Demons of the Ocean (13 page)

"The vision of him? Yes, yes, I did. It confused me, but it was great to see him."

"You shall see him again, my child, for real."

"Where is he, Captain? Is he on a pirate ship? Is he close by?"

"Ah, such a lot of questions. He is safe, Grace. Connor is coping very well--as are you. You do your father great credit."

"Our father," Grace said. "Do you know him?" There was a long pause."I'm afraid I'm growing tired, my child. We will talk again, but for now I must rest."He rose from his seat and approached a rocking chair, in front of a fire she had not noticed before. Perhaps because it was merely glowing embers. The captain sat down in the rocking chair, arranging the folds of his cape over its sides."It was nice meeting you at last, Grace," he said, before leaning his head forward. She realized she had been dismissed.

CHAPTER 21

SWORDS

For the first time since arriving on The Diablo, Connor slept well. Hearing his father's voice had calmed him deeply. Somehow it had allowed him to let go of the constant torment of what to believe and what to do. Make yourself ready. Trust the tide. He had kept repeating those words as he'd drifted off to sleep. It didn't matter what the others thought. Grace was still alive. His feeling had been right all along."Hey, buddy, wake up! Shake a tail!"Connor opened his eyes to find Bart already dressed, shaved, and buzzing with energy."What time is it?" Connor asked. "Did I miss breakfast?"

"Nah, buddy, it's early. But did you forget? It's your first sword-fighting class this morning. Get your gear on. We don't want to keep Cate waiting!"

"What's that smell?" Connor wrinkled his nose. Bart blushed.Connor smiled. "Are you wearing cologne... for Cate?"

"I just thought I'd freshen up. Now get a move on, mate."Less than ten minutes later, after the quickest of washes, Connor and Bart arrived on the foredeck. Cutlass Cate was busy laying out an array of weaponry. She was friendly but businesslike, her red hair twisted back in a neat ponytail and covered by her customary bandanna. Her eyes were bright with energy and purpose as she pulled on a pair of leather gloves."These are not toys," she told Connor, as she continued setting out a selection of swords. "Some of the crew treat them as toys. They don't get very far. We never put them to the fore in battle--they'd get minced."Today, I'll show you some of the main swords we use in combat. Some will feel more comfortable to you than others. Each sword has a personality. We need to find the one that fits you. It's like meeting a group of people for the first time. With some, there's an instant connection. Others, you don't click with. We need to find the right sword for you. Your sword becomes an extension of you--of your body, of your personality."Connor nodded, fascinated."Bartholomew, please stand up," Cate instructed. As he did so, she wrinkled her nose."What's that smell?"

"Extract of Limes," Bart said, smiling."Trying to ward off scurvy?" she said with a grin.Bart puffed out his chest and grinned lopsidedly at Cate. She shook her head, all business, and threw a pair of gloves at him. He put them on and reached forward to grab the largest of the swords."Now, Bartholomew here, he's quite a big guy, so he carries the broadsword. It's heavy, too heavy for some, but in the right hands, it's a powerful ally."She stepped back out of Bart's way. "A mollinet, if you please, Bartholomew."As she moved out of his space, Bart began slicing the sword through the air. It sparkled in the sunlight. Suddenly, Bart was all business, moving with the grace of a ballet dancer, and the precision of a knife thrower, as he spun the sword left and right, up and down, circling it about his head and then to either side."Okay, okay, enough showing off," Cate said firmly. "Do you see, Connor, how the sword and Bart fit together?"He nodded and high-fived Bart as his buddy set the sword carefully down on the deck and resumed his position beside him."Now, you take the broadsword. Put on these gauntlets first."Connor stepped forward and, having slipped his hands in the rough leather gloves, reached out for the hilt of the sword. It was unbelievably heavy. It had looked as light as a reed in Bart's hands, but Connor wasn't sure if he'd even be able to hold it steady."That's it," Cate said, "you hold it here. We call that end part of the sword the pommel. The cross parts are the quillons. This, the tip, is the weakest part of the sword. It's called the foible."She ran her finger along the flat edge of the sword, toward Connor's hand. "The strongest part of the blade is here. It's called the forte."Careful to angle himself away from Cate, Connor lifted the sword, using both hands. He shivered at the power he now held in his grip. Light glinted off the edges of the blade. This was no game, Connor realized. This was an instrument of death."The broadsword is a cutting or hacking weapon," Cate continued, as if she had read his thoughts. "It's sharp at the end but both the sides are like razors, too. Now, let's have a look at your stance..."As Cate appraised Connor's pose, he wondered how she could be so casual about the purpose of the weapon. He realized that if he was going to be a pirate, he too would have to deal with death on a daily basis. Worse than that, he would be called upon to inflict it. It was a sobering thought. Fourteen years old and a trainee assassin. He gulped."You want to stand a bit like a sumo wrestler, Connor, feet wider. That's it, cushion your knees. Bend them a touch more."

Connor followed Cate's instructions. She nodded approvingly. Her whole body seemed to bristle with energy."That's good, Connor, very good. Okay, why don't you put the sword down now?"Gratefully, Connor set the broadsword back on the deck. He sat down again, next to Bart, full of renewed respect and admiration for his fellow pirates."Now, here's the thing about broadswords," Cate continued. "They're big and they're heavy. This monster's four foot long. When we board an enemy ship, time is of the essence. The broadsword's full of problems. It can get caught in the rigging, for one thing. So here's what we do. We send in Bart and a couple of the other big boys at the front. They go in and chop through the rigging, swinging their swords like windmills. It's all smoke and mirrors, though. The other crew sees these big brutes laying waste to their ship, and they're scared. But that's only setting the scene--sorry, Bart--you see, I'm coming in with this little baby and I'm the one who's going to cause the real damage."While she was talking, Cate had picked up a smaller sword and removed it from its scabbard. It was about three-quarters of the length of the broadsword but much lighter and more delicate."This, my friend, is like fighting with a needle." Cate leaped forward, thrusting the sword before her."She's thrusting between your ribs, mate," Bart explained with a grin. "It's a quick poke that bursts your internal organs. And then it's gonna take you a day or two to die a nice slow, torturous death."

"The broadsword is all about appearance," said Cate, lunging back and forth. "The epee is about effect. In the right hands, it's poetry in motion."Connor was starting

 to feel increasingly out of his depth and a little bit sick."You're looking a touch green, mate," Bart said. "Are you about to throw up?"

"No, no, I'll be all right." He took a few deep breaths. "Are you sure, mate?"Connor nodded. Cate did not acknowledge Connor's qualms. She remained focused on the job at hand, returning the epee to its scabbard and taking another of the swords in her hand."Now, let's try this rapier, shall we?"She held out the sword to Connor and, taking a deep breath, he slipped his gloved hand through the handle."That's it. Notice the swept hilt on this sword. There we are, your whole fist goes through there. It's like a protective cage."This felt much more comfortable than the broadsword. It was a touch shorter but significantly lighter."Ah, that looks good. Excellent. Now, hold the blade out flat."Connor extended his arm.

"Good, Connor," Cate said, smiling. "Now, your hand is pronate, that means facing upward. Your stance should be soft again, your legs bent. Your weight is even between your feet. Imagine you're playing tennis. You're ready to move quickly in either direction."Connor followed her instructions and suddenly he was having a good time. He could forget for the moment about blood and guts and death, and focus on this as just another sport. And there wasn't a sport yet that Connor Tempest had failed to master. Flushed with a new confidence, he followed Cate's flow of instructions. He could see that she was delighted with his swift progress."Now, we'll try a little passing forward and backward," Cate said, demonstrating the foot movements for him. "Your feet must never be together. If they are, you'll lose your balance. Just move one foot at a time, like me."He followed her footwork, quickly picking up the rhythm. Cate stepped back and Bart joined her. Together they watched their protege. Connor was unaware of them, lost in his determination to perfect the dancelike moves."Not bad for a beginner," Bart said, peeling off his gloves."He's an absolute natural," Cate replied. "He's exactly what we've been looking for."Above them, standing outside his cabin, Captain Molucco Wrathe beamed with satisfaction."What did I tell you, Scrimshaw?" he said, stroking his pet. "I see an exciting future ahead for Mister Connor Tempest, a most exciting future indeed."Connor was on a high from the sword-fighting lesson for the rest of the day. Every time he thought about it, he couldn't help but smile. Cate had said she'd give him another lesson at the same time the following morning. He couldn't wait for it.In the meantime, there was work to be done. Connor's latest task was to clean one of the "swivel guns," or small cannons, on the foredeck. He'd been given a chamois leather and some foul-smelling polish, which he was doing his best not to inhale as he worked. It wasn't so bad when he was cleaning the top of the cannon, but now he was doing the underside and he had to lie on the deck as if he was under the body of a car. He worked as quickly as he could, anxious to get the task over with as fast as possible."Well, I hear you're quite the swordsman."Connor slid forward and found Cheng Li standing there, looking down at him with a wry smile."I wonder," she said, "is cleaning swivel guns an appropriate job for The Diablo's foremost young warrior?" Connor scrambled to his feet, grateful for a break.

"Captain Wrathe told me we all share the jobs on board," he said, placing the lid on the can of polish."What a good little pirate you've become, Connor, and so quickly."Connor was taken aback by the sarcasm in her voice. What had he done to upset her? He decided it was best to ignore it."Cate gave me loads of swords to try," he said enthusiastically. "I liked the rapier the best."

"Not the broadsword, like your friend Bartholomew?"

"Nah," Connor said, "too unwieldy. I want a precision weapon."

"If it's precision you're looking for, try these," Cheng Li said, lifting her arms over her head and, in a single motion, unleashing twin blades from the sheaths on her back."Katanas," she said, as she twisted the evil-looking blades through the air, "made to my specifications by the swordsmith on Lantao Island. A graduation gift. To myself."The blades seemed as light as feathers, but as sharp as razors, in her hands. After a final flourish, she returned them to their sheaths. Connor was impressed."What about your other sword?" he asked."My other sword?"He pointed to the ornate brass scabbard that hung from her waist on a leather strap.

Cheng Li looked down, suddenly pensive. She did not draw the cutlass from its sheath."This was my father's sword. You may have heard of him."

"Chang Ko Li," Connor said. "The best of the best, Bart told me."Cheng Li nodded."The best of the best," she repeated in a surprisingly emotionless tone.She gazed down at the scabbard, her fingers resting on the hilt of the cutlass. "They brought me this when he died. I keep it to remember."Connor nodded. "It's good to have something to remember him by. I wish I had something of my dad's."

"You misunderstand, boy. I do not wear the cutlass to remember my father. I wear it to remember that however great you are, however far and wide they know your name, it takes only one thrust of a stranger's sword to end it all. My father, for all his reputation and glory, was killed like a common thief. That's the pitiable truth about the great Chang Ko Li."With that, she removed her hand from the ancient sword. Connor could tell she was upset, though her face was steely and gave little away."Better get back to your cleaning," she said. "Look, warrior, you missed a spot."

CHAPTER 22

BREAD AND SOUP

As Grace left the captain's cabin, her mind was buzzing with thoughts of Connor. When would he be joining them? Where was he now? Stepping through the door, she found herself not back on the outside deck, as expected, but in an interior corridor, lined on either side with closed doors.The captain's cabin must have two doors, she realized. She did not dare to go back into his cabin and out through the other door. Besides, there must be another exit to the deck from this corridor.Sure enough, as she reached the corridor's end, there was a door to her left opening out onto the deck outside. To her right, she noticed a staircase, plummeting down into the darkened depths of the ship. She should go to the left, back to the safety of her cabin or, at the very least, out onto the deserted sunlit deck.But the stairs offered a tantalizing alternative. The captain had not forbidden her to explore the ship. He had only asked her to return to her cabin by the time the Nightfall Bell sounded. The day was still young. She had plenty of time for a quick detour to look around below-decks and get a better measure of the ship, while its inhabitants lay sleeping.The stairs led down to another corridor. It was dimly lit with lanterns, just barely illuminating the rows of cabin doors on either side. Fortunately, a carpet--albeit a threadbare one--had been stretched out along the deckboards and absorbed the sound of her cautious footsteps.It was eerily silent, or maybe it just seemed that way to Grace, imagining the people, the creatures who inhabited the rooms around her. It was a long corridor and she was tempted to turn back again and curtail her exploration.No, she told herself, this is silly. Hadn't she already met two of the vampires? For, although she had not wanted to think of them as such, that was what Lorcan and the captain were. And had they been demons? Lorcan could not have been less like one, except perhaps for that brief moment when his features had taken on a sudden harshness, but it had been so fleeting, perhaps it had only been a trick of the light. As for the captain--of course his mask and cape were forbidding, and it took a time to grow accustomed to his strange, disembodied whisper. And yet his words had expressed only a wish to take care of her. And through the vision of Connor, he had given her hope.The two vampires she had met had both shown her restraint and concern. Why should the rest of the crew prove any different, any more dangerous? Still, neither Lorcan nor the captain seemed keen on the thought of Grace encountering the others in an unexpected fashion. She would be wary.Grace continued along the corridor, counting each door to try to get a better idea of the size of the crew. After twenty, she stopped counting. If there were two vampires in each cabin, that was forty already. If there were four, that was eighty. Even if each cabin was occupied by only one of them, that was still... something she'd prefer not to think about.Shivering slightly, she walked on, careful to tread firmly and quietly along the center of the carpet. It reminded her of when she was young and, inspired by some movie or storybook, had gone through months determined never to step on the cracks in the pavement in case she fell through them, down into the lair of lions and tigers and bears.At the end of the corridor was another set of stairs.