Demons of the Ocean Page 3

  They set the boat’s course to the darker waters beyond the bay. Both twins looked hopefully toward their future.

  As the yacht picked up still more speed, Connor noticed the wooden sign that still rested on the prow.

  “Property of the Crescent Moon Bay Cooperative Bank? Not anymore!”

  He grabbed the sign and threw it, like a Frisbee, far out into the ocean. It sank without a trace.

  Back at the harbor, Polly Pagett and Loretta Busby found that shared distress can be a wonderfully powerful bond.

  “There, there, Loretta. You wouldn’t have wanted those unruly children in your lovely home.”

  “No, Polly, and they’d have just wrecked your beautiful orphanage. Good riddance to them both! Let the sharks get them.”

  “No, Loretta, not sharks. Let the pirates at them!”

  “Oooh yes,” Loretta said. “The pirates! Let the pirates have those ungrateful monsters.” She looped her arm through Polly’s.

  “Why don’t you come back to my house for a spot of lunch? We’re having sour-and-sweet lobster tails. Lachlan will be home from the bank. He’ll be delighted to see you.”

  Polly beamed from ear to ear. Her day had certainly turned from sour to sweet. And better still was to come.

  “Was that a drop of rain?” Loretta asked.

  “Why, yes, I believe it was,” Polly said. “And look how dark the sky has grown.”

  “A storm is brewing,” Loretta said, “and those poor children, all alone at sea.”

  Neither woman could contain her laughter as they hurried off to shelter from the rapidly deteriorating weather.

  5

  JOURNEY’S END

  The storm seemed to come out of nowhere. It came at Grace and Connor just when they were at their most vulnerable, out beyond the harbor in the open ocean.

  It didn’t give them a chance.

  The sky changed color so fast, it was as if someone had ripped away a sheet of blue wallpaper to reveal a gaping black hole. The heat from the sun vanished in an instant and the rain came down in hard pellets of water that burned and froze them in the same instant.

  The water roiled beneath them, like a bucking bronco trying to throw its rider. The boat clung onto the waves, and Grace and Connor clung onto the boat, their harnesses offering little reassurance. What good was it being tied to a boat when at any moment the sea might slice the boat in two or crush it in its rough, salty fist?

  “We shouldn’t have done this,” Connor cried. “It was a stupid idea.”

  “No,” cried Grace, above the roar of the water. “What choice did we have?”

  “We’re going to die!”

  “We’re not dead yet!”

  Were those tears rolling down Connor’s cheek, or was it the saltwater stinging his eyes? Grace found it impossible to tell. She thought of their father. What would he have done?

  “I’ll tell you a tale of Vampirates,” she sang, bravely, “a tale as old as true.”

  Connor grasped this crumb of comfort and joined in. The two of them were still singing as the boat spun over and the guardrail snapped in two.

  The twins were thrown apart and down, down into the freezing, churning water.

  Filled with a strange calm, Connor watched pieces of the boat sink past him down into the darker water below. A strange catalog of cups and cutlery and books twirled past him. He reached a hand out toward them and watched them dance away. He smiled. Beneath the surface of the water, it was calm, a safe haven from the storm that raged above. It was tempting to stay here, and drift with the other broken pieces of his world. This might be a good way to die.

  No, he had to find Grace! He tore himself from his trance and, with every fiber of his body, pushed upward through the water. It was hard and it was painful, and it was all he could do not to let go, open himself to the water and sink back down into the darkness.

  But Connor was strong and now he used all his strength to fight the shower of shrapnel hurling toward him as he neared the wreckage of the boat. He burst through the surface, waves lashing him at every turn. Swallowing salty water and retching, he looked desperately around, searching for something buoyant to grab on to. And for his sister.

  Connor’s savior turned out to be a piece of seating. He gripped tightly to its jagged edges, pulling himself up onto the plank of wood as if it was a surfboard. It was an enormous effort and his hands were bleeding. The churning saltwater added to his pain. But Connor took a gulp of air and realized he had done it. He was alive.

  But where was Grace?

  The storm was still raging, but quieter now. Connor scanned the bubbling water, looking for his sister’s face amid the debris. She wasn’t there. Gaining control of the makeshift surfboard, he moved through the water, looking for any sign of her. There was none.

  The sea grew calmer but it was becoming harder and harder to see more than a meter or so ahead of him. Connor realized that a mist was settling. It grew thicker, enclosing him in his own personal cloud. No! Now he would never find her. He flapped his hands around him, trying to push the mist away, but all this did was unbalance him. He brought his hands back down to the float and, defeated, let his head fall onto its surface. What was the point? If Grace was gone, there was nothing for him. He might as well slip from the float and dive back down into the water. At least they’d be together then.

  Connor lost track of how long he drifted. It seemed an eternity, but it might have been only a few seconds, stretched out of all recognition through despair and fatigue. Now the mist was thinning. Through it, he could see the shadow of a ship. It was faint, but he could not miss the outline. It was like an old galleon. He’d only seen such things in books and a model at the maritime museum. He must be imagining it — hallucinating, as death approached.

  But no, it was a ship. As the mist began to lift, he could see it quite clearly, turning in the water. Why was it changing direction in the middle of the ocean? Unless it had stopped for some reason. Perhaps it had come to rescue him?

  Buoyed by the thought, he used his remaining strength to wave his arms in the air and cry out hoarsely.

  “Over here! Over here!”

  The ship continued to turn. But it wasn’t coming for him. He could see no one on board. No one had seen him. The mist had lifted to the level of the deck. As the ship completed its turn, a soft golden light fell upon the ship’s figurehead — a young woman. If only she were a real woman instead of a painted sculpture. Her piercing eyes seemed to watch him but, of course, they were nothing more than daubs of paint on wood.

  Connor was at a loss for what to do as the ship began to move off into the distance. As it sailed away, he made out sails quite unlike any he had ever seen. They were like wings, glimmering with thin veins of light.

  “Hey!” Connor called again. “Help!”

  But his voice was weak and the ship was already much too far away. All he could make out was the dark silhouette of its strange tattered sails. They seemed to flap gently as the ship made its way. It seemed as if, rather than sailing through the rough ocean, the ship was merely skimming the surface, unaffected by the strong currents. His mind must have been playing tricks on him.

  It just didn’t make sense. His body felt dull and heavy and now it seemed that his mind must be losing the fight, too. Grace was gone. The last ship that might have rescued him had sailed away. The only option open to him now was to give up and join his sister in her watery grave.

  His reverie was broken by a voice at his side.

  “Here, grab my arm. You’re safe now.”

  6

  PIRATES

  Connor had been so transfixed by the mysterious galleon that he had not even seen the small dinghy steer its way toward him. He was pulled firmly inside, onto the little boat’s wooden boards. Now that his gargantuan effort was over, he felt utterly drained.

  “Just lie there and breathe as best you can. You’re half-drowned, but you’ll live.”

  His rescuer’s voice was smoot
h and precise.

  Connor could see a pair of narrow boots and the tight leggings above, but as he tried to raise his head higher to see more, a sudden pain ripped through his neck.

  “Lie still, boy. No sudden movements. Your bones have taken a bashing.”

  It was a young woman’s voice.

  “Who are you? Where are you taking me?”

  In spite of her warning, he pulled himself up to see her better. Piercing brown almond eyes stared back at him. Long black hair was swept back off the woman’s face and bound, with leather strings, into a tight ponytail.

  “My name is Cheng Li,” she said.

  Connor’s eyes took in Cheng Li’s strange clothing. Over a thin dark jersey, she wore a leather jerkin. On one arm was a red and purple band, set with a dark stone. It appeared to be the sole piece of decoration on her otherwise utilitarian uniform. About her waist was a heavy belt, attached to which was a dagger holster.

  Connor’s eyes widened with realization. “You’re a . . . pirate?”

  “Ah, so the mind at least is intact. Yes, boy, I’m a pirate.” She pointed to the armband she wore, as if to explain. “Deputy Captain to Molucco Wrathe.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To our ship, of course. The Diablo.”

  Connor lay back and watched her row. Her movements were precise and accomplished. Cheng Li was small, scarcely bigger than Grace, but she was clearly strong.

  “Grace!” He was unable to stop himself from speaking her name aloud.

  “What’s that, boy?”

  “My sister!”

  “We’re here, boy. Save the family history for later.”

  Connor opened his mouth to protest, but he saw that they had pulled up alongside a large ship. Could it be the ship he had seen before? He looked up, trying to decide whether this was the ship with the winglike sails.

  Cheng Li had pulled in the oars and was busy signaling for help.

  “Bartholomew, you lazy slob,” she called, “get down here and help me!”

  Connor let out a weak sigh. For the first time, it dawned on him that he was safe. At least for now. He gave in to his exhaustion and shut his eyes.

  The next thing he knew, the dinghy was floating. He felt like he was flying but he realized that the small boat had been winched up onto the deck of a vast ship. Cheng Li leaped out of the dinghy before it was set on the ground and lost no time in firing off commands. Now two pirates — a man and a woman — gently lifted Connor out of the dinghy and carried him in Cheng Li’s wake. Their job was not made easy by the gathering crowd of pirates who had come to see what was happening.

  “Make room, make room, you morons,” cried Cheng Li.

  The crowd soon parted at her words.

  “Lie him down there.”

  The pirates laid him down onto what seemed to be a pile of sailcloth and rope. It wasn’t the most comfortable of beds, but Connor was grateful enough not to have to tread the icy waters anymore. At last, he could rest.

  “Don’t close your eyes,” Cheng Li snapped at him. “Not yet. Try to stay awake just a little longer.”

  It was such an effort. He was so tired. But he wanted to obey her. He twisted his head around, looking up again for the tattered sails. But all he could see were people. Pirates. They were crowding around him, watching him with interest. He looked back — taking in their uniforms and their cutlasses.

  There was an increasing hubbub from the crowd until Cheng Li raised her arm, the dark jewel on her armband glinting. At once, the noise subsided.

  “Show’s over, people. Let’s get back to work, shall we? The sails have taken a pounding in the storm. De Cloux, you will organize repairs on the forecastle. Lukas, Javier, Antonio — now the worst of the storm is over, you can get on with cleaning out the cannons. I don’t care if it’s getting dark — it needs to be done now!”

  Connor glanced around. He really was on a pirate ship. He felt a shiver of fear. Was this the end of his ordeal, or the start of a new one? One that he had no strength left for.

  As the crowds dispersed to tackle their jobs, only Cheng Li, Bartholomew, and his pirate mate remained. The woman pirate was taller and more obviously athletic than Cheng Li. She wore a bandanna around her choppy red hair.

  “Shall I fetch Captain Wrathe, ma’am?” she asked Cheng Li now.

  “Yes, Cate, I suppose you’d better.”

  Cheng Li turned her eyes on Connor. “How are you doing now, boy?”

  “I’m all right,” he said. But, he realized, he wasn’t all right. He would never be all right again.

  “You look troubled, boy. What’s up?”

  “It’s my sister,” he said. “Grace.”

  “What of her?”

  “She’s still out there. In the storm.”

  “Too late, boy — she’s gone.”

  There were hot tears in his eyes. Everything became a blur.

  “Please — you found me. Please go back for her.”

  “I’m sorry, boy. There was no sign of her.”

  “But . . .”

  “Night is coming fast. There’s nothing we can do.”

  Connor felt like his head was going to explode. From deep within him, he could feel a terrible roar beginning. It came deep from his center, flooding through every vein, stretching out along his arms and legs until every fiber of his being was crying out.

  “NO!”

  “Calm yourself, boy. Be grateful for your own life. Honor your sister, as she would wish.”

  Cheng Li’s voice was soft but firm. It calmed him somehow, though the words were not what he wanted to hear. But what did he want to hear? That she would take the dinghy and scour the icy waters for Grace? He knew, deep down, that it would be a fruitless task. There was just no way she could have survived. He had always been the stronger one, physically. Years of playing sports had given him the vital endurance he’d required to tread water until his rescue. Grace was smarter than him. Grace had been smarter than him, he corrected himself. There was no present tense for Grace anymore. She had been smarter than him, but she had not been physically strong. And now that had cost her her life.

  “Drowning,” Cheng Li said. “Drowning is not such a bad way to die.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s common knowledge among pirates. We live our lives on the water. Once, I myself came close to the brink of death. It was much like going to sleep — a gradual release. Drowning is a gentle way to die. Your sister would not have endured much pain.”

  Again the words were brutal but he drew some comfort from them. They seemed true to him. He remembered the sensation of falling, his possessions cascading down over him. It hadn’t been an altogether unpleasant sensation. He had felt a sense of calm. Perhaps that had been his own death beckoning to him, but somehow he had escaped its clutches.

  “There was a ship,” he said, suddenly feeling compelled to share with Mistress Li what he had seen. “Another ship, before you rescued me. It sailed out of the mist. An old galleon. Ancient . . .”

  His own words unlocked other memories deep inside, but he could not yet make sense of them.

  “The ship turned around. It changed direction, in the middle of the ocean. As if it had stopped for some reason. I thought it was going to rescue me. I cried out to it. But nobody heard me. Nobody saw me.”

  Then a fresh thought occurred to him, exploding in his brain like a firework.

  “Maybe it had already made a rescue! Maybe it had rescued Grace! What do you think?”

  He turned to Cheng Li. Her dark eyes watched him closely.

  “The mist began to rise. I caught sight of the ship’s figurehead — a beautiful woman. It was almost as if she was watching. And then, the ship set sail. It had amazing sails. More like wings . . .”

  At last, something clicked inside his troubled mind.

  “Tattered sails that flap like wings in flight.”

  He wanted to cry out and punch the air. Once more, he caught Cheng Li�
��s eyes. Once more, they were impossible to read.

  “Don’t you see?” he said, laughing with joy. “The ship did rescue Grace. She didn’t drown. She’s been rescued by an ancient ship that sails through all eternity. She’s been rescued by the Vampirate ship.”

  He had tired himself and now his heavy eyelids fell shut. Yet, in the darkness of his mind, he could see everything perfectly clearly. There was that ship once more, sailing away in the golden light. Its figurehead was smiling sweetly and the tattered sails beat softly into the gathering night. And standing at the helm, all alone but unafraid, was Grace.

  7

  LORCAN FUREY

  When Grace awoke, the first thing she saw was sky. Dazzling blue above her. Then something strange happened. The piercing blue contracted, then began to stretch and separate out into two blue circles. As her senses began to settle, she realized that she had not been looking at the sky at all, but into a pair of deep blue eyes.

  Connor’s eyes were green, like hers. These eyes were unfamiliar. They stared at her intently.

  As they pulled back further, she saw that they belonged to a boy. He looked older than her and Connor — maybe seventeen or eighteen. He had long black hair with eyebrows to match. Looking down at her, he frowned.

  “You’re going to get me into trouble,” he said.

  The words made as little sense to her as everything else, but she recognized a strong Irish brogue in his voice. He leaned forward and brushed her hair back out of her eyes. He was wearing a Claddagh ring on his finger. She had always wanted one of those rings, with the design of the heart clasped between two hands with a crown above. But this one was just slightly different. The hands clasped not a heart, but a skull.

  “Who are you?” she asked, shivering. “Where am I?”

  The boy frowned again and shook his head. Wasn’t he able to understand her? But he had spoken English to her, hadn’t he?

  “Who are you?” she asked again. This time she heard how she sounded. “Hooooraaaruuu.” Her breath was weak, her mouth and tongue parched.