Vampirates: Dead Deep

  Vampirates

  Dead Deep

  Justin Somper

  Little, Brown and Company

  New York Boston

  Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

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  For Sally,

  who has helped me swim up from the depths many times.

  This one’s for you!

  Chapter One

  Shore Leave

  “Forty-eight hours!” said Bart with a grin.

  “Two whole days and two whole nights!” Jez beamed.

  Together, the young pirates cried, “Shore leave!” before high-fiving each other, low-fiving each other, and whooping.

  Their friend Connor Tempest shook his head with a grin. At fourteen years old, he was one of the youngest pirates on board their ship, The Diablo—but that didn’t stop his friends from wanting to lead him astray at every opportunity. He knew how excited they were to have shore leave, in spite of being dedicated members of Molucco Wrathe’s crew. “There’s only one thing better than being a pirate on a pirate ship,” Jez had declared as they’d sailed away from The Diablo a few hours earlier, “and that’s being a pirate on shore leave with time on his hands and gold in his purse!”

  Neither Jez nor Bart had stopped grinning since they’d set off from The Diablo in the small boat. Now Connor calmly steered them into a cove crowded with ships, while Bart and Jez jumped up and down like excited kids, causing their craft to rock dangerously.

  “So,” Connor called across to them, “is this the place?”

  “This is it!” Bart said. “Calle del Marinero…the strip of sin!”

  “Erm, that’s not exactly a literal translation,” Jez said.

  “Quite so, Mister Stukeley, quite so,” said Bart, clearing his throat. “A literal translation would be…the Street of Sailors.”

  Connor looked up at the steep and inhospitable ridge beyond the mass of ships. Daylight was fading fast and the land was looking darker and more forbidding by the minute.

  “Where exactly is the street?” asked Connor. “Right now, all I can see is a rocky outcrop. I thought you said this place was crowded with bars and taverns and stuff. How long a walk is it going to be when we get on land?”

  “Are you blind, Mister Tempest?” said Jez. “Look around you!”

  “We’re not going on land,” said Bart. “This is Calle del Marinero—right here. It’s a floating city!”

  As he maneuvered their small boat through the mass of ships towering above them, Connor looked more closely at the other vessels. They were crowded with people and strung with lights. Music was blasting out—a deafening cocktail of rock, folk, and thrash-shanty. He felt a charge of excitement. The boats themselves were the taverns!

  Ahead was a regal junk, each of its red sails bearing the silhouette of a bird in various stages of flight. As they sailed nearer, Connor read the name on the side of the ship: The Bloody Parrot.

  “Ah,” said Jez with awe, “The Bloody Parrot! I heard that its crew sailed in one night for a look-see and never left!”

  “We’ll have a drink there later,” said Bart.

  “We’ll have a drink on every ship later!” said Jez.

  Connor shook his head. He could see how this shore leave was going to shape up. Who knew what state Jez and Bart would be in by nightfall on Sunday? That was when The Diablo was due to pick them up from Calle del Marinero.

  “Aw, don’t look so worried,” Jez said, ruffling Connor’s hair.

  “No, no, Mister Tempest,” added Bart, “we shall take good care of you!” He climbed up onto the side of the boat. “After all, we are—are we not?—the Three Buccaneers!”

  Connor nodded. A fellow pirate, Cutlass Cate, had come up with that nickname, and it had stuck.

  “One for all…” cried Bart, his voice booming over the music drifting down from The Bloody Parrot. From its top deck, curious revelers paused to look for a moment at the pirates’ small bark.

  “And all for one!” cried Connor and Jez.

  At last, Connor spied a mooring slip and eased the boat expertly up to the wooden pier.

  “Nicely done!” cried Bart, jumping down onto the wooden gangway and making light work of the requisite knots.

  Jez dragged Connor off the boat and onto the pier. “Don’t dawdle! We only have forty-eight hours!”

  Connor found himself propelled along the jetty. It soon joined up with others, forming a boardwalk grid. Jez and Bart strode purposefully forth, but Connor was slower, his eyes racing to take it all in. In every direction, the floating taverns competed for his attention: The Saucy Sailor, Poseidon’s, The Cannon and Cutlass…

  One small boat was even a floating tattoo parlor. Connor paused for a moment to watch the tattooist in action. He had always wanted a tattoo. At the boat’s entrance was a series of flags, displaying the various designs. Wouldn’t it be cool if the Three Buccaneers got matching tattoos? He saw an image of three cutlasses. Now, that would be perfect!

  “Hey!” he called after Bart and Jez, but they were already disappearing into the thronging crowd.

  “Hey yourself!” called a young girl just ahead of him, her ruby ringlets bobbing in the breeze.

  She turned and Connor saw that she was actually an old girl—a very old girl. Her ringlets were an ill-fitting wig, her face was thickly caked in powder, and her false eyelashes were as long and thick as a tarantula’s legs.

  “I’m Rose,” she said, smiling at him and revealing an insufficient allocation of teeth. “Wild Rose, they call me. Wanna know why?”

  “No time!” cried Jez, running to Connor’s rescue. “No time at all! Now come on, Mister Tempest. We must stick together!” Connor gratefully allowed himself to be dragged along the boardwalk.

  “That was a close call.” Jez laughed. “Better take care, young Tempest. There’s all kinds of danger in Calle del Marinero!”

  “Hey, guys, whaddaya think about this?” Bart was up ahead, standing by the gangway to a beautiful old junk. Connor saw its name painted on the side of the boat in silvery script: The Dirty Dolphin.

  Bart was pointing to a painted sign:

  ARM-WRESTLING CONTEST TONIGHT. COMMENCES 7:00 PM SHARP! LAST MAN AT THE TABLE WINS FREE BEER AND YABBIES!

  “Yabbies!” said Connor. “Yum! Count me in!”

  “Remind me,” said Jez, “what are yabbies?”

  “In or out-and-move-it-along, lads?” roared a bouncer at the foot of the gangway.

  “In!” Bart exclaimed, striding up the gangway.

  “In!” chorused Connor and Jez, following close behind. Connor’s pulse was racing. One thing was for sure—the Three Buccaneers were in for an adventure or two before their shore leave was up!

  Chapter Two

  The Contest

  The deck of The Dirty Dolphin was only dimly lit. Connor’s eyes took some time to adjust to the gloom.

  “Where do we sign up for the contest?” he heard Bart say.

  Bart and Jez were talking to the bartender—a thickset guy in a tank top. An inky school of dolphins swam down each of his arms. Even the bartender’s fingers were tattooed, just below the knuckles: D-O-L-P-H. Connor decided it must be the bartender’s name.

  “You’re a little late,” said Dolph. “Contest’s been going an hour already.
”

  “But we’ve only just gotten here!” said Bart.

  The bartender threw him a grin. “Well, hey, if we’d known you were coming, buddy, we’d have waited.” He smirked. “Don’t stress over it. You can still enter. No need to sign up. Just throw a dollar in the pot and get in line. I bet Kal’s about ready for some fresh competition. Seen off just about everyone else tonight.”

  “Kal?” said Bart. “Who’s he?”

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” said the bartender. “That’s the way we do things around here. Don’t get a lot of regulars. People breeze in and out on the tide.”

  Bart threw three dollars in the pot. Then he turned back to Dolph. “Looks like Kal’s luck is about to change. Us three pirates ain’t going home with empty bellies tonight!”

  “Yeah, right,” said Dolph. “Contest is in the back bar. Just go through those doors there.”

  “Thanks,” said Bart. “You might want to put some yabbies on to heat.”

  Dolph fixed him with a smile. “They heat up quick enough,” he said.

  Bart led the way through the saloon-bar doors. Beyond was a smaller, gloomier bar, though not so dark the three of them couldn’t make out the faces of the other customers as they turned to check out the newcomers. Connor could read the looks they were getting. They said, Think you’ve got a chance, boys? Well, think again!

  In the center of the room was a small wooden table. Before it was an empty chair. Behind it was Kal. His face was bowed so that all that was visible was his hair. It was neatly cropped and bright blue. Suddenly, Kal looked up at the three newcomers, stopping them dead in their tracks.

  “You’re a girl!” exclaimed Bart.

  “Nothing gets past you, does it?” said Kal. The other customers roared with laughter and drummed their feet in approval. “Friends call me Kally,” she said, her eyes sparkling as blue as her hair.

  What kind of trick is this? Connor wondered. Kally was wearing a tank top, which revealed strong shoulders and muscled arms. But really, there was no way she could challenge them in strength…was there? Could it really be true that she’d already seen off every other challenger in The Dirty Dolphin? There was only one way to find out.

  “So, boys…” Kally was suddenly all business. “Who’s first?”

  “That’ll be me,” Jez said, stepping forward.

  Connor gave Jez a squeeze on the shoulder. “Good luck!” he said. Jez winked and sat down.

  Kally set her elbow on the table and reached out her arm. Jez did the same. Their hands met.

  “Ready, fella?”

  She didn’t talk like any girl Connor had met before. He was warming to her. And he could see Bart was also watching her intently.

  “I’m ready,” Jez said.

  It was over even before it had started. Kally powered Jez’s arm down onto the table without flinching.

  There were snorts of derision from the lowlifes gathered in the bar. “Thought we’d get a proper match that time,” one old fart moaned before hiccupping loudly and falling onto the floor.

  “Nice try, mate,” said Kally, smiling sweetly as Jez got up from the table, dazed. “Who’s next?” she asked.

  “Me,” said Bart, sitting down opposite her. He towered over Kally, but that only seemed to amuse, rather than intimidate, her.

  “Brought in the big guns, eh?”

  Bart said nothing, simply resting his elbow on the table and tensing his biceps.

  It was no contest. Right away, Bart had Kally’s arm almost horizontal on the table. Connor grinned. All his buddy had to do now was press Kally’s flesh into the wooden table.

  But that proved easier said than done. Although she was just inches away from defeat, Kally’s hand held steady. Her face gave nothing away, either. There was no sign of effort there at all.

  Suddenly, Bart’s arm began to move. In the opposite direction!

  This can’t be happening, thought Connor. Kally’s staging a comeback!

  Bart held firm, but the strain was easy to read in his face. A few seconds later, Kally powered Bart’s arm down onto the table.

  Bart pushed back his chair, stunned. “You’re strong, man!” he said.

  “Thanks, man!” said Kally with a wink.

  As Bart stepped back from the chair to rejoin the others, Dolph appeared with a tray full of drinks. He gave Kally a smile. “Looks like you’re making short work of these pirates.”

  “Pirates, eh?” she said, intrigued. She turned to Connor as he stepped forward to take his turn. “Aren’t you a little young to be a pirate?” she asked.

  “I’m fourteen,” Connor said. “Old enough.”

  “He’s one of the best swordsmen on the ship,” Bart added proudly.

  “So he should have a strong grip,” said Kally, her eyes alight.

  Connor sat down, his face flushed. Was she laughing at him? Her eyes really were incredibly blue. He felt mesmerized by them, as though he were being dragged down into unfathomable depths.

  “Ready?” Kally asked.

  Connor gripped her hand tightly. “Ready,” he said.

  He felt immediate pressure from Kally. She was strong. Very strong. But so was he. Not as strong as Bart, for sure, yet he seemed to be standing firm against her. For now, at least.

  As the battle continued, the crowd around the bar hushed, realizing that they might finally have a match on their hands.

  But Connor didn’t look at the crowd. He kept his eyes on Kally’s blue gaze, not even watching their hands as they waged war against each other. Connor had the advantage. He could sense it. Maybe Kally was at last tiring, after a night of defeating everyone. Connor felt elated. How cool would it be for him to defeat Kally and treat his buddies to a night of beer and yabbies to celebrate their shore leave?

  Suddenly, Connor felt Kally’s hand pump with fresh energy. It was pushing his own hand backward. Had his attention slipped? Maybe she had only been toying with him. He pushed back with renewed vigor. They were holding each other off now, as evenly matched as two opposing magnetic currents.

  Then Kally pushed through. Connor forced all his power into his own palm, but he was unable to hold off the assault. He could feel the table just below his hand. It would be over in five seconds, four, three, two.…

  But Connor had hidden reserves of energy, too. Over the years, in all the sports he’d played, he’d learned how to dig deep just when it looked like it was game over. He became aware of his hand forcing Kally’s back. Connor was unsure where the strength had come from, but he could feel it growing and consolidating within him. He was pushing Kally’s hand, and there appeared to be nothing she could do about it. This time, he was sure there was no trickery. Kally’s strength had finally given out. He gave one final push and her hand hit the table. He was so surprised, he forgot to let go.

  “Congratulations,” she said. “Looks like I’ll be paying for my supper, after all.”

  Connor was dazed. He kept staring at Kally’s hand, unable to believe that he had beaten her. She had defeated every last challenger in this dingy back bar…all but one.

  “Good going, buddy!” Bart cried, slapping him on his back.

  “Yeah,” said Jez. “Well played, Connor! Looks like you’ve saved the day.…Or, rather, the night!”

  Across the table, Kally gave the guys a wink. “Well, that was fun, boys,” she said, “but now it’s time for this gal to fly.”

  “Wait!” Bart said. “Stay. Have a drink with us!”

  Kally smiled but shook her head. “I have to get back to Lorelei,” she said. “I’ve already been gone too long.”

  “Who’s Lorelei?” said Bart. “Your sister?”

  “Not who,” said Kally, “but what. The Lorelei is my boat. The others will be waiting for me.”

  Bart wasn’t about to let her go without finding out more. “What kind of boat is it?” he asked.

  She considered his question for a moment. “I guess you could say we’re a dive-boat.”

  “D
iving,” Bart said, nodding. “I love to dive.”

  “Everyone loves to dive,” said Kally, her blue eyes sparkling.

  “Just stay for one drink,” Bart pleaded.

  “Sorry, friend—not even for you.” Kally smiled but shook her head. “The others are waiting.”

  Bart looked crestfallen. Kally turned and called out to the crowd, “Will someone get me my chair?”

  A gap opened up in the murky darkness and through it came a chair, wheeling its way toward Kally. She turned and put out a hand to slow the spinning wheels. Then she pulled the wheelchair close beside her and eased herself swiftly into it. Now Connor saw that Kally had no legs—or at least no visible legs. They were hidden in an oilskin bag, fastened at the waist with a cord. That explained her exceptional upper body strength, he thought.

  Kally propelled herself away from the table, then glanced back and smiled at the dumbstruck lads.

  “Gentlemen, it was a great pleasure making your acquaintance,” she said. “I surely hope we’ll run into one another again.”

  With that, she winked and spun her wheels, disappearing into the bright lights of Calle del Marinero.

  Chapter Three

  Brawl

  “Her eyes were so blue,” Bart said, sighing again. “What would you call that shade of blue? Azure?”

  Jez gritted his teeth. “Bart, you met her for a few minutes, and you haven’t stopped talking about her for over an hour—”

  Bart went on, oblivious. “Maybe aquamarine?”

  Jez rolled his eyes at Connor. “There really aren’t enough free yabbies in the world to make me want to listen to this.” He reached his hand across the bar and squeezed Bart’s shoulder. “Hey, play another record. Please!”

  “Actually,” said Connor, “that’s not such a bad idea!” He glanced over at the jukebox in the corner of the bar. The old Wurlitzer had been pounding out thrash-shanty ever since they had arrived. After a time, the music felt like a severe assault on the eardrums.