Immortal War Read online

  “No doubt all will be revealed as we proceed,” said Mr. Mizzen firmly, turning from her. He was enjoying himself now, back in his stride.

  “To Cate Morgan, who has served with me in varying capacities for the majority of her maritime career and proved herself to be one of the finest piratical minds of her generation. To Cate, I leave five million…”

  “Another five million…?” Trofie’s golden hand gripped her husband’s arm. “Are you doing the math here? I don’t like the way this is stacking up…”

  “To Cate,” Mr. Mizzen resumed more loudly, “I leave five million, but with a small condition attached. I have gifted The Diablo to my nephew Moonshine, and it is my hope that this ship will be the making of him—but timber and sailcloth alone cannot accomplish a task of this magnitude. Cate, I had the great privilege to know you as my deputy aboard The Diablo. Now I ask you to resume that position, as deputy to Moonshine, for a period of three years. That should be sufficient to give him the support and grounding he needs. I hope you might stay on for longer than that, but, even if you choose not to, at the end of the three years, my gift of five million will be yours.”

  Barbarro laughed. “I’m sorry, Cate,” he said. “I’m not laughing at you. Just thinking how my brother was an inveterate deal-maker to the very end.”

  “And beyond,” Cate said. She could feel both Trofie’s and Moonshine’s eyes upon her. No doubt, they were trying to read her thoughts and emotions. She studiously avoided glancing their way, looking instead directly at Mr. Mizzen.

  “May I take some time to consider this proposition?” she asked.

  Mr. Mizzen nodded. “Captain Wrathe allowed for that. He knew that you would want to weigh the pros and cons.”

  “Pros and cons!” snapped Trofie with irritation. She felt her husband’s warning touch. It drew out some of her sting. “Well, really! He’s given her a fortune and all she has to do is mentor our son.” Barbarro was silent but reflected that, in Molucco’s position, he might have upped the ante still further to sweeten the deal.

  “To my dear brother Barbarro,” Mr. Mizzen continued, “I leave you… nothing.”

  Nothing. The word seemed to ricochet around the conference room. The tension and surprise were almost audible.

  “I leave you nothing,” repeated Mr. Mizzen, “because you are as wealthy as me in your own right, and there are others who will benefit far more from a leg up. I trust you will not think ill of me on this account. Brother Barbarro, it was one of the deepest sadnesses of my life to lose our brother Porfirio. And one of the greatest joys to be reunited with you in the twilight of my days. We wasted so much time. I learned the lesson, but a little late, that blood is thicker than all the oceans.”

  As Mr. Mizzen paused to draw breath, Trofie inquired, “Is there a personal message to me?”

  “Only this,” said Mr. Mizzen pointedly, as he cleared his throat and found his place once more. “My precious family, my dear, dear friends, if you have been doing your sums—and knowing certain amongst you, no doubt you have—you will know that there is still the whale’s share of my fortune to apportion. My accountants can confirm the total sum, though I estimate it to be in the region of…”

  “Twenty-eight million!” Trofie finished the sentence for him.

  “Twenty-eight million, eight hundred thousand,” corrected Mr. Mizzen with a smile. “And I am passing on this wealth, which I have built over many years and all seven of the oceans, to my friend, Connor Tempest.”

  All eyes turned to Connor. Both Moonshine’s and Barbarro’s faces registered surprise. Trofie looked in urgent need of medical help. Ma Kettle was smiling, as was Sugar Pie. Cate’s expression was harder to decipher. As for Connor himself, he had no idea how to respond to what he had just been told. When he’d been asked to come to this office, he had expected to leave with a token gift—if that. His last meetings with Molucco had been awkward, and the captain had left him in no doubt that any relationship they had once enjoyed was now over. Yet, according to Mr. Mizzen, he was about to inherit nearly thirty million. The figure was so far beyond his reality that his brain was simply numb.

  “Connor,” read Mr. Mizzen, “I’m sure this comes as a surprise to you. To be honest, it’s something of a surprise to me. You came into my life by chance and soon became a valued member of my crew. But, more than that, my lad, you became the son I never had. Because of the deep affection I felt for you, you had the power very few others ever possessed—the power to hurt me. And you did. When you asked to be released from my command, you might as well have run your rapier through my heart. I responded, as I often did, with anger. I burned your articles and vowed to eradicate every trace of you from my life.” Mr. Mizzen paused and took a sip of water, gratified to know all eyes were fixed on him.

  “I couldn’t cut you out of my life, Connor, any more than I could cut you out of my heart. I know why you did what you did. I saw your confusion and guilt—more clearly, I daresay, than you did yourself. So now, I reach out from my grave and ask to shake your hand…”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Trofie barked, rising to her feet, eyes flashing fire. “This will is a travesty—the rantings of a sick, deluded man who, in his decrepitude, became vulnerable to the worst kind of strumpets and con men and…”

  As she sought out the next insult, Mr. Mizzen cut her off. “I can assure you, Madam Wrathe, that your brother-in-law was of sound mind and disposition when, in my presence and that of Messrs Mainbrace, Windvane, and Splice, he signed this last and final testament.”

  “Spare me,” snorted Trofie derisively. “My husband and I will challenge this farce in every court on the land and oceans.”

  “No.” It was Barbarro who spoke, rising to stand alongside his wife. “No, we will not. It was my brother’s fortune to distribute as he thought fit. He has made his choices and, though we may not agree with all of them, we must respect them.” He extended his hand toward Mr. Mizzen. “Thank you, sir. And now, we really must get going. We have a war to win—and a ship to reclaim.” Barbarro looked at Moonshine, who obediently rose to his feet.

  Trofie stood, still shaking her head in disbelief. Barbarro grabbed hold tightly of his wife’s hand and escorted her briskly toward the door. “Come, min elskling. We must make haste for Pirate Academy.”

  Moonshine hesitated, grinning at the others. Then he, too, headed for the door, pausing before Connor for a moment.

  “Well, old sport, looks like you scooped the jackpot today.” Moonshine grinned. “Congratulations, Connor. Mazel tov! For a shipwrecked slumdog, you’ve made out like a bandit.”

  He paused to give Sugar Pie a wink, then, smirking, strode off after his parents.

  3

  KILLING PIRATES

  Three ships coursed through the dark ocean, like a school of killer whales on the hunt. The Blood Captain was a nose ahead, flanked on its port side by The Redeemer and, on starboard, by The Diablo. The three Vampirate vessels were closing in on a pirate galleon.

  Sidorio stood at the helm of his ship, hands on hips, surveying the figures racing back and forth across the target deck. Mortal eyes would have required night-vision goggles and an optical zoom to zero in on the scene. Sidorio’s visual acuity was such that he could see far across the ocean, his ocean, with crystal clarity.

  “Can’t you get us there any faster?” he asked the man at his side.

  His question was met by a shake of the head. “Regretfully, no, Captain. We’re making good speed but ours is a large ship. Besides, you wanted The Redeemer and The Diablo to keep pace with us.”

  The mention of the other two ships made Sidorio instantly nostalgic for their captains—Stukeley and Johnny Desperado. One of the few drawbacks of the ultra-rapid expansion of the Vampirate fleet was having to release his trusted deputies and bring up others from the ranks—like this babbo at his side.

  Well, thought Sidorio, Stukeley and Johnny might have their own ships now, but they remained his joint deputies within the empire.


  Turning away from the imbecile at the wheel, Sidorio’s fiery eyes sought out Stukeley, standing poised at the helm of The Redeemer. The always reliable Stukeley turned and saluted his commander in chief, awaiting instructions.

  Smiling with satisfaction, Sidorio turned to his other side and found the reciprocal gaze of Johnny Desperado, captain of The Diablo. He, too, was ready to do his master’s bidding.

  “Follow me!” Sidorio commanded.

  “What?” The man at his side jumped nervously and glanced at him in confusion.

  “Not you, Lieutenant Jewell!” Sidorio said, venting his impatience.

  “Sorry, Captain!” Lt. Jewell lifted one hand from the wheel to make a salute. With only one of his shaky hands on the wheel, the vast ship began to reel. They were never going to catch the pirate ship at this rate!

  Sidorio pushed the trembling lieutenant away from the wheel and took over. Immediately, the ship steadied itself, like a wanton horse brought under control by an expert rider. The captain turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Is there anyone here capable of steering while I attend to business?”

  “Yes, Captain!” A young-looking Vampirate—all ripped muscle and attitude—eagerly strode across the deck.

  “What’s your name?” Sidorio inquired.

  “Caleb McDade,” the Vampirate replied, saluting him. “At your service!”

  Sidorio smiled at the young man’s eagerness. “You’ve just been promoted, Caleb McDade,” he said. “Take over from me.”

  As he stepped aside, Sidorio bashed into the lately demoted Lt. Jewell. The captain surveyed the useless excuse for a Vampirate.

  “With regret,” Sidorio said, “you’re fired!”

  He lifted the bewildered lieutenant up by his armpits and stepped toward the very edge of the ship. Sidorio released his hands, and Lt. Jewell made a hasty descent into the briny waters below.

  At the wheel, Caleb McDade grinned from ear to ear.

  “I see we share a sense of humor,” Sidorio said. “Righto, time I was going. Keep your eyes on the ocean and your hands on the wheel, capisci?”

  “Yes, Captain!”

  Sidorio felt satisfied that this one was up to the job.

  He glanced back to Stukeley, on board The Redeemer, then to Johnny, at the helm of The Diablo. “On the count of three!” he said. “One… Two… Three.”

  He propelled himself up into the air, flying high above the deck and next the dark, churning ocean itself. It was as if he were drawing the target ship effortlessly toward him, like a kite. Glancing swiftly to either side, he spied Stukeley and Johnny soaring through the night air in the same direction.

  Sidorio let out a satisfied roar. Game on!

  On the deck of the pirate ship, Captain Jack Fallico was held fast in the clutches of Mimma and Holly, two of the feistiest Vampirates on Lola Lockwood-Sidorio’s crew. Captain Fallico was the only pirate left standing. The others lay scattered across the deck like so much flotsam and jetsam, their prostrate bodies silvery-gray in the meager light of the ship’s lanterns. Lola’s crew—dark-cloaked shadows—was busy at work, harvesting the blood of the newly dead.

  The pirate captain had put up a fight for a time, lashing and spitting at his captors. Now, at last, he seemed reconciled to his fate. His eyes gave a final flash of fire at the deliverer of his doom. Lady Lola Lockwood-Sidorio.

  “If you’re going to kill me, just kill me,” said the pirate captain bravely.

  Lola arched an eyebrow, giving nothing away. Feeling pleasantly giddy, she sniffed the air. The aroma of different blood types commingling on the deck was utterly intoxicating. She was already contemplating the intriguing blends she could create from tonight’s harvest.

  “Look here,” Captain Fallico snarled, “I’ve had enough of this! You’ve massacred my crew and taken my ship. You’re obviously going to kill me, too, so stop playing games and just get on with it, you vile, bloated vampire!”

  “Bloated?” Lady Lola stepped closer to her prey, the heels of her thigh-high sharkskin boots drumming on the bloodstained deck. “Bloated? How dare you! I’m not bloated, you mortal fool. I’m eight and a half months pregnant!” She lifted her cloak and proudly displayed her belly, snug under her maternity suit. Rubbing it proudly, she stepped forward and seized Captain Fallico’s rapier from where it had fallen onto the deck in front of him.

  “Live by the sword…” Lola began.

  “Captain!” exclaimed Mimma.

  Seeing the look in her deputy’s eyes, Lola paused. Killing a captain was a moment to savor—like uncorking a bottle long stored in the cellar and breathing in its heady perfume. Mimma must have good reason to interrupt her at a moment like this.

  Behind her, Lola now heard the whistling of air, followed by a thud.

  Turning, she saw her husband land on the deck, a few meters from her. Her face froze in dismay as Stukeley and Johnny dropped down on either side of him.

  Rapier still poised, Lola frowned at Sidorio. “What are you doing here?” she asked, no trace of warmth in her cut-glass voice.

  Sidorio’s jaw hung open. “What are you doing here? It’s almost your due date. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.” His eyes glanced protectively at his wife’s bulge.

  Lola rolled her eyes. “Must we have this conversation again? There are two types of pregnant women,” she declared. “Those who lie around for months reading magazines and demanding foot rubs, and the other category, to which I belong, who continue to attend to business.”

  With that, she turned away, lifted her sword, and skewered Captain Fallico.

  As he fell meatily to the deck, Holly swiftly plugged in her draining apparatus and began bottling his blood. It was the last of a good haul. From the edges of the deck, others of Lola’s crew now came forward, stepping over their victims. Each carried the standard-issue black case, which now held half a dozen bottles of recently harvested pirate.

  “Good work, ladies!” Lola said, standing proudly before her crew as Holly snapped shut her case and strode into position beside her. “Holly, Camille… next job for you. You know that quaint tradition the pirates have of putting a Nocturnal on each of their ships?”

  The girls nodded.

  “Doubtless, he or she will be hiding belowdecks,” Lola said. “Find them and bring them up to me.”

  “Dead or undead?” Camille inquired.

  Lola laughed lightly. “Undead, if you please. We’re going to play a little game with the opposition.” Her eyes searched the crowd. “Jessamy, Nathalie—fetch the package from The Vagabond, if you please. The rest of you can start clearing up the deck.”

  At her words her crew sprang into action. Jack Fallico’s husk of a body was the first to hit the water.

  “What’s going on?” Sidorio asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” Lola said, hurling a set of keys toward him. As he caught them in his thick palm, she continued. “A gift to you, husband. Another ship for your burgeoning collection. Number one hundred and one, if I’m not mistaken? It was supposed to be a surprise but you’ve rather blown that.”

  “Thank you,” Sidorio said, cradling the keys in his hand. He stepped forward to kiss his wife, but, at the last moment, Lola twisted her face and Sidorio found his lips thudding against her taut cheek, smooth and cold as marble.

  Stukeley, Mimma, and Johnny averted their eyes. Even so, Sidorio flushed with embarrassment.

  “Are you angry with me, wife?” he inquired, a dangerous edge to his voice.

  Lola sighed, her breath sending a sharp spiral of smoke through the black air. “I’m furious with you,” she said. “I’m having a baby, Sid, not a lobotomy. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of business both before and after the birth.”

  “Births,” Sidorio corrected her. “You’re having two babies, Lola. Our twins. The heirs to our immortal empire.”

  “Yes, yes,” Lola said briskly. “Please be assured I know there are two budding Sidorios in my belly. I’m the one who
gets kicked and nipped at all hours of the day and night. It seems big feet and sharp teeth run in the family.”

  Sidorio smiled and extended his hand to his wife’s neck. It was as elegant as a swan’s, deceptively fragile-looking. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I acted rashly. I know I’m overprotective sometimes, but I just care about you so much.” His voice became husky. “I almost lost you once before. I can’t imagine how I’d go on if something happened to you.”

  Lola’s dark eyes met her husband’s. “If something happened to me—or to your precious twins?”

  The brutal barb did not throw Sidorio off track. “You know how much these children mean to me,” he said. “But you’ll never know how much you mean to me, because my love for you is a thing which defies all measure.”

  At these words, Lola at last softened. “That’s very sweet,” she said, running a fingertip along the flat of Captain Fallico’s sword and bringing the bloodstained tip to her mouth. She tasted it, then nodded approvingly. The blood was surprisingly complex. She’d enjoy a glass of that later. Full of health-giving nutrients for the twins.

  “Are you truly sorry, Sid?” Lola asked. “Do you promise to mend your ways?”

  Sidorio nodded. “I only wish there was some way I could prove it to you.”

  “Actions speak louder than words,” Lola announced decisively. She reached out and took back the ring of keys. They glimmered in the moonlight as she extended them toward the girl by her side. “Mimma, you’ve shown excellent leadership qualities of late. I think it’s high time you commanded a ship of your own.”

  “Wow!” Mimma said, clearly taken by surprise. She gripped the keys tightly.

  Stukeley swept her up in his arms and kissed her. “Congratulations, Captain!”

  “Gee, thanks,” Mimma said, beaming broadly. “Look, here come the others!”

  The captains and their deputies turned. The rank-and-file members of Lola’s crew were busy tossing dead pirates into the ocean and swabbing the deck. Through the melee strode Holly and Camille, strong-arming a terrified-looking Nocturnal. Further in the distance, Jessamy and Nathalie were also making their approach, carrying over their shoulders what looked very much like a body bag.