Demons of the Ocean (6 page)

CHAPTER 10

THE LIFE OF A PIRATE

"You can take this bunk," Bartholomew told Connor.It was basic, makeshift even. Just a wooden bed frame with a thin mattress and some space underneath to store a few possessions. Not that Connor had any possessions anymore. He and Grace had left Crescent Moon Bay with only the contents of their backpacks. And the storm had stripped them of those. All he had now were the tattered clothes on his back, such as they were."You can't sleep in those wet things, buddy. Here's a shirt--and these trousers should fit okay."

"Thanks." Connor caught the bundle of clothes that Bartholomew threw at him. He peeled off his wet things and hung them from the rafters, slipping into the dry shirt and trousers. Bartholomew was a few inches taller than him, and he had to roll up the hem of the trousers and the cuffs of the shirt. No matter--it was just a relief to be in dry clothes again.Connor sat down on the bunk. The mattress springs groaned. It was clearly old and worn."You'll get used to it after a while," said Bartholomew. "We work hard on this ship. Even the moaning mattress won't stop you from getting a good night's sleep."

"Wait a minute ... is this your bunk?"Bartholomew shrugged. "Easy come, easy go."Connor was touched by the man's kindness. He was a stranger to him, and he'd given up his bed."I can't take it," he said. "First your clothes, then your bed. Where will you sleep?"

"Don't worry about me. I can sleep on anything."With that, Bartholomew threw down some sacking onto a spare patch of floorboards. He plumped up his kit bag as if it were a fine pillow. Unbuttoning his shirt, he hung it from one of the rafters. Lying back, in an undershirt stained with sweat and grime, he stretched out as if he were settling down on the plumpest, most comfortable of beds. He fished a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it, slowly breathing in the smoke.Connor grimaced."Sorry, Connor, would you like one? Reckon I've got enough to make another."

It wasn't that. Connor hated being around smoke. But he could hardly complain after all Bartholomew's generosity."No, that's cool. I don't smoke, Bartholomew. But thanks."

"Call me Bart, mate. Bartholomew's too much of a mouthful."Connor nodded and watched as Bart blew smoke rings into the candlelight. For a time, neither of them spoke. Connor wriggled around, trying to find a more comfortable position on the bunk. Sure enough, the mattress whined and a loose spring dug into his back. Saying nothing, he adjusted his position and stretched out again."It's pretty basic here," Bart said, letting out a spiral of smoke, "but everyone pitches in. The captain's kind of old school, a bit irregular, but he treats us like his own family. He's a good guy."Connor leaned toward Bart to lower his voice. "What about Cheng Li? The captain and Cheng Li don't seem very keen on each other."Bart smiled. "That's one way of putting it. She's a bit of a thorn in his side and he's... well, he's like a bloody great dagger in hers." Bart laughed. "Like I say, Captain Wrathe, he's old school. I'm guessing you don't know much about the pirate world?"Connor shook his head."That's okay, most landies don't. See, in our world,

Molucco Wrathe is something of a legend. The Wrathe family is pirate royalty. Molucco is one of three brothers and they're all pirate captains. Molucco's the oldest. Then there's Barbarro. They have some feud going, haven't spoken in years, so they say. But then there's the younger brother, Porfirio. I've heard Captain Wrathe talk about him many a time. Reckons he'll make the finest captain of them all."Bart had reached the end of his cigarette. He scrabbled about in the candlelight to find the box of tobacco and began rolling another."Now,

 as I say, the Wrathe brothers belong to the old school of piracy, as do I... I guess."

"How old are you?" Connor found himself asking. "How old do you reckon I am?"Connor shrugged. "Twenty-nine? Thirty?"Bart hooted with laughter. "Thanks, buddy, I'm twenty-two! But I guess I've lived a bit. Thirty? Mate, I'll be lucky to see my thirtieth birthday. Some other bloody pirate'll have run a broadsword through me by then, I'm pretty sure about that."He didn't seem too dismayed by the prospect, thought Connor as he watched Bart light the second cigarette."Where I come from--where Captain Wrathe comes from--piracy's all about getting what you want, when you want. Life's an adventure, isn't it? At least, it should be. I could never be a landie--shut in an office, trapped in four walls."Connor's eyes roamed around the tiny cabin they were in."Oh yeah, it's pretty boxy in here, but this isn't where ] live," Bart said. "I live out there. The ocean's my office, thank you very much. The islands and the reefs are the only walls that hem me in. I may work harder than the guy next to me or the guy next to him, to get food in my belly, but I'm a free man in ways they'll never know. And you know what?"He turned to Connor, fire burning in his eyes. "When that sword comes to get me, I'll be ready, buddy. Because I've lived more in these two and twenty years than most blokes do in a lifetime."Connor felt the power of his words. His own heart was pounding at Bart's speech. He couldn't yet tell why. Was it fear? Fear of death? Somehow, with everything that had happened, death had lost some of its mystery. Death had claimed his father and might very well have taken, or be poised to take, his sister. All in all, Death was like an uninvited guest who just wouldn't leave Connor Tempest alone. He wasn't sure that he felt fear toward Death now, so much as anger and resentment. He wasn't going down without a fight!"Tell me about Cheng Li," he said, changing the subject.

"You said that Captain Wrathe is an old-school pirate. How about Cheng Li?"

"Mistress Li is utterly new school. She's fresh out of Pirate Academy. No joke, that's what it's called. She graduated top of her class--with honors. Which makes her just about the most qualified pirate to ever sail the seas. But there's piracy in her blood, too. Her father, Chang Ko Li, was one of the most bloodthirsty pirates to ever hoist the skull and bones. He was known as the best of the best. That's a heck of a lot to live up to."He held the cigarette up in the candlelight, watching the tip burn down."Anyhoo, Mistress Li is here as an apprentice. It's the final part of her training. She's done all the academy stuff and this is to test her out, to see how she fares in real-life situations. It's a bit of a joke, if you ask me. Straight out of school and she's suddenly second-in-command. When other, more experienced blokes, well, it just doesn't seem quite right. Know what I mean?"

"Is it because she's a woman?" Connor asked. "How do the pirates feel about that?"

"Oh no, that's not it--we're not a sexist bunch. Take Cate--Cutlass Cate. She's one of the best, one of the most popular on this ship. In a fight, she's the one you want at your side. What she doesn't know about swords ain't worth knowing."Bart let out a long, deep yawn.

"I've got nothing against Mistress Li personally. She's actually been pretty straight with me. Sure, she huffs and puffs and tries to keep us in our place. But deep down, she's scared. She's just a scared little girl, I reckon. A school for pirates, well, it's just nonsense. Nothing can prepare you for life at sea. Nothing."Bart extinguished the last of the cigarette, punched his kit bag back into shape, and closed his eyes. "Good night, buddy. Watch out for the rogue mattress springs! They can do a fellow an injury where he least wants one."Bart chuckled and soon fell off into a deep sleep. Connor lay awake, his ears ringing with his new roommate's loud snores. He was so tired, he had almost gone beyond sleep. His head was spinning with everything that had happened. It was like a dream--a nightmare. If only he could just wake up.He glanced around the cabin. This was real. He was on a pirate ship, and when he awoke in the morning, he would still be here. And then his new life would begin.And Grace. Where was she? Had she really been rescued or had he just imagined that?He had nothing to go on but the memory of that strange ship and the curious sense of calm that had somehow flooded through his body at the sight of its figurehead.He closed his eyes and instantly an image came to him of his sister sleeping. It was a comforting picture. There she was, in the cabin of the ship that had rescued her, tucked up in her bunk. But it wasn't cramped and basic like this one. Grace was in a proper bed, all nice and comfortable.Where had the vision come from? Connor neither knew nor cared. It was just the life raft he needed to still his feverish mind and send him drifting smoothly into the warm, soft waters of sleep.

CHAPTER 11

SOME KIND OF DANGER

At the sound of the cabin door opening, Grace opened her eyes. How long had she been asleep? she wondered, as Lorcan Furey entered the cabin and closed the door behind him. She wasn't entirely happy that he had just charged in on her."I'm sorry," he said, as if reading her mind, "I did knock but only quietly. I didn't want to draw attention to myself."Her momentary anger passed and turned to embarrassment that he had discovered her half asleep in the flimsy nightgown. She drew the sheets up over herself, simultaneously propping up the pillows behind her so she could sit up."Did you enjoy your soup?" Lorcan asked.

Grace glanced at the empty bowl. She had been so hungry and it had tasted so good, she had actually licked the bowl clean. That was something she had never done before."It was delicious," she said. "But how did you bring it here without me noticing?"

"Ways and means," Lorcan said breezily, "ways and means. I figured your bones needed warming up after your dip in the ocean."His blue eyes twinkled at her. He seemed more relaxed than before--the skin around his eyes and across his forehead was now smooth where before it had been creased with anxiety. He was less pale now, too, or maybe he just seemed so in the glow of the candlelight. No, she thought, watching him prowl around the cabin, he definitely seemed livelier than before. The Feast must have done him some good."What time is it?" she asked him. "I've lost track and I can't seem to find my watch."

"It's the middle of the night," he said, "the very darkest of the hours." Sometimes when he spoke, it was as if he was intoning an old poem."Aren't you tired?" she said. "You must have had a long day."

"Not a bit of it." Lorcan grinned. "I slept until nightfall and I'll catch my sleep when the sun comes up."

Ah, now she understood. He must be on the night shift. Yes, that might explain what she'd overheard him say earlier--about not going out before nightfall. Of course--it would make sense to have a different crew assigned during the night. They were quite quiet, though, Grace thought. She couldn't hear anyone else moving about on deck. But presumably, the bulk of work on deck was accomplished during the daylight hours."What's this?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. He was standing, with his back to her, over by the desk on the other side of the cabin."What?"As he turned toward her, she saw that he held the notebook in his hands. He walked toward her, tapping the mark of blood on the cover."Did you do this?"

"Yes." She was embarrassed. "I cut myself."

"Dearie me," he said, "let me have a look."

"Oh, it's nothing," she said. "I picked up the pen, but it slipped and I pricked my thumb."

"Let me see," he said, sitting down on the bed.Feeling cornered, she lifted her hand from beneath the covers. He took her wrist and gently turned her hand palm-side up so he could see the narrow cut on her thumb. Grace was at once comforted and a little embarrassed by his touch. His hands were surprisingly cold.

Maybe that was why her skin had started to break out in gooseflesh."Was there much blood?" he inquired, rather tenderly. "No," she said, wriggling free. "Just a tiny bit. I'm sorry I spoiled the notebook. I tried to clean it."Lorcan shook his head. "Don't worry about that, Grace. Don't worry about that at all."She still felt very self-conscious, sitting there in her nightdress."Have you seen my old clothes?" she asked. "I can't seem to find them."

"Why, yes, here they are."Jumping up, he lifted a pile of clothes from the chair in front of the desk. They looked clean and neatly folded. She was certain--well, as certain as she could be--that they hadn't been there before. But maybe she was confused."Why, look, here's your watch, too."Lorcan placed the pile of clothes on the eiderdown and dangled the watch in front of her, as if about to hypnotize her. His blue eyes glittering like sun on water, he released the watch into her palm. She caught it and looked at its face to check the time. It said half-past seven. That didn't seem right. Hadn't he told her it was the middle of the night?She lifted the watch to her ear. There was no ticking.

"It's stopped," she said."The seawater must have got to its working parts."She nodded, then remembered that it was a diver's watch, designed to be worn deep under the water. How strange."Ah well," he said. "Some would say it's a blessing to be free from the ticking of the clock."Her father used to say something similar. He had never been known to wear a watch, preferring to set his clock by the sun and the moon, letting the ebb and flow of the light and the tide mark out his day. Maybe that was how it was on this ship, too--with the crew changing over from the day to the night, from the night to the day.Lorcan smiled at her and glanced about the cabin. Noticing the

 note pinned to the curtain, he raised his eyes."Apologies for the melodrama," he said. "It's just better that no one else knows you're here. Not yet."

"Why is that?" Grace asked.As he considered his answer, Lorcan's mood seemed to shift again. She saw the familiar furrows crossing his brow."'Tis the captain's orders, Grace. He feels it's safer that way."

"Safer? Am I in danger?"

"Danger? No, no--of course not."

"Lorcan, you're not making sense. If it's safer that I'm kept hidden, then I must be in some kind of danger."

He said nothing--but he was frowning."If I was in some kind of danger, you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, of course, Grace."He looked anxious. His jovial mood now seemed quite vanquished."What's wrong?" she asked.His eyelids shut for a moment. She couldn't help but notice how long his dark eyelashes were. In the lamplight, they cast long shadows over his face."This is no ordinary ship," he said, opening his eyes. "Our ways are strange. I'm not sure you're going to like it here."What on earth did he mean?"W-why?" she stammered. "Why wouldn't I like it here?" He shook his head, as if trying to stop dark thoughts from slipping free from their shackles."I wish I could tell you more, but the captain has asked me not to."