure.
“Let us go.” Once more the captain’s words arrived in her head.
As the captain walked toward them, Darcy suddenly threw her arms around Grace’s shoulders. “Oh, Grace,” she said with a sob, “we always seem to be saying goodbye, don’t we?”
Grace nodded, smiling. She was a little surprised to feel a tear roll down her cheek. Sometimes, she forgot just what a good friend Darcy Flotsam had become to her. It was no longer sufficient to think of her as the ship’s quirky but beautiful figurehead; a wooden sculpture by day, but a girl full of life by night. Darcy was as much flesh and blood and emotion as anyone Grace had ever met.
Grace wiped away the tear. “I’ll be back soon, Darcy,” she said. “I promise. Just as soon as Lorcan is on the mend, we’ll return to The Nocturne.”
Darcy nodded. And so they hugged once more and repeated their farewells, both hanging on to the pretense that Lorcan was sure to recover. Neither could bear to even entertain the alternative.
The captain gently leaned forward. “Goodbye for now, Darcy,” he whispered, laying a gloved hand on her shoulder. “I know I can depend on you to obey the deputy and do your best for the good of the ship.”
“Yes, Captain!” Darcy exclaimed, giving him a crisp naval salute.
Watching them, Grace pondered the word “deputy.” She realized that she had no idea who the captain had left in charge of The Nocturne during his absence. She was aware of a certain hierarchy aboard the ship — Lorcan, for instance, now held the post of lieutenant, as Sidorio had before him. But she had no clue as to who the deputy captain was or even who might be of senior rank among the crew. This was in marked contrast to her time on the pirate ship, The Diablo, where it had been crystal clear that the deputy captain was first Cheng Li and latterly Cutlass Cate. Grace was reminded that, in spite of her already deep attachment to several of the crew of The Nocturne, there was still much she had to learn about the Vampirates. Perhaps her time at Sanctuary would give her more of an insight. She fervently hoped so.
“Ah,” said the captain, his whisper cutting through her thoughts. “And here come the final members of our expedition party.”
He nodded as Lorcan made his way out onto the deck. He was dressed in a heavy army greatcoat he had borrowed from another member of the crew. A medal still hung over the front of the chest. It looked rather good, thought Grace, wondering which conflict it commemorated and what noble and violent deeds had secured the honor. With his military boots, Lorcan cut a dashing figure. On his back was a small knapsack, filled with a few articles to make his stay at Sanctuary more comfortable. Across his eyes was the fresh bandage Grace had helped to apply earlier. It obscured the livid burns, with which she was now all too familiar, and shone dove white in the moonlight.
Lorcan was not alone, however. Beside him strode Shanti, his beautiful but vicious donor. Her high-heeled boots drummed on the wooden deck and she gripped a vanity case in a small, suede-gloved hand. So she was coming along with them, too, thought Grace. It made sense. If Lorcan was to fully recover then he’d have to start taking blood again. Shanti was his given donor and he’d need her close at hand when the time came. Shanti, Grace now noticed, was wearing a matching fur coat and hat. She didn’t need to think very hard to realize where that outfit had been procured.
Darcy’s face flushed red at Grace’s stare. Grace shook her head. Darcy was such a generous soul — but how typical it was of Shanti not to give a thought to what dead creature she might be wearing. The most annoying thing of all, though, thought Grace, was that Shanti looked so pretty in the outfit.
As the new arrivals reached the group, Grace and Shanti exchanged strained smiles. There was no love lost between the two and clearly neither could quite hide the displeasure they felt in traveling together. Close up, Grace noticed how much older Shanti looked, even from the last time she had seen her. She was still beautiful, there was no question about that. In some ways, she was more beautiful, as lines wove their way about her eyes and lips. This made her beauty seem more fragile and therefore more precious. To Shanti, however, the lines were abhorrent. The donors were only immortal while their given vampire was sharing their blood. As soon as this stopped, mortality wasted no time in reclaiming the donor’s body. Since Lorcan had ceased sharing with her, Shanti had begun to age at an alarming rate. If he did not start taking her blood again soon, she would be in severe danger. She too might be growing weak. Grace shook her head. What an unlikely expedition party they were, she thought, looking from one face to another.
“Come on,” said the captain. “Let’s not waste any more time. Sanctuary and Mosh Zu await us. Come, my friends.”
“Goodbye, dear Lieutenant Furey,” Darcy said, hugging Lorcan tightly. “I wish you the most speedy recovery.”
“Thanks, Darcy,” said Lorcan warmly. “You be a good girl while I’m away, you hear me?”
Grace was pleased that he had managed to muster some of his old cheek. That had been missing for too long. Shanti looked displeased, her lips pursed tightly. She was, Grace had noticed, remarkably possessive of Lorcan. Now she looped a fur-wrapped arm through the sleeve of his greatcoat. Grace lifted her own small pack onto her back, then took Lorcan’s other arm. They followed the captain gingerly down the gangplank and onto land.
Behind them, mist rose from the dark waters, stealing its way gently but firmly up the sides of the ship. Darcy stood on the deck, waving to the departing travelers until the very last. Then the mist drew a curtain between them and The Nocturne disappeared from sight.
“And now a new journey begins,” announced the captain.
Grace nodded. She wanted to say something enthusiastic, to generate some positive energy among the group, but catching sight of Lorcan’s downturned mouth and Shanti’s cold, sharp eyes, she could see exactly what they were both thinking. This might be their final journey. If Sanctuary and the mysterious Mosh Zu Kamal couldn’t heal Lorcan, there was no further hope for either of them.
3
BROTHERS
The whole tavern fell silent as Barbarro Wrathe — flanked by his two companions — appeared at the top of the steps leading down into the main part of the bar. The woman and boy lingered on the top step as Barbarro continued his journey alone. In his hand was a cane, its head a bulbous skull with a jeweled snake emerging from one eye socket and spiraling down the length of the stick. The cane beat out Barbarro’s steady progress toward his brother.
As he reached the main floor, revelers on all sides moved swiftly away — whether out of fear or respect, Connor could not be sure. Barbarro’s cane echoed against the floor. There were low murmurs. Connor watched and listened intently. He knew that there was an old grievance between the two brothers. Had Barbarro come back to settle a score? His face gave nothing away.
The person who seemed the least surprised — and the least perturbed — by Barbarro’s arrival, was Molucco himself. But of course, Molucco had known that it was Barbarro’s ship making its way to Ma Kettle’s. He had been shaken when he’d first seen it from the deck of The Diablo, but in the intervening time, he had composed himself. Now, he calmly took a last draught of his drink, then rose up and stepped down from the booth where he and Ma Kettle were ensconced.
“Barbarro!” he boomed at full volume. “What a wonderful surprise!”
Barbarro did not respond but stood, waiting for Molucco, in the center of the room. It made Connor think of two jungle cats taking measure of one another — a real power play.
As the two brothers at last came face to face, Connor was struck by the strong resemblance between the pair. They were not quite the mirror image of one another, but you could certainly see they were cut from the same, flamboyant cloth.
Barbarro was just a little broader a
nd taller than Molucco. Dressed in a bottle-green frock coat with gold braiding and tall boots, he cut a similarly dashing figure. His hands, however, were devoid of jewels — save for a gold wedding band. Barbarro wore his hair long like Molucco’s but it was still a glossy black, with a thick streak of silver gray adding both glamour and gravitas. He had a neatly cropped beard and mustache. But his twinkling eyes were the perfect reflection of his brother’s. Just when you thought you knew which color they were, it shifted. First green, then blue. Purple, brown, then black. They were as changeable as the surface of the ocean.
“It’s been a long time,” Molucco said. All eyes in the tavern were upon him as he spoke. Then they moved hungrily to Barbarro to gauge the response.
“Too long, Molucco,” said Barbarro, his voice as sonorous as his brother’s. “Since last we met, I have lost one brother. I do not intend to lose another.”
Now he extended his arms and Molucco stepped forward to embrace him. There was a chorus of sighs around the room as the men hugged. It appeared that the long-running feud was over. At least, thought Connor, something good had come from the terrible murder of Porfirio Wrathe.
As the two Captains Wrathe at last disentangled themselves, Connor saw Scrimshaw emerge from Molucco’s hair and extend himself expectantly toward Barbarro. Connor had noticed how Scrimshaw often seemed to scrutinize people, as if on Captain Wrathe’s behalf, but this was something different. Suddenly, he noticed a reciprocal movement amid Barbarro’s dark locks, and a second snake pushed its way through and extended itself toward Scrimshaw.
Barbarro glanced up with a smile. “It seems Skirmish is pleased to see his own brother.”
“Yes.” Molucco nodded gravely. “I venture he’s missed him terribly these last few years.” The snakes hissed conspiratorially together for a moment, then settled around their masters’ necks, where they could keep an eye on one another.