Vampirates 6: Immortal War (28 page)

“Ready?” Stukeley asked Johnny as they waited outside Lola’s cabin on
The Vagabond
.

His companion nodded, so Stukeley knocked on the door.

It was Sidorio who called out in response, “Enter!”

Smiling in anticipation, Johnny pushed open the door and stepped gingerly inside, followed by Stukeley.

“Stetson!” Sidorio immediately rose to his feet and strode toward Johnny. He opened his arms to him but a voice, from deeper inside the cabin, caused them both to freeze.

“So, the cowboy has risen from the dead!”

Sidorio immediately glanced over his shoulder. “I thought you were having a little rest, dear.”

Lola emerged from her private salon, clad in a voluminous
layered nightgown, holding a compress to her forehead. She was followed by Camille and Holly, whose face instantly brightened on seeing Johnny. Sadly, the same could not be said for Lola. Her features brought Stukeley to mind of lowering skies before a thunderstorm finally breaks.

“How’s your headache?” Sidorio asked.

Lola ignored the question, brushing past him to focus squarely on Johnny. “Welcome back, Cowboy,” she said, affecting a Texan twang. “We sure are stoked that you made it home to the range!”

“Thank you,” Johnny said, tipping his hat and misjudging the mood of the chamber entirely.

“Did you have fun, flirting with the enemy?” Lola inquired, back to her usual clipped tones. At her side, Holly looked perturbed by this line of questioning.

“Not really,” Johnny said, wising up to the general mood. “I was too sick for that, sadly.”

“What a shame,” Lola said. “For everything your actions have cost us, you might as well have had a few laughs.”

Johnny glanced over Lola’s shoulder to Sidorio. “I’m really sorry about losing my ship,” he said. “I feel just terrible about my crew. I was no kind of captain to them.”

Lola’s lips made a smile but there was no levity in her voice as she took a step closer to Johnny. “You speak the truth, Desperado. You are no kind of captain. But frankly, my dear
vacquero
, your ship and your crew are as insignificant as you are.”

“Lola!” There was warning in Sidorio’s voice and in his eyes, too, but, when Lola raised her hand, he fell silent again. Lola resumed her attack on Johnny.

“Do you have any
idea
what you’ve cost us? My husband and I were meeting with the most influential Vampire leader in this quadrant this morning. We were in the middle of signing an accord that would have extended our power beyond the oceans and across the land for as far as the immortal eye can see.” She paused momentarily to grab her belly, then swiftly resumed. “The blood was drying on the contract when news of your defeat and presumed death arrived.” Her eyes narrowed. “How disappointing that the intelligence transpired to be only fifty percent accurate.”

Stukeley had heard enough and now stepped in to defend his comrade. “Johnny fought hard to prevent the pirates taking
The Diablo
—he was nearly killed in the process. I think he deserves a little more gratitude. Now, I know how important that alliance was to you—to all of us—but Eternal DeWinter was always going to be an unpredictable ally. There are others that Johnny has been working on for months now…”

“Too slow!” Lola said. “That’s the problem with all of you men. You plot and you plan and you scratch your… heads, but you just can’t get the job done! You were flailing about on
The Blood Captain
until I arrived and turned you into a force to be reckoned with.”

“We were doing just fine until you came along,” Stukeley said huskily.

“
What
did you say?” There was hot lava in her voice. It left no doubt in anyone’s mind that Mount Lola was about to erupt.

“I said…” Stukeley began, feeling suddenly liberated from caution.

“She heard you,” Sidorio said, his voice utterly commanding, as he stepped forward. His eyes took in all of those gathered in the room. “You all have a right to your own opinions, but this isn’t helping matters. The events of the past twenty-four hours have stretched our emotions as taut as piano wire. Our feelings are running high. But what kind of an army are we if we fall apart at the first sign of trouble?” His imperious eyes swept the room once more. “No kind of army, that’s what! We all need some time out to take stock. Johnny, you lost your ship and your crew this morning. You nearly lost your life—again. That shouldn’t have happened but it did. We learn from it and we move on.” Now his eyes settled on Lola. “Lola, we lost momentum in a key alliance today. Again, it’s regrettable, but our power grows all the time. We can still win this war—Stukeley’s right when he says there are other, better, allies just waiting for us to call.”

He brought a reassuring hand to his wife’s shoulder. There was a strange look on her face, impossible to decipher. She opened her mouth and from her lips came an earsplitting scream. It lasted well over a minute. Sidorio, who hadn’t merely heard the scream but felt it tearing through every fiber of his being, turned toward her.
“Please, darling, try to keep things in perspective. I know Johnny messed up, but…”

Lola seemed a little unsteady on her feet. She stumbled, reached both hands to her belly, then opened her mouth once more. The others all braced themselves for a second scream. Mercifully, it did not manifest.

“My labor has begun,” she said, with quiet composure. Pushing past Sidorio, she reached out her arms for Holly and Camille. They immediately offered their support and led her back inside her bedchamber.

The deck boards of
The Nocturne
glowed red under the light of the lanterns and the stars. All around the deck, Nocturnals were engaged in their nightly bouts of combat practice. As usual, an array of weaponry was employed. Over the past six months, this largely pacifist crew had transformed itself into a mean, merciless, and often highly inventive fighting machine. At the center of the deck, right at the heart of the clashing metal, were the two men responsible for this metamorphosis—Obsidian Darke and Lorcan Furey. As had become their custom, the two men were sparring with each other.

“A good blow,” Darke said, nodding circumspectly in acknowledgment as Lorcan withdrew his sword and readied himself for a fresh bout.

Darke and Furey circled each other for a time. Of all the
Nocturnals, they were the finest fighters and therefore the most closely matched. Lorcan had benefited from intensive training by Cate since the commencement of the Alliance. Darke, on the other hand, was a strong and instinctive swordsman who could pull seemingly impossible moves out of thin air.

It was Darke who struck now, his rapier clashing against Lorcan’s in a sharp succession of volleys as they moved back and forth through the limited space they had carved out for themselves on the deck. As he pushed forward, Darke spoke. “I thought after the recapture of
The Diablo
you might have granted yourself a rest. On the contrary, it seems it has only sharpened your desire for the fight.”

Lorcan’s eyes remained steadfastly trained on Darke’s as he fought back. “This is no time to rest on our laurels, Captain,” he said. “The taking of
The Diablo
may have given the Alliance fresh momentum, but it came at great cost. I for one cannot allow that to go unpunished.” So saying, he swung his sword hard at Darke’s. The captain was momentarily unsettled. Lorcan took full advantage and pressed in closer.

“We need to talk again about the other ships in the Nocturnal fleet,” Lorcan said. He had Darke cornered up against the mast. He stared into his opponent’s face. It was impossible to read. It was still an adjustment to be able to look at the captain’s face, rather than at the opaque mask he had hidden behind for so many years. It was a fact both curious and frustrating that, though his
features were now visible to the eye, if anything his thoughts and moods were harder to read than ever.

Darke met Lorcan’s stare, keeping his counsel, his eyes giving nothing away. Then the captain executed a seemingly impossible turn and regained the advantage. “There is no need for us to discuss this matter again,” Darke said, his sword whistling through the air, close to Lorcan’s shoulder.

“I disagree,” Lorcan responded, turning his own sword expertly to derail Darke’s attack. “Now is the best chance we have for victory—but we must boost our force. By calling on the additional ships in the Nocturnal fleet, you could ensure lasting victory.”

“You know nothing of this,” Darke said, biding his time, assessing his options. “You must heed me when I tell you that calling upon my former comrades is not an option. You would do well to stop this line of questioning.”

“I’ll stop asking when you give me a valid reason,” Lorcan said. His sword met Darke’s and steel clashed upon steel with the force of both men’s wills.

“No,” said Darke, gaining the advantage once more. “You’ll just stop asking or we will be in danger of becoming legitimate adversaries.”

Lorcan shook his head. He couldn’t accept the captain’s stance on this matter. The Alliance was not in the luxurious position of having many cards up its sleeve. The mysterious fleet of other Nocturnal ships was a key advantage and it was surely time to play it.

“Every time I raise this, you just shut me down,” Lorcan said.

“Yes,” answered Darke, “and I will continue to do so. And so, Commander”—he paused and then raised his sword aloft once more—“you would do well to let this matter rest.”

The captain’s intransigence had lit the touchpaper on Lorcan’s anger. Their swords met once more but now Lorcan put aside all knowledge of this man as his ally. To him, this was no longer a training fight, and he renewed his attack for real.

Obsidian realized the change and lifted his own game accordingly. As Lorcan pushed in with renewed urgency, the captain drew on all his reserves to power Furey’s sword away. The strength of his blow was such that the rapier was dislodged from Lorcan’s hands. As he turned to recapture it, Darke’s sword swung past Lorcan’s shoulder and the razor-sharp steel sliced through his hair and the skin of his neck.

Lorcan turned, stunned, letting his sword fall to the deck. It fell alongside his fallen locks. Looking at Obsidian Darke with new wariness, Lorcan raised his hand to the back of his neck. As he drew it away again, it was bright with blood.

This turn of events was sufficiently unusual to send shock waves across the deck. The fighters on either side of them drew down their weapons and turned to stare at their two leaders.

“I’m sorry,” Darke said. “Believe me, it was never my intention to wound you.” Immediately he dropped his own weapon and leaped forward, laying his hand across the back of Lorcan’s neck, right across the cut. Darke kept the contact with Lorcan’s neck for a minute or so. As he did so, his eyes met Lorcan’s once more. When Darke withdrew his hand, the wound had already sealed itself.

“Are you in pain?” Darke asked Lorcan, his voice softer than before.

“No,” Lorcan said, shaking his head. He smiled. “If you thought I was overdue a haircut, you might just have said.”

Darke smiled back at him, his hand resting on Lorcan’s shoulder. “For a moment there, I think we each forgot we are allies, not adversaries.”

“Yes,” Lorcan admitted.

“We should work hard to ensure that does not happen again,” Darke said, extending his hand.

Lorcan nodded, extending his own palm. They shook hands. The relief across the deck was palpable. Suddenly, aware of the level of attention upon them, Lorcan turned and shouted to his crew. “Combat session is over for tonight. Thank you all for your time and effort.”

As the deck began to clear, Darke’s eyes met Lorcan’s once more. “You have become a fine commander,” he said. “When I think back to the midshipman I knew, not so long ago, I draw great pride and pleasure in your metamorphosis.”

Lorcan acknowledged this praise with a formal nod.
But, as the captain turned and made his way across the deck, he found himself unable to repay the compliment.