 
### The Marquis Papers, Volume 1:

### Vampire Island

From the papers of Thomas Hawkins, Esq.

Edited by C. J. Maloney

Copyright 2018

Published by Creatio Publishing at Smashwords

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Full Table of Contents With Notes:

Full Table of Contents With Notes

Dedication

Preface

1. How I Came To Be Damned My sins, my origins, and how I came to be a cabin boy aboard the Albatross.

2. An Abandoned Ship An account of how we encountered an abandoned ship after a storm blew us from our course in the West Indies.

3. My Betrayal: All Crew Lost Contains a straight forward account of our attack and what I saw of the battle.

4. Monsters My initial impressions of our attackers.

5. A Devil Captain My first meeting with Captain Minuit.

6. Dead Killed by Shark. I learn of the fate of the crew.

7. Assassin My killing of Mr. Shark. Pedro's lore.

8. My Imprisonment Detailing the time of my imprisonment and the attempts to convert me. Given to the best of my ability since I was under great duress. Also describes the last hours of shipman Gregory Armstrong.

9. My Servitude An accounting of my crimes while a Mesmerized slave.

10. Escape My plan and its execution, My new companion Francois.

11. Slaves An accounting of the crimes committed while a slave. A Zombie encounter.

12. Cat and Capture! A description of my wandering in a strange city and the nefarious means by which I was tricked. Names and descriptions are given of those responsible for the crime for the enlightenment of honorable men everywhere.

13. A Treaty A short description of my imprisonment. Some of the conversations I engaged in with M. Minuit. Our eventual understanding.

14. Death of A Shark The crimes and challenge of Captain Minuit.

15. Slaved to Vampires An account of my crimes, done voluntarily in the service of a vampire crew. A pirate encounter, a Carib rescue, and my punishment.

16. Vampire Island The families of vampires, the herd, and my near death at the hands of children. (A description of the ways of this island, known commonly as Saba, of the Dutch Windward West Indies.)

17. Vampire Village Includes a harrowing account of my journey through Hell's Gate. The Flogging of Spike, The Customs of the Village.

18. Rebecca My unfortunate acquaintance with the young lady. Urchin's protection.

19. Chronics A description of the relations between vampires and Chronic Zombies.

20. Zombie Attack The battle, my observations, and my first encounter with Blood Weaving.

21. Mr. Tuck My encounter with the kindly Mr. Tuck, his wife, and her knife.

22. Experiment and Mayhem I discover something about my blood and Rebecca tries to kill me.

23. Shock, A Plan, and Recapture I recover, take control of my life, and am recaptured by a welcoming crew.

24. Zombie Melee Urchin's strange power foretells of an upcoming attack.

25. Blood Weaver I am marooned and learn of Blood Weaving from Grutte.

26. Inner Power I discover a trick and am nearly thrown over a cliff.

27. Blood Oaths A description of a sort of sorcery and my necessary engagement in this sorcery to procure my freedom.

28. The Priesthood Of my dreams and aspirations during my conditional freedom.

Editor's Notes

About The Author

Other Books by This Author

Connect With C.J. Maloney

A Chapter Of The Red Hand
Dedication

To the Carib natives who have kept their language alive, and to you, dear reader, for helping it live on.
Preface

From the editor:

On a rainy Tuesday in the spring of 1967 in Breton, France, my father purchased an old chest inscribed with the chiseled name of Capt. C. Johnson. Whatever craft project the chest was meant for never took place, and it moldered in our attic for many years. Finally a few years ago my father decided it was time at last to move to assisted living, and we cleaned out the attic over several long weekends. In lifting the chest, I was startled that the bottom seemed to have rotted through. On closer inspection, it was made of two thin boards rather than one thick one. Between the boards was sandwiched a wrapped, yellowed, and mouse-eaten manuscript. In a moment of generosity, my father gifted me both rotten chest and smelly manuscript.

I have tried to piece together the manuscript and present it here, retyped to the best of my ability. I have modernized language and spelling, and was forced to complete some sections that were rendered illegible. As to the truthfulness of its claims, I cannot say.

\- C. J. Maloney, February 1st, 2017.
1. How I Came To Be Damned

In September of the year of our Lord 16-

I am a fraud. My title, my power, my very name are not my own. How I came to be the most damned of men is set down here as my final confession. In these pages I will tell how I broke bread with Vampires and shared their friendship. In my confession I hope to explain the Great London Fire of 1666, the proliferation of plague deaths in the city, and how I came to murder an Archduke.

My confession is not meant to obtain my own salvation, but to hold those others who accompanied me on my travels blameless. Among these are my dear Cat, the hearty Antoine, and Senor Ramirez, who was more a father to me than my own. When I pray for forgiveness it is not for myself, but for them.

But I go too quickly. A man's descent into hell is paved as a boy. Let me begin my confession just before my first encounter with the vampires.

My true name is Thomas Hawkins, descended from the pirate Jim Hawkins, who was a terror of seas. I believe he was a great grandfather, but my father James gained none of his drive or charisma, only his love of drink. So perhaps my own descent into knavery was preordained.

At the time I first encountered the vampires I was a cabin boy of the Albatross, an ill-fated, rusted and pockmarked caravel, a low decked trading ship unfit for long voyages, doing shipping duty between Hispaniola and the Dutch Indies. She was barely afloat in the best of times, and the first mate Pedro joked she had more cracks in her than wood. Previously she'd been known by another name, the Santa Clara, also known as the Nina, and the original lettering was still visible under the crudely drawn lettering of the Albatross. In her day she'd been famous, or so they said, the only ship to survive the 1495 hurricane. Some rumored that she was the original Nina brought over by the great Columbus, but it was hard to believe even this old hulk could be that old. It was a standing joke that old Captain Cristobal owed more on her than she was worth, so was forced to sail the seas with her about his neck.

Rotten planks and seaweed encrusted sides, I loved her just the same. She moved with a grace that denied her age, and she was no ordinary boat. There was something about her that made you want to ride her into the horizon. By all rights my time on her should have been short, but she kept returning to my life just when I thought I'd quitted the ancient lady.

How I came to be the Albatross' cabin boy is the story of my father, an Englishman wooed by tales of Incan gold to leave his native land and speak in the tongue of foreigners for the rest of his days. He found himself penniless in the Hispaniola port of Cap-Francois, where Columbus crashed the Santa Maria. My father met my mother there. My mother, a tavern serving girl who could have married better, saw my father with his thick brown hair and full beard. She was reminded of the images of the blessed Jesus, to whom she'd given her heart long ago. My father was remade in her eyes and through her love, and returned to Catholicism. He gave up drink and worked in her father's store in Cap-Francois. I was born on a tiny farm outside of that settlement.

I was my mother's greatest blessing and greatest curse, for something broke in her when she bore me. She was never the same. I could see the pain in her every day of my life, but I could also see the love. From the time I knew my own name, I would watch anxiously for the signs of pain in my mother's face, ready to run for the settlement's one ancient doctor. Even at night my mother's slightest cough or movement would stir me, and I would lie awake for long hours listening to her breathing, ready to spring up to rouse the doctor from his bed. There was little he could do for her, but I spent many hours sitting anxiously on our dirt floor looking up at him comfort her and give her what things he could. Perhaps I absorbed something of his craft, but did not realize it until I came of age.

My childhood was troubled. As a half-breed with a priest's devotion to honesty I was often teased and beaten. When my fellows killed a pig with stones, I told the owner and they received whippings. Soon after I was lured from my mother's side by the promise of sweets by the other children and was locked into a rotten building with a vicious dog. The dog attacked me and bit me badly before its owner heard me and rescued me. It died of the foaming sickness a short time later. I became deathly ill but I have no memory of the event. My luck was very poor and I was bitten again by a second dog as I was rushing at night to fetch the doctor for my mother during one of her bouts of worsening illness. That dog also died of the sickness, but I did not become ill. On a third occasion I saved an older child from a vicious animal by thrusting my arm between its jaws until a soldier could skewer it. I bear the scar to this day, but again I did not become ill.

My mother died when I reached my ninth year. Her long illness had drained the family of all its will, and my father returned to drink. He worsened within months until he did not come home at all. I do not know what became of him, but I can only assume he stumbled into the ocean or was killed by other drunkards for the little money he'd been able to beg. If I seem cold to him in my prayers even to this day, there were many beatings over the months before he disappeared, and little enough love between us before. What I wanted from him as a father I never received, and after his disappearance I never would.

After my father's death so soon after my mother's I fell into a darkness. My grandparents tiptoed around me and I could not be a help to them. The only act that interested me was watching the sailing vessels arriving and leaving harbor. Perhaps I too wished to sail away, to leave this life. But these thoughts are an old man's recollections, for all I knew then was darkness. I refused all food after a time.

Although my grandparents meant me well they had nothing for me. I attended endless masses with my grandmother, but spent my time staring up at the gruesome image of Jesus splashed with red paint and wondered what it felt like to be pierced in the side. My grandfather was crippled with long work, and only looked at me and sighed. Years later they sold the small store and sailed back to Spain. I never found out where they ended their days. But at the time I lived with them I cared for nothing. I regret it deeply now, but that does them no good.

My grandparents, desperate for me not to follow my parents, sought a placement for me as a cabin boy. But no captain in his right mind wanted a cabin boy as surly and withdrawn as I was. I was a shy boy at the best of times with large, watchful eyes, broad shoulders, and long fingers better suited to the harpsichord than scrubbing pots. My grandparents offered to pay Captain Cristobal for my keep, signing me on his vessel more as a passenger than as crew. So I was taken aboard the Albatross.

If I had been left alone I might have perished because I was already wasting away. But whether from lack of caring or by design Captain Cristobal failed to inform his first mate Pedro of the arrangement.

Captain Cristobal had once been a nobleman who had dreamed of exploration in Columbus' very own ship. He had shrunk in on himself from other's ridicule of his foolish purchase of a rotten old tub. His sunken watery eyes, hollow cheeks and hunched shoulders all belied his still straight back and dignified stance. The Captain would withdraw into his cabin in the back of the hold and drink cheap rum slowly all day long. At times if you were near the partition that made up his wall you could hear him muttering to himself about past grievances.

So first mate Pedro ran the Albatross. Pedro made his money by carrying things he should not have, buried deep in the hold in locked chests. He'd deliver these things to shadowy figures and split some of the proceeds with the rest of the crew. Some of these shipments were arms, but once we carried some books written by a German heretic. It did not matter if the price was right.

Pedro had a round, soft body with great ham fists and a flat face. Below his small nose he maintained a peach fuzz he tried to wax into a moustache, but which broke up into small spikes that looked like whiskers. He looked like a great pug-nosed rat, but to even glance at his lip and half-smile was worth a week of hard blows.

To Pedro, I was one more split of his ill-gotten gold and he'd get the worth of me, inner darkness or no. My first day shipside I was dragged from my hammock and up on deck before I knew what was happening. Pedro presented me with a tar pot and caulking mallet and told me to hang myself over the side by a rope and caulk every crack I could reach. I looked at him dumbly through my haze and my grief. He threw a rope around my middle and cast me bodily overboard.

We were at full sail in a brisk wind, so I was dragged behind the ship thrashing and gasping for air for some time before Pedro pulled me back in. He pulled me up the side, scraping me painfully on the barnacles. Again he presented me, dripping and spluttering, with the tar pot. In my darkness, I opened my mouth to give voice to my thoughts. This time Pedro gave me a ringing box to the ear before hurling me again over the side.

My new cuts from the barnacles stung like flame in the salt water. I gasped for breath, struggling against our wake, and became very, very angry at this man. He knew nothing of my pain and loss! How could he! I wanted to kill him, and struck out for the boat with this intent. I had learned to swim well in the waves, so I gained very slowly, hauling myself through the water. Had I but known the future, I might not have wished so fervently for his untimely death.

Pedro grinned at me over the side and hauled me back up. I considered striking him with the tar pot, but decided that I did not need another sea bath on this day. So I gave him a savage glance and turned myself toward the side.

Crewman Armstrong, another half-breed like myself, showed me how to tie my rope tight and use a portion of it to lower myself over the side. His kindness saved me many beatings and I always thought of him as my one ally on the ship. Armstrong lived up to his name. He was a big man with a thick, curling beard knotted at the ends. Armstrong had very white teeth with one missing in front. If he smiled quickly it looked as if his mouth was winking at you.

I spent the rest of the day caulking and went to my hammock that night more tired and aching than I could possibly imagine. My fatigue was so great I felt no hunger, but Armstrong kept my hardtack, three hard dry sea biscuits, for me for the morning. He was right, and I ate in the morning as if starving.

By the third day I had caulked everything I could because the Albatross hung so low in the water. Her hold was only part full, and that had been further shrunken by our sleeping quarters and the Captain's cabin. I do believe if she'd had a full cargo she would have sunk beneath the waves.

Pedro sent me below with a lantern to caulk the inside of the hull. This was slow work, because I had to shift the cargo to get to the sides, and be careful not to be crushed by the heavy pieces if the ship rolled toward me while I worked. We also had several inches of water sloshing around in the bottom of the hull at all times, though crewmen were continually coming down and hauling buckets out.

It was tempting to shirk my duties back in the depths of the hold. I admit I once lay down on a pile of sacked goods and tried to catch some sleep. Pedro must have had the crew watching me. Without a word he snatched up my lantern and grabbed me by the hair. I was dragged up the ladder and thrown roughly over the side. As I came up for air I realized with a panic that I had no rope. The heavy knot at the end of a rope struck me at that instant full in the face, blackening my eye. In my dazed state I barely grasped it in time. Pedro hauled me in, looked a little surprised at my swelling eye, and pointed me to the hold again.

I learned from crewman Armstrong that Pedro had himself been trained as a cabin boy using this same method, so he was simply following what he had been taught. I cannot recommend the method for its humanity, but it had a simplicity and worked to cure me of the blackness that had engulfed me. I had no time to think of my parents or death. Every waking moment I had a terror of Pedro's heavy footstep.

By the time my eye had healed I had caulked the entire inner hold. I learned from Armstrong that my caulking would only slow the steady stream of water that sloshed around in the hold. The first storm would also likely undo all my handiwork.

We had almost made it through the storm season, but heavy clouds on the horizon caught us as we were nearing the then French settlement of Dieppe on what is now St. Kitts Island. We made for harbor, but the wind was against us and soon reached gale force. Then the sky opened up and we had rain so hard it seemed to shred the sails. Pedro swore and buffeted us with his fists to get us to tie down the ship.

I was sent skyward to help haul up the rain-soaked sails. One blast of wind nearly sent me overboard, and it is a true testament to my terror of Pedro that I dragged at the sails with one hand while clinging to the rigging with the other.

Pedro himself appeared among us, and with all hands we secured the sails. Then half-climbing, half-blown, we descended and locked ourselves into the hold. Pedro had lashed our rudder to the side in the hopes of keeping it from sheering to and fro, but he said we were being blown west into the open sea so we had no fear of striking any islands.

2. An Abandoned Ship

Some hours passed with the roar of the wind our only companion. It was impossible to speak above the roar, so I slept. The wind was still loud when I awoke. Although I felt the mortal peril we were in, I also thought glumly of all my caulking. I admit I cursed God for all the labor I would need to do again. How blessed it would have been if that is all I had needed to do! It makes me weep to think of the dear child I was, so sullen about his chores. If I had known what was to come, I should have welcomed a thousand tar pots and hugged all my shipmates. I should even have hugged Pedro, despite his blows and protestations. But in my ignorance I pitied my lot in life and spent the last few hours I had with the crew feeling sullen and downcast.

At last, worn out by the wind, I slept again. When I awoke the rest of the crew was sleeping. But I could not hear the wind.

Through the chinks around the hatch I could see thin shafts of sunlight. They sparkled in the hanging dust and raised tiny clouds of steam from the damp hull floor.

Everything about me felt damp, and I rolled out of my hammock and brought my hands up to my face. In the dim light of the lamp I could see my toughened, blackened fingers were wrinkled from the water. I felt clammy and stumbled over to the hatch.

It took my fingers some time to untie the knot that bound the hatch shut. It had been tightened first by the crew and then by the persistent wind, which had tried for hours to pull it from its hinges.

I came up into the sun, blinking and blinded, and heard someone else coming up behind me. As my eyes cleared, I saw Captain Cristobal had followed me up, bottle in hand, with his other hand over his eyes. I foolishly thought he might be saluting me, and so responded with my best military posture and salute.

Captain Cristobal did not acknowledge me for a long moment. Then his eyes dropped to my level and he scowled. "Don' mock me, boy. You see that there ship ova' theah?" He pointed over my shoulder.

I looked, turning my body and shading my eyes like the Captain. The sea was very clear and calm, and we could see a great distance. Near the edge of the horizon there appeared to be a black spot, but whether land, or ship, or wreckage, I could not say.

"It could be a ship, sir," I replied with caution, not knowing his mood.

He seemed not to even hear me. "If'n it's a ship, we should provide aid. Or if aid not be needed, we should salvage." Captain Cristobal said this last word like it was honey on his tongue. He seemed to have forgotten that we ourselves might have been salvage a few hours before.

Captain Cristobal raised the crew with bellows, though they looked to Pedro for confirmation. He nodded to them and played the gracious serving man for his "Dear Captain." I stared at this obsequious apparition until the Captain's back was turned and Pedro gave me a blow that sent me scurrying up the rigging to let loose our battered sails.

The sea was so calm it took us some time to approach the wreck. The Captain spent the time pacing the deck, calling out orders. Pedro brought him a fresh bottle of rum, but he waved it away, preferring to peer through his spyglass at the approaching wreck.

The Captain did not know my name, calling me boy. He did not know the names of many of the crew, calling them lads. Still, he was less free with his fist than Pedro, and I enjoyed seeing Pedro ordered about like the rest of us. Indeed, Pedro got the worst of it, because the Captain knew his name and called upon him for every minor task.

Pedro kept a stupid smile pasted on his face, but shot daggers at the Captain's back. At one point I nearly laughed when the Captain made Pedro clean a salt-crusted coil of rope with his own head scarf. I bit my tongue in time, for I had no doubt who the true captain of the Albatross was, and he would not have been merciful.

We pulled slowly alongside the wreck. She was a caravel like ourselves, low to the water and with three masts. One of her sails hung in tatters, but in other ways she seemed in better repair than the Albatross. The crew had even taken the time to fully caulk her upper deck with tar.

Captain Cristobal hallooed her several times, but she remained silent. As we drew alongside, he had two of the "lads" jump across and tie us together. Normally a crew member is chosen by short straw to search below decks. A silent ship could be full of corpses from some plague, and no man wanted to be the first down into the stench.

But while tying the boats together, crewman Armstrong bent and picked up something. It was a gold coin imbedded in the tar of the deck. He held it aloft, gleaming in the sun. As one the crew surged forward, rocking the Albatross in greed and curiosity.

Captain Cristobal shouted us all back, announcing that he would explore this ship himself as a kindness to the crew. Several of the crew muttered to themselves, but none so close that the Captain could hear. The Captain clambered over the side with Pedro assisting him. But he waved Pedro away and ordered us all back aboard the Albatross. He even took a moment to lecture us about keeping a weather-eye toward any other wreckage that might be about, as if we weren't alone in an open sea with an abandoned treasure ship.

Then Captain Cristobal disappeared into the hold. I never saw him alive again. I can only imagine his corpse clutching that gold coin as tightly as he did in life.

Long minutes ticked by onboard the Albatross. We sweat in the hot sun, shifting from one foot to the other. Each man strained to hear noise from the treasure ship. The Albatross steamed under the hot sun, and wraiths of steam curled thickly about us.

Pedro felt the mood of the crew turning ugly and sour. Even one gold coin could buy a week's drunk or feed a frugal man bread for the better part of a year. Each of us saw on that boat a chance at wealth we could only have if we turned pirate, and that at risk of life and immortal soul. But here was an empty boat offering up what each of us craved the most. Our fear of Pedro, not of the Captain, kept us barely in check.

The crew started to mutter. It was under our breath, but it grew audible. We nudged toward the railing. Pedro stepped out in front of us and climbed over the railing. He tiptoed over to the hold entrance and called out: "Captain?" He didn't receive any answer that we could hear. Then he spied something in a corner and dug something gleaming from the tar. He bit it, pocketed it, and disappeared into the hold.

A pistol shot would have had less of an effect on the crew. We surged forward, pushing each other, and spilled across the railings onto the other ship. The Albatross rocked mightily.
3. My Betrayal: All Crew Lost

I wish I could say that some premonition kept me aboard the Albatross. If I were the hero of some tale some angelic vision or seafaring sharp-eyed wariness would have stayed my hand. But none of these appeared to me. Or I wish I would have had the moral strength to resist such a display of greed. Alas, greed had me fully in its clutches and I surged forward with the rest.

At that moment on the Albatross I only wished that I were bigger. If I had been bigger, I would certainly be dead. But I still wish to this day I had been big enough to give as good as I got. It may seem petty to seek vengeance on the dead, but the humiliations of childhood simmer long.

As it was, I was near the front of a crowd of men with nothing on their minds but wealth. My own urge to reach that hold was not swift enough and I was pulled backward. I flailed my arms back to strike out and to keep from falling. I gouged the man behind me, Phelps, in the eye and he grunted, his fist connecting solidly in the back of my skull. I lurched forward, slamming the front of my head against the railing. All these injuries I attribute to bad luck and forgivable haste. It is the subsequent four kicks I received, each bruising me for weeks after, that I resent. What animals would take the time from their gold rush to kick a downed boy?

I cannot say that I blacked out, but the world swam alarmingly. I curled into a ball to avoid more kicks, and stayed in that position until the shouting died down. It was some minutes before I felt safe enough to raise my head, all the while ready to flinch from another kick.

When I finally looked up, the deck of the Albatross was utterly deserted. It was hardly unexpected, but a welcome relief nonetheless. I glanced behind me to the other ship and saw that its deck was also deserted. Of course, all my crewmates were below, divvying up a king's ransom in gold. I cursed my bruises and my small size. If only I'd been a man, I would have had my fair share. I regret at the time that my thoughts were consumed with burglary and theft, with removing my share from the purses of my comrades.

I smelled the smoke before I saw it. It was thick, oily, and acrid, like burning meat with the musty tang of tobacco smoke thrown in. It began to billow up from the hold.

Had I any inkling to what dwelt below, I should have cut the Albatross loose and watched as the ship was consumed with flames. As it was, I was momentarily blinded by my sullen righteousness. "Serves them right!" I thought to myself. "Greedy brutal men get their just reward." But I regretted it. I thought of crewman Armstrong, trapped below. He had always had a kind word for me. The rest of my crew were animals, but even animals don't deserve a death by fire and suffocation.

"Fire!" I called out, then winced as my ribs rebelled. "Fire!" I heard no response. Perhaps they had already succumbed to the smoke?

I rolled to my feet and collapsed as my head spun and my legs and back cried out. I struggled to my feet again and staggered my way over to the bailing buckets, each with a stout cord attached for pulling water from the hold. I gripped both buckets in one hand, and dragged myself over the railings onto the smoldering ship.

I gave the hold entrance a wide berth, dumping the buckets into the ocean at the far side. Pulling upward, I realized quickly that both were too heavy for me. I lashed one to the railing and hauled the other upward. It was heavy enough to make all my recent injuries scream, but I grimly gripped it to my middle and staggered over to the opening in the hold. I poured the contents around the entrance, to wet the well-tarred deck. For the first time I thanked the storm which had saturated the wood wherever it could creep in. Without that storm water I have no doubt that the whole ship would have gone up in flames.

The number of trips I made between the side and the hole of the hold I do not know. It seemed for the longest time that the billowing smoke was only worsened by my efforts. I learned later that those below had broken a large hole in the hull just above the water line in the darkness between the ships. They were ferrying water into the blaze at a much greater speed than I. But my efforts took place in the open sunlight and the core of the blaze was there. So without my aid it is most likely that all would have perished below. I count this as the first of my many sins in their company, though it was a sin of ignorance only.

At long last the smoke lessened and I could peer into the hole of the hold. The ladder down was a mass of still-smoldering embers and I could see the shape of a body at the bottom. My stomach lurched and I tried to see which of my fellows had perished. But the body was small, no larger than me. So I presumed it had been one of the unfortunate crew of this craft. As I watched, the corpse appeared to move slightly in the sunlight blazing down upon it. It was far too badly burned to be living, but my superstitious ears tricked me into thinking a low moan arose from its charred lips.

Even my brief respite allowed the embers to catch flame. I went back to my work without looking down again. I continued until it felt like I'd poured half the ocean into the hold. Even with a few inches of water visible I could still see the gleam of embers glancing up at me like malevolent eyes.

Only when I was utterly spent did I think to call out again to the crew. I hallooed for some time before Pedro called back up to me. He was strangely polite, telling me to return to the Albatross "with great haste, as the deck may not be sound. Remain there until nightfall, when we will rejoin you." I wondered aloud if everyone was well below. He started to answer and stopped suddenly. "Go!" Pedro shouted in a high pitched voice, "No more questions!"

I blame the terror he had instilled in me for my mute and unthinking obedience. I made my way back to the Albatross, drank great gulps of water from the water barrel, and lay back gingerly on my bruised ribs in my hammock with a hard biscuit. I was asleep before I could put the biscuit to my mouth. So I spent my last few innocent hours sleeping like the dead.
4. Monsters

I awoke to the gentle rocking and the sound of movement on deck. The noise was intentional, as I learned later that the crew is capable of moving as silently as cats.

I roused slowly, assuming it was my crew returning. In a just world, they would have rushed down and hoisted me on their shoulders as a hero. I had no such illusions. My reward would only be to be left in peace for a few more minutes before Pedro shouted me out onto the deck.

I imagined it had taken them all this time to gather together the treasure of the other ship and to haul it safely out of the ruined hold. Treasure that I had no part in, yet. I lay in my hammock considering ways to get my hands on that treasure. All sorts of deviltry, from theft to gambling to murder, played through my head.

Two sets of boots descended heavily into our hold along with the light of a swaying lantern. I sprang from my hammock, hoping to escape punishment for idleness. Surely Pedro would not punish me so soon after my saving the entire crew?

The lantern light illuminated two nightmare creatures. To say they were not men would be false. They were more than men. Their faces and bodies were those of men, but they had the stance and movements of cats. Their eyes also reflected the lantern light like cats, and they had an unnatural reddish tint to their skin as if they had been out in the sun far too long. Both wore the clothes of men, the taller in the rags of a wealthy man of the last century, the shorter in typical sailors' garb. The clothing of each was so stained and blotched as to give them a marbled appearance. I had no doubt as to the origins of these stains, for both creatures were freshly smeared from head to toe in fresh-dried blood.

The shorter of the creatures smiled at me. He was only a few inches taller than I, but built like a barrel with great muscles that moved beneath his loose smock. His face seemed bloated and puffy and he maintained a moustache that Pedro would have envied. But I noticed mostly his blood-stained lips cracking open to reveal the extended canine razor teeth so clearly the trademark of the vampire.

What goes through a victim's mind when faced with a vampire? Perhaps some madly seek for some means of escape or defense. Others might seek solace in a last prayer to their redeemer. My own immediate thought was simply: "I am dead." In retrospect I wish that I had thought something more poetic. "I am doomed," or even "What manner of creatures are these damned souls?" But at the moment of truth my mind sent out a short missive, "I am dead," then packed its things and went on holiday, leaving me empty and numb.

The two creatures regarded me. The taller one holding the lantern jostled the other's arm. "Stop smiling at him, Claw. Can't you see he's already terrified? You'll make him faint." His voice was surprisingly gentle, but sibilant like a snake. It matched his tall lean appearance, his clothing flapping lightly around his frame. He leaned forward and peered at me as if he wore spectacles, though he had none. The shorter one, Claw, seemed to be under his command.

Claw chuckled. "He'd best be made of tougher cord than that if'n he's going to survive the gauntlet and take Port Hole's place."

The lantern holder extended a long arm toward me. I shrank back. "Come, boy." He said again in his gentle, rasping voice. "I'm Waterspout, and this is Claw. We may well be crew together soon. Come, we'll bring you to the Captain."

My mind, which had been far off in foreign lands, whispered out to me that this might yet be a dream. I might be seeing Captain Cristobal again as soon as I awoke. I rubbed my eyes and managed to squeak out: "Captain Cristobal?"

"Oh, no, lad," said Waterspout, looking genuinely saddened for someone who might well have recently dined upon the late Captain. "We're speaking of our captain now. Captain Minuit requests your presence above." He snaked out his long arm and grasped mine in what to him must have been the gentlest of feather light touches but was for me an immovable grip. Such was my numbness, I barely noticed his long, red, puffy fingers digging into me.

Waterspout pulled me up the ladder while Claw followed behind. Halfway up, Claw wrinkled his short red nose. "He sort of stinks, this one, doesn't he?"

Waterspout looked sharply down at him. "Manners, Claw. It's enough that he's terrified. We needn't insult him as well. They all reek of fear."

"Nahh," said Claw. "This is somethin' more than that. Somethin' much worse. I don' mean no harm to the boy, but I wouldn't fancy being the one to convert him is all."

Waterspout brought me out on deck. "That's just because we've had our fill, Claw. In a week he'll smell impossibly good again. They always do."
5. A Devil Captain

The deck was only partially lit by our one lantern and the rising moon. The crew of the other boat swarmed back and forth between the boats, needing no light and moving incredibly quickly like ants. They carried loads as large as ants, balanced high above their heads. Much of the cargo of the other vessel had already been moved onto the deck. As I emerged one of the crew hoisted a barrel larger and heavier than he was and started down into the hold behind me.

A tall figure stood in the midst the rapidly moving crew, directing them. Later I realized he was not tall in height, but in stature and bearing. It was so clear that the crew left an undisturbed circle around him even in the cramped confines of the Albatross' deck. As we approached the Captain, we stepped around a creature bent over the deck with tar pots and mallets. He was working with both hands to caulk the cracks of the upper deck. I stumbled on one of his caulks, which was too high and made the deck uneven.

"Watch it!" he grumbled. He glowered up at us. I wondered in my numbness if he had glowered like that from birth, for his face seemed fixed in that position. It would certainly explain his attitude. How can you not fight if you always look angry?

"Make them tight, Shark," said Waterspout. "I don't want to get sunburned from your sloppy work."

"Not my regular work!" Spat back Shark. "If that idiot Port Hole hadn't gotten himself burned to a crisp chasing some fool blood bag out into the sun, I'd be doing man's work!" He grinned up at me, showing me a very wide mouth full of sharpened teeth that complemented his fangs menacingly. "Can't wait for you to change over, blood bag boy."

"Shark," said Waterspout severely, "I've asked you to strike that term! We were all men once ourselves. Never forget that!"

"Yahh," grinned Shark, "but now we're better!" He went back to stuffing hard tar into the cracks with his hands, barely using the mallets.

We came behind the Captain, stopping at the edge of his invisible circle as if it were a chalk line drawn on the deck. The Captain's clothing was ancient, but still in relatively good repair. He did not seem to be as messy an eater as his crew, judging by the relatively few splotches I could see on his back.

The Captain turned, and I had my first view of Captain Jacques Minuit, whom all called the Captain. He was a man of shorter than average height and of medium build, but he radiated a sense of power that was almost tangible. His face was dark, with high cheekbones and piercing dark eyes. He had full lips, and a broad, almost African nose. Minuit's face was achingly beautiful in some indescribable way despite its gaunt appearance. His skin was dusky pink but he lacked the bloated appearance and ruddy hue of his crew. I learned much later that he never ate "to excess" because he felt it led to ever greater hunger later.

"Thank You." These were the first words I ever heard from that melodic voice, a voice so hypnotic that it haunts me in my dreams. The words, and his eyes, were directed at me. I felt them like a caress on the cheek.

"Thank you for saving my crew. We are in your debt." I felt myself being drawn into those eyes, black whirlpools in his gaunt face. "We have a further favor to ask of you. We lost a member of our crew, a cabin boy, during today's battle. It was most regrettable, but we are fortunate to find a replacement so easily. I would like you to join my crew."

I nodded dumbly. If he had instructed me to put my hand in the fire or to drown myself, I would have done it then and there. A stronger man than I might have resisted. In my defense I was unprepared for his kindness or his Mesmerizing voice. Later in our relationship I became somewhat resistant to his powers. But I have seen even Waterspout, his eldest crew member, falter in will and purpose before his midnight gaze.
6. Dead

"The sooner the better." Shark's grating voice behind me broke the spell. "I hate tar duty. Here, I'll do it myself." If I had been watching the others I would have seen this ultimate breach in vampiric etiquette shock even their jaded countenances. The conversion of a new crew member was an honor bestowed by the Captain on the most deserving crew member. Shark taking matters into his own hands was tantamount to challenging the Captain to a duel.

But I did not notice anything other than a stabbing pain in my neck and shoulder as Shark's sharpened teeth cut into my muscles. He began sucking up my blood reflexively, withdrawing it at such a rate that not a drop escaped his lips.

"Spit him out, Mr. Shark, or die where you stand." I felt the words from the Captain blast past me and strike my attacker, who recoiled and let me go. His lips came off my shoulder with a sound like a cork being pulled from the bottle. I reeled and collapsed to the deck.

Shark stood above me, grinning at the Captain. "He tastes terrible anyway." Then Waterspout had Shark hoisted in the air with his teeth at his throat. My ears were full of noise and my sight dimmed to a thin tunnel. I heard the Captain from a long way off.

"Not now, Mr. Waterspout. Let him caulk all night as punishment. Perhaps the boy will live. Take him below and lock him in with some live cargo to whet his appetite. Let's get well away from this boat before sunup. The smoke will attract any vessels nearby, and I don't want all of you getting too fat to sail."

When I awoke, I was covered with sweat. I lay on Captain Cristobal's bed in his cramped cabin. It stank of salt, sweat, and rum. Mostly rum. Above me swung a dim lantern, and I could see a slumped form sitting propped on the floor. As the lantern flickered I thought I could make out the features. "Mr. Pedro, sir?" I croaked out the words. Something was wrong with my throat. I tried desperately to rise, in case Pedro needed me to do some duty for him. I must have dreamt those horrible dreams of vampires in my sleep while waiting for the crew to return.

Pedro, for it was he, raised his face to the light. He had a swelling all along the side of his face, as if he had been struck with great force by a long, straight object. Despite his normally dark color, Pedro looked drained and seemed greatly shrunken. The front of his clothing was spattered with blood.

"I can't move me legs," Pedro look at me piteously. "Those devils have shattered me spine. They're saving us for later." My skin crawled at his news. I reached up my hand and felt a tight wrapping of some rags all along my neck and shoulder.

"Where were you, Tom?" It was a low voice, and it took a moment to realize it came from Pedro. As long as I'd known him his voice was always at top volume. It was also the first time Pedro had ever used my Christian name. If he had wanted me he had always gotten my attention with a grunt, or a blow, or, if I was lucky, "boy!" His use of my name lent a funeral air to the cramped room.

"I...I..." I had to swallow, my throat was so sore. "I got run over by the rest of the crew and left on the Albatross."

"Aaahhh..." Pedro nodded. "I wondered when I heard you calling. The devils had me by the throat and made me call out to you. Coward that I am I did as I was told. So they just broke me spine instead of me neck, and let me live out my last few hours as a cripple."

"What happened down there, uh, sir?" I was unsure of our new status, as this was more talk than we'd ever had before. At any moment I expected Pedro to lunge at me and cuff my ear for lying so lazily on the Captain's bed.

But Pedro did not see me anymore. He spoke in a low monotone and his eyes saw nothing in the room.

"It were a nightmare. I beat the lads down into the hold. I could hear them thundering after me, so I made haste down into that black hold. The ladder was ringed all about with cargo, excepting one narrow passage. I squeezed into that quick-like, but I had to stop because I was day blind. I blinked and saw something gleam through another gap. I dove for it, because the lads were already squeezing in behind me. I felt something go by my head as I went down, and then all hell broke loose.

"The lads behind me were piling into the gap so fast they started breaking the hole bigger. The sunlight spilled in and we heard a hissing all around like a tea kettle. Then the lads were over and on top of me and something was in among them. I saw one lad, I think it were Phelps, get grabbed into the dark and then me whole face was spattered with his blood. Lads were screaming and disappearing into the black.

"Then a little fellow had me. He couldn't have been bigger than you, but he was so devil strong he bent me back like a bow string. I'd a died then, but Armstrong hit the little fellow with a lantern full in the face. He caught fire and gave a high scream like a woman, then ran straight at Armstrong. Armstrong ducked sideways, and the creature blundered out into the sunlight.

"The creature started smoking all over. I swear I saw it flame up before me eyes. Then I was struck hard in the face and I blacked out.

"When I woke up, it was quiet except for you calling. The tall devil had me by the throat and whispered what I would say if'n I wanted to live. When we heard you go back to the Albatross, he shoved a bloody rag in my mouth and broke me spine. Broke it like kindling with his damned fist! I passed out from the pain.

"I woke up and tried to scream out when one of those devils hoisted me up and carried me back over to the Albatross. I had me knife still in me belt, so I pulled it out and stuck it hard between his ribs. It were a killing blow and I knew it, but the devil just barked and shook me like a rag doll. It dropped me here and locked the door, all with that knife still buried up to the hilt in its bloody back.

"We're dead men, Tom, and that's for certain."

Pedro lapsed into silence. The recounting of the horrors he had witnessed seemed to have drained him further until he was little more than a husk. I looked at his face and saw the face of an old man. It was hard to see any trace of the bullying tyrant that I had feared for so long.
7. Assassin

The cabin door swung open and Captain Minuit strode in. He glared at me, and I could feel the anger boiling off him. Pedro scrabbled into a corner out of his way.

"What have you done to my crewman?" Captain Minuit pinned me to the bed with his stare. He seemed...afraid? He looked like someone who has just had a thing he thinks he knows, like a chair, stand up and bite him. But he was clearly just as ready to destroy that object without a second thought.

I could not speak.

The Captain called out the door. "Bring him."

The crewman known as Shark, the one that had nearly killed me, was shoved into the cabin. His appearance was much altered. His body was splotchy with great purple welts. He slumped against the cabin wall. As we watched, a great purple bruise spread over his cheek and filled his half-open eye with blood. Shark bent double, jerking and twitching as if a great cord suspended him from the earth. He cast a bloody, baleful eye toward me before collapsing to the ground.

"Well?" The Captain snapped my attention away from the writhing Shark. "What manner of evil sorcery is this?"

In looking back, it seems laughable that this nightmare captain, with his hypnotic eyes and devil crew, would accuse a cabin boy of evil sorcery. But the prospect of his wrath was far too terrible for me to feel remotely like laughing.

"I...I don't know, sir." I stammered.

The Captain regarded me coolly. He did not speak for a long moment. I could see his mind at work deep behind those luminous eyes. I was a great puzzle indeed. Then he shrugged.

"And you? How are you lad? You have the fever now. Any craving for blood yet?"

I shrank back. "No! No, sir, none. I hope I never shall." The Captain said nothing. He grasped Shark by the leg and dragged him from the cabin, locking it behind him.

My thoughts were in a whirl. What had happened to Shark and why did the Captain think me responsible? What had the Captain meant about me craving blood?

Pedro broke into my thoughts. "Did they bite you, Tom? Did one of those devils bite you?"

In answer I turned and showed him my torn neck. Pedro drew away from me and made the sign of the cross. He was silent for a moment and then raised his face to mine in horror.

"I'm to be yer first meal." I opened my mouth to protest in equal horror, but Pedro raised his hand to stop me. "I know the stories of the Caribbean Loogaroo vampires from when I were a child. I always thought there were some truth to those stories of vampire witches." He shuddered. "If only I had pepper or salt to sprinkle on you when you leave your skin." He looked madly around the room. "I need something that I can force you to count before you kill me."

Pedro did not speak to me again. He ignored my protestations that I would never harm him. Instead he crawled around the floor as best he could without his legs, gathering dust into a small pile that he placed between us.

My fever worsened and I called out for water. This put Pedro into a frenzy, and I heard him scrabbling about on the floor. A crewman with an overbite came with a bucket for both of us. He was tall with large ears and had bright blonde hair that stuck out of his head every which way like an upset haystack. Despite his protruding fangs and his reddish color, I felt nothing but gentleness from this vampire. He laughed at Pedro's pile of dust, kicked it aside, and ladled water into my mouth until I choked. Then we were locked in again.

I slept, and awoke to Pedro tearing at the bed. Evidently he had given up on the dust and was seeking to tear himself a wooden stake to kill me. But his attempts were interrupted by the arrival of the Captain.

The Captain picked Pedro up and placed him in the corner of the cabin as one would a stray piece of clothing. He motioned to me and picked me up as easily when I did not rise promptly.

I was carried onto the deck, and ringed with the Captain's crew. There were only ten of them standing. The crewman Shark lay stripped bare of any clothing in the midst of their circle. He was motionless and his body was entirely a dark, blackening purple. There wasn't a single patch of normal skin left.

"Here is the boy." The Captain's voice rang out like a bell. He set me down in their midst. "Smell him well and put his scent to memory." The circle closed in on me momentarily, and there was a great hissing like a teakettle as they inhaled my scent. "Shark drank from the boy, and began to bruise soon after. Do not make his mistake."

Claw, barrel-chested and mustachioed, spoke up. "I told Waterspout he stank. That boy don't smell right, that's for certain. I'll tear off his head and pitch him over the side for ye, Captain." I shrank back, but Captain Minuit held up a restraining hand.

"Thank you, Claw, for your kind offer. But I need to know how the boy poisoned Shark. If it is something he ate, or something that grows in him, we need to know. None of us wants to bite the wrong sailor and end up dying of this bruising sickness." The crew nodded. "We also need a replacement for Port Hole. It may be that the boy will die bruised like Shark because he cannot convert. But if he does convert, we need someone his size."

"Beggin' your pardon, Captain." A large man raised a tentative hand. He looked more like a grocer or a clergyman than a vampire. His pink scalp was ringed with an edge of gray hair, and he rubbed his hands together constantly as he spoke. On his waist he had a leather apron which contained all manner of strange objects.

"Yes, Eel?"

"Have you ever run across such a thing before, in all your years?"

"No, Eel, I have not. This is a mystery to me, and I do not like mysteries. Shark thought to shame me into a duel by taking the honor of the conversion to himself, but he saved me or one of you from his fate."

"Captain?" Asked Waterspout, leaning his tall frame forward and peering at me. "Has the boy begun converting?"

"Not yet," said the Captain. "But he has the fever. I think his meal is planning to make his conversion difficult. Let us give him another live cargo and check on them tomorrow night. Back to work! We've only got two hours until dawn."

When we descended into the hold I noticed the cargo had all been stacked to the ceiling around the hold ladder. I knew even in my fevered state that this was a defense against the sunlight.

Pedro was removed from the cabin by the same blond man with an overbite. On his way out Pedro tried to stab me with a length of bed wood. For this the crewman gripped his hands seemingly sadly and crushed both them and the wood. Pedro screamed and passed out.

I fell into a fevered sleep despite myself. The whimpers of Pedro out in the hold mixed with nightmares of seeing myself as a vampire creature.
8. My Imprisonment

When I awoke it must have been late afternoon. I only think that because the ship was as quiet as it was in every afternoon that followed. No light, not a single stray mote, penetrated the blackness. As I became accustomed to the blackness and the silence, I could hear a second set of breaths in the cabin.

"Pedro?" I called out softly. I feared at any moment to feel a sharp shard of wood pierce my flesh.

"No, Tom. It's Gregory Armstrong."

I recognized Armstrong's strong, warm voice.

"Pedro whispered to me through the door that I should kill you in your sleep. Then they dragged him away. I think they broke his arms." Armstrong spoke matter-of-factly, as if he were relating the weather. "So, young Tom, are you feeling peckish? Any craving for my blood?"

"Not that I can tell," I replied hoarsely. "I do have a powerful thirst. But water is all that I require."

"They placed a bucket by the bed," said Armstrong. "I would help you, but they've broken my legs and chained me to the wall."

I fumbled around in the dark until I found the bucket and ladle. I drank greedily for a time, then remembered my manners.

"Would you like some?"

"Yes, please."

I moved the bucket toward Armstrong's voice. It bumped something in the dark and Armstrong moaned. "Not on top of my broken legs!"

"Sorry." I lifted the bucket higher and strained forward. Armstrong rattled his chains, but he couldn't reach the bucket. I crawled down the bed and felt around until I located Armstong's chin. I ladled water to him as carefully as I could. Even so, much of my effort ended up on the floor.

"Thank you." Armstrong seemed strengthened. "Tom, I haven't got much time left. If you don't eat me one of those...men...will. I need to tell someone the truth about my life. May I tell you? It would ease me greatly."

I nodded in the darkness, but Armstrong took my silence as agreement.

"Tom, I wasn't always a sailor. I came to the West Indies as a missionary. I was here to convert the heathens and I spent many long months mastering their difficult language.

"When I came I thought I was doing God's work. But it only took me a few weeks on the plantations before I questioned everything I believed. The heathens were not devils, they were ordinary men and women, no better and no worse. It was the Christian owners and overseers who tortured and abused those poor people. No man of God could have seen the atrocities I did and not question his faith. So I wrote to my superiors. I thought they would threaten these men with damnation, convince them to live better lives. But when the letters from my superiors came back, I was ordered off the plantation and back to Europe. They wanted to punish me for lying, for heresy, because I took an interest in heathens over good Christians."

"So I left the order in disgrace. My family was told I had died with fever, to spare them the shame. I took a position as a cabin boy, and despite my advanced age, I learned quickly. No matter what abuse was heaped upon my head, it was nothing compared to what had been done on the plantations. I moved up to the position of regular crew man. The ship I was on was a trading vessel like the Albatross, but our captain began transporting slaves to make more money.

"The levels of hell cannot be worse than a slave ship. As Dante said, "tormented souls are around me wherever I move." Human cargo lies about, unfed and unwashed, full of fear and cunning, and ready to make a break at the least chance.

"I could barely stomach the cruelty. Then, our first voyage out, we caught two of them trying to escape. They were boys, and had bloodied their hands and wiggled free of the too large man-sized shackles. Our captain marched the whole cargo up on deck, then he had me attach weights to the young men's legs. He ordered me to push them overboard.

"I can only say that a madness overtook me. The captain did not know I spoke their tongue, for what sailor bothered with that difficult speech? As I gripped the boys, I whispered to them: "èponumy enỳtoka, japepeito kopose," which means "swim down, breathe on the other side," in Carib. They did not even nod, but their eyes met mine. I pressed a key for their shackles into one of their hands as I wrestled one and then the other to the edge. I swore loudly at them and made a great show of hitting them, but each blow was very mild. I made them both go over together so they would have a hold of each other and the one with the key would be able to get at his fellow's shackles.

"As they went down I swore at them loudly and cast a large piece of timber for repairing the deck in mock anger down after them. I'm sure the crew thought I was heartless and cruel. Even the captain looked shocked when I threw the piece of wood down on those poor slaves' heads.

"Then I made a show of intimidating the rest of the slaves, shouting at them and lunging at them. They were terrified of me and went meekly below the deck again. The crew was so distracted that only I saw the two heads bob up and, grasping the thrown wood, swim slowly away behind us. I kept up my false fit of anger, shouting down at the other slaves, until I was sure that the two I had saved were out of sight.

"What makes some men frightened, other men want. A true slaving ship captain heard about my escapade from my captain, and bought me for a bottle of rum. My captain was glad to be quit of me. I heard later that he had lost his stomach for moving slaves and had gone back to just trading.

"You know how filth will back up in the gutter when it runs into a stick? That stick is a slaving ship and that filth was my fellow crew. Criminals all, stuck aboard a moving dungeon, and put in charge. The things I saw and did are beyond imagining. Babies...I cannot speak of it.

"But I swear to you, Tom, I did everything I could for those poor wretches. Extra food would always get spilled onto their laps whenever I came close to yell at them. I'd pretend to have forgotten and angrily do an extra round of water if no one was looking. The Carib took to calling me "Orèkopo kijerèu," the "angry angel." But I couldn't change their fate.

"Then fate intervened. They caught and marched an Awarakan chieftain on board with half his tribe. The language I spoke was Carib, but Awarak is similar enough to be a variation. The definition of a Carib was an Indian that opposed us, while an Awarak traded peacefully. By enslaving this tribe, we made them all honorary Caribs.

"I knew the chieftain by his dress and markings, but also by his bearing and the bearing of his people around him. As I wrestled him into the hold I told him to tell his people to act like beaten dogs and that he should: "pereima ijakorory me mana," pretend he was an idiot. He glanced at me and smiled a little at one corner of his mouth.

"I stole as much time as I could talking to the chieftain. I was always checking his shackles, and trying to get him to drink. He played his part, moaning and looking vacantly around as if he were confused. One crewman caught me at it, but I just told him I didn't want the idiot breaking free.

"By the second day, the rest of the crew lost interest in the cargo. The sport of breaking each slave was lacking. These Indians did nothing to resist, and seemed half-stupid. The crew cursed the poor quality of these slaves and set about picking fights with one another. I was the only one down in the hold regularly. I talked with the chieftain about when to move. We came near a small island, and made our plans for that night.

"When the time came my crew, for all their brutality, wept and pled like children for their lives. None was spared. The Chieftain and his people I put off on the island. He cut my head for me, so that it looked as if I'd been attacked and survived. Then he set me adrift on the ship. I altered the ship's log, which was in very poor condition at any rate, to show that the attack happened far from where it did.

"When they picked me up, it made the slavers take notice. I think that was the first time I ever heard of replacing the natives entirely with the Africans as slaves. The reasons they gave officially was that the natives were dying off, but all the continent to the south of us was still teeming with savages. The real reason was fear. The Africans are out of their element here, they don't know the land and they don't speak the language. So we'll see more and more of them and less and less of the locals.

"I did not stop my insanity with that slaving ship. Three more ships met the same fate with me on board. The suspicion never fell on me, for what sailor would take sides with the Indians? Instead they assumed I was a coward and very good at playing dead.

"My only hope is that I've done enough good to get into heaven, although I was taught our Father above judges only our faith and not our actions. I do expect to spend time in purgatory or hell, if either exists.

Armstrong moaned and shifted his broken legs. "You should know, Tom, that Captain Cristobal was considering moving slaves. I signed on board the Albatross with that in mind. But the combination of Cristobal's own faith and mostly the persuasion of Pedro kept him from that path. Mind you, Pedro made his money smuggling things to the wrong people. A slave hold has no place to hide muskets or stolen jewels."

Armstrong sighed in the darkness. "Now we've come to this nightmare together. If you become part of this wicked crew, Tom, remember my story. Work toward ending this evil once and for all. These creatures have no place in God's creation. They are an abomination. If you become one, keep a tight hold on your immortal soul and look for any chance at redemption or escape."

"I will." I promised him in the darkness of the hold.

We spoke little after that. I gave Armstrong some more water and fed him pieces of hard tack. Darkness must have fallen, because the ship was suddenly full of movement. The sails moved, the rudder creaked, almost as if the wind were sailing the ship.

Then heavy footsteps sounded on the hold ladder and we saw the swinging light of a lantern. Now I was certain this display was for my benefit. The vampire crew needed no light to see by and made no sound when they did not wish it.

The door swung open. Both Armstrong and I blinked and tried to shield ourselves from the dim light. Captain Minuit entered, stepping over Armstrong's outstretched legs. He put one cool hand against my forehead and drew it back sharply. "You have no fever? How is this possible?" I saw a flash of what I can only call terror on his face. Then he set his lips in determination. "Here." He hung the lantern above him. "Look into my eyes, lad."

I did so and my mind sank into those liquid, midnight orbs. "I will convert you myself, but I cannot risk the taint of your blood. So I will spit into you, into an open wound. While this may feel like fire, you will feel no pain. If this works, you will become one of us. If it does not, you will forget this ever happened. It would not be well if the crew thought my powers less mighty than they currently believe."

I nodded dumbly. I was lost in those eyes. My mind sailed on calm, distant waters without any cares. Captain Minuit ripped the bandage on my throat and shoulder with one long fingernail. He sucked in his breath. "You've already healed up! What manner of creature are you, to resist the vampire's poison so easily? No matter, let us see if you can resist my more potent fluids." He sliced deeply into my neck with his nails. As the blood flowed, I saw an inadvertent twitch of his tongue across his lips. Such was the power of his hold on me that I bent my head away from the wound to allow him access.

The Captain spat thickly into his own hand. What came up was blackened blood, thick and oozy with the smell of the grave. He plastered it thickly over my open wound. At once my bleeding stopped, and I felt as if he'd laid a burning log against my neck. But his control held me, and I did not flinch or cry out.

After a minute the Captain seemed satisfied. I could feel my skin warm and perspiration broke out all along my brow.

"Good. Now the fever comes." The Captain covered over my shoulder again, retying the rags. He gave me water from the bucket and laid me back. Darkness swirled over me. I saw the Captain giving Armstrong sips of water and bits of hard tack biscuit before the darkness took me over and brought me down.

I dreamed deeply. In looking back, I think the dreams I had were the Captain's ooze speaking to me, telling me its story. They were certainly not like my own dreams, which revolved around losing my mother in a dark street, running after her slower and slower until she was gone. These dreams were strange and dark, with blurring around the edges as if shadows or dark blood crept through them.

In my dream a great leathery winged creature swept down from the skies upon a bundled man below. The ground was white. I'd never seen it, but I knew from tales that this must be snow. The man, bundled in furs, ran madly away from the creature. But it caught him, lifting him up and away.

My dream shifted, and the man sat in a cavern next to a giant egg. The egg began cracking. A smaller leathery creature emerged and attacked the man. He blinded the creature with sharp stones he had hidden in his fists. Even so, it tore into his shoulder, leaving his furs dripping with blood. With incredible ferocity, the man beat the leathery creature to death with heavy stones.

A huge shape filled the cavern. The creature's mother had returned. The man dodged a huge talon and crept into a crevice, squeezing himself down too low for the claws to reach. Saliva dripped from the huge creature's mouth, falling on the man in his crevice and burning his shoulder. He screamed. His scream was my scream, his shoulder my shoulder.

I awoke in the darkness. My heart was pounding. I was drenched in sweat and the bed I was lying on was soaked. My mouth was full of blood. It was sweet and salty. I spat and felt raw places inside my cheeks where I must have bitten myself.

"Armstrong?" I called out weakly.

"Yes, lad?" The voice was weak and subdued.

"Did I attack you? I taste blood."

"No, lad. But you're thrashing about quite a bit. I expect you've bitten yourself. Did the blood taste good to you?" There was just a hint of a quaver in his voice. Armstrong was a brave man, but even he had reached the limits of his nerves.

"No, It tasted like it always did before. I spat it out."

"That's good, lad. You just keep fighting that devil's mucus. Maybe it's your very soul at war with his. I heard what he said to you. He's frightened of you, of what you could mean to creatures like him. So fight him, Tom. Show him what a truly good person can do against evil. Wrestle with his demon taint, and send him packing."

I lapsed back into unconsciousness and dreamed again. I saw the same man, the one who had escaped the giant winged beast. He was battling a group of men who had speared him with long poles. Eight men were holding him fast, while three men attacked his throat with swords. He fought and spit. Before they beheaded him a bit of the spit landed on the helmet of a dark-skinned man. Then they beheaded the man in furs and burned his body. The dark-skinned man brushed his hand against his helmet and rubbed his eye as he walked away from the pyre.

The scene shifted, and a dark-skinned, one-eyed man held court in a dark room. I saw faces from every part of the world, and the room was full of every kind of treasure. As I watched in my dream the roof of the room collapsed, letting in shafts of bright sunlight. The one-eyed man and most of the others smoked, catching flame and burning before my eyes. My attention shifted to a little man who had avoided the sunlight and crawled into a sewer drain.

I saw this same man, now living in the jungles somewhere. As I watched, he was attacked and pinioned to a huge tree by arrows. A proud native chieftain rushed at him and cut off his head with a blow from a huge ceremonial axe. As the head left the body, the man spit in the chieftain's face.

Then the blind chieftain was standing in a stone room. All around him were the corpses of his warriors. The chieftain laid his head on a stone block and pushed away a log. A great wedge of stone dropped down and beheaded the chieftain.

As I watched in my dream, the chieftain's skull lost all of its flesh. It was nothing but bones and gold teeth. A hand reached out and grabbed the skull, cutting itself on one of those teeth. It was the hand of Captain Minuit, shaking me awake.

"Wake up, lad! Stop your screaming! You're making the cargo restless. Let's have a look at you." The Captain pulled my bandage back and swore. "You're healing up, and your fever is down." He drew away from me in consternation. "Perhaps a combination..." He walked out of the cabin, leaving it open and the lantern swinging.

I could see the crumpled form of Armstrong on the floor. He barely moved his head.

"Armstrong?" I whispered. My mouth and throat felt terrible. I could feel fresh cuts all along the insides of my cheeks.

Armstrong did not lift his head. "It's been three days, Tom. Three days of you screaming out and mumbling about great beasts and death and blood. I cannot take it, Tom. Kill me if you must, but don't keep me here and torture me with the thought of it."

The crewman with the wild shock of blond hair and the overbite appeared in the doorway. "Captain says to feed ye." He brought fresh water and hard tack in with him and fed me morsels of each. My throat was so raw I could barely swallow.

After I finished what I could, the crewman did the same for Armstrong. I could see Armstrong's arms had been released, but he barely had the strength to lift them.

"Did you know," he whispered to the crewman, "that your own Captain tried to infect the boy?" The crewman looked startled.

"Look at him," Armstrong continued. "Does it look as if it's working? Your Captain failed."

As the crewman turned to look at me, Armstrong reached behind him with surprising speed and pulled out a bloody stick of wood. As I watched in horror, Armstrong lifted the stick above his head and plunged it into the crewman's side with both hands.

The crewman grunted. He looked questioningly at the stick, but did not bother with it while he quickly locked Armstrong's arms back into the shackles. Armstrong struggled, but the crewman was snake quick and made short work of his efforts.

The crewman turned to me. "Does yer food look good to ye, right now? Because he's looking pretty good to me." He wrenched the stick from his side. It made a sucking sound, but no blood escaped. Curious, he sniffed the stick and turned to Armstrong. "What did ye try to poison me with, blood bag?"

Armstrong looked up with a sickly grin. "Tom's blood." The crewman looked suddenly terrified. He turned slowly to me. "You be Tom?" I nodded.

"He was asleep," Armstrong cut in. "I scraped the inside of his mouth until I got enough blood. He didn't know anything about it."

I felt along the inside of my mouth. Multiple cuts and long scratches were on the insides of both my cheeks. No wonder my mouth tasted of blood.

"That be true?" The crewman looked at me.

I nodded. It was horrible to see the haunted look in his long face, even though his razor canine teeth poked over his lower lip. He turned again to Armstrong. "Then I'll be taking the right of first blood from ye, blood bag. Rely upon it." He turned and went swiftly and silently from the room.

Armstrong looked over pleadingly at me. "Kill me, lad. Kill me if you can. I've another stake behind me. They'll not be so merciful."

I lifted myself up to try and do what he wished. With great effort I managed to crawl halfway down the bunk toward him. But the Captain threw open the door before I'd made it out of bed. "Is this true, blood bag? Did you stab Crab with the boy's blood?" Armstrong could not meet the Captain's eyes. "Did you also tell Crab I'd infected the boy myself?" Armstrong was silent but there was just the hint of triumph in his face.

Captain Minuit called behind him. "Cut it from him, Mr. Waterspout. Cut it from him and we may yet save our navigator." He reached down and tore Armstrong's shackles from the wall. "You, filthy blood bag, have earned yourself the title of dinner."

"I drank the boy's blood," Armstrong cried. I recoiled. Had Armstrong gone so far?

"You lie, blood bag, I smell it not upon you." The Captain hoisted Armstrong over his shoulder by his shackles and disappeared up the stairs. The door swung open to me.

I do not know what I thought to do. I crawled from my bed and toward the door. Up on deck there was shouting. I heard Gregory Armstrong scream. It was the first of many screams that night.

I crawled to where Armstrong had sat. There, under a rag, was a second wooden stake. I grasped it and crawled back to my bed. The effort made my head swim. But I willed myself not to pass out before I secreted the stake along the inner edge of the mattress closest to the wall. Then blackness took me again.

I awoke in the darkness. My body was covered in sweat. I felt sore all over. I reached across my body and felt rags on my wrist. I felt around on my body, on my wrists and ankles. All had been wrapped and were very sore.

I drank deeply from my bucket and fell back asleep. I dreamed of Armstrong, free from pain, riding high on the rigging of a golden ship. He reached out his arms to me. But another arm, a black one, grasped me about the waist and pulled me down.

I awoke slowly, and none too happily. Captain Minuit was shaking me. "Don't die on me, boy! Eat and drink. We need you alive!"

I spluttered the water he poured down my throat. Then blackness came. I do not know how many times this scene repeated itself. But weeks may have passed. I do know that by the time I regained full consciousness all the live cargo had been eaten and the crew was ravenous, reduced to sucking their clothing and chewing bloodroot to sustain them.

I awoke on deck. The night sea breeze was mild and felt good on my fevered brow.

The crewman with the overbite and the blond hair, Crab, looked down at me. "Yer awake? That's fine. We'll be needing ye alive where we're headed." He seemed in good spirits. Then he looked past me to something in the distance. "Ye must be good luck, Tom!" He said with a grin. "That's a sail! The first we've seen in weeks!" He looked at me again. "We might not be needing ye after all. The Captain will decide."

I focused on the crewman Crab with blurry eyes. "Why aren't you dead? Didn't Armstrong stab you?"

Crab raised his tattered, mottled rags. In his side was a deep gouge, almost like a small cannonball had struck him in the side and passed straight through, tearing all the flesh with it and searing the edges as it passed. "He tried, lad, but they cut yer poison out of me before it could take hold. Right as rain, I am."
9. My Servitude

I tried to stay awake, but I lapsed back into sleep. When I awoke, the Captain was looking down at me in the dim lantern light.

"Good, you're awake." The Captain sat down next to me. "We have a bit of a situation, Tom. We need someone of your size to do certain things for us. Finding someone your size isn't as easy as you might think. Most cabin boys are much larger, or don't survive the conversion process. So you're perfect." He looked down. "But you can't be converted. The last time Waterspout and I both tried together. It almost killed you. I cannot waste someone with your unique abilities. You will remain with us at least until we know how and why you came to be the way you are. So I'm afraid I'll need to make you a mind slave. It makes you stupid, but good enough for our purposes now in terms of size. We need to you crawl through a tunnel at the tide line and open up a hidden cave. Look into my eyes. Deeper. Now listen..."

That I remember those words and little else does not exonerate me from my crimes. An exact listing of my crimes as I was told them by Captain Minuit is as follows: firstly, I enticed a shipload of sailors below decks and into the clutches of my master, and was almost killed in the process. Secondly, I sailed the vampire pirate vessel during daylight hours. Thirdly, I went ashore and spied for my master, finding the departure times and destinations of several ships by crawling through the small upper windows of a fort. Fourth, I attempted to entice a boy of my size to join me in rowing out to our ship. Fifth, when he refused I attempted to kidnap him at gunpoint. Finally, when he escaped over the side of my rowboat I fired into the water with the intent of killing him. I also opened a secret cave, providing the vampire crew with supplies and money. All this I have no memory of, but I was told afterward and have no reason to doubt its veracity.

By the time I began to regain my senses in a manner I will relate shortly, I was already a criminal and had assisted in murder. That my own will was not active does not exempt me from judgment. Whatever forgiveness I might have asked for was lost when I began to voluntarily aid the pirates. But I have gotten ahead of myself.

My memories began to return about the time of our second boarding. We had tracked one of the ships I had spied upon, paralleling her course by day and creeping closer at night. We attacked at night when most of the crew of the prey ship was asleep. I had been sailing the Albatross myself by day, keeping a nearly parallel course. I could have done little else, as everything was lashed firmly in place including the wheel. My only task was to provide a navigator figure for ships at a distance.

On the day before we attacked our prey, it was very hot. My orders from the Captain provided me with the freedom to take care of my basic needs. I descended briefly from the wheel to get myself water. But the tar had melted more than usual. My bare foot struck a particularly hot patch and I lifted that foot quickly. Ordinarily my other foot would have been available, but it was momentarily stuck tight to the deck as well. I did catch myself with my lifted foot in time to avoid falling face first to the deck. But by stopping myself I threw my head forward and knocked my head on the railing.

The blow from the railing did not bring me back to reason. I was far too deeply lost for that. But it brought me a flood of forgotten anger that my mind regarded with curiosity. Where had this anger come from? Was my master in danger? I decided he was not, but the anger remained. I had a sudden glimpse of fire boiling out of a hold, and looked in alarm at our own hold where my master slept safely.

I would like to think I would have come free at that point, but all I had was my anger and my curiosity about where the anger came from. That night we took the vessel we'd been following.

Captain Minuit took each vessel at night in the same way. Two of the crew would swim ahead. They were much heavier that humans, but also far stronger. They could swim silently at the surface and for prodigious periods below the water. I have never seen one of them drown, and I am uncertain as to their need for air. I believe they do need it, but not in ordinary quantities.

The two swimmers would silently kill those on duty, climbing up the sides with sharp nails and clawed feet. They would continue to sail the vessel, steering gently toward the trailing pirate ship. The goal was to bind together the ships so gently that the sleeping crewmen were still asleep when the vampires descended among them. Evidently a sleeping man has a particular taste that is different from a terrified man, and the vampires preferred variety. Captain Minuit told me much later that sailors all have a particular flavor, salty like fish. That flavor permeates and overwhelms any ethnic differences between men, although those are also present. He also claimed that similar men might have entirely different flavors of blood, with some quite sweet and others almost bitter. I recall bringing our discussion to a close at that point so I could get some air and drive the images from my mind.

On this particular night the first part of the attack went according to plan, but the captain of the captured vessel managed to set fire to a powder keg in the forepart of the boat, blowing a hole in the front of the vessel. So a great deal of haste was necessary to remove the live cargo. The normal breaking of bones or backs made way to wholesale gathering of men.

As luck would have it, the captured vessel also had a cabin boy, and of the appropriate size. He was thrown unceremoniously into my cabin and the door locked while the crew saw to other matters.

I was kept in the cabin during our attacks, given the task by my master of reading old nautical maps and committing them to memory. I also did this above decks while pretending to steer the ship. I credit this mindless exercise with my subsequent ability to navigate many of the local waters without referring to maps.

So when the cabin boy was thrown into my cabin he assumed I was the captain poring over my charts. It is true I had nautical maps spread out before me and I did live in the captain's cabin, but the idea of a boy captain for this crew of monsters only shows how terrified the boy was.

It was his pleading tone, and the position he took in the corner of the cabin where Armstrong had lain, that began to stir my memories. I saw glimpses of things that troubled me, faces and blood.
10. Escape

I looked at this pleading boy with the detached curiosity I associate with all mind slaves. I understood his pain and fear, but in the same way one would regard a chicken about to be slaughtered. I felt pity but no attachment. Yet something about his size troubled me in a way nothing else would. He was my size, and that meant something. It meant he was a threat. I wasn't sure if he was a threat to my master, but he was a threat to me- a grave threat. I was sure of it. I reached behind me to the forgotten stake tucked into the corner of my mattress. Hiding my hand, I looked carefully at the boy. He had to die. He was a threat. But I wasn't sure I could kill him. Should I call my master? Call my master and my master would kill him. But my master might bite him and change him. Change him as he had tried to change me!

It came tumbling out like a barrel of apples spilled onto a deck. All the memories rolled over me and I gasped. Francois, the other cabin boy, told me later that my eyes focused suddenly. They'd been glassy and unfocused. But in a moment they peered sharply into his eyes.

I determined at that moment not to kill him, but to save him. I told him that I was the cabin boy, not the captain. I was a prisoner as well, but I was trusted enough to go up on deck. I also said I would try and save us both. I asked him if he had the courage to attempt an escape, and he did. So while men died and the attacked ship sank, Francois and I planned.

Everything in that night acted to our advantage. The explosion meant that several of our prey escaped out into the water. The crew spent most of the night tracking down a sailor who was an especially strong swimmer. Captain Minuit decided he would be made into the new "Shark," and he was started in his conversion that very night. Both the new cabin boy and I were moved out of the cabin for the occasion. No one seemed to notice us. I was told to shackle Francois, but I made sure to use shackles too large for him that he could slip out of easily.

In the coming dawn light, Captain Minuit ordered me above decks. We'd just cut free of the other ship and needed to make some distance between us in case another ship had seen smoke or heard the explosion. The Albatross was lashed to steer toward the open sea.

As part of the search for our new Shark, we'd acquired a second rowboat that the crew hadn't even bothered to pull out of the water. I knew by tonight Captain Minuit would be converting Francois into his new cabin boy. My own employment would end shortly thereafter. My best hope for escape was to let myself down the side into the rowboat and cast off. Anything else could be very brief and very painful.

But I had promised Francois I would return for him. So I made the first of several trips below decks. It wasn't uncommon for me to brave that inky blackness for a refill of fresh water or hard tack.

As I usually did, I lit the dim lantern kept at the entrance and squeezed my way into the first "room" made by heaped cargo. Then I sidestepped into the second, avoiding the small mound of gold that acted as an effective bait. There were multiple entrances into this room to allow the vampires to reach in and pull out their victims quickly. I stepped over Claw to move beyond the second room, because he was sprawled at one of the entrances. I made a point of stepping back out over Eel, so even if Claw was paying attention he would be used to me leaving by another entrance. The crewmen slept outside the range of any stray light, but they were guards nonetheless.

On my second trip down, I brought two buckets with me. I set one of them silently next to Francois, who had been watching me. He slipped free of the shackles silently and grasped the bucket. Then he matched my foot falls so there was only one set echoing through the hold.

We both had to walk over the sprawled forms of the crew. Like drunken sailors, they had filled themselves with blood and were ruddy and bloated. So their senses were dulled, and like any bloated tick they had little interest in their surroundings. Even so, I had explained to Francois that he must keep himself distant and not allow fear to enter his mind. The scent of fear was as loud as an alarm bell to the sensitive noses of the vampire pirates.

One vampire, a mad little one the others called Urchin, never fully slept, but kept his eyes to a slight crevice in the hold that he uncaulked during the daylight hours. He I feared the most, but he never twitched as we moved by. I learned much later that he had been forbidden to waken the others unless the ship was under attack.

We both stepped over our last guards and met in the small room made by the cargo. I did not allow my hope to surface, but Francois must have let something slip because Claw moved in his sleep.

I wanted to bolt into the light, but I knew to them we were turtles. So our only defense was unhurried, slow and steady progress. Don't break the rhythm. I did not look back, but marched at a steady pace up the stairs. Once at the top I still did not look back. I lowered the bucket of water to the boat. Then I lowered myself, having untied the boat. Only then did I look up and saw Francois.

My heart leapt. But I held my face firm. Francois silently lowered his bucket to me and just as silently slid over the side. As he settled into the rowboat I saw his face relax and he opened his mouth to speak. I clapped my finger to my lips. I had no idea if they could swim underwater during the daylight hours without burning, but I had no interest in exploring that possibility.

We let the boat drift freely. Only when the ship had sailed nearly to the horizon did we take to the oars. Then it was as if both of us had a terror after us. We rowed for hours, silently, intensely, without pausing for water or even air. I silently pointed our course occasionally, but without breaking in my oar stroke.

I had chosen a course to intersect with the currents drawing us toward Hispaniola. Other islands were closer, but I'd thought the Captain would make for the nearest island as soon as they discovered us missing. By choosing the current I was hoping we'd make it to civilization, or at least enough people that we could lose ourselves.

We had no money, no references, and knew no one. I was hopelessly naïve. There are fates worse than death, and not all monsters are as clearly visible as those we had left. The world has conspired to make the worst monsters appear as mere men.
11. Slaves

On our third day at sea we spotted a vessel. We hallooed and cheered when it drew rapidly closer. Francois and I had decided we were both cabin boys aboard his perished vessel that had exploded by chance. We'd used our hard tack, and we dumped our water into the bottom of the rowboat before our rescuers arrived to make it appear that we'd left our sinking ship in haste.

The crew aboard our rescuing slave ship laughed at us as cowards when we told how the rest of the crew had perished while fighting the blaze while we "got the boat ready." But they treated us like fellow crew for the time it took to reach Hispaniola. If anything, they were too kind. Francois and I should have been more cautious. But it wasn't until we made port and they threw sacks over our heads that we suspected what they intended.

Money was exchanged, and we were hoisted off the ship and into a cart. After a long and bumpy journey, we arrived at a shack at the edge of a low field that had been a graveyard for some time. Before we left our sacks we were shackled to cannonballs and brought inside.

Our new master, Edward Teach, had a pinched face and perpetually moist hands. He had perhaps two teeth, and these blackened with chewing berries he said gave him energy. Mr. Teach kept a girl's dress draped over a chair opposite his when he ate. It was the dress he had been going to give to his daughter, Rebecca, who had been taken by pirates on her way to him from Europe. As he ate, Mr. Teach would talk to the dress and listen intently as if hearing replies. His conversations were often tender, but at times he would shout at the dress and come away from the table in a terrible mood. We learned to hide then until he seemed calmer.

Mr. Teach was a horrible master. His previous slaves had been Caribs, and had run off. So Mr. Teach had paid for us to take their place, but also put us in shackles and kept a loaded pistol by his side at all times.

Our task was to rob the graves in the low graveyard and elsewhere. A grown man would be killed for grave robbing, but at the time a boy might escape with a branding or a whipping. The graves were stacked on top of one another, and Mr. Teach had no interest in attracting attention to his enterprise. He had placed his shack at the bottom of the hill of the graveyard. Over the years he had built a long tunnel from the back of the shack deep into the hill. Our work involved tunneling deeper into the side of the graveyard. Then we had to crawl among the bones and feel for such valuables as we could find. I recall we found a great many beads that could be sold to the natives, and occasionally silver jewelry.

Mr. Teach fed us like pigs, in a trough. We learned to live that way. Occasionally a wealthy person would die nearby and be buried in the new cemetery closer to town. Then we would travel down and dig up the grave on an overcast night with cloaked lanterns. We were slow and weak for this task, but Mr. Teach did not care. He would go into town and drink, returning for us in the early morning hours.

It was on one of our midnight grave digging journeys that Francois and I encountered our first animated corpse, a zombie. These were uncommon on the islands even then, but far from rare. Some believed that they were the unforgiven sent to walk the earth and wreak vengeance on the sinful as they did in the English settlement at Roanoke. Others thought they'd slept so deeply their neighbors had accidently buried them. It made no difference. Any walking corpse had to be beheaded or rendered immobile by breaking his legs and then burned. Francois and I had the good fortune to hear this fellow coming up because he made a bit of a racket prying off his coffin lid and shoving his way up through the earth. Our master had gone down to town to drink, so it was just the two of us to deal with him.

Francois initially thought we'd break our lantern over his head and set him ablaze, but since we had but the one lantern between us we were loath to finish our task by star light alone. Besides, I was afraid our master would beat us for breaking a lantern. So when the creature reared his ugly head above the ground we stove it in with our shovels. Then we dripped a bit of the lantern oil down on him and set his clothing alight. He burned most satisfactorily while we finished robbing the new grave. I could have done without the smell though, and tried to stay upwind.

I understand the undead no longer walk with the frequency they once did. The reports are far fewer even in the last few years. Perhaps we will one day have no more, and the thought of an entombed corpse pushing itself free of the sod will enter the same realm as tales of the fairy folk or of the Minotaur of old. Tis a pleasant thought, indeed!

I wish I could say that Mr. Teach had some redeeming quality as a man or as a master. He had none. I will not speak of his crimes against me and will only say that my life was a bliss compared to his conduct with Francois. So I can relate without emotion the events of his untimely death.

I awoke one night to a pistol shot. Francois had killed Mr. Teach, our master, with his own pistol. He came out to me with Mr. Teach's keys and unshackled us both. Then Francois directed me and together we stuffed Mr. Teach into the graveyard tunnel as far as we could. We pushed the shackles in after him, and did our best to collapse the tunnel and hide the entrance. Then we took what money we found and Francois reloaded the pistol. We made our quiet way out of the shack and down into the town.

That we were changed would be an understatement. We trusted no one, particularly Francois, who would assume the worst of any stranger. We stole what we needed, using our small size and reckless disregard for danger to rob anywhere.

Francois, in truth, became my new master. He found us lodging in the back of a house of ill repute. He would find the "jobs" we were to do, watching the houses for days while begging pennies in the street. Me he ordered to work cleaning the house we lived in to pay our upkeep.

I stayed primarily for our landlady, the aging and drunken Madame Florentine Arroza. She had been a beauty in her day, and a marvelous singer. But when her husband died at sea she took another who had burned her face out of spite. He had died under suspicious circumstances and had left her nothing. She wore a high ruffed collar to hide her scars and did what she needed to do to survive. She reminded me of my own mother in a strange way, especially when she sang hymns to herself. I suppose she was very religious despite her profession, and she was very grateful for the help around the place. In another life I could have seen myself staying with her almost as a son and severing my ties with Francois.

Francois was changing as well. He was growing and he was much bigger than me now. Francois shoved me around from time to time. He took up drinking, and I remember he and Madame Arroza arguing when I came home from running an errand for her. She was accusing Francois of stealing her rum, and he was angrily denying it. Finally Madame Arroza, who was a very big woman, grabbed Francois and bent him over her knee. She beat him soundly with her open palm and then with a hair brush while he struggled and spat a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush.

When she'd finished, Francois was flushed and breathing hard. I wasn't sure if he'd cry or spit in her face. A dark look came over his face and I should have known then that he planned something terrible.

Francois stood straight and walked away from her. "Come, Tom. We're going." He ordered without looking back.

I had a moment of indecision. I thought of staying, but I still trusted my friend and wanted his approval more than Mrs. Arroza's.
12. Cat and Capture!

Francois found us another lodging behind a tavern. Again he went looking for "jobs" while I cleaned the tavern every day. It was a terribly lonely existence, and I doubt I would have survived falling back into my previous darkness if not for an encounter that was to change my life.

I was running an errand and bringing bread back to the tavern when I spied a pitiful creature crouched under the high porch behind the bakery. This mud-spattered urchin looked more destitute than I had ever seen, barely more than a skeleton. Even in my hardened state, I paused to inquire: "how are ye doing?" The creature crawled away from me farther into the shelter of the porch. I knew for a fact that the baker was a merciless man with a thick and heavy hand, and motioned the poor fellow to follow me. He shrank back, great luminous eyes under his shaggy mat of hair.

It was none of my affair, but I could see the creature eyeing my provisions with ravenous eyes. I broke off a piece of bread and stretched it out as a peace offering. A moment later it was snatched and gone.

"Look here," I told the apparition. "I ain't much more than ye. But I've a place to sleep, and a roof to keep off the rain. If ye'll work, then ye'll eat."

I had haggled my way with the baker to an extra small loaf, and shared it with this fellow. I trusted no one, but somehow this fellow provoked a pity in me I no longer thought I had. Silently, it followed me back to the tavern. The creature was all dark eyes and lean-boned face, always half hidden in a mass of tangled hair. He crouched and moved in the shadows of the street, glancing behind and in front at all times throughout our journey.

At the tavern my guest ate so much of my provisions I was forced to go without that night. I should have thrown it back out on the street, but something about the poor wretch tugged at a part of me that still heard my mother's voice telling me to be charitable.

Thus began my curious friendship with my silent companion. When asked his name, he pointed to a cat and then to himself. "Cat?" I questioned him. "Yer called Cat? That's an odd name." He shrugged.

I did not tell Francois about our new guest, but arranged for him to sleep in the loft above our landlady's stable. Francois had no interest in another mouth to feed, but for some reason he did not oppose me when he finally found out about the creature. Perhaps even he had a heart. Or perhaps it was because the creature cleaned with a vengeance and never made a sound.

We worked side-by-side for several days in the house, and I laughed a bit at Cat's clumsy foolishness in housekeeping. Then there was a house-to-house search for some missing military man's daughter, and the scrawny fellow and I spent a day lying low under the hay.

We worked side-by-side and Cat was my shadow. Over time I learned that he had a fondness for oranges and sugar cane, though we had little enough of both. Cat was also as terrified of washing as his namesake, and seemed to cling to wearing the same torn rags even when I found a less bedraggled shirt for him and told him he could work for the trade. He seemed most comfortable in a thick coat of road dust and was perpetually covering himself in mud, spattering his face daily like a pig.

Despite his odd habits, I found in Cat the friend and companion I'd been missing. I talked to Cat about everything, and he smiled and nodded. If he was mute or deformed, I never heard a sound come from his lips. But we had good times together, splashing each other with cleaning water, or making mud pies from the dripping of the drying clothes. Slowly a part of me that had died or been frozen by my treatment under Mr. Teach gradually thawed, and I laughed more than I had in years.

Then one day Cat went missing. I could find him nowhere. He'd gone into town and never returned. I inquired for him for days, but no one had seen him. Most people had never noticed him in the first place. Everyone was distracted because the daughter of a military man on St. Kitt's had just been found. She'd been held for ransom and her father had paid it and sent a ship to pick her up. Several people told me to contact the ship that had found her to see if they'd taken on a cabin boy with other crew. But they had sailed away in triumph by the time I reached the docks.

It was a terrible blow to me and was the first of my troubles. I had no idea then that I would ever see Cat again. But that reunion was a long way off.

It was a few months after Francois and I had left Mrs. Arroza's house for our lodging in the back of the tavern that her place burned to the ground with her inside. It was an accident, so they said. All they could do was keep the other houses nearby from catching fire. I was the only one who saw the gleam of triumph in Francois's eyes and the hint of a suppressed smile as he watched the flickering embers of our previous home. My own eyes were filled with tears and he saw my glare.

I think that is when Francois decided to be rid of me. He saw me watching him daily. I imagine I did not have the gentlest of expressions, because I had been quite fond of Mrs. Arroza and I did not have any love in my heart for her murderer. I knew all his secrets.

In the time Francois had spent in town he'd grown so much it was possible to mistake him for a short grown man. As if to prove his manhood Francois began dressing and acting fancy. He purchased clothing we could not afford from the store of money we had taken from others. Previously two beggar boys were unnoticeable, but now Francois became reckless.

I saw the reason one day. Francois had a love interest. He was paying his respects to a tavern keeper's daughter who was two years older than he was. It was clear that he meant to marry her and insinuate himself into that family. Again Francois saw me watching him, and walked swiftly in the other direction with his new adopted family.

We did three "jobs" in quick succession after that. Then Francois said we'd celebrate down by the docks. I was quite looking forward to a little celebration, as my life was a drudgery of cleaning and thieving. But I should have known better.

We turned into an alley, my friend leading me quite merrily. Then a sack came down over my head. In my stupidity, I called out, "Run, Francois! Run!"

I kicked out savagely and fought to get at the knife at my belt. Neither Francois nor I was ever without a blade. But my scabbard was empty! I wasted a valuable second scrabbling around for my knife before a blow to my midsection bent me double. I crumpled to the ground and curled up to protect myself.

What I heard next made my blood run cold and froze even my heart. Francois was arguing with someone over my price. "We agreed on half now!"

An older voice answered him. "Ye'll get a quarter now and the rest when we know this is one of the boys he's looking fer! That way I kin still still sell heem at a profit."

Francois cursed and I heard the jingle of coins. Then my "friend" walked away down the alley and I boarded a slaver ship over someone's shoulder.

The ship was very small, and in very poor condition so that we traveled at a snail's pace between the islands. Water sloshed my legs from multiple leaks. It got so bad that I almost considered offering my caulking services. But I spent my time in sullen silence instead.

I was chained between two Indians. They were Caribs, and one of them couldn't stop talking. He had a singsong voice that grated on the ears, and more than once he got cuffed for his constant chatter. I learned many Carib words: auràma which is to be quiet, erènapamy, itỳno, and itỳn, which all mean pretty much the same thing. I also learned a number of Carib swear words and impolite phrases. My favorite sounding one was: "yntaka àsaka" which roughly means, "Old woman, I will tear your mouth off." I did not know what it meant until much later, but it always brought a chuckle from the other slaves when I yelled it at the talker.

My accent and my insults only made the talker, whose Carib name was Liamuiga, laugh. He was much bigger than I was, and bigger than the other slaves, so he talked as much as he liked. The Carib on the other side of me talked little, but he spoke a little English. He would feed me lines. "Say to him, "atỳno `wa tapyije man, itupyry." I would repeat the phrase loudly to Liamuiga. He would look stunned and the other Caribs would roar with laughter. I learned much later that it meant roughly, "You've gone senile, granny." One thing I told him shocked Liamuiga enough that he cuffed me on the ear. But then he thought better of it and reached over to swat the Carib on the other side of me. To this day I cannot get a Carib to give me a straightforward translation, and several Carib women have slapped my face when I asked what "eku imonemene" meant.

After a few days of sulking and feeling sorry for myself I remembered Armstrong's life story and decided to dedicate myself to learning as much Carib as I could. I had the most talkative of tutors, for Liamuiga even talked in his sleep. I think he whispered sweet nothings one night in his dreams. One of his frequent phrases, "nupi me, aròmene," got me a vicious slap from an elderly Carib woman when I asked about its meaning.

It is strange to recall my time in a slaver's hold with fondness, but I cannot pretend otherwise. My best friend in the world had just sold me into slavery, probably to a master as bad as the one we had both escaped. But for this short time I was at my leisure. The food was terrible, I couldn't understand the conversation, but I was free from worries. I expected the worst, and I no longer feared anything, so I laughed at Carib jokes I could barely understand louder than they did. The crew began calling me "the mad boy."

At last we made port. I was sacked again. I called to the Carib, "aire te ràa" which made them laugh because it means "see you later" when none of us were likely to meet again. I was sold to another man and dumped into another cart. Again I rolled and bumped along another road toward another terrible destination. I suppose I went a little mad, for I began humming a hymn my mother had taught me. A cheerful, hopeful refrain that was somewhat muffled by the filthy sack scrunched up around my face.

Imagine my hope and joy when my new master began singing along with me! After a moment he stopped the cart and removed my filthy sack. I had my first sight of Mr. Ramirez, a small, dark man with a shy manner and a booming voice when he spoke the Lord's words. Mr. Ramirez gave me a place beside him on the cart to sit. We sang together, master and new slave, all along the long journey home. He knew verses I did not, and I taught him the verses my mother had improvised herself during her long illness. It was magical.

Mr. Ramirez was two men. One was shy to the point of embarrassment, who would sit without speaking while others chatted around him. The other man was loud and boisterous, full of what Mr. Ramirez called "the fire of the holy spirit." Both were too good to last in my sorry wreck of a life.

Looking back, my new master had all the signs of being not quite himself. Mr. Ramirez was kind to a fault, and my chores were little more than I would have done on any farm. Yes, it was odd that he never met my eyes and always seemed distant and distracted. I should have recognized what was wrong one day when he cut his hand and just stared at it stupidly while I ran for a rag.

But I was happy. Mad, perhaps, but happy. We sang songs and hymns together. We worked the soil and tended the animals. Part of me had died and gone to heaven. Every morning when I awoke on my straw tick bed I did so with a smile. So I suppose I didn't want to know anything more than I did.

If anything could have made me happier, it was a strange and wonderful occurrence that brought Cat back into my life. While working in the garden one day, I looked up to behold a strange girl looking down at me from her horse. She was well dressed, and obviously above me in rank. I ducked my head to her in salute, and kept working. When next I looked up, she had alighted and approached me. Thinking she was likely to be thirsty, I pointed out our well. "Water's over there, miss. We've only the one tin cup, but you are welcome to it."

She did not speak, but looked closely at my face. When she spoke her face seemed familiar to me in some way. "Were you ever on Hispaniola?" I was taken aback, and fearful. Could she be some kind of authority? She seemed too young to be such, but one never could tell. I was considering my lie when she spoke again. "It was you. You are called Tom." Now I was truly afeared. What did she know of me? She held out her hand to me. "I am Catherine Girauld de Poincy. But you, and only you, can call me Cat."

It was as if my eyes had been closed and now were open. I saw in this girl's face the look and aspect of the scrawny fellow I had befriended in Hispaniola. She laughed at my astonishment and told me she had run wild and tried to see the world, only to find it far more cruel and dangerous than she supposed. "I am in your debt, sir, and astonished to find you here on my home soil." Until she mentioned it, I had not thought about the name of the island I was on. It was St. Christopher, or St. Kitts, where the kidnapped military man's daughter had been brought after she was released from captivity. I had more than a few questions about her story, you may be sure. But I was full of joy at meeting her again.

Our conversation was cut short by a stern yell behind her. Cat turned and I looked up. Cat's governess, whom she had evidently out-ridden, stood high on her stirrups and harrumphed at seeing her charge speaking to a dirty farmer's boy unchaperoned. Cat looked down and made a curtsey. Then she was back in the saddle and riding away without a backward glance. I learned from her later that she had attempted to visit me again, but by that time I had disappeared. But from that moment on, the puzzle of Cat often entered my idle thoughts, and I would remember our times together with new insight and fondness.

It could not last, this dream of mine. One day I was out in the field when I heard a cart in the yard. By the time I arrived back at the house, the cart was gone and Mr. Ramirez with it. There was no explanation. I wasn't troubled. I went out to the field, finishing my work. Returning to the shack, I prepared enough food for Mr. Ramirez and myself.

I fell asleep that night thinking nothing about the future. It was a peaceful night, the last one I was to have with Mr. Ramirez for a long while.
13. A Treaty

Around midnight I heard the cart approaching. I got out of bed and stoked up the fire under the stewpot for my master.

When he came in, Mr. Ramirez seemed agitated. He told me to sit and scattered the fire. Then he apologized to me and brought out shackles. I hadn't known he even owned shackles. If I'd had any idea what was coming, I should have fought him. But this was kind Mr. Ramirez and I let him shackle me like a kitten.

Mr. Ramirez went out and another man came in. I felt him before I saw him. I swiveled in my chair and Captain Minuit stood in the doorway. He looked as dark and menacing and as out of place as the devil himself in this holy house.

It is with some pride that I can say I did not freeze as I had before. I tore some straw from the chair seat beneath me and stabbed myself in the arm. I let my own blood drip over the sharp spikes of straw. I also began to pull on the wood of the chair with my injured arm, quietly tearing myself a long thin spike. If my blood was poison, then the killing dose was something more than Armstrong had used on Crab. But if I used multiple stab sites and fresh blood, perhaps I could bring the Captain to hell with me.

Captain Minuit entered the room slowly and gave me a wide berth. "Hello, Tom." I flinched as I felt the caress of that silken voice. He seemed to be in a very good mood. "You have no idea how hard it was to track you down. More work than I'd care to repeat again." He paused. "I can smell your fresh blood, Tom. It stinks. And I can hear what you're doing with that chair. I can even see those bloody straws you've got partially hidden in your fist." I clenched my fist tighter, my plot laid bare by his unnatural senses but prepared to defend myself however inadequately.

"If I wanted you dead," Captain Minuit stretched out his hands and circled around to the far side of the table. His hands were empty and open, as if they were not lethal weapons themselves. "I could have ordered poor dear Mr. Ramirez to kill you in your sleep." I stiffened. Of course Mr. Ramirez was a mind slave! Everything that was out of place about him suddenly made horrible sense. "As it is, Mr. Ramirez has grown quite fond of you, Tom. Bringing me to you was a serious challenge to my control over him. I value him too much to risk that control. So I promised him I would not harm you."

I relaxed a little. It was true. Captain Minuit had no reason to lie. Even unshackled, he was far too fast for me to defend myself. I pointedly avoided his eyes and reminded myself constantly of his nature, even as his soothing words curled around me like snakes.

"Good." Captain Minuit sat. "You'll be glad to know that I've offered to double the reward on the boy, Francois, who sold you to that slaver." I glanced at him. "You'll be even more interested," continued Minuit, "that the reward is dead or alive." I flinched. No slaver or bounty hunter would bother feeding Francois when the same reward was offered for his corpse.

I glared at the Captain. "Why is it that you want me alive? So you can kill me in front of your crew?" I couldn't hold his eyes and looked away again.

Captain Minuit sighed. "You interest me, Tom. You frighten me, and I'm not easily frightened. I need to know how you became resistant to our curse and able to poison us with your blood. I need to know if it is something that others can do. I also need to know if they can do it as adults or if it is something that only happens in children. Someone like me will always have enemies, powerful enemies. These enemies would love to know your secret and to make use of your blood. So I need to understand you, Tom. I cannot do it without your help and cooperation."

"You had my cooperation for a very long time! Don't you remember? I was your mind slave! Why didn't you find out about me then?"

"Yes, Tom, that is true. We used you as a slave when you were small enough to be of physical use. But mind slaves have limitations. I cannot get you thinking about your past and connecting events and people to your particular talents. I cannot engage your mind. I can only ask about what I already know. And mind slaves are not reliable, as you proved yourself. One is likely to end up headless with a stake in one's heart trusting mind slaves. In your case, one is likely to have a poisoned stake like the one you are preparing for me under the table."

I had been quietly stabbing myself and dripping my blood over a thin spike of wood I'd ripped from the chair. Doing so had done some damage to my fingernails, but I used this extra blood as well. I paused in my work.

Captain Minuit tried to catch my eye. I looked stoically past him. "I need your cooperation, Tom. And I'm willing to pay handsomely for it."

I snorted. How much could he pay me for my soul? How much would it take to make me want to work for monsters?

"You misunderstand me, Tom." Captain Minuit looked at me earnestly. I almost slipped into his eyes, but fought him off. "I'm not offering you money. I know that will not influence you. I'm offering you your life."

I stiffened and pulled the wooden stake out from under the table. How fast was he? Could I reach him across the table? No, I'd have to wait for him to lunge.

"Easy." Captain Minuit's voice was silk and honey. I felt my shoulders ease despite myself. "You are in no danger from me. But on this island you are the property of Mr. Ramirez. It will break him to do it, but I can order him to brand you on the face, to blind you, and even to beat you to death."

Captain Minuit read my mind. "You'll escape, but where will you go? The island authorities will welcome you with a noose anywhere you travel. An escaped slave, especially one who has killed a previous master, can find no safe haven." I looked at him sharply. "Oh, I know about the body in the tunnel," smiled Captain Minuit. "But only I know of it for now. I also know about the little 'jobs' you did on Hispaniola. When I have Francois don't think for a moment he won't sign a confession that it was all your fault. But that won't be necessary, because the islands will already be full of talk of how you butchered poor Mr. Ramirez and ran off." His threat was clear. If I left, Mr. Ramirez would die by my hand or his and the blame would fall on me. I had no place to run.

I sat a long moment in silence and made my decision. "I'd rather hang than work for you."

"Perhaps," Captain Minuit was calm. "But I offer you more than just your own life. I offer three lives. You, Mr. Ramirez, and Francois. If you want Francois dead, I can arrange it. I'll even throw in two more lives. Your grandparents."

I flinched. Of course he would have followed my trail back to my grandparents.

"You monster!" I cried.

"Guilty as charged," replied Captain Minuit with a smile. "Do we have an agreement?"

I thought of my grandparents. I had no doubt Captain Minuit's crew would make short work of the little shop on the north shore of Hispaniola. I had never contacted them in all my time as a beggar and thief in the south. Though we shared an island, I'd been too ashamed of my treatment of them and my low status. Even if I could reach them in time, what could I say to have them believe me? And could they find a safe place? I doubted Captain Minuit would go as far as Europe himself, but he could find ruthless men to do his work there. My life as I had known it ended here. I could feel the fight draining out of me like an upended bottle.

"What do you want from me?" My own voice sounded weak. I hated it. I wanted to throw my stake at his head. Instead I tucked it under the table, gouging it into place so it stuck there. If I got a chance, I would tell Mr. Ramirez it was there. It might be some protection for him.

Captain Minuit did me the courtesy of not smiling in triumph. "I want you on my crew. As you were before, but without a mind block. I want you to sail with us to a...place. I want everyone there to become familiar with you, so we can find some treatment for your poison. You will act as you did before, caring for the vessel by day, and acting as our lookout. And to make sure you behave, I will have sealed instructions ready at various ports. If I do not contact my representatives periodically, they will open these instructions and carry them out. In addition, I want your solemn word now that you will never seek to harm me or my crew."

"Even in self-defense?"

Captain Minuit considered. "I will give you an exception for self-defense. Our new Shark is still a little temperamental. I wouldn't give much for your chances against him, but you could certainly try." He smiled.

I considered. There was little to consider. Mr. Ramirez had the right to do with me as he saw fit. If I escaped him and Captain Minuit, and somehow protected those I loved from the Captain, the best I could hope for was a life like the one I had with Francois. My chances of even that were slim indeed. Minuit had found me before, and he could do so again. If he spread the news about me to the islands, they would find that the stories were true. I had done the things he knew about. I was not falsely accused, I was a criminal many times over. The courts would not be kind.

But if they did not find out... again I briefly considered burying my bloody stake in the Captain. I glanced up and noticed that he had removed a pistol from his clothing and was pointing it at me. It was a dramatic flourish because he could have killed me a dozen ways, but it had the desired effect of halting my reckless thoughts.

"I need your word," Captain Minuit made his statement without expression, "or our conversation ends here. Promise me you will serve me of your own free will until I set you free, and that you will never seek to harm me or my crew." He smiled, "except in self-defense."

I paused, staring down at my hands.

Captain Minuit cocked the pistol.

"I swear it." My mouth tasted like sawdust.

"Good," said Captain Minuit. "I can smell an oath breaker, and you, Tom, are not an oath breaker. Welcome to the crew." He raised his voice. "You can come in now, Mr. Ramirez. I could hear your heart beating on the other side of the door."

Mr. Ramirez came in. I could see tears in his eyes and he was trembling like a leaf.

"Mr. Ramirez," Captain Minuit brought the man to attention. "I want you to remember that Tom is in my care. His continued well-being is dependent in part upon your continued cooperation. We'll be going now." He looked deeply into Mr. Ramirez's eyes and I could see the man sag. "Thank you, Mr. Ramirez. You've done me a great service. You will find your credit is good at any store on the island. Now worry no more. The boy will come to no harm."

"No harm." Mr. Ramirez's face lit up as he repeated Minuit's words. "He'll come visit you," Captain Minuit looked surprised at his own words, "from time to time."

Mr. Ramirez turned and embraced me. I wanted to tell him about the stake beneath the table, but the Captain was practically breathing down our necks.
14. Death Of A Shark

A few minutes later, we left Mr. Ramirez's shack. He had given me anything he could think of, and more than I could carry. At last I'd had to gently refuse him and remind him that aboard the ship I would have ample supplies. Indeed, I would be better supplied than the rest of the crew because I was the only one who ate what I did.

Our cart driver carried us silently away from Mr. Ramirez's shack. I could see Mr. Ramirez waving in the doorway behind me and I gave him the heartiest goodbye I could. In my mouth I tasted salt and realized I was crying. I turned my face away from Captain Minuit, but I'm sure he could smell the salt upon me.

The driver was suspiciously bundled in the warm weather. I suspected he was one of the crew, especially since he held the horses in check by sheer force. They were terrified and white-eyed. A few words from Captain Minuit calmed them, but we made astonishing time back to the coast.

We transferred to a small rowboat, which our driver rowed as if he had been born in the seat. I noticed the oars were made of iron, but he used them like kindling.

"Ye still stink," the driver mentioned to me conversationally. I knew then that he was Claw, the mustachioed, barrel-chested crewman who had first greeted me when I first entered this waking nightmare world. How fitting he should be here on my return.

I said something I remembered sounding insulting to him in Carib: "akurèkeny roten moro man."

The Captain laughed.

"What's he sayin' capt'n ? You know I don't speak no island jib jab." Claw looked cross.

The Captain translated. "He says that's because you're an idiot."

Claw blinked his disturbing cat's eyes at me and bared his fangs. "Same to you and more of it." He smiled. "Ye ain't a feared of me anymore, is ye?"

"Oh, I'm still frightened, Mr. Claw," I said with a bit of a smile. It was true. His every movement spoke of how quickly he could kill me. "I just happen to be poison to you. It gives me some small protection. The Captain himself doesn't know how much of my blood it would take to kill you. It could be just a drop in your case."

Claw frowned, even slowing his strokes slightly in concentration, and then brightened. "I'd just bash ye to bits with one of these here oars. Never break the skin and make ye into a puddin' sack." I shrugged. He had a point, but I had the Captain's protection. As long as Captain Minuit wanted me alive, I doubted any of his crew would raise a finger to hurt me.

We made it back to the Albatross. I was pleased to see her, but surprised.

"I thought you'd have changed ships by now."

Captain Minuit sighed. "We would have, but our new Mr. Shark keeps putting prey through the hulls of the ships we've caught. Evidently he had quite a few enemies as a man. Now he's relishing his new role as avenging monster. But she's a fine ship for her age. Did you know she's at least a hundred years old? Original timbers are still there in places." He looked up at the ship proudly.

It was strange talking to these monsters as men, but I realized that I had little choice. Short of spending my life in silence, these were my crew now.

The rest of the crew welcomed me as they would any blood bag. Waterspout barely nodded at me. Only the blonde Crab, at the tiller, gave me a smile with his overbite.

I went to my cabin, because I would be on day watch and needed my sleep. The bunk was the worse for wear, with long scratch marks along the walls. It smelled of sweat, salt, and blood. Mostly blood. I collapsed into a despairing sleep.

Thus began my voluntary servitude in Captain Minuit's crew. I wish I could say it was a brief period of time, but it was not.

My duties included day duty, which allowed me minimal contact with the crew. Only Crab and I talked regularly, about the navigation. The rest of the crew ignored me, or watched me with solemn dislike. I suspected most of them would have broken my neck and thrown me overboard long ago if not for the Captain's fascination with me.

If it is possible to look both evil and foolish, Mr. Crab accomplished both. He had been a tall man, with a thatch of unruly blonde hair that stood straight up and at angles despite any attempt to tame it. Before his conversion Mr. Crab had an overbite, and the addition of fangs only made it look vaguely sinister. His large nose and weak chin made the fangs appear stuck on in an attempt to make him threatening. Despite years away from the sun, Mr. Crab still had the faint smattering of freckles that darkened even in full moonlight.

Mr. Crab and I shared an interest in navigation. His was a love from his human days. Claw told me later that Mr. Crab had sailed so skillfully that he had gotten the vampires to run themselves aground. He'd nearly escaped with his ship, and they'd had to take to the water, surround him, and pummel his rudder to pieces before he was stopped. Captain Minuit had made him an offer to join the crew, and he'd accepted.

My own interest in navigation began with the continuing order by Captain Minuit that I study navigational charts during the daylight shift. At first my studying involved rolling the charts and resting my head on them while I dozed. But I developed an interest after my return to servitude. It occurred to me that my only hope of survival would be to become so invaluable to Captain Minuit that he would keep me alive after his interest waned in my poisonous abilities.

One of the amazing things about my not thinking of the vampires merely as monsters was that they suddenly became ancient sailors who knew everything. They all had certain talents, things that they'd mastered in life and that had impressed Captain Minuit enough to add them to his crew.

The mustachioed, barrel-chested Claw spent his life in the rigging. As a human he'd managed to move quickly enough to evade three vampires. He'd gotten his place on the crew partially for that and partially because he could smell storms brewing. Since his conversion, he'd improved enough to read the weather patterns at night for the next day. Although Claw complained I stank, he would at least talk to me. I would wait in the rigging with him after dark until Crab was free to talk about navigation. It took me weeks to get good enough to smell a major storm brewing. When I got it right Claw slapped me on the back so hard I nearly fell off the rigging. I was sore all evening while I talked with Crab.

Crab knew all the territory between the islands. We had a game we'd play after we'd discussed where we would sail the next day. He'd guess the depth of the waters we were sailing over by the way the boat cut through the waves. I never had him miss by more than a few meters. When he did he would grin his overbite grin and nod. "Of course it be shallower now! We've moved on. Ye need to be faster with yer fathoming cord." He taught me to navigate by the stars, not just the clusters, but by varying my angle to accommodate the movement of the stars across the night sky.

Eel, a big shy fellow with an apron around his middle and ever-moving hands, kept track of everything on board. He had a bald head with a fringe all around the edge like a monk, which made his fangs seem sacrilegious. Eel kept us all working, handing Claw a coil of rope, or Crab a telescope just when he needed it. It was Eel who showed me the bloodroot. The vampires would chew on the plant when they had no blood and it did them good. I was tempted to try some, but Eel dripped a little of the juice on my arm and it raised a blister. Then the Captain and Waterspout had to examine my blister until Waterspout declared it a common response to bloodroot for humans.

The Captain otherwise paid me little mind. I seemed to be a riddle he seemed frustrated with and he left me alone for now.

Waterspout paid me occasional attention, but usually only to get a bit of my blood. He'd prick me and handle the blood as carefully as if it were gunpowder or a deadly spider. Then he'd disappear into the hold, where he mixed my blood with different powders he kept dry in a chest. Once he'd completed whatever he was doing, he would stick a plaster of the mixture on the wall of the hull.

The other crewmen mostly ignored me, and I only learned their names by listening to them being called by those I knew. They were: Whale, Seahorse, Tourmaline, Squid, Konomeru, and Urchin. At the time of which I write, I think any of them would have been glad to drop me over the side without a second thought. But they obeyed the Captain's orders and would just growl at me if I got in their way.

The only crewman I steered clear of was the new Shark. He was a recent convert, the great swimming crewman from Francois's old ship. He was a big man, only Waterspout was taller, and this Shark was nearly twice as wide as our tall first mate. The ship seemed too small for Shark. The Captain had him on tar duty for destroying the ships before I arrived. Shark stalked around with his tar buckets as if it were the worst task in the world.

Once I saw Shark pick up Urchin, a tiny mop-topped fellow who spent his time in the crow's nest or scanning the horizon. Three other crewmen were there in an instant as if they had been expecting trouble. Urchin rarely crossed Shark's path after that.

I learned from Claw that Urchin had converted the new Shark, so Shark blamed him in particular for his current state. For my part, I only knew I would not survive a single grip from Shark, so I stayed out of arm's reach. I had also taken the time to crust my small knife with my own blood when I first came on board. But I had no illusions it would act as anything other than momentary deterrent.

We tracked down two ships along our sailing route. Both times Shark swam out ahead but started a full scale battle before the Albatross could pull alongside. After the Captain severely reprimanded Shark for the first error by punishing him with a harpoon blade along his back, we all had hopes he would improve his style. But as we approached the second ship, we could see a pile of struggling bodies and Shark punching his fist straight through those bodies as he roared in triumph. Claw was piloting the boat toward us, shaking his head. The ship was already sinking when we came alongside.

After we had salvaged what we could from the second ship Captain Minuit seemed greatly saddened. My own contribution had been checking on the condition of the fresh goods, which were already waterlogged by the time they were hauled on deck. I had also seen my crew putting a few mangled men out of their misery. We'd only captured a few "live cargo" because Shark had killed so many. The rest of the crew would have to make due with the recent dead, which was evidently the same as eating cold hard tack compared to hot cake.

From the grumbling of the rest of the crew, it was clear that the rest of the supplies on the ship were as spoiled as the food I'd tried to salvage. Captain Minuit was the last on board from the sinking vessel, and he looked to Waterspout and the other crewmen. They all nodded in turn. Even I found myself nodding as his eyes passed over me. I had no love for the murder they all committed, but even I could see a need to stop Shark's needless brutality.

Shark stood drenched in gore. He seemed both defiant and pleased. I think some part of him regretted his conversion and wished to die. Or perhaps he was already a monster and the conversion only made that part of him more powerful.

Shark and Captain Minuit locked eyes. "I'm afraid your work is unsatisfactory," Captain Minuit's voice was apologetic as if he'd bumped Shark inadvertently. "Your conversion is revoked."

Shark bellowed his challenge and rushed at the Captain, who held his hands out to hold the crew in check.

As Shark entered the Captain's circle of power two short, ancient blades appeared in the Captain's hands. They seemed to be made of black stone and were carved all along the edges. He must have pulled them from his clothing or from a pocket in his cape, but I never saw any sign of them except in battle. The Captain leapt upward as Shark lunged forward. The blades flashed as the Captain performed a perfect somersault over Shark's body. They moved so swiftly it momentarily seemed that the two bodies were connected by a column of black stone. Then the Captain landed, and Shark fell into pieces.

Eel, always at the right place and time, swept up Shark's head and threw it over the side. The rest of the body he gathered up and threw in different directions.

A moment later, it was as if Shark had never existed. The Captain looked around at us. We all nodded again. It was well done. Shark had needed to leave the crew.
15. Slaved To Vampires

With Shark gone, the caulking fell to me. I did it in the heat of the day, when the softened tar was almost as pliable in my hands as the cold tar was in theirs.

Do not think for a moment that I had given up on my hopes and dreams. I worked at everything for myself, learning each ship task with a mind to my eventual freedom or at least my possible survival as a useful member of the crew if the Captain discovered the secret of my blood. Nothing was too dangerous, even holding Captain Minuit's gaze for a few moments to build up my will power. I kept his gaze as long as I could, and I lengthened my tolerance night by night. Captain Minuit smiled at my grim determination. Once he tried to affect me. I held his gaze grimly until my head swam, then I looked away and had to take a few minutes to recover. When I looked back the Captain was talking to Crab, but he had a smile on his lips.

My night sight had improved, and I felt more at home in the night than in the bright sunlight. I dozed on my day shift so I could stay up later with the crew, even packing myself a day provision bag so I would not need to move much during the day. With Shark gone, I found that I liked the crew's company. It may seem terrible, but the crew that Captain Minuit had collected had to coexist for years together. Theirs was an endless night voyage, so they had to get along. As a result, they tended to be easy to get along with and fairly decent for monsters.

One afternoon I was dozing at the helm and not paying attention. So when we were boarded I never saw the other ship coming. When the pirate riffraff came aboard with drawn cutlasses, I felt honest panic for the crew below. The men who boarded us were the lowest kind of pirate, mostly rags and rusty swords, and I felt little compunction telling them the crew was all sick below. They made me go down ahead of them, then shoved me back up when they saw the gold pieces scattered about.

Two of their crew had stayed on their boat. I told them to stay put, that I was certain their fellows would share the treasure below equally between them. It had the expected effect, with both men stampeding past me. They didn't even properly tie their craft, so I had to make it tight to the Albatross. I realized they wouldn't be using it again, but it needed to stay put until we had a chance to scavenge it for ship supplies.

I ignored the screams coming from below our deck and climbed aboard their vessel. In my time with the vampires I had already become immune to screaming. Much later when I led my men into battle, they were amazed at my calm response to screaming pirates or Carib warriors. But I spent too much time hearing screams to give them any more notice than a birdcall or the sound of a church bell.

The pirate ship was floating rubbish. It was a nasty little two-masted caravel, so low to the water I knew she must be leaking badly. Most low pirates switched to whatever merchant vessel they took. So they never cleaned their vessels or even did basic maintenance. I kicked garbage out of the way and descended into the stinking hold.

I was looking for provisions. The rest of my vampiric crew could move hard tack and water barrels better than anyone, but for most of them fresh food and rotten food smelled similar. So if I could smell things out ahead of time I could keep the fresh food from mixing with the spoiled.

It took my eyes a bit to accommodate to the gloom of the hold. I was used to the closed walls of our hold, so this open hold seemed spacious and a bit mysterious. It felt like I was walking into an unseen underground room.

The bottom of the hold was inches deep in scummy water. I gingerly waded in, fearful of sharp edges on my bare feet. Once I had made sure whatever garbage was in the water was floating on top, I sloshed over to some dimly visible shapes along the hull side. The shapes moved. The hair on the back of my neck rose. Here, with bright sunlight behind me, I was terrified of something unknown in the shadows. I had the momentary comical urge to flee up the ladder and back to the safety of my vampire comrades.

My eyes adjusted further to the gloom and I saw three Carib women chained to the wall. They returned my gaze with mild curiosity and the mistrust of the long abused.

I briefly thought about leaving them where they were. I admit it. They looked half-dead already, and I initially thought my crew would be pleased with the extra "living cargo." But I shook myself free of the thought at once.

There were islands nearby, and these women might have a chance if I got them out of the hold soon. The rest of the crew was occupied with the pirates and might not even hear their departure.

I tried my English and Spanish on them with no change in their expressions. When I tried a few Carib words: "irùpa ro rypo man?" they reacted as if a dog had talked. I didn't know the word for vampire, but I remembered Pedro's term: Loogaroo. I repeated the term several times, and also threw in a term I'd heard one Carib call another: okojumo. I'm not sure which term made them react, but it probably was the screams they'd heard from the pirates more than my persuasive tongue. Their eyes got wide. I pantomimed sleep, to give them the idea that my crew wouldn't be coming right now. One of the women shifted and made a striking motion with one fist into her other palm. She kept saying "Wo?" which I didn't understand, but then another woman said: "romòka?" which I'd heard enough from my fellow slaves about what they'd like to do to the talker aboard the slave ship. I shook my head vehemently no. We weren't going to try and kill my crew. The very idea of the four of us taking on that group made me sick in the stomach. I told them to go, swim (èponumy) to an island (pàwu). They shook their heads until I said Couradan was nearby. Either they knew the name or the Arawak name was similar.

I sloshed around until I found a shackle key hanging from a hook near the ladder. I unlocked the women and helped them to their feet. The youngest one pointed at me and asked: "you go?" Evidently she knew a little English and had kept it to herself.

I shook my head, pointed to my chest and said: "slave." She shrugged and gestured to her fellows. We were all slaves here. I couldn't explain that I was bound to my crew by a tighter and more deadly bond than any shackle. I just shook my head again. "I stay, you go."

I helped them climb up the ladder, hauling up some of the timbers from the hold. The timbers should have been keeping the cargo dry by keeping it out of the water, but had just been piled in a corner. I handed the eldest woman my day provision bag, which contained hard tack wrapped in oilskin and a flask of water. I should say that these women had no clothing, even the customary breech clout of the Caribs, so they had no place to store any provisions. So she accepted the pouch gratefully and hung it around her neck.

One of the pirates was still yelling loudly in the hold of the Albatross. We let down the timbers quietly and I bid the women farewell. They paddled off swiftly and silently in the direction I had pointed. I went below again and found most of the fresh food had spoiled or was partially eaten and tossed into the scummy water. Even the hard tack had been fouled and the fresh water smelled of urine. I turned away in disgust and went back aboard the Albatross to wait for night.

I kept myself under control when darkness fell. For a time after the crew emerged I thought I had gotten away with my ploy. But then Captain Minuit called me over to the pirate vessel. The rest of the crew was busy stripping the vessel of any usable materials, but I could hear from the grumbling that there was little worth salvaging.

I kept the Captain's eyes as long as I could. "You keep your hard tack and water flask in a bag. Where is it?" He asked pleasantly, as if we were out on a walk together. I was prepared for this.

"I dropped it overboard by accident when the pirates came."

"Did you also drop three Carib women overboard by accident?"

I said nothing.

"I smelled them on the shackles." Captain Minuit explained. "There were three freshly worn shackles in the hold rubbed clean inside amongst a sea of rust. I also smelled your fear just now, which confirmed my suspicion.

"Let us be clear, Tom. I am a monster, but you did as I asked with this pirate crew. You could possibly have set us all on fire and escaped. But, in the future, anyone you wish to save will cost you someone you care for elsewhere. I cannot have you releasing our live cargo. You must be punished, as I would any member of my crew. For this disobedience, we will keelhaul you, once for each prisoner you let escape."

I was stripped and bound. They passed me under the Albatross three times, but nearest the bow so my journey was swift and relatively free of barnacles. It was more of a dunking than a true keelhauling, and they let me up when I looked like I might drown. I still had cuts all along my side that stung like fire. And the next few weeks I limped around from cuts on my left leg. The only good that came of it was that Waterspout got plenty of blood staunching my wounds (which he did with extreme caution, wrapping the rags on a stick). He did not bother me for more blood for weeks afterwards.

It was not the keelhauling but the fear for my loved ones that made me not disappoint them again. The next ship we attacked I did not complain about the Carib live cargo we took below. I fed them hard tack and water, and pretended to not understand their pleas although they spoke a little English and French. For some reason their plight moved me more than the other live cargo. Perhaps it was because they were involuntary passengers and had not willingly undertaken the dangers of the sea.

It was some time after they had finished the Caribs that Captain Minuit was finally satisfied with my loyalty. One evening he told the crew: "It's time to visit the Island." They all cheered. I was mystified and filled with foreboding.
16. Vampire Island

We sailed for a week until we approached a small island we had passed near to several times before. It was a very small island, mostly a single mountain top protruding from the ocean with a few highlands green with jungle. We disembarked at night at the only harbor and were met by a large crowd. I saw crew members embracing women, and even a few children were in evidence.

Captain Minuit himself had a woman and a child that he embraced. I was awkwardly trailing behind him. One of the children looked around the Captain and commented: "Did you bring us a blood bag present? He smells." Minuit smiled and rumpled the little boy's hair, which he seemed to resent. "No, Anton. I brought him as a warning to all of us. Remember Shark? He died trying to convert this one."

The woman, who I later learned was called Marie, was tall and big-boned. Her hair cascaded around her almost to her waist and her eyes were so bright they drew you into them like a moth to flame. She looked at Captain Minuit with alarm. "Really, Jacques? You brought a poison blood bag near the children? What were you thinking?"

Captain Minuit scowled. I had never seen him disturbed in this way. It was as if he were talking to an equal rather than a woman. "I was thinking they'd be safer if they knew what the poison smelled like. And they are hardly children, ma Cherie. Anton must be thirty-years-old."

Anton smiled up at him. "I am this year. You promised me when I turned thirty you would take me sailing with you."

Marie clutched the boy to her. "Really Jacques? He's so little. It's so dangerous out there."

Captain Minuit sighed and I saw his shoulders sag in a most uncharacteristic shrug. "We'll talk about it. Right now I need to get this one a place to sleep other than the stockade." Marie glared at him. "All right, I'll put him in the village for now. We'll see about later. I'll see you back home. Save some of the celebration drink for me."

The rest of the crowd dispersed up the hill and away from the village, but Captain Minuit and I took the cobbled street into a small town. After a few minutes we stopped before a large inn. The town looked perfectly ordinary, though I was imagining behind every door dwelt a vampiric family.

Captain Minuit knocked loudly on the Inn door. In a few minutes it was opened cautiously by a sleepy, middle-aged man. He was heavy around the middle but with huge arms and a thick neck like a horse. His head was bald, round, and too small for his body, and he wore a wide sleepy smile like a drunkard. I learned later it was a smile he reserved only for Captain Minuit.

"Good evening, Mr. Tuck," said the Captain. "I found your sixth son, Tom, wandering about and brought him back to you." The man looked confused for a moment, then gazed momentarily into Minuit's eyes and brightened.

"You must be mistaken, sir. Tom is my seventh son. Goodness, I've so many it's hard to keep track of them all. Come along, young Tom. Back up into the loft with you. Thank you, night constable." With that short introduction I was bundled off to a dark room upstairs full of sleeping boys, and I instantly became part of the family Tuck.

When I awoke in the morning I was surrounded by a heap of humanity. My brothers and sisters were various ages and nationalities. I later learned that the Captain had a surprisingly soft spot for children and would often make them mind slaves rather than kill them. But this led to the problem of housing them. Enter Mr. Tuck, an amiable ex-schoolteacher who always had an open door and an easily fogged mind as to the number of children he and his wife had under their roof. She was a silent, scarred workhorse and rarely looked up from her chores at the children around her. But Mr. Tuck managed us all, running a school and assigning us all chores throughout the sprawling house.

The funds for this strange orphanage were supplied by the Captain and the crew. As the children grew, they became the villagers of the island. I noticed there were no elderly people on the island with the exception of the Tucks. I suspected and later had confirmed that the crew and their families treated the villagers as their personal herd.

From very young, the villagers were deeply indoctrinated by the Captain and the crew. I had experienced the Captain's prodigious talent, but all of the vampiric clan had the Mesmer power to some extent. With the deeply asleep villagers even I had the power to redirect them. I used it once on my brothers and sisters. I told them that a plate filled with dessert had already been eaten. It was eerie to watch them ignore a full plate in their midst. I admit my initial glee and a few days of subsequent stomach pains in response to my gluttony.

I suppose my purpose on the island was to simply blend in with the villagers until Captain Minuit solved the problem of my blood. But I soon tired of my sleep-walking companions. They were slow and incurious. After a week or two I had read everything I could get my hands on and done mischief enough in the village. It became tedious. I found myself missing the company of the vampire crew. So I began sneaking out at night to prowl about the town. It was on one of these prowls that I was nearly killed.

I had no idea that the young vampires, those converted at a young age and frozen there regardless of physical age, patrolled the villages at night. All the villagers had a strong suggestion to be in bed by sundown. I'd only escaped from the loft by convincing my fellows I was already deeply asleep. The reason for the patrols was that anyone prowling about at night was likely to have failed to be conditioned. Rather than waste a great deal of time figuring out why someone would be out, the child vampires were allowed to feed. The result was that even the mildly conditioned villagers knew enough to stay indoors after dark. They may not have known why exactly, but it was just common sense on the island. Any trouble after dark would be handled by a shadowy "night constable" which was one of the vampires on guard duty.

As the only blood bag on the island who hadn't undergone conditioning, I was completely ignorant of the rules. None of the vampires had thought to tell me. I was most fortunate in that Captain Minuit's young Anton was with the pack when they found me.

I had climbed to the top of the roof next to the Inn and was enjoying the moonlight on the sea when I heard snickering behind me. I looked behind myself and saw three vampire children crouched in attack position in a semi-circle around me. Their teeth seemed to glow in the pale moonlight. So familiar was I with their feline and disturbing appearance that I reacted as I would have to any villager.

"Evening." I responded to their crouching forms, completely ignorant of my danger. "Is there something you want?"

They looked at each other. Evidently at this point I was supposed to be terrified, perhaps shriek and fall off the roof. My nonchalance at their appearance threw them into confusion.

A fourth figure clamored up onto the roof. He had a bird in his mouth and shook it triumphantly.

"Got it!" He spat out the feathered corpse.

"Forget the bird, Anton. We've got a strange one." One of the other children crouching around me called down to him. Anton looked up and loped over. "What are you waiting for? Let's eat!"

"We were waiting for you."

Anton prowled up to me, baring his fangs. I still had no idea of my danger. He paused. "Is he stupid or did you Mesmerize him?" Then he sniffed. "He stinks. Wait... I remember this smell. Blood bag, are you the poisoned one?"

I nodded. Now they would leave me alone.

"Smell him," said Anton to his fellows. "His blood is poison to us."

"Liar," said one of the other boys. "You just want the whole blood bag to yourself."

Evidently this challenge came as a shock to both Anton and me. By the time Anton could reply, the boy had leapt forward and I found myself in "the position." Legs pinioned, arms pinned to my sides, neck forced into extension by drawing the arms down almost to the point of dislocation. The "position" provides the vampire access to the carotid arteries, but there are other advantages. The brachial plexus, all of the nerves that allow for the arm to move, are a hair's breathe below the skin in the hollow where the throat meets the shoulder. A quick nip on either side can render the arms nerveless, start the blood flowing, and allow the vampire to open up the carotid like an overripe plum at his leisure.

My heart was pounding now and I felt the old terror return. I had become too accustomed to the nearness of these lethal creatures. My attacker's ignorance of my unpalatable nature would only be resolved by drinking me. His subsequent death would be small comfort because I would have been drained of all blood. If I somehow managed to survive the draining, I would still have to contend with my body's reaction to his vampiric juices. Having nearly died of this process several times before, I had no interest in repeating the experiment. The vampires were as poisonous to me as I was to them.

Fortunately for me Anton saw my plight as a challenge to his leadership of the little band. My young adversary was ripped off me and flung off the roof with Anton snarling after him. As the other two quickly followed I momentarily considered my escape. But I kept in mind the incredible fluid speed with which Anton had descended after his fellow. It was likely I'd barely make it off the roof by the time they finished whatever tussle they'd started.

Instead, I followed the other two to peer over the edge of the roof. Below Anton and his opponent were kicking up a plume of dusk as they pounded on each other. It seemed like the other boy was getting the better of it when Anton struck him in the throat with the blades of both hands, splintering the bones there and rendering both his arms useless. Then Anton was atop the other boy, cradling his head in a fearsome embrace.

We could hear the child's strangled cry and then a whispered conversation between the two. When they stood up, the other child bent and kissed Anton's feet. Anton looked up triumphantly at us.

"Come down, and bring the blood bag with you. We'd best let my father know he's taken to lurking about at night."

I descended, held up by the two children and dangling between them like a scarecrow. Anton's friends were named Spike, Terrence and Lapper, but I never thought of them as anything but his pack. They were interchangeable instruments of his will, and their names had as little meaning as if he had named his left foot and both hands.
17. Vampire Village

They took me out of the village and into an area of jungle that I realized the villagers even avoided looking toward during the daylight hours. We soon reached a rocky outcropping. It had a deep cave and large boulder near the entrance. This was the first "home" we passed, and there were many scattered among the trees. As dawn approached the vampires would boulder themselves in, blocking out the sunlight with objects heavy enough it would take a team of villagers to move them.

But the villagers would never approach this area without an explicit order. They had named the area Hell's Gate, perhaps in a moment of clarity. The only un-mesmerized person capable of generating an order to the villagers and carrying it out in the daylight hours would have been me. I realized with a sinking feeling that I would never be allowed to leave Minuit's service alive. He could hardly afford to let me live even now, given the danger I posed his village. My only protection was my blood as a curiosity, but that could be gone at any time.

Captain Minuit was sitting in front of his cave, talking with his mate Marie. I use the term because they were something more than man and wife. She controlled the island in his absence and had an uncanny sense of his wishes and whereabouts.

I had happened to venture out on a rare leisure night for the vampires. Tonight there was a celebration planned and a "live cargo" would be shared. The blood was mixed with bloodroot in a frothy concoction called Marie's drink after Marie, Minuit's mate. Most nights the Captain, known on the Island as Monsieur, would have been gathering timber, fixing the ship, helping repair caves, settling disputes, or any of the other myriad tasks that fall to any island chieftain.

Minuit was in a good mood and strangely happy to see me. I learned later that Marie had stopped him from bringing me to the caves, but could do nothing now that I had arrived.

"Good," he called out to us as we approached. "I wondered what Tom was up to."

Anton glared at him and I got the sense that they were less parent and child and more rivals despite the difference in their apparent ages.

"Spike almost had him for dinner," Anton pushed his pack mate forward.

Minuit looked severe. "Didn't you come to the meeting on this one? Did you forget my ban on village boys?"

Spike hung his head. "Yes, Monsieur. I am sorry. I guess my blood was up because we rarely catch a villager out at night. I'm sorry, sir."

Even I could tell this speech was rehearsed to make it appear that Spike was more apologetic than he was. From his fight with Anton it was clear Spike was also considering where he stood in the hierarchy of island power.

Minuit turned to Anton. "Well?" Anton nodded. He reached forward and brought Spike to his knees with a crushing blow. Minuit handed Anton a rusty cutlass that seemed to have been used to chop roots.

Anton used the sword on Spike's back in the same way a flogger might use the lash. Each blow bit deeply into Spike and he cried out, but I could see his body repairing itself even as the blade withdrew. Spike's initial crushed bones had also already reknit themselves.

I learned later that Captain Minuit had a great iron rake with spear heads bent inward for use on his larger subjects. But Spike was a relatively new convert. So the cutlass was sufficient to remind him of the rules. Each blow might have been mortal to someone with my frail constitution. But the vampires repaired quickly enough to make it merely painful.

Waterspout explained to me much later that he had experimented with his own blood and found it capable of repairing any living surface. The process had less to do with the surface and more with the blood's need to maintain itself. In short, the vampires' abilities, even their very lives, were a byproduct of the blood itself. The blood was alive, and used the vampires to replenish itself.

When Anton was finished, Spike lay unconscious on the ground. Anton returned the blade to Minuit and both turned their attention to me.

"Since you have volunteered yourself by disobeying the curfew, I need you to circulate among the families," said Minuit. "No one is to harm you, but they all need to smell you and perhaps even to taste you without infecting you. Evidently there is some question as to your poisonous nature. I will arrange a public demonstration at some point. For now, you are a guest in my cave."

So began my true stay on the island, a place so different from the village it seemed impossible that both existed in the same general area on the same mass of land.

The vampire village, if it can be called that, consisted of a number of caves. I was never sure of the exact number, though I expect that every fair-sized boulder had a cave behind it, putting the number around thirty. Not all of these were inhabited. Some were used as storage or left empty. So a conservative estimate would be twenty occupied caves with between one and six occupants. The total number of inhabitants is also difficult to judge, because Minuit moved the groups around to allow me to live with them.

I got the distinct impression that several members of the village were kept from my attention. On one particular night I recall I became aware of a procession of dark figures passing by the cave I was staying in. I went to the entrance to peer out at them, but my hostess grasped me from behind. She turned me around and shoved me face first into a corner until the procession had passed. Afterward she refused to even speak to me about it.

So if I can only roughly judge the vampire village to something between thirty and sixty inhabitants, it is because I was never given a full sense of the place. We slept during the daylight hours and I was chaperoned every night. At celebrations I counted perhaps thirty, which also corresponds with the number of individuals I stayed with. But I suspect that the group that passed the cave was all strangers, and I got the impression of at least ten of them.

Even the thirty I met were confusing as family units, because apparent age was no indication of actual age. Lacking the normal cycles of birth and death, the vampires had an elaborate system of village politics. The slightest change in tone or inflection on a sentence could mean a whole range of things. I once saw two women almost come to blows over the phrase: "The bloodroot is ready." Evidently the way in which one woman had said it had caused the other woman to lose status.

It was impossible to know without asking that Anton was at least ten years older than the rest of his pack. Spike, the boy he had fought over me, was a relatively new recruit and wasn't working out well. Spike had been a captured orphan who had been scratched while in transition and had converted slowly while at Mr. Tuck's house. Supposedly if you looked you could still see the blood stains in the loft where Spike had torn apart two of his bedfellows before a terrified Mr. Tuck could bring the "night constable," whichever vampire was on guard down by the docks. They'd taken Spike out and convinced the villagers that all three boys had died of bleeding fevers. Wasn't it a miracle that no one else was infected? That was what Mr. Tuck was told.

There were quite a few "accidents" like Spike among the vampire folk, but also a number of deliberate converts. The crewmembers, with the exception of Waterspout, had been selected. Waterspout was Minuit's first accidental convert. He had been a very learned man before he was converted. Waterspout only survived because his curiosity about Minuit's condition led him to inquire about it even as Minuit was preparing to dine upon him. The inquiry led to a conversation and Waterspout donating his blood to Minuit to see if the donated portion would be enough to sustain Minuit. The result was a painful conversion for Waterspout.

Each of the crewmen had the right to convert the partner of his choice. Once chosen they mated for life. If the crewman died the woman had a right to ask for a conversion of her own or mate with another man. Marie, Captain Minuit's wife, was the only woman who had never found a new partner. Even Waterspout's current wife had belonged to another crewman before he had been killed and she chose Waterspout.

I got to hear a great deal about this subject because both Shark and Port Hole's chosen partners had to make their decisions. Port Hole's chosen was quite young, barely a woman herself. The discussions surrounded whether she had a duty to convert one of the village boys or if she could go with the crew on the next voyage to select herself a new partner.

The issue had not come up previously. Most of the women, including Shark's old mate, would normally wait until a new crewman was chosen to fill the post their previous partner had held. The men chosen often were similar enough to the lost crewman that they were considered a fitting replacement. Previous Port Holes had traditionally been without partners because of their young age. This one's partner was impetuous, having only been converted herself for a relatively short time. She was a young woman and, even though she was older than she looked, wasn't a fit crewmember for voyages. So she was under a great deal of pressure to hold off her selection until a new Port Hole was found.
18. Rebecca

I must admit that I added to the gossip because the girl in question, Rebecca, took quite a fancy to me. Before she had even been aware of my status she had marked me as similar enough to her own Port Hole to spark her interest. My own discomfort was worsened when I was informed by Rebecca that she would have chosen me if it had been possible.

When she told me this, Rebecca looked at me in such an expectant way that I was quite embarrassed. My normal reaction to girls my own age was mild disgust. They seemed a bit like exotic birds, quite interesting to look at from a distance, but easily disturbed and temperamental up close. This particular specimen had the added danger of supernatural strength and razor teeth. The way she was looking at me made me fearful that she would try to convert me on the spot, regardless of the consequences.

In the end I stammered out a thank you and excused myself. The vampires had no need to relieve themselves, but rather expectorated what they didn't need in the manner of snakes or owls. They made me relieve myself in the area they kept their own excreted materials, an area rife with flies and maggots. I was provided with a bucket for my necessity in the daylight hours. But I soon learned to hold my peace until nightfall. The shame of attending to one's needs in the silence of a sleeping cave where the least noise echoes off the walls knows no bounds.

My need was great so I made haste. Imagine my discomfort when I found that Rebecca had not accepted my polite dismissal and was following me slowly. I paused in my journey and allowed her to catch up. In my most apologetic voice I told her where I had to go, hoping not to offend her. I'm certain my cheeks were scarlet as I did so. She seemed surprisingly excited and declared that was exactly where she was headed as well.

In my confusion I found myself arm in arm with Rebecca, quite steered toward that lonely spot. I do not know what would have befallen me if my chaperone had not intervened.

On this particular evening my chaperone was the tiny, mop-topped Urchin, who spent his time landside perched in the top of the tallest trees, peering at the horizon. I'd asked Claw about his fixation, and Claw told me Urchin had once seen the giant Kraken, mother of all the giant squid. The shock had left him with a great anxiety that could only be assuaged by continually watching the horizon. Urchin was the only living creature to have observed all the albino creatures of the deep. The pod of white whales, the school of white dolphins, he'd seen even the white mermaid colony. He was also the only creature who didn't care about such creatures, always on the lookout for the great ripple that would herald the Kraken's coming.

So my poor embarrassing situation was hardly Urchin's focus. Fortunately for me, he was also gifted with extraordinary peripheral vision. It was for this reason that he was part of the crew. At night he could spot a sail before they had any idea we were there. So while it was surprising that he was suddenly blocking our path, it should not have been.

Urchin barely reached my own height, and was slightly shorter than Rebecca. But he stood with authority, blocking the trail.

"Can't let you do that, 'Becca. Not orders. Let him go." Urchin spoke as little as necessary to maximize his time aloft.

Rebecca knew just how to play on Urchin's anxiety. "Leave us alone. Isn't that a big wave I hear? It almost sounds like something a giant squid might make."

She was joking meanly, but Urchin looked genuinely rattled. The very thought made him glance nervously about. I had a suspicion that he was my best and only chance to be free of Rebecca. Whatever she had planned was unlikely to be healthy for me.

"We'd better go together, Urchin." I used the calmest tone I could muster. "I'll even keep watch when the sun comes out." I knew Urchin's greatest worry was that he couldn't be watching the seas at all times. He'd wanted all the villagers to be trained to watch for the Kraken but Captain Minuit told him gently that they were not sharp enough to see anything at a distance. So Urchin slept in a cave at the top of the mountain and peered out at the surrounding sea even when the sun shone down and threatened to burn him. He was the only one of the vampires with sunburned skin, generated simply by his near proximity to the rays. On every boat he created small holes that he could cork up, moving about and checking the horizon from dawn to dusk. My own previous escape had only been possible because the Captain had forbidden Urchin from relaying his findings to the rest of the crew while they tried to sleep. If I had chosen to escape to the nearest island, it is likely that Urchin would have tracked my entire trajectory through one of his little spy holes.

I learned from Captain Minuit much later that our current Urchin was far better, and far more insane, than the previous one. The previous Urchin had received his name for his ability to hold his breath and wait for ships to sail over him. He would then climb up and pin the living crew to the deck with a set of iron spikes he carried on his back. He had been a great provider of living cargo. The current Urchin had stayed quietly in the crow's nest all during the battle that had destroyed his fellow crew. That same battle had involved a lucky blow that had beheaded the original Urchin, sending his head tumbling overboard. They didn't discover our current Urchin until they were under sail and Claw had smelled him in the rigging. Even with the vampires around him, our new Urchin had ignored them and calmly described another vessel that was bearing down on them. The crew mistook his obsession with the Kraken for cool confidence and offered him a spot on the crew. Despite his obsession, Urchin was a decent enough vampire. He was extremely useful and kept out of everyone's way. So his name, position, and conversion remained. They'd found a new way of attacking ships by swimming them down instead.
19. Chronics

The vessel that Urchin had seen when he was captured by the vampires was no ordinary vessel. Captain Minuit had described it in detail to our new, now-deceased Shark because it was their first encounter with this particular brand of villainy. The vessel that had been bearing down on them on that night Urchin was converted was one of the few pirate vessels of the living dead.

The living dead, ekèta in the Carib dialect, have been known since the advent of history. They often occur in sporadic outbreaks and die out as colonies are consumed and the attackers wither away. My father had spoken to me of a whole civilization wiped out by the living dead. In the Caribbean, the outbreaks were scarce even then and died out quickly. Once an island was overrun, the zombies eventually fell on one another in frustration and hunger. Those of us who grew up in desolate settlements knew to gather in a central location to defend ourselves until the zombies destroyed each other.

But what I had no knowledge of was a second branch of the undead, a much slower-acting chronic disease of zombification. In its mildest form the disease manifests only like leprosy. But in the mid-level, the chronically ill have an intense, but not overwhelming, hunger for brains.

The reasons for my lack of knowledge were three-fold. First, those afflicted acted like pirates among the islands. Their methods involved eating their prisoners, which was consistent with the harsh pirate code of taking no prisoners. Second, the zombie pirates were mistaken for the cannibal Carib when they did destroy a settlement. Finally, these chronic zombies pursued the vampires relentlessly, because the brains of vampires are evidently far more succulent than the brains of an ordinary mortal. It is the taste of power, because it temporarily gives the zombie all the concentrated power of the vampire. I had this from the rotting lips of one of the "Chronics" himself before I killed him, so I believe him. Just as we are easy prey for vampires, the vampires themselves are so enticing that they draw those with the chronic wasting form of zombiehood from many leagues off.

It is important to note that, were the chronic wasting form prevalent, the world would be overrun with those afflicted. Those wretches experiencing the full power of the zombie illness are mindless and incapable of complex thought. Their only advantage against mortals lies in the ferocity of their attack, which is a berserker rage without guile or strategy.

Those with the more chronic form of zombiism are simply men obsessed. They move with a common goal and are capable of both electing leaders and following commands. Like the vampires, the chronic zombies can even withhold their hunger and recruit clever crew members who will help them in their search by biting without feasting. Unlike the vampires, however, they will eventually destroy each other if deprived of their required food for too long. The vampires are spared this weakness, not because of will power, but because they lack the blood useful to their fellows. I have never witnessed a freshly fed vampire in the presence of others who are starving, but I believe the proper action in that case is to share by being fed upon by the others.

It was because of these chronic zombie crews that Captain Minuit and his crew had sailed about for so long. They would patrol the entire island system, attracting and dealing with those undead they came across. In this way they provided protection for those vampires on the island. Only when they had not met any of the undead ships for months would they return and rest on the island.

My own sojourn with the vampires had been blessedly free of any encounters with the undead. But this had more to do with luck than their eradication. The chronically affected were clever enough to maintain colonies on several islands. The vampires suspected that, wherever a large enough cemetery was available, the chronic undead would feast solely on fresh corpses, maintaining both their number and their anonymity. It was also likely that a group of the Caribs was infested, lending credence to the stories of cannibalism among the tribes. To increase the chance of encounters, the vampires would sail near islands reporting plagues of smallpox or fever, waiting for the Chronics to arrive.

It is remarkable that the Chronics could have existed for so many years without any mortal being aware that they formed a distinct population. But it makes no sense to classify the undead unless you have extensive dealings with them. In the simplest terms an undead is either attacking you or he is not. In the first case he is undead. In the second case he is likely to be disregarded as a normal man with very poor hygiene and perhaps a gangrenous eye. I would suspect that the chronic version of this disease exists even to the present day among the destitute, having personally killed at least one ragged thief who admitted his disease to me and begged for death. It is the habit of society to ignore the unwholesome and sick until they try to eat our brains.

Our current Urchin's talent for spotting boats saved the vampire crew from the Chronics that night. A normal zombie poses little threat to a vampire, so well-equipped is he for the inevitable thoughtless frontal attack. My fellow vampire crew was far too strong for a boatload of ordinary zombies to overwhelm them. But the Chronics have a variety of attacks available, including swelling their numbers prior to an attack by attacking surrounding villages. Even with the vampire's speed, they are slowed by a mauling group. The oldest and cleverest members of the Chronics stay well back and attempt to behead the vampires with bolo balls attached to thin flexible blades or crossbow bolts with curved, crescent-bladed arrows. Barring that, they will sever off a vampire's head in a few swipes of one of the racheting, scissorlike devices they carry. If unaided, a vampire might be vanquished by a concerted effort. But forewarned, the vampires wear high-collared neck armor that somewhat limits their mobility but protects them from neck attacks. Armed thus, they use a variety of missiles or clubs to behead or dismember their opponents. Such a battle can be eerily silent, for the undead feel no pain, and vampires are loath to express weakness or give away their locations.

The origin of the Chronics is a matter of some speculation for vampires. It is suspected that an avenging religious group sworn to destroy all vampires, known as the Red Hand, has been arming the Chronics. All of the weapons the Chronics carry are of Red Hand manufacture. But perhaps the Chronics simply overran a Red Hand settlement. It is likely that the Chronics, like the weather, simply happen.

If I have strayed far from my situation with Rebecca, it is from discomfort. Rebecca gazed at me after my comment to Urchin as if I were one of the undead myself. "Tom, don't you want to go with me?" She had a dangerous look in her eye. I swallowed, and a bit of bile lodged in my throat, causing me to cough.

"Leave him be," said Urchin. "Go find yourself a grown man, 'Becca."

Rebecca turned to him in a fury. "A sawed off, half-man like you? Don't make me laugh. You'll rue this day, Urchin." She turned on her heel and stalked off into the forest. Urchin and I both heaved a sigh of relief. Rebecca would have been frightening as a mortal. She was now terrifying when her eyes flashed crimson and spittle dripped darkly from her mouth.

One of the common problems of the enlarged vampire teeth is a tendency to drool and spit. In vampires this tendency is worsened by the quality of their spittle, which resembles thickened, drying blood. When Rebecca became angered, flecks of her spittle had escaped her lips and coated her chin. Although as a man now I recognize that Rebecca was quite comely, her spittle covered face still fills me with remembered repugnance.

As soon as Rebecca was out of sight I found my need to void myself could no longer be restrained and did so on the side of the trail while Urchin sniffed in disgust. My relief could not have been greater if he had literally saved my life.

Afterward Urchin and I traveled to the coast and looked out at the moonlit ocean. I put out my lantern, which I carried about throughout my sojourn with the vampires. None of them needed additional light, but especially with a crescent moon I needed a little illumination to see under the jungle canopy.

Now Urchin and I sat in the partial darkness, staring out at the sea. We were silent, but the silence was companionable. We could see as far as where horizon met sky and the stars started their reflected march up to the complacent moon. I could feel just the stirrings of a breeze caressing my sweaty face. Freed of Rebecca, I was plotting how to avoid her in the future. It was the first time I was genuinely grateful to my strange blood for sparing me the possibility of being chosen as her mate.

"Ship." Urchin's announcement was matter of fact. I could see nothing in the darkness but I knew even the other vampires considered Urchin's senses supernatural.

Urchin peered out. "Jerky crew. Lookout missing an arm. Zombies. Chronics." His words sent terror through me. No amount of preparation could have prepared me for the thought of zombies running amok on the island. It didn't help that the zombies were Chronics, because they would act like regular zombies in the village. Infecting as many new recruits as possible was part of their battle plan. The newly formed zombies would act as a buffer against the vampires' speed.
20. Zombie Attack

Urchin looked at me. "Run to the village. Tell Tuck. Zombies coming. Plan Three." He didn't pause, but broke into a sprint so fast I lost him in the trees immediately. I sprinted downhill. I was fast and the town was in sight. But I suspected that Urchin could have run around the island by the time I reached the Inn and pounded on the door. Mr. Tuck opened it almost immediately, which caught me still gasping for breath.

"Zombies." I gasped. "Plan Three." Mr. Tuck nodded and disappeared inside. In a minute the children were spilling out into the street, racing up and down to the other houses. While I caught my breath, families started to trickle into the street toward the Inn. Mr. Tuck was already by the door with a box of hatchets at his feet. He welcomed each villager pleasantly and handed out the hatchets as if he were hosting a Christmas gathering and handing out candles or party favors.

Mr. Tuck glanced at me and I could see his normally soft, glazed expression had faded. He looked sharp and determined, a look I recognized as dangerous from my time on the streets of Hispaniola. I knew in a moment that this was a man capable of killing if need be.

I carefully left my face blank and innocent as I had learned to do for Pedro when he was master aboard the Albatross. As Mr. Tuck's gaze lingered, I lowered my eyes, wiped my brow, and pretended to be more out of breath than I was. When I looked back up Mr. Tuck had his glazed, distracted look back and was handing out hatchets again.

With zombies on the way, the safest place for me would have logically been the Inn. But seeing the sharp-eyed Mr. Tuck had unnerved me enough that I cringed at the thought of having him with a box of hatchets at my back. So I stayed outside the doorway.

"Well done, young Tom." I heard the melodious voice of Captain Minuit with something like relief. He flowed past me and approached the inn. "How go the preparations, Mr. Tuck?"

Mr. Tuck looked up at Captain Minuit. "Very good, sir." Mr. Tuck seemed even slower with Minuit, more of a simpleton. I recalled how Pedro had acted around Captain Cristobal. Was it possible that all of Mr. Tuck's conditioning was an act? If so, what was he doing on the island?

I should explain that all of the villagers were part of what I called the vampires' herd. They submitted to regular blood lettings by the town doctor, ostensibly for their health. The blood was mixed with bloodroot and other herbs that kept it from clotting. It was drawn in the late afternoon and collected after dark.

All the vampires gathered for the evening meal. A vampire could subsist on a small cup of the mixture daily, with the occasional feast day when a "live cargo" was used by the community to slate its thirst. The live cargo was kept in an enclosure called the stockade within the vampire community, and it was an eerie thing to hear their occasional calls not five hundred feet from where the vampires worshiped on Sunday.

The vampires did worship, with Captain Minuit presiding as a lay minister of sorts. He read passages of the Bible and they sang hymns. All his talks, for Captain Minuit did not call them sermons, were on repentance. He seemed genuinely troubled for the souls of the vampires.

When I went to their first service, I expected blood and Satan. But as a group they were pious, and I saw evidence of prayer in every cave I visited. The conversion of each person to vampirism was a conversion of the flesh, not of the spirit. I understood from my later conversations with Captain Minuit that the vampire's anguish at seeing the cross is not from physical fear but as painful reminder of the perilous existence of his soul.

But anyone living in the village who was not Mesmerized by the vampires must surely notice the process of the bleeding, hear the eerie soft midnight hymns, and even overhear the occasional cry from the live cargo. Mr. Tuck was also often in contact with Captain Minuit and his crew. He could not miss their nature. Perhaps he was unconditioned but simply too terrified to act? Or perhaps he stayed to protect the children?

My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the vampire clan. They arranged themselves in twos and threes around the Inn. Four crew members went down toward the dock to lead the zombies into the main street of the village. All the vampires, even the children, wore high iron collars and wrist bands which they could use to block projectile weapons. When I looked up, I saw shadowy figures crouching on the rooftops. They looked strange but vaguely familiar, and I wondered if these were the same figures I'd seen pass by the cave mouth in the night before I'd had my face turned to the wall.

Captain Minuit clapped me on the shoulder. "In you go, young Tom. The Inn is the only place on the island that will be safe. Usually the Chronics send an underwater scouting party that comes ashore ahead of the ship. They should be here shortly."

I tried to think of something that would keep me out of the Inn, but I could think of nothing. I was propelled past Mr. Tuck and reluctantly received my hatchet. I went up the stairs away from the others, as high as I could in the inn. In a room just off the street there was a high shelf. I carefully removed the crockery stored there and crawled gingerly up onto the shelf. From there I could see through the high, narrow window down onto the street.

From my vantage point I could see the vampires in the moonlight. They were now armed with long iron bars that looked far too heavy for any normal man to lift. The adults were in twos and threes, while the vampire children were grouped in a pack and armed with shorter bars.

The whole scene was so dimly lit I might have mistaken the whole assembly for a statue garden. They did not move or talk among themselves. Nothing stirred all along the street.

Then a shout went up behind the inn. It was followed immediately with the clash of iron and the inhuman roar and gurgle of the zombies. I almost scrambled down, but I caught sight of something that froze my blood. The street was now empty of the vampires. They had all rushed behind the inn to aid their fellows. But eight figures had materialized out of the darkness. They were running swiftly and silently toward the inn. The street had no defenders. It seemed clear that these eight were the attack party while the others created a diversion.

I had no time to think. A strangled cry escaped my lips. "Here! They're here!" I called out the window desperately.

The eight broke into a dead run, moving with a speed almost equal to the vampires. In a moment they would be at the door and I saw that they had a metal-tipped battering ram among them.

Then something erupted from above me. A hissing, sizzling crackle reverberated and seemed to scorch the inside of my ears. Purple flame poured down on the eight zombies, engulfing them. They hardly slowed, but I could see the fire flickering all over them. The battering ram they had been holding came apart in their hands and fell to the ground. Three of the eight stopped to pick it up, but the five at the front kept going. One of them staggered and fell as his legs broke under him. But the four left were nearly at the inn door. A shadowy draped figure dropped into their midst. He flicked a vial at one zombie and it exploded. Two of the zombies attempted to grasp his arms but he threw them together and they broke apart. The last zombie had produced a sickle from its belt and swung at the figure. He grasped the sickle arm and caught the zombie's other arm as it clawed at his head. Purple fire erupted from his hands and the zombie gurgled as he collapsed.

The pack of vampire children appeared around the corner brandishing their short iron clubs. The remaining zombies, realizing their error in delaying with the battering ram, had started toward the inn. Seeing the children, they ran in different directions. The children pursued the nearest and clubbed him down, then pursued the others.

The shadowy figure paused and turned toward the inn. The zombie had clawed away the cloth covering his face and the moonlight reflected on his one open glaring eye and horribly scarred visage. It was as if he had been burned for every burn he had inflicted on the zombies.

I gasped and the figure turned his eye up toward me. I saw the corner of his ruined mouth twitch, then he turned and was gone around the corner of the inn.
21. Mr. Tuck

I might have relaxed then, but I heard the creak of the floorboards behind me. Turning my head, I beheld Mr. Tuck. He stood, candle in one hand, smiling benignly. But I also saw the hatchet held loosely in the other hand and remembered his sharp look earlier.

"Young Tom?" Mr. Tuck looked confused. "Is that you? Are you among the night constables now?"

I thought quickly. Would he dare to reveal himself by asking me questions no Mesmerized villager would think to ask?

"Oh, no, sir," I replied. "You must have mistaken me for someone else." I made my voice sound stupid and slow. "I'm Ned. I live at the edge of the jungle with the Ramone Family." I knew the Ramones had a small farm near Hell's Gate. They were some of the most heavily Mesmerized families due to their proximity to the vampire clan.

Mr. Tuck's grip tightened on the hatchet. I thought I could see his benign smile waver just slightly, but he pressed on cheerily. "What do you on the shelf, young Ned? Looking out the window?"

Of course a Mesmerized person wouldn't be looking out! They were trained to never be curious about what happened outside at night unless they were directly summoned.

"Oh, no, Mr. Tuck. I just crawled up here to sleep." I almost said I was frightened but realized that might not be part of the conditioning. I hadn't seen any of the other villagers looking frightened. Strong emotions weakened the conditioning and the vampires said they could taste it in the blood days afterward. So a mild cheerfulness was encouraged in the herd.

"Did you see anything down in the street?" Mr. Tuck had the tinge of an edge in his voice.

"Oh no, sir. It's too dark." I smiled cheerfully at Mr. Tuck. Mr. Tuck had known I wasn't Mesmerized before, but he couldn't be sure I wasn't Mesmerized now. He'd managed to fool me with his act before, and I remembered guiltily that I had denied his whole family dessert. He had beamed silently on, pretending to be fooled like everyone else at the table.

"Is something wrong, Ned?" Mr. Tuck raised his candle. "You look troubled. Something you want to get off your chest?"

I smiled. "Oh, no, sir. Just a bit hungry."

"Well, come down from there and we'll find something for you in the kitchen."

I could think of no argument that didn't involve giving myself away, so I climbed slowly down.

Mr. Tuck put a companionable hand on my shoulder as we descended the stairs and I resisted an urge to brush it away and flee. The first floor was lined with people, all dozing and all with hatchets across their laps. I suppose the simple fact that I had strayed upstairs was proof enough of my lack of conditioning. But Mr. Tuck could hardly question me openly without revealing himself.

Mrs. Tuck was in the kitchen working busily. Her only acknowledgement of the current crisis was the addition of a hatchet tucked into her apron.

"Mother," said Mr. Tuck, "Here's a hungry boy."

"Best to help me then," Mrs. Tuck handed me a sharp knife and directed me to cutting roots. I must not have known what she wanted, because she immediately reached around me and grasped my hand. "Here, let me show you."

Everything that happened next happened very fast. To the best of my recollection Mrs. Tuck deliberately cut into my finger. She immediately cried out: "No, you fool! You'll get blood on the vegetables!" She brought a cloth out of her apron. I think she squeezed the finger into the cloth and I thought I saw the flash of glass and felt the ridge of something in the cloth against my skin.

Then Mr. Tuck was at my side. "Come away, lad. I've found you some bread." I was hustled from the room, but I glanced back. Mrs. Tuck was capping something. She seemed smug.

I recall this event so clearly because of what happened afterward. When I returned to the vampires, Captain Minuit noticed the rag wrapped around my finger. "Did you cut yourself?" "No," I said truthfully. "Mrs. Tuck did." Captain Minuit was suddenly very attentive. "Tell me what happened." When I did, he cursed softly to himself and left me. Soon after the incident Waterspout began experimenting on my blood again every day.
22. Experiment And Mayhem

Because of the zombie attack, Captain Minuit and the crew began to prepare for another voyage. Bloodroot was gathered in bundles, both dried and pickled in barrels. Each cave made lists of what was needed from the various ports. I learned that Captain Minuit did indeed have agents in every port. Tropical birds, the Caribbean's version of homing pigeons, delivered messages to him. These were coded in case the birds were caught. They were also written in the Carib language to further deter anyone from decoding them.

Captain Minuit told me that I was to join the crew. He was frustrated with Waterspout's inability to determine the nature of my blood, and I was to visit several learned doctors and scientists. I had also proved myself valuable as a crewman. I suspect another reason was that he didn't trust me on the island with Mr. Tuck.

In a few days' time we were on board ship. I finally got to hear from Claw about the rest of the zombie battle. We were hanging from the rigging about midnight, partially to smell the weather and partially to keep out of Rebecca's way. She had taken over the cabin boy's duties, which didn't please her in the least. Usually I only did the day shift and avoided the night, but I'd gotten trapped up here while she caulked below and was delaying our inevitable encounter. I kept hoping Captain Minuit would find her poor fit and revoke her conversion status, but he alone seemed to find her outbursts humorous.

I think Claw was avoiding her as well, because he seemed eager enough to tell me the story.

"Ye remember that night when the Chronics attacked, don't Ye? I was just sort of wishing Ms. Rebecca there had been in the back of the inn instead of old Islington."

"Who?"

"Old Islington. One of the Blood Weavers. An old wreck when he got converted. Ooze dripped two stories down from a killing to 'im when he was sleepin' in the gutter and went right straight into his mouth. Amazing thing. Ye never met him?"

"No. I don't think so. What's a Blood Weaver?"

"That's the name we give to those that can weave the blood. They can make it do things, catch fire and the like. Oh, maybe I shouldn'a tell you about that. Secretive about the Blood Weavers, we are. But Mr. Tuck told us ye were looking out the window. You couldn't have missed Grutte burning those Chronics. Could ye? Magnificent work, that. Nearly killed him doing it, but it sure saved our bacon. We had all we could handle with the four supers in the back."

"Supers?"

"Aye, lad. Has no one told you any of this?"

"I don't think so."

"Guess I should tell ye what I can. I was in back with old Islington when out of the dark came four crossbow moon bolts and cut the poor lad to pieces. Took his arms and legs right off. Mind you, he could've come back from that had we stuck'em back on. But the Chronics came at us in a swarm. They rushed me and I fell back to the wall, but they grabbed Islington, the head and body part of him anyway, and ran them back into the woods."

"Everyone came running then, and we made short work of those Chronics. But in the battle I plumb forgot about old Islington until out come four Chronics and start laying into us like they was vampires themselves. They was chucking folk about, breaking bones, using our own bars against us, they were. Took us a back, and we had to regroup. We had to rush them all at once, same as they would us, and team up on them. By the time we got them down the business in the front had already happened. I found poor old Islington in the jungle. Near as I can figure, those four ate his noggin and got a bit of his power. Captain says it happens from time to time but it's only temporary. They sort of become honorary vampires for a bit, but the zombie in 'em wins out in the end."

"It's terrible for us when they get to be supers. We've been lucky so far, but it's always a risk. The real fear is them getting one super after another. So we fight to prevent one of us being taken. Better I lose an arm than anyone lose a head."

Claw sniffed the air. He was training me to smell the weather better. I could already smell storms, but he wanted me to smell rain and sunny skies. "The wind'll tell ye. It comes from far-off seas, a whisperin of what the day will bring." Now as I age I can feel the weather changes in my bones, but I still remember that was the first night I smelled the rain. "It smells fresh, and clean, and a little tart." I told Claw. "I think it smells like rain." "That it does, lad, that it does. Fairly reeks of it. Or maybe that's our new cabin boy."

Claw looked pointedly down at Rebecca, who had found some perfume in the cargo had taken to wearing it, much to the consternation of the rest of the crew. I could detect the scent from across the deck, so I can only imagine what must've been like for the others. Claw said it was like having a bucket of the stuff poured over his head every time he smelled it. "Which," he pointed out, "is all the bleeding time."

Looking back, I can only assume Rebecca was trying to win my favor. Having been chosen herself a young age, she had no experience courting boys. As the closest thing to a normal boy she knew, I suppose she was determined I should like her. It must have been terribly frustrating to her that I showed no interest and avoided her whenever possible. I was frightened of her, but I'm certain she felt scorned. It was likely her desperation that led to the accident.

I was on day watch, and it was hot. We were still two nights sailing from our destination on the Pearl Coast, but I was the only one using the half-full water barrel so I felt no urge to control my thirst. I drained my bucket and descended below to refill it.

As I descended into the blackness, bucket in one hand and a lantern in the other, someone caught my arm. I looked in alarm at Rebecca, who seemed to be in a state of partial undress and who pressed her cool body against my warm one. I stepped backward involuntarily into the antechamber room where midday sunlight still scattered across the floor.

Rebecca was babbling something about us being destined to be together, and I truly believe she meant me no harm. But for me her clammy embrace was far too tight to breathe. I flailed ineffectually, but my predicament did not gain Rebecca's attention. Her head was pressed to my shoulder, and she babbled into my neck, which would've been disconcerting in the best of circumstances. As it was, I lost my footing, and we fell back together into a patch of sunlight. Rebecca began to redden and smoke instantly, and cried out. But rather than loosen her hold, she tightened it. I think several of my ribs popped out of place in protest. I brought up my lantern in self-defense. Had the lantern broken, I imagine we would both have been engulfed in flames. But in my weakened state all I did was bump the side of Rebecca's head. Her skin was really cooking at this point, and the dirt and ash from the lantern embedded itself in the flesh along the side of her face. Rebecca recoiled from my lantern and me, seeking refuge from the sun.

I don't think I ever heard another kind word from Rebecca. It was as if my little tap with the lantern knocked all the love of her. Or perhaps the love got twisted like the side of her face.

From that date onward Rebecca's face held the mottled dark blotch of the lantern. The rest of her face healed as pretty as before, but she blamed me for ruining her looks. Once she tried gouging out the discoloration but only succeeded in scarring herself permanently in the area.

At first I thought my luck was improving with the cessation of Rebecca's interest. But her indifference soon gave way to open dislike. She could do nothing to me directly, yet managed to make my life difficult. Her strength was much greater than my own, so she took every opportunity to place heavy objects on top of things I might need. Only when she placed a beam on top of the lid of my water barrel so heavy I was unable to move it did I complain.

When confronted, Rebecca lost her temper and demanded the right of first blood for my destruction of her face. She knew full well that she could not take first blood from me, but I think she intended to kill me in the process. Captain Minuit ruled I had acted in self-defense, which was allowed under my contract with them. Rebecca seemed ready to strangle him. The crew tensed, but Rebecca thought better of it. If she hadn't seen the Captain in action, she'd at least heard the stories.

We reached our destination that night. It was a desolate outpost, a small harbor and a few huts sprawling along the beach. Captain Minuit, Claw, and I made ready to go ashore. The rest of the crew was restless because they've been promised a feast at our next stop. They were down to sucking old clothing and bloodroot. So our detour to discover the secret of my blood was most unwelcome.

The man who was to examine me was hardly the wizened witchdoctor I expected. He was relatively young, and had tables filled with glassware. I learned in his broken English and my smattering of Carib that he'd begun as a slave for a Dutch scientist who died of malaria. As no one had thought to come collect the scientist's materials, the Carib had stayed on and continued experimenting. He was intensely interested in Captain Minuit and got several vials of his sputum as well as several vials of my blood. After examining these mixed together on a glass slide he announced: "his blood attack your blood." Captain Minuit sighed. "I know that. I need to know why." The Carib shrugged. "His blood no like your blood." Captain Minuit turned away. "Find out why, and it's worth new glassware from Europe." The Carib brightened and started moving around bottles. He paused. "Me need fresh blood, you stay?" Captain Minuit shook his head. The Carib pointed at me. "He stay, maybe?" Captain Minuit considered. "Yes, two days only."

So I was released into the care of this Carib man, who seemed to always feel like pricking me. I slept on straw at the fire and ate the soups he made for us.

Captain Minuit sailed away to the south. I was glad enough to not be part of that particular voyage.

Soon after they left, a villager was bitten by a stray dog. They brought the dog to my host to see if it had the foaming sickness, rabies. The Carib mixed various herbs up into a paste, then added some blood from the dog. At least he thought it was from the dog. He had mixed up the vials of blood. What he used instead was a vial of my blood.

The Carib looked down at the mixed blood and frowned. "This dog very sick." Then he looked at the vial of blood he had used. "Wrong blood! You very sick!" He looked at me. "You no look sick."

He remixed the herbs and tried to the dog's blood. "Dog sick too. Not as bad as you." The Carib looked at me thoughtfully. Then he took Captain Minuit's mostly dried sputum and added a few drops of water. He poured the sputum water onto a glass plate and added some blood from the dog. Almost immediately the sputum water took on a bruised color. "You like foaming dog!" The Carib announced triumphantly. He looked at me. "Why you not dead?" I shrugged.

At that moment, Rebecca attacked. She must have been standing in the open doorway for some time. She launched herself forward and bit the Carib savagely. She glared at me while draining him, daring me to run. I knew she'd be far too fast for me. Besides, there was nowhere to run.

Rebecca finished the Carib and he fell away with a sigh. She advanced on me slowly, savoring her victory. The dog, caged and crazed as it was, growled at her. She turned, and, lifting the entire worktable, brought it shattering down on the animal. All the glassware tumbled off and Rebecca was spattered with blood, both the dog's and my own. She cried out as the blood sprayed into her eyes. It must've blinded her, for she groped about. I realized she'd find me all too soon, so I grasped a glass bottle and threw it past her into the jungle outside.

She turned at the noise and loped to the door. Her sight was gone, but her nose was just as sharp. I held my breath, but she scented around until at last she turned and smiled at me. "You smell bad!" She came forward slowly, crashing through the glass with her bare feet. I dodged behind the ruin of the table. Rebecca cut me off from the door. She backed up slowly, fumbled with the door, and closed it firmly.

I thought wildly of what I could do. I hit upon a crazy scheme.

"Rebecca!" I called out. "I've missed you too. I want to embrace you as much as you do me, but I'm covered in blood right now. I don't want to burn you."

Rebecca paused, rocking her head from side to side like a beast. She hunted around on the ground for a broken table leg. Locating one, she wrenched it free, tearing the wood into long jagged spikes. She prowled forward, swinging her makeshift club low.

I dodged back to the other side of the table. Rebecca walked slowly toward me, mounting the rickety table and preparing to spring.

I gave up then, slumping downward. It was probably my surrender that saved my life. As Rebecca moved forward, she shifted the table. Part of the table clunked at the far end, to her left.

With a cry, Rebecca sprang to her left. Her club grazed the wall, and she swung viciously back toward the table. The ruined dog chose that moment to give out its death rattle, a gurgling low moan. Rebecca struck savagely at the table and somehow got the idea that I had crawled beneath it to protect myself. She lifted the table and brought her club down on the corpse of the dog. The body gave all the sounds of breaking bones and tearing flesh that she would expect.

I wish I might have had the courage to attempt an escape during her brutality, but it is likely that my surrender saved me again. Had I made a dash for the door, Rebecca would have heard me. If she hadn't caught me at the door, she would have caught me in the jungle outside.

It would have made me feel better to have had the courage to even move, but I did not. I had lapsed into that frightened, frozen state one sees in mice that the cat has played with too long. I shook slightly, my breath so shallow as to be barely noticeable, and I could not move.

When Rebecca had exhausted herself, which took some minutes, she staggered around the room until she found the door. As she walked through it, she paused and was suddenly wracked with spasms. She turned her sightless eyes back into the room and stared directly at me. She had streams of ooze gouting from her eyes and seemed truly miserable.

"You still stink!" She cried. "And I still hate you!" Then she rushed out into the jungle and I saw her no more.
23. Shock, A Plan, And Recapture

Sometime later, it got light. The dawn brought me little comfort. I got up at some point and went outside to the water barrel. In its reflection, I could see a blood spattered ghost. I flinched, then realized it was me. I rinsed my face, and drank deeply. I saw the broom and took it back inside. I swept up the glass, avoiding the corpse of the Carib and the mangled lump where the dog had been. The table was too heavy for me to move. I found oats and boiled water. While I ate I thought numbly that the Carib and the dog were attracting flies and should be moved outside.

I had no strength, but I had burlap sacking and rope. I placed the sacks under the Carib and tied his ankles with rope. He slid across the floor and bumped outside. I dragged him to the tree line and gathered up the sacks. I returned for the dog, but it was half-buried under the table. So I tucked the sacking under the corners of the table and half dragged it out the door. It almost didn't fit, but I kicked at it and it broke into pieces. Once the table was outside, I could gather up the pieces of the cage and the dog and drag them outside on the sacks. I rinsed the sacks and set about scrubbing the worst of the stains from the floor and the walls. I also threw out the top layer of straw bedding. In the corner of the straw I found a small purse containing gold coins. I assumed these were the Carib's, but he had no further need of them. At another time I would have felt more strongly about finding a year's wages in such a portable form, but I numbly tucked it away inside my clothing. Later in the day I found a needle and thread and took the time to sew the small pouch tightly and securely inside the back of my trousers, leaving one coin for that most common of hiding places, the hem.

In looking back, I suppose I was preparing for my own death. I was leaving the house as clean as possible, and sewing the price of my own burial into my trouser hem with a handsome bonus for whoever found my body. I had no idea when Rebecca would return, but suspected she would think through the night's events and realize I had not perished.

I fell asleep that night expecting it to be my last. At any point I fully expected to be awakened by Rebecca's leering face or to feel her hands upon me. My ability to sleep under such circumstances was only due to my continuing numbness. I suppose another part of me realized I was finally free of my servitude to Captain Minuit. At any rate, I slept very deeply and awoke late the next morning.

Only those who have known a death sentence can experience the joy of day's reprieve. I was startled by the beauty of the sunlight on the jungle. Even the flies buzzing over the Carib's body seemed perfect rainbow jewels. I walked around the clearing, enjoying the feeling of my feet on the earth and breathing in the damp and loamy smell of the morning dew.

It occurred to me then that I might not die. Perhaps Rebecca would not be returning. Perhaps she really thought me dead.

Such a rush shivered through me! All at once I had a love of life, a lust for life, a sense of the thrill of the blood through my veins and an overwhelming urge to keep it pulsing. I resolved to hide myself better than before. Those that had sought me thought me dead. Hadn't they sent Rebecca to kill me? So I could hide myself under an assumed name. I could purchase an apprenticeship for myself, build myself up in a trade. I could put all of this nightmare behind me and make a real life for myself, something my mother would have been proud of.

I made plans that day from my knowledge of the sailing charts. I thought I was only a week's walking from the next harbor. If I struck out through the jungle it might take ten days, with one day through the jungle to skirt our small harbor. I could pose as a cabin boy and buy myself supplies. Then I could buy passage for myself to the next outpost and sell those supplies to the merchants at that outpost. In this way, I could skip from settlement to settlement, only losing the cost of my passage. As long as I could maintain the fiction of being another man's servant I should have little difficulty moving from place to place.

I ransacked the house for food and cursed myself for eating so liberally the day before. There was little in the house but the small bag of oats. The Carib usually went shopping down at the tiny store on this day of the week. If he needed something he took the trip more often, both for the company and to get the news from the harbor. I briefly considered going shopping for him, but realized that would let everyone in the village know I was still alive.

To hide my escape, I also considered trying to re-create the scene of destruction. But I thought better of it. By the time those in the village arrived, the clean cabin would be something of a mystery. If they delayed long enough, the bodies of the dog and the Carib would be consumed and camouflaged.

As it was, I only had the oats take me on a ten day journey. I could only hope I found something edible along the way. In desperation I made a fire and stewed what roots I could find including some unripe vegetables from the Carib's garden patch. I think they made me hungrier, but I stuffed them down and laid out my water bottle and the sack of oats by my head for the morrow. It was the one of the many times in my life I've regretted not eating my fill when I could. A full belly is a man's best insurance against trouble.

My intention had been to wake at first light but I was awakened soon after moonrise by the sudden flaring of a light. Crewman Claw had lit my lantern and was peering down at me.

"Well now, lad, ain't ye a sight for my sorrowing eyes? I smelled the death from here a ways off. After what happened to Urchin, we figured 'Becca would have done ye for sure. But here ye are, safe and sound, all packed like you was waiting for me. I'm right glad to see ye, that's for certain. Ye've got an uncanny nose on ye fer a blood bag, and we might jes make a weatherman of ye yet. Even if ye do stink."

It was the most touching thing Claw had ever said and I might have responded if my mind hadn't been in total confusion.

"Didn't you send Rebecca to kill me?"

Claw looked about as shocked as one could look with fangs and reddened eyes."Why on earth would the Captain do that, lad? After all his work tracking ye down and setting up visits with doctors and such? No, no, lad. 'Becca lost her mind good and proper. She near killed Urchin then lit out on her own. We've been tracking her, but she's wily enough to wade through dung heaps to throw me off. Terrible stuff for the nose, that."

I thought for a long moment. "Is there any way for you to pretend I'm dead?"

Claw grinned. "Sorry, lad. The Captain would want yer body as proof. You stink up anywhere ye go anyhow. Any of the crew coming up here in the next few days would know yer alive."

I heaved myself to my feet."I don't suppose there's any chance I could outrun you."

"Nope," Claw smiled. "Besides, ye'd be mad to be traipsing about in this part of the jungle with 'Becca on the loose. She's left ye alive, I don't know why. But she'll be back for ye."

"She probably thinks I'm dead." I related the story to Claw as we walked swiftly toward the village. I omitted any mention of the Carib's discovery about my blood before Rebecca's attack. I figured the less the Captain knew, the longer I'd stay alive.

When he had heard the tale, Claw took us on a wide detour around the village. It was rough going in the dark without any lantern light that might give us away. I must have been more tired than I thought, because I kept stumbling.

"Ye'll be bringing the whole town down upon us!" Hissed Claw as I tripped over another fallen log. He scooped me up like so much wet linen and started to sprint through the woods with alarming speed.

"Slow down!" I cried as we dodged between two trees so close they brushed my head and my feet.

"Close yer eyes if'n yer scared." Said Claw. "I need to be stowed away before sunrise. The light don't agree with me complexion."

He said so stony-faced it caught me off guard and I snorted out a laugh. I kept my eyes open but kept silent for the rest of our marvelously short journey to the beach.

Claw rowed us out to the Albatross. He seemed grim. When I boarded, the crew seemed genuinely surprised and happy to see me. Several crew members who manned the ropes, Squid and Konomeru (thunder in Carib), approached me and clapped me on the back. I couldn't remember ever talking to them before, but they seemed pleased at my return.

I realize, up to this point, I have not really described Captain Minuit's crew. As I said before, the total number of the crew should have been twelve, with Captain Minuit the unlucky thirteenth. But we'd been down a Port Hole for all my time with them and we were missing our Shark presently. Of the ten remaining, I've written about a few. Waterspout, tall and spare, acted as ship's doctor, first mate, and confidante to Captain Minuit. Claw, my current companion, was swarthy and barrel-chested. Crab, almost as tall as Waterspout, navigated with his fangs in a permanent overbite. He and I worked on navigation. And I've mentioned Eel, a big, quiet man who was helpful everywhere. I suppose he would be purser on most merchant vessels. Urchin acted as a lookout, leaving five unaccounted for.

Squid and Konomeru were two of these, both big men who supported Claw in the rigging. They spoke little to me, and I'd had the distinct impression they thought the only place for a dangerous blood bag was dead and under the ocean.

The other three were Whale, Seahorse, and Tourmaline. Whale was the closest thing we had to a ship's cook, preparing food for the live cargo or deciding which live cargo to sacrifice. Seahorse and Tourmaline seemed to be just sailors like Squid and Konomeru. But I got the feeling that they had their own areas of expertise by the respect the others gave them. Whale was thinner than his name implied, but he did have arms as big as my waist. Seahorse was all legs and long, sinewy arms. Tourmaline was small and dark. He looked almost like a Carib, but his features were flatter and his color was lighter.

Whale had spoken to me from time to time about the food stores and my water supply but usually Eel had provided for me so we never talked long. The other two hardly talked at all to anyone within my hearing. Seahorse was a man of fewer words than Urchin. When I'd heard Tourmaline speak, it was with a thick, foreign accent.

So you can imagine my surprise when even Tourmaline greeted me with a gruff, "hello," and a head nod.

But if the others were surprising, Captain Minuit was astonishing. He swept me up in his arms. I was too shocked to resist as he lifted me up and spun me around.

"We were so worried, Tom! You've no idea!" His melodious voice was lighter than I'd heard it before.

My confusion was replaced by horror at the sight of Urchin on the deck. He was lying half covered with a blanket. But from his eyes jutted two thick, wooden stakes.
24. Zombie Melee

I scrambled out of Captain Minuit's arms and knelt beside Urchin.

"Is he?" I felt a lump in my throat.

Urchin turned his ruined eyes to me. "Not dead. Is it Tom? You still see?"

"Yes. I can still see." I nodded through tearful eyes, though he couldn't see me. I grieved for Urchin's loss of sight, something that must have hurt him more than any wound.

"Is Kraken coming?" Urchin reached out to clutch at my arm. His grip was painful.

"No. The Kracken isn't coming." I assured him. He had a deep gash in his neck, running most of the way across. I turned to the others. "What happened to him?"

Crab answered, his voice low. "We were all just heading out for our feast in the rowboat. The others had gone ahead. 'Becca called Urchin to help her with something. He stayed back with her and the rest of us got into the wee boat. It was too quiet, so I climbed back up to investigate. I found Urchin here with his eyes gouged out and his neck mostly cut off. 'Becca tried to cut his head off. But when she heard me coming up, 'Becca put out his eyes and jumped off the far side of the ship. She were gone by the time we thought to follow her."

Waterspout continued: "we've been letting his neck heal up before we pulled out the stakes. The eyes should heal, but only if they aren't full of splinters."

I flinched. "When were you planning to do it?"

Waterspout looked down at Urchin. "Now."

The cry of a vampire in agony is similar to the cri-du-chat of the malformed child. I heard one recently here in town and stopped in my tracks. Who on earth was torturing a vampire at this hour of the morning? Imagine my surprise when I saw both mother and the child descending the steps toward me and heard the cry a second time. A cat in pain does sound similar, but I have never heard a cat with that vocal capacity. Perhaps if I were to witness the torturing of a large jungle cat I might hear something comparable.

Urchin screamed for a very long time after the stakes were removed. When I have asked about the pain of rapidly reforming body tissues, recent vampire converts tell me that the only equivalent pain blood bags might feel is the return of sensation to frozen body parts. But, in addition to the return of sensation, the vampire is literally growing more nerves from which to receive more pain. The pain grows as the tissue grows. It is impossible to become accustomed to or even to tolerate when the process goes wrong.

I admit stuffing rags in my ears, which only served to muffle his screams. At one point the screams diminished in volume because the rest of the crew had gagged Urchin with rags. They bound him with chains, but periodically he'd break through them and they'd have to rebind him.

At some point the cries diminished to whimpering, and then to silence. When Waterspout checked the eyes, they had regrown. But the stakes that Rebecca had used had been full of splinters. They formed a mosaic over the surface of Urchin's eyes. He could detect light and movement, but for all other uses he was blind.

The crew consoled him somewhat, but it was clear they were withdrawing. There was no place on the crew for a disabled lookout. It was just a matter of a few days before we would be revoking Urchin's conversion status.

Urchin knew this as well. He sat silently in a huddle.

We were under sail, heading toward another scientist who lived along the far edge of the Pearl Coast on a peninsula. He was rumored to have both magical and scientific powers.

I had not told anyone of the discovery of the similarities between my blood and that of a rabid dog. While I did not look forward to testing my blood further, I preferred that to Captain Minuit satisfying his curiosity enough to have me killed and buried at sea.

I had finished talking with Crab about the morrow's course and was heading down to my cabin when Urchin caught my arm.

"Tom. Go up top. Ship at 10 o'clock off the port bow. Go now." I looked at him, stunned, but he seemed quite confident.

I clambered up the rigging past Claw. He looked at me curiously when I started peering off the port bow. It was a half moon, with good visibility. I thought I could see something and motioned to Claw. He looked for a moment and called down softly, "Ship, port bow, coming straight at us." We all knew what that meant. Only a ship full of Chronic Zombies would be bearing down on us at this midnight hour.

"Good for ye, Tom!" Said Claw. "Those are sharp eyes ye've got!"

"It wasn't me," I replied honestly. "It was Urchin."

Claw looked startled. "Well now, whoever it was ye'll need to get below. They'll be filling us with grappling hooks soon enough."

I scrambled down and helped Urchin to his feet. I figured blind he would be little help. But he could still act as my protector in close quarters, freeing up another crewman to fight the Chronics.

The vampire crew was at an even more severe disadvantage than usual. We still lacked a Shark, a Port Hole, and now an Urchin. I wasn't concerned, because the Chronics had to fight the vampire crew individually at close quarters. It might have been more of an issue in the daytime, but at night the vampires had no concerns about the sun. There was still the risk from fire, but the Chronic's desire for vampire brains would not allow them to consider accidently burning up one of their prey.

Urchin and I were safely tucked away in the captain's cabin below deck in a moment.

"How did you know the ship was out there?" I whispered.

"I felt it." Said Urchin. "Felt it bump me. Really loud bumps now. Softer bumps before. Like the whales."

"The whales?"

"Whales swimming under us. Four of them. Three adults, one child."

"How do you know?"

"Feel them rocking the boat. Can't you?"

"No."

"You feel boat coming at us?"

I could feel the Albatross rolling more than usual, but without Urchin's directions I wouldn't have given it a second thought.

"Yes. I can feel it coming."

At that moment we both heard and felt a dozen grappling hooks scatter to the deck above and the Albatross was heaved sideways by dozens of undead hands. They were replaced by the shuffle and tramp of undead boots.

Then we heard the wrench and thump of battle. It was silent, except for the occasional growl of a zombie. Beheading them meant very little noise escaped.

It was all going as expected when the chopping began. It seemed to be coming from everywhere. But I noticed most of the chopping was directly over our heads. We learned later that the zombies had started chopping down through the hull in five different places in an effort to break through the vampire defenses. So the crew members were left defending multiple entry points and none could come to our aid.

The axes broke through. Urchin and I were showered with splinters and chunks of tar. With undead strength, the zombies wrenched at the opening. One of them caught sight of me in the moonlight and grinned his decaying, half-skull grin at me. Urchin threw a piece of falling board upward with such force it sheared off the zombie's head and it dropped down between us. It gnashed at my foot, so I kicked it under the bed. It left something soft and slimy on my toes. Another zombie was lowering himself into the hole. Urchin reached up and tore downward on the zombie's legs, shearing off the creature's arms. One of the arms fell into the hole and collided with my own upturned arms. One skeletal hand latched onto my arm with a bruising grip. I screamed and battered it ineffectually against the wall.

Above us, the zombies cried out triumphantly. They must have taken one of the crewmembers. In a few moments we'd be fighting supers. And I still couldn't get one regular, dead zombie hand to let go of my arm.

Captain Minuit's voice rang out: "to me! To me!" There was a whirring and a thunk on deck. Urchin leapt up upward into the hole, battering his way free. I heard thuds on deck, like the sound of many coconuts being dropped. There were splashes, too, as if dozens of bodies were jumping or being thrown from the deck.

I was still tugging desperately at that skeletal arm some minutes later when Claw came and found me with a lit lantern. He reached out and pushed the fingers apart with his own. The thing snapped shut into a fist and fell clattering to the floor.

"Here ye are," Claw handed me a bucket. "We're all on cleanup duty." I gingerly picked up the arm and fist and drop them into the bucket. Reaching under the bed for the zombie's head took all my courage. The two things filled my bucket, so I took the lantern from Claw and made my way out of the hull to empty it over the side.

The entire ship was a mess. The deck had been destroyed in multiple places. All along the deck gore oozed like a liquid tar. Three crewmen were pushing mops back and forth while Waterspout bandaged Whale's neck. From the looks of it, Whale's neck had been mostly sawed off.

I threw my bucket's contents over the side. The sea around the Albatross was thick with bodies. One of the bodies reached out and grasped ahold of the side of the Albatross with talon-like fingers. As I watched in horror, it gripped higher and pulled itself upward, grinning at me. Then Crab was at my side, battering at the thing's head with an iron oar. "Watch yerself!" He admonished me. "All of these Chronics ain't dead yet."

Captain Minuit was in discussion with several crewmen about abandoning the Albatross to use the Chronics' boat. Evidently the hold of their boat was full of corpses. So we'd have to clean all of them out. Konomeru was shaking his head, "no telling how many of those are hiding zombies. We'll be at it all night."

And so the Albatross was salvaged yet again. The crew plundered what strong planks they could from the zombie ship, then set her ablaze. I didn't even make an effort to look for fresh provisions in the hold. If the rest of the crew was cautious about going below decks, then my own exploration below would have been suicidal.

As the zombie ship burned, we saw at least a half-a-dozen shapes emerge from the hold and leap over the side. We were under full sail, and Claw was raking along the underside of the Albatross for any strays that had managed to hang on. The zombies would not die easily in the water, but they had to follow us using their own propulsion. In the water they were prey to all the carrion feeders of the deep and the scavengers of the air. Once those started they would attract whole schools of large fish which they would feed for weeks. I do not know if the fish who consumed the flesh themselves became zombies. How would one tell? But I presume not.
25. Blood Weaver

I was asked to tell my story of how Urchin had "spotted" the ship. Afterward Urchin described a range of sea creatures in the water around us, and he was able to hit Claw in the riggings as long as Claw was moving. Captain Minuit clapped Urchin on the back and welcomed him back into the crew. Near any of us could tell, Urchin received his information like the blind bats that are able to swoop about in the air and catch the fleeting insects.

There was some discussion of where we should go next. We had a need to double back and do a tour around the island to draw off any other Chronic zombie ships. Several crew members were of the mind we should fortify the island and leave off sailing altogether. But the Captain shook his head: "we cannot isolate ourselves and let them have the rest of the world. They will convert enough poor souls to their way that even if we were to build walls up to the moon we should not resist them." So we sailed back toward the island.

If I have failed to mention that we had a number of Carib live cargo on board, it is because I do not wish to remember it. But we did, seven in number, and truly terrified they were. I could hear them praying to their Gods day and night until they were gagged in irritation by the crew.

On our return journey, we attacked a merchant vessel. I think we were all hoping for a crew member to swell our ranks, but none of that vessel's crew were fit enough for a position on the crew. The vessel itself was in better condition than the Albatross, but Urchin dug his fingers into the hull and showed us all that the wood was infected with rot. I was the sole beneficiary of that vessel, for the cargo was fruits of various kinds. Most of it had been picked up green, but some was already ripening. I gorged myself and let all the live cargo have some as well. It broke my heart when the Caribs thanked me in their own tongue, saying: "ijaroko".

We had so many live cargo that we stopped at the island to drop off a few. The island was much the same as I had left it. But I felt different. I had gone beyond the fearlessness of death to a sense of its inevitability. Sooner or later, one of these monsters would kill me. In later years it was remarked that I had the courage of a lion in the face of insurmountable odds, and that my determination swayed the course of entire battles. These are kind words for a man who had journeyed to hell so many times that the sight of a few hundred pirates held no terror.

I had grown despite myself, and was no longer Port Hole material. Anton, Captain Minuit's adopted son, took on that role with great pride. In response, Marie, Anton's self-appointed mother, declared herself our new Shark and stared down Captain Minuit until she got her way. Captain Minuit capitulated and declared that Waterspout had best stay behind to watch the island. Waterspout asked that I be left with him so he could continue to experiment on me while they were gone.

So I found myself once more marooned on the island, with Waterspout as my protector. He was less interested in me and more occupied with the affairs of the island. Waterspout didn't even post a chaperone with me so I was left to my own devices at night. I suspect my lantern was more than enough marker for those with their keen sight.

Most of the clan knew me now and let me be. Certain areas, like the stockade, were under constant guard. But other, more shadowy recesses, were available. At one point I found what I thought was an abandoned cave and went in. In this way I met Grutte and learned of things that would change my life.

Grutte was a Blood Weaver, the leader of that shadowy group of vampires I've seen lurking on the rooftops when the zombies attacked the island. It was he who had responded to my cry and had dispatched the zombies before they could break into the inn and convert the villagers. The effort of doing so much blood magic had cost him dearly. He'd used his own fluids to generate the fire, for such is the nature of blood magic. So the once enormous man was now skeletal and shrunken in stature.

In addition, Grutte had inflicted upon himself every wound that he had wrought upon the zombies. Doing so allowed him to produce blood magic of much greater power. But if every blow struck must be recovered from by the spellcaster then the spellcaster must be stronger than those he strikes. When blood magic is practiced by mortals, a surrogate is used. Many of the ancients knew of blood magic, and most used blood sacrifices to power their spells.

When I met him, Grutte was still greatly enfeebled by his heroics. His burns were still evident, and his mind was not entirely clear. I can only assume this was why he recognized neither my status as a non-vampire nor my lack of permission to be near the Blood Weaver caves. His eventual friendship I can only attribute to fate or divine intervention.

On our first meeting, I thought Grutte was dead. The cave mouth was open and Grutte was lying in the entranceway. He did not move or stir when I nearly tripped over him. He was moon bathing, adding a bit of color to his mottled ashen skin with the light of the moon. Even the pale reflection of the sun's glory is enough to affect the vampire skin over the course of a night. Waterspout had several ideas about this effect when I asked him much later. He said that the sun's light is different from any other light. He had experimented on himself, and found that reflected light would burn him but light diffused through a pane of glass would not. But all light had some effect, and the vampire is happiest in the cold and dark. Their resistance to freezing is formidable, as I learned much later.

I had never seen a dead vampire before. In my ignorance, I assumed perhaps Grutte had died of old age or perhaps from his burns. So I peered close to his face. His mouth opened while his eyes stayed closed: "excuse moi, votre lantern est chaude." I was startled and moved my lantern away from his head. He opened his ruined eyes. "Vous est ici. Je suis ici. Le temp travaille." I looked confused. He looked at me and grimaced in what he must have thought was a kind smile. "Te ne comprende pas? Prefer you English or en espanol?" I told him English in a whispered voice. My parents had spoken English to me at home, because they spoke Spanish or French or Dutch all day. It was difficult for my mother, but allowed my father to relax into his native tongue. Minuit and his crew all used English as their common tongue because it was incomprehensible to most of the crews and live cargo they dealt with. When I knew them later they had switched their common language to French for the same reason.

Grutte was Dutch, but knew every language I had any familiarity with. When thinking, he would lapse into an archaic form of Dutch, but always cursed in German. He hadn't been converted by Captain Minuit, but had come to the New World to study Blood Weaving from an ancient Carib vampire. That vampire had chosen to end his own life and that of his followers before Grutte could track him down. Grutte told me later that Captain Minuit was the only direct blood descendent of that line. It had taken Grutte years to track him down.

When Grutte and Captain Minuit first met, they had nearly killed each other. Captain Minuit had a standing policy to destroy any errant vampires. Early in his existence as a vampire Minuit had been contacted by members of the three major European clans and refused allegiance to all three. Soon after the other vampires left he was set upon by agents of the Red Hand, a group of vampire hunters. So his assumption was that any vampire outside his own circle was trouble.

During their first battle Grutte had broken Minuit's legs with Blood Weaving, which slowed Minuit long enough for Grutte to explain his interest was in Minuit's blood line, not killing him. They had struck up a truce, probably because Minuit doubted his ability to kill Grutte, and both parties benefitted. Grutte provided Minuit with protection for his island clan, and Minuit provided Grutte with a place to do his studies. Over the years Grutte's group had grown as other vampires showed an interest in the blood magic. The treaty had been strained when one of Minuit's crewmen, a former Eel, had preferred to study Blood Weaving rather than to sail. But Grutte had resolved the issue by providing the crewman with his own daily drink, subsisting entirely on bloodroot until he was skeletal. Minuit, fearing a rebellion from the other Blood Weavers, finally reversed his command that the vampire crewman sail with him.

All this I learned during my talks with Grutte, who decided at our first meeting that I was to be his newest apprentice. He'd never attempted to teach a blood bag the art of Blood Weaving. We tend to be much more fragile, and previously all blood bags on the island existed to provide food, which tended to make them temporary residents. Mesmerized like the villagers, we were too stupid to learn.

So the unique attributes of my situation provided Grutte with an opportunity to test out his teaching methods. He set out to make me a Blood Weaver to whatever extent I could be.

I do not believe Grutte considered the ramifications of what he was doing. What I might do with the Blood Weaving never crossed his mind. He thought as little of the consequences of that as he had of traveling half the world to seek out a blood thirsty vampire pirate captain or of depriving himself of necessary nourishment until he was almost dead. For Grutte, it was the exploration and fulfillment of knowledge that mattered more than anything else.

When he had been mortal, Grutte had sought the secret of eternal life. He had published in the natural sciences and then began dabbling in the darker arts. He learned to harness the force of life to such a degree that he was able to capture a vampire and bind it to his will. He starved the creature to death and dissected it. Its blood entered his hands through small cuts and he underwent the conversion. Although racked with the same pangs as the other newly converted, Grutte was able to ignore his body and continue working. He was pleasantly surprised that the aging process had halted and subsisted entirely on chickens that he remembered to eat only when he became too fatigued to keep working.

Grutte believed that our ancestors before our modern age had all had the vampire's ability to slow aging. He cited the extraordinary ages in the Bible. Somewhere in our history the blood had been corrupted. It had ceased to serve and had become the master itself. Grutte hoped through the Blood Weaving to master the blood and to end the corruption. He thought every blood bag could live as long as the vampires (who did age, but at an extraordinarily slow rate) without suffering their limitations and cravings. I do not believe Grutte thought himself noble for pursuing such an endeavor. He merely considered it his duty to pursue the truth as a scholar given his extraordinary set of circumstances.

My own tainted blood had fascinated Grutte when he first heard of it. But such was the truce with Captain Minuit that Grutte had minimal contact with the rest of the clan. It may seem a mockery of morality, but many of the vampires considered Grutte's endeavors sorcery and the devil's work. "Twice damned we may be for our need of blood and our condition," Waterspout explained to me much later, "but none of us wants to be thrice damned by trucking with sorcery."

I suspect Captain Minuit encouraged this prejudice. As the most powerful Mesmer and fighter of his clan, his only challenge would come from a vampire who had mastered the Blood Weaving. Minuit himself had a loathing of the craft, telling me that it weakened and drained the soul as well as the body. His dislike of it left him with a very rare vulnerability, as I was to discover to my advantage.

But on my first night with Grutte I had no inkling of what was to come. I felt only that I had met my first insane vampire and tried without success to leave him and head back to the safer, more populous caves. It is a strange world when one feels the safest surrounded by inhumanly powerful, bloodthirsty creatures. But that had become as ordinary to me as breathing. I had even begun to think of myself as different from those in the stockade. My status had gone to my head somewhat, as it always does for the young and foolish.

So when Grutte gripped me and dragged me toward the back of his cave I had a sense of annoyance rather than the more reasonable sense of terror. Didn't he realize who I was? As I opened my mouth to tell him, my lantern light revealed a small, black blob seated on a stone. I say seated because it had spindly legs and arms and a long blob for a head. As I watched it stretched and stood.

"Apprentice, meet my sputum." Grutte looked as pleased as a parent presenting his favorite child. "Let sputum examine your blood." Before I could react Grutte had my hand and used one long, talon-like fingernail to puncture the end of one of my fingers. A large drop of blood dripped onto the stone.

The blob of sputum bent forward and examined the blood, looking for all the world like a tiny black dog. It prodded my blood droplet and pulled back, almost like it had been burnt. Grutte watched as it poked around the drop, then reached out his hand and spat into it. The black froth he brought up stank of rotting meat. He caressed the sputum with the gobbet of spit and it swiveled and stretched like a little blood cat. Then Grutte deftly nipped a bit off the top of sputum's head and stuck it in his mouth. He sucked deeply, like a man attempting to dislodge a toffee from the roof of his mouth. When he spoke at last he turned his ruined face to me. "Powerful blood, powerful blood indeed." He looked at me curiously. "Why has Minuit allowed you to live? You are poison to us all."

Grutte looked suddenly different. He was focused, powerful, with no doubt in his voice. "Poisonous to us all, and trespassing in my cave." He snapped his fingers and a tiny line of purple fire formed between them. "So easy to kill a little blood bag boy." Then his eyes seemed to wander and he looked dazed. He peered curiously at his fingers. "Of course," his voice had changed again and he had the mannerisms of one of those Mesmerized, "in order to learn the ways of the Blood Weaver, we need to start with something much simpler than blood fire."

The flame between Grutte's fingers went out and he brought me closer to the little rock. "The first stage of Blood Weaving is to feel the blood." Grutte grasped my hand again, seeming to have forgotten all about my blood being poison. "Feel the blood as it leaves your body, keep your connection to it as long as you can."

Grutte pricked my finger again. This time the blood swelled up slowly. It hurt, but I focused on paying attention to the blood as it welled up. I thought I could feel the blood even as it fell from my finger.

"Gut," said Grutte. "Very good." He spat on his hand and dropped a bit of it on the stone. He squeezed my finger and let a drop of my blood fall a few inches into his spittle. I concentrated and when my blood touched the sputum I felt a bit of a jolt in my finger, as if I'd been stabbed with a spinter.

"Yes!" Breathed Grutte. "I thought so. Your blood reacts so strongly to ours that you can gain our advantage in Blood Weaving."

Blood Weaving is an art known known by various names among the Aztecs, the Vikings, and many European tribes, particularly those in the east. It is dark sorcery, made dark by its requirement of blood and the number of practitioners that use unwilling donors. I must say that I did kill chickens during my practice, the same chickens that I also boiled, plucked, and consumed. Chickens that have been used for Blood Weaving tend to be dry and leathery.

The results of Blood Weaving are limited only by the practitioner's imagination and control. Poor practitioners can overcome their lack of power by the sacrifice of many victims, which is how much dark sorcery is practiced. Grutte's ability to ignite his blood and fling it downward upon the zombies was power and control of the highest order. He used a heating technique and a flint-like spark to ignite the blood. Once down among them, he'd used the decaying blood of the zombies themselves to fuel the fire. He had a small bottle of his own purified sputum that he carried with him, created for him by a fellow Blood Weaver named Thog. When attacked, Grutte would call to the sputum with tremendous force as he threw it so that it would shatter with explosive results. If he was in danger for his life, Grutte would ignite his own blood and use it as a weapon against his foe.

A display of Blood Weaving like what I had witnessed during the zombie attack was a rare event. It nearly killed Grutte, and left him with many deficits for months afterward. My own poor efforts were nothing in comparison. After weeks together I was able to only move a bit of my blood around like a tiny worm. Even that poor effort was with vampiric aid.

The connection that Grutte hit upon our first day together remained. My ability to manipulate my blood was greatly enhanced by any contact with vampiric sputum. Our use of sputum began one day when Grutte stuck a bit inside my mouth. I immediately spit it out because it tasted terrible and yelled at him that he was poisoning me. But I felt the fire spread from my tongue despite my efforts. Rather than allow the fire to mount a fever, I concentrated my body heat and focused on my blood droplet. I was rewarded by having it begin to smoke in response.

After that, Grutte required I start each day by touching my tongue to a ball of sputum on a small stick that I otherwise kept in a leather pouch around my neck. The sputum had dried very slowly to something the consistency of sticky tar, so that anyone looking in the pouch would find a bit of tar on a stick and nothing more. When I asked Grutte where the ooze had come from, I assumed it was his own. But he told me that it was a bit of Captain Minuit's sputum that he had taken from the Captain years before and kept for experimentation wrapped in oilskin.
26. Inner Power

Having the heat from the sputum and being able to direct it gave me almost as much raw power as Grutte for simple exercises. My biggest issue was the rapid drying of my blood. Grutte's sputum maintained a molasses-like consistency for a long period. My own blood would dry within a minute or two, depending on the size of the droplet. Adding too much water would dilute the blood, making it impossible to focus. But I found over time that as long as I kept the blood moist I could maintain a droplet indefinitely, opposing its natural desire to congeal. The water must have a little salt added, which was naturally done in Grutte's cave so near the seashore.

Grutte gave me the impossible task of keeping my blood workable through the daylight hours. Even his slower drying sputum doll required hourly attention, and my blood was much more perishable. At first I thought this would require I stay up all day with a watering jar, but I determined to figure out a simpler method. I had found that holding the blood in my mouth would make my mouth water and dilute the droplet to the breaking point. But I thought that perhaps within my ear the droplet would survive.

I had seen the ears of chickens, and of rabbits. Inside the canal is a fleshy membrane that is easily ruptured. But my intention was to leave the droplet in my outer ear. I had not accounted for the amount of wax in my own ears. My poor droplet had to cut its way into my ear, using a boring motion and surrounding a bit of hair that acted as a drill bit. It would poke a little, then flow around the new hole and enlarge it. I worked very hard at the technique, and quite lost track of how deep I'd gone in my own ear. As a result, I punctured my own membrane and did not realize it until the droplet moved out into open space.

I relocated the bit of hair, but must have gotten turned around inside my own ear. I found what I thought was the same membrane, pierced it gently, and sent in my droplet. I found myself clutching my own head as a cacophony of sound erupted inside my ear. Evidently I had penetrated into my own sense of sound, an area of tiny hairs which responded something like the keys of an organ when plucked. I crawled my droplet higher, away from the sound. My poor misguided droplet found yet another membrane and I found myself dizzy. I couldn't stand up straight. As I tried to move my droplet, my world spun.

Eventually, I found myself free of that membrane. After a few moments of agonizing, one-sided noise I made it to a neutral point between the two areas. At that point my strength failed. I left the droplet in place, and relaxed into a moment of silence when the world wasn't spinning. I must have been truly exhausted, because I fell asleep with the droplet still in place.

When I awoke, the vampires were stirring. The door stone had been rolled back, and they were cleaning around me. Caves tend to be damp and vampires are no more interested in damp than their human counterparts. So they dropped dried leaves into damp patches to help soak up the water. The bottom leaves would ferment, giving the caves an earthly, not unpleasant tea-like odor over time.

I stirred and my awareness was called to the blood droplet still held in my inner ear. It was still there! The fluid of my inner ear had kept it moist without washing it away.

Gingerly, I eased my droplet out of the inner membrane. After multiple attempts, I finally got it out of my own ear. I was late meeting Grutte, who did not believe I'd kept the droplet going all night until his own sputum doll tested my drop and found it to be true.

"Ach, you made it one night," Grutte said with satisfaction. "But just vait. You'll drop from exhaustion sooner or later."

That day/night (which started at dawn) I gingerly found my way back into my inner ear. It was painful and at one point I almost vomited from a sudden attack of vertigo. But I found my location much more swiftly than the night before. It was even a little comforting when I found the right spot.

When night fell I again met with Grutte. He peered at me closely to see if I was dropping asleep on my feet. My energy and enthusiasm appeared to irk him. He grumbled about the energy of youth and I thought for a moment he would go into a homicidal rage.

Periodically Grutte would realize who I was and consider killing me immediately. Evidently Minuit's ban on harming me did not apply to Grutte, who was equal to the Captain in his own area. I had learned to go very still while Grutte considered whether to kill me. Within a few moments his mind would wander and I'd remind him to continue our lesson.

It might seem odd that I wanted to spend any time with Grutte at all, but I genuinely enjoyed the old vampire. Besides his ghastly appearance he was the first creature with a sense of humor about his condition. He treated me with respect while the others treated me with mostly distain. The two exceptions were Claw and Crab, but both of those were off sailing. So I found myself drawn to his cave nightly despite my misgivings about his sanity.

Grutte muttered to himself a great deal about my strength after the second night with my droplet and assigned me a second droplet. I didn't realize this was an impossible task for a beginner like myself. Even a master like Grutte maintained only one sputum doll. Multiple focuses lead to exhaustion much more quickly and can even fragment the mind of a beginning Blood Weaver.

I know I was exhausted after working both my droplets for a few hours. I could only make them function a few inches apart. Any farther and they would both start to dissolve or harden. I had to use more water to moisten them and drank a great quantity myself.

Grutte had an evil smile when he sent me home just before dawn with my two droplets. My own energy lasted just long enough to get both droplets placed in my ears before I collapsed into unconsciousness on my straw.

When I arrived the next night at Grutte's cave with two intact droplets he cursed openly. I found out from him much later that it had taken him a decade to master a single droplet. He'd taken another decade to master two.

So when Grutte assigned me a third droplet, he meant to break me. Testing a student to the edge of his will power is a part of all beginning training. Grutte had no intention of having me succeed, but he did not tell me that. By the end of our lesson I was already nearly broken. It took all of my energy to even keep the three blobs on top of each other. They were little more than quivering masses. Only when I arrived home to my host's cave and had two of my droplets safely in my ears did I start to think about my predicament.

I had no room in my ears for another droplet. I briefly considered spending the night watching over the third, but I was already half-crazy with fatigue. My eyes fell on the sleeping form of the new leader of the children's pack, Spike. He slept just outside the range of my lantern's small circle of light.

In Captain Minuit's absence I had continued to circulate from cave to cave as he had directed. With the loss of Minuit, Anton, and Marie, the dynamics of the vampire clan had shifted. Waterspout only maintained official control. A group of vampires was advocating increasing "feast" days, and some even wanted to add feasting on the villagers from time to time.

Spike and his cave mates were some of those wanting more feast days. So I was glad to be gone all the time with Grutte. I didn't tell anyone my whereabouts at night, and the only person who might have cared was Waterspout. But he had his hands full.

My purpose was to avoid any conflict while Minuit was away. I subsisted on the same hard tack and water as the poor souls who were kept in the stockade. In this cave I avoided Spike and the others as much as possible, positioning my straw nearest the entrance, which was considered the worst spot for sleeping according to the vampire hierarchy.

So I must have been half-mad to think of what I did next. I stood up, walked over to the sleeping Spike, and dripped my droplet into his ear.

I was fortunate that I had chosen a child's ear roughly the size and shape of my own. I have learned since that ears vary dramatically in size and shape.

I can also only credit luck that I did not damage either Spike's hearing or his balance. My droplet had great difficulty piercing through his membranes, but I succeeded. I was also most fortunate that the vampires maintain the fluid of the inner ear. I can only assume that the sludge they have in their veins cannot perform the functions of sound or balance.

In only one thing was I unlucky, and that made all the difference. I was so exhausted I overslept Spike's departure from the cave. By the time I came awake, Spike had gone into the night.

I suppose I panicked. It would have been a simple thing to prick my own finger and generate a droplet. Grutte might not have noticed, and if he had it would only have meant punishment and derision. Nothing too terrible.

But I was not thinking clearly. I lit my lantern and blundered out into the darkness seeking my droplet. There is a part of us that knows the loss of a missing piece. I've seen men scratch at amputated stumps until they bleed, trying to scratch the limb that they claim to still feel. In Blood Weavers this sense of loss is much more acute. We train ourselves to feel the most minute changes in the blood, so we can feel our bodies even at a distance.

My own sensitivity is not effective more than ten or twelve feet, and that only with the addition of the touch of the vampire sputum to my tongue. So I can only attribute my finding Spike and the other vampire children to blind luck. The children were hurling stones and small trees off a cliff. It was a game of distance and exactness played by human children the world over with smaller objects. I have never been clear about the rules, and I suspect the rules are less important than the joy of hurling things.

I was so pleased to have found Spike that I ran right up to him before I realized what I was doing.

Spike turned to me with a sneer. "What do you want, smelly blood bag?"

I froze. I had not thought through what I would do at this point. How do you politely ask for a blood droplet back? "Oh, I'm sorry, I left a bit of my blood inside your ear overnight?" I also realized that the vampire clan very likely had no idea I'd been working with Grutte. If they knew, they would doubtless stop me and perhaps punish me. For all its darkness, I found Blood Weaving enthralling and challenging. I was loath to reveal my secret passion to Spike.

Spike had impatiently turned from me and thrown another dog-sized boulder down over the cliff. He turned back to me and pushed me with a fingertip, causing me to stumble.

"What is it?"

I could think of nothing that would allow me to retrieve my droplet. I would have to return to Grutte in defeat.

"Sorry," I stammered, "I need to go." I turned, only to find my way blocked by the other children.

"Maybe he wants to join our game," said one.

"He's too weak. He's come to be our game." Said another.

"I wonder what happens to a blood bag when it falls off a cliff?" Said a third.

"Now, now," said Spike. "This is Minuit's banned blood bag."

"Minuit isn't here." Said the first child.

"Isn't this the blood bag that got you beaten?" Asked the second.

Even I could smell the challenge in the air. With Anton gone, Spike was the designated leader of the children. But that situation could change. The other children wanted to know if Spike was brave enough to go against Minuit's orders when the Captain was absent.

If Spike hesitated, one of the other children could take charge and throw me over the edge. If she acted with courage that Spike lacked, she would become leader of the pack.

I looked for any route of escape. But the children sensed an improvement on their regular game and had closed ranks around me. I had a sudden, desperate wish for a chaperone.

No rescuing vampire savior appeared. Instead, the circle closed more tightly around me and I heard Spike's voice behind me. "How about it, blood bag? Do you want to learn to fly?" I felt Spike's hand on my shoulder, impossibly heavy for a such a small palm.

"I need to go." I said in a small voice.

"Listen," said Spike to the others. "The blood bag came running out of the jungle. He didn't even see the cliff. We tried to stop him, but he was just going way too fast. Everybody got it?" The vampire children nodded their heads.

"Why can't we just eat him?" Asked one in the back.

"Because he's poison," said Spike. "He killed a Shark with his blood."

I was strangely pleased that at least my end wouldn't be to be drained of blood. I suppose it would have been fitting vengeance on the little devils, but it seemed to be the least noble way to die.

Falling, on the other hand...What was I thinking? The children were arguing over how Spike should throw me. Some wanted him to swing me around to go for maximum distance, while others thought I should be chucked for exact placement, just as if I were a rock or a tree stump.

I looked at Spike. He looked bored. In a few moments he would throw me off that cliff, from this dizzying height.

Dizzy...dizzy! What if I could throw off his aim enough to end up safely on a tree or even have him throw me backwards? No good. Anything that would involve me getting thrown anywhere meant broken bones and very likely an angry second toss off the cliff.

But what if I made him wince every time he came near me? I could...

I was out of time. Spike roughly picked me up in the air. I instinctively reacted by flailing my arms, which did nothing but make the children laugh. Spike danced around with me as if I were a life-sized puppet.

I was getting close to the edge. I focused my attention on my droplet in Spike's ear. It was hard to focus because we were both going around in circles. I sent the droplet the wrong way and Spike stumbled with dizziness. We nearly both went over the cliff together.

"Whoa," said Spike. "Enough of that." He looked around at the children. "Which is it? Are we going for distance or for comparison with boulders?"

I inched my droplet down to where his hearing hairs were. I had one chance. I slammed the droplet down onto Spike's hairs.

If I'd had my wits, I would have remembered the incredible acuity of vampire hearing. As it was, it was fortunate that Spike had me around the belly. If he'd had me around the ribs, his sudden grip on me would have broken some, if not all, of my ribs.

Spike gave a yelp like a wounded dog. After crushing me, he dropped me, extinguishing my lantern that I'd had clutched in my hand all this time. In the almost total darkness the vampires could all see me but I was completely helpless.

My only hope was to distract them enough with Spike that they would not remember to throw me over the cliff. I slammed poor Spike with what I now realize were the equivalents of cannon blasts going off in his ear. Spike whooped and hollered like a Carib war party. I could hear him thrashing around me, but I could barely see him.

Some primitive memory must have lit up in Spike. He took off at a dead run downhill. The children streamed after him. I couldn't be sure they were gone until I heard a great splash an impossibly short time later as Spike hurled himself into the sea. I heard the whoops and catcalls of the other children.

Shaking, I fumbled around until I had flint and steel and relit my lantern. I took the swiftest way back to the vampire settlement I could and stayed within sight of Waterspout for the next three nights.

Spike and the rest didn't even bother to threaten me to assure my silence. I was a blood bag, half a step up from a cow. Besides, they'd be sure to deny anything I said as a group. Waterspout's hold on power was tenuous at best. He couldn't afford to side with me against the children.

So I had to make up my own defense. As I gradually expanded my safe area, I made sure to visit each child. I also thought it might not be a bad idea to have an inner ear droplet for any of the adult-sized vampires I suspected would be happier if I'd fallen over the cliff. Over time I realized that every vampire needed a bit of me in their inner ear as an insurance against future violence against me. It was for defensive purposes only, which was consistent with the agreement I'd made with Captain Minuit.
27. Blood Oaths

By the time Minuit returned, every member of the vampire clan except the Blood Weavers had a droplet of my blood in their inner ears. I'd felt vaguely guilty about placing one in Waterspout's ear as he slept, but I figured he was always looking for more of my blood so here was a drop for sometime in the future when I had none to spare.

I didn't attempt a blood droplet on Grutte or on any of the other shadowy Blood Weavers that existed in solitary caves at the edge of the clan. I knew Grutte would feel the change and would then look for my blood in others. I'd let him think I failed with my third droplet and stayed away in disgrace and shame. We returned to working with one droplet and his mood improved remarkably. I learned to make my droplet move much more swiftly, balling up and rolling downhill and moving like a caterpillar up steep inclines. Grutte began to teach me to heat my droplet, which involved cooling my body and focusing my heat into a fine point.

"When you are better, you can burn your own muscles to make fire." Grutte looked at me conspiratorially, then down at his own wasted forearm. "If you are cautious about it."

When Captain Minuit returned, he brought with him a full load of live cargo. Evidently Marie was by far the most efficient Shark they'd had, mesmerizing the on-watch sailors of prey ships like a mermaid so that they steered their ships right to the Albatross. They even had a second ship in tow, and the Albatross was so low in the water it looked as if she might sink.

I learned the reason for the live cargo. Fully twelve of them were led toward Grutte's cave, and not one returned. Grutte was a completely changed man when I saw him next, a veritable mountain of muscles, yet graceful and elderly. His had scars faded rapidly, and I can only suppose his mind had cleared, for from that day forward he refused to discuss blood magic with me.

But even with a clear mind Grutte was lonely and regaled me with tales of the old country and a rebellion he'd led while human. I listened politely while I watched Grutte's sputum doll and thought about heat and the functions of the body.

One night Captain Minuit was in the doorway, watching us.

"Come in, come in, Jacques." Grutte called. Minuit entered cautiously as if he were in a bear's cave. He was clearly ill-at-ease around Grutte, who was an impressive adversary now that his muscles had grown back.

"I'm just telling the boy about the old country."

"Just about the old country?" Minuit's eyes bored into Grutte. I do not know if Grutte did not remember teaching me or if he just chose to lie to Minuit.

"Please Jacques, what would a little blood bag boy retain of any of the finer arts?"

Minuit looked satisfied.

"Enjoy Grutte's stories while you can, Tom. We sail again with the next full moon."

By the time the full moon arrived, I'd placed a droplet in every crew member's ear except Urchin. I feared Urchin would feel the droplet coming or know it was there. I still did not have a droplet in the Captain's ear either. When I'd slept in his cave on my continuing rounds I'd focused on dropping one into Anton's and Marie's ears. Marie had stirred when she got her droplet, and I'd made haste back to my straw and shivered through the cave darkness of the day until night fell. Marie had eyes like the Captain's but worse, as if you'd been skewered by a spear and could neither run nor fight. I feared her more than any of the male vampires, for she alone could kill me and withstand the Captain's wrath unscathed.

We set sail again on the full moon. The Captain was in a good mood, for they'd come across no other ships of Chronics on their last voyage. Anton was the only crew member who was sullen about the lack of zombies, having wanted to show his prowess as the new Port Hole. He called himself Port Hole now, and was agitating for his right to choose his own mate. Marie was opposed to the idea, as she still thought of Anton as a little boy, which in truth he still was in many ways. Captain Minuit had kept the peace between them by telling Anton he could look for a mate on this voyage.

Again we set out on the Albatross. I believe Captain Minuit was partial to her, considering her good luck. But he also wanted to leave a ship that looked like an ordinary merchant vessel tethered at the island. Waterspout had the idea that maintaining a vessel would persuade any passing vessels of the normal nature of the island. The Albatross herself was too ancient and battered to be useful. She was also now outfitted with copper plates that the vampires had scavenged off one of the merchant vessels they'd sunk. The cargo was too valuable to not be missed, so they'd run the vessel aground and stripped it. The copper would add greatly to the resilience of the hull in the case of zombie axe attacks.

I liked the copper, because it reflected my lantern light and flickered along the walls like I was under a copper sea. It also made me feel like the zombies wouldn't be as likely to be coming through the hull onto my head.

Anton had been using the Captain's cabin for his own quarters and was none too pleased to give up his cabin to me. Marie might have replaced me, but she preferred to sleep next to Minuit. She had no qualms about her femininity. Marie bathed in the sea every evening, keeping pace with the ship until Urchin hauled her back on board. While none of the rest of the crew was supposed to ogle the Captain's mate, I noticed all activity in the rigging ceased as she came back on board.

I hit upon a scheme to get a droplet into the Captain's ear. He and Marie slept in a pile of sacking near my water barrel. If I pricked my finger and held it under the bucket it could drip into Minuit's ear. If I was discovered I could pretend it was only a drop of water.

I put my plan into practice the next day in the quiet early afternoon. I paused near the Captain's head, and let fall a single droplet of blood. It fell on the side of his ear and I rolled it into his inner ear. His senses were acute in sleep and he reached up to brush his ear.

For some reason I was much more nervous about the Captain's droplet, and waited until the droplet was fully in place before I moved on.

That night Urchin pulled me aside.

"What were you doing near the Captain today?" His sightless, splinter-filled eyes seemed to meet mine for a moment.

I had no words of denial. Urchin could have torn me limb from limb and I had no protection against him.

Urchin seemed to relax. He assumed the wrong answer. "She's lovely, ain't she? I can feel her in the water. Some things stay as powerful for a vampire, or maybe even get stronger, than when we was human. She's like a sea of fresh blood." I winced, but I understood his desire.

"Don't make a habit of it, lad. The Captain doesn't take kindly to even a boy like you being too free with his eyes. Slow torture, it is." I nodded, stunned that he'd spoken so much. Urchin let me go and moved off to the rigging to climb into the crow's nest. He didn't need to with his extraordinary senses, but he said it made him feel more comfortable and kept him from being underfoot.

Around midnight two nights later Urchin felt a zombie ship coming. When I asked him later how he knew it was zombies, he said it was because most of them were under water hanging onto the side of their ship with hatchets ready. Evidently our upper armor was now known and they were preparing to come through the hull itself. It was a mad scheme, because even with zombie ferocity hatchet work under water is terribly slow going, far too slow to outstrip Marie and the other crew, who tore the zombies apart under water.

I spent the attack safely locked away in the captain's cabin with three live cargo. Poor souls had survived a shipwreck only to be picked up at night by our crew. Their bodies had called to Urchin like beacons despite the inky blackness of the night. I can only imagine their joyful praise turning to unspeakable horror as they realized they'd traded a death at sea for becoming a midnight snack. In the heat of the zombie battle they tried to convince me to set them free the next day. I was very clear with them about Minuit's hold on me, how I was reluctant to sacrifice my family for strangers no matter how dire their predicament. One of the men asked why I didn't kill Minuit and the crew. I explained their ability to sense even the slightest fear. But the question got me thinking that there must be a way to leverage my droplets into the ability to live life as I chose. From that time on I worked at mastering my fear, which was sure to give me away if I ever tried some strategy to effect my escape.

My friendship with the survivors was short lived as all three were consumed by the crew as part of the victory celebration. I found myself weeping alone in my room. Over time I'd managed to distance myself from even the Caribs, but these three survivors made me feel again like a true traitor to the human race. I resolved to find some way to rejoin my fellow man.

It was the cold that first gave me the idea. The terrible air from the zombie ship must have affected me. I got the first terrible, hacking cough I'd had since I'd arrived with the vampires. My poor ears swelled up and it felt like I was underwater all the time. My droplets, secreted inside my ears, swelled up as well. I felt like my head would explode. In desperation, I took out my droplets. These were the same I'd first produced in Grutte's cave, and I was understandably proud of their longevity. My hold on them was less than it had been, and the droplets were pale shadows of their fresher cousins. But I was loath to let them die as the result of a head cold.

So I dropped my droplets into the first, nearest ears I could find. When I put the drops into the crew's ears I could hardly be choosy about which ear I chose. So it was by sheer chance that I found one empty ear and one with a droplet already secreted. I was in a predicament about the already full ear. It was Crab's ear that was full, and since he was a big man I figured it was possible two droplets could fit into the ear. They did, so I allowed my two droplets to mix.

I'd forgotten all about the mixture by evening. We were closing in on a new island for me, one to the far south of the others. It was barely an island at all, but Captain Minuit knew there was a Blood Weaver of considerable power living there. He wanted the man's opinion of my blood, because he claimed to be able to tell how to undo any illness. So I was quite nervous.

Crab complained of his ear to me. "I canna' understand it. It feels like some miserable wretch has shoved a spike in me ear." I realized that my two droplets had swollen inside his ear and seemed to be expanding constantly. It was as if they were converting Crab's own thick fluid to their own ever-growing ball.

I panicked and told Crab to bend down while I looked in his ear. I took my time, frantically pushing with my will to have my blood crawl free while he was crouching down. I dug my finger into his ear, letting my swollen droplet writhe free.

"What is it, lad?" Crab reached up his hand, but my droplet was clear.

"Nothing," I lied. Crab stood up. "It throbs, but it feels better already. Thank ye, lad." He went back to steering the vessel. I'd wondered how the vessel handled when I wasn't up watching the horizon during the daytime. In truth, I'd never touched the wheel, which Crab lashed tightly in place. So it wasn't just to distract Crab from his ear and the little blob in my hand that I asked him to tell me again how he knew where the ship would go.

"Well lad," Crab warmed to his subject. "as I've said before, I couldna well do it without the canny Mr. Claw up there. He'll tell me which ways the winds are likely to be coming from on the morrow. Once I know that, I lash us so we're heading out to open sea on a close angle to the shipping lanes. Keeps us from going aground if'n for some reason Claw were ever wrong. And it gives us a chance of pirate ships crossing our path. They'll be after us, assuming we're running because we've got valuables on board." I kept asking particulars until it was time to turn in for my day shift.

The next day I examined my blob in the daylight. After so long in the caves and darkness, I found full daylight blinding and far too hot. It was difficult to keep my blood moist, and I'd been up with it since I took it out of Crab's ear. I knew I needed sleep, but I wasn't about to put something that hurt Crab that badly anywhere in my own fragile form.

My blob was no longer entirely my own. Some of Crab's thick ooze had penetrated it. My blood had killed the invaders off, but not before Crab's ooze had altered the blood in some way. It was no longer mine and I could feel a sluggishness, a slight resistance within it.

I could think of nothing to be done for it. I dared not place the droplet into any of the vampires, and I couldn't stay awake indefinitely to maintain it. I allowed the blob to gradually dry in the sun. As it dried, I idly had the droplet push the dried stuff to the outside. Before I knew it, I had a hardened outer ball with a liquid core. All of the bits of Crab's blood had gravitated to the outside, where they were happiest in the thick outer edge. They resisted further drying, maintaining a spongy but dry outer edge that rotated cells inside to keep them moist. I watched in fascination for a few moments before I realized I was too tired to care. I fell asleep cradling the little hard ball in my half-closed fist.

Crab kicked me awake, but gently. I've seen a full force vampire kick shatter wood.

"Ye're sleeping on yer watch. Up afore the Captain catches ye."

We arrived at the island of the Blood Weaver that night. I wish I could say I remembered him or her clearly but it was just another one of a group of gaunt and ancient bodies that peered at me in the gloom, pricked me and tasted my blood, and declared it very powerful. Then they'd spit out my blood and fawn on Captain Minuit to give them a sample of his blood. He refused to do so, partially out of distrust that they might use it in a conversion and partially out of fear that they might use it to gain some sort of power over him. But he always paid them very well, often with the inclusion of many bottles of alcohol that seemed to be second only to blood as a prerequisite for human Blood Weavers.

The only weaver I truly remember was either the fourth or the fifth. We had to row to a small town, and were let in the back door of a large house. Evidently this Blood Weaver was also the doctor of the town and didn't want anyone aware of what he was doing with the blood he was taking during his treatments.

Seated behind his large oak table, this balding portly man in his statesman's years was sweating profusely. When Minuit demanded he examine me, the portly man looked me over and declared me anemic with a touch of scurvy. Captain Minuit hoisted the doctor's girth into the air and declared him a fool. He ordered the man to examine me again using the real arts and not his medicinal foolishness. The portly doctor declared he had best examine me alone in his study then. He examined me from head to foot and even asked me about the scar on my arm from the bite of the dog with the foaming sickness. I told him it was a dog bite but purposely left out its disease and any of my thoughts on the matter. The doctor perfunctorily pricked my finger, tasted a drop, and declared it very powerful. Then he took me by the shoulder and told me solemnly that I must get free of my companions. "I've no idea how you've lasted this long, lad. But make no mistake. Get clear of these devils before they turn you into a midnight meal."

His words had a galvanizing influence upon me. I'd allowed Captain Minuit to run my life for too long. It is often the case that when we have lost our way and are at risk of entering a life of living death we need another to awaken us. By this I mean a life that we would not choose to live if we had made a conscious choice, for I have seen more living dead among my fellow mortals than among the converted.

So I resolved to die attempting to free myself. I could not hope to win my freedom unless I had as deadly a hold upon Captain Minuit as he had upon me. Our mutually assured destruction would allow me to be successful staying free.

It occurred to me that my droplets might suffice to give me the leverage I needed. But I needed some method by which I could set up a delayed response. Freedom, while constantly tending to the method by which freedom is attained, is not freedom at all.

I am afraid poor Anton, now the vampire cabin boy Port Hole, became the butt of my experiments. He was intolerable at the best of times, and I found myself often bullied by this tiny fellow who now came barely to my shoulder. I believe now that he resented my growth, although it was proof that I was to die all the sooner than he. I do not know if the child vampires ever attained full height, but I suspect not. The aging occurs very slowly within the body as it was when it was first converted.

My goal with Anton was to create a ball that would resist assimilation and response for a long time. After several botched attempts that providence allowed me to extract from Anton what I eventually hit upon was taking a bit of my hardened little ball and combining it with a fresh droplet. I separated the two inside the ear and they remained without causing problems for a time. Then I stretched the tenderest little thread of blood between the two. Gradually the blood would mix and the blackened blood ball would begin the slow process of combining with my blood. I could reverse this gradual thickening and changing process by pushing the two little blobs apart.

Once I had figured out my "fuse," it was a matter of calibrating it. A certain distance took a certain amount of time. I found out later to my unpleasant surprise that the rate at which my "fuses" burned varied from vampire to vampire. But when Anton's fuse combined his droplet would begin to swell and blood would ooze thickly to intermix with mine and battle it out. I kept close watch on Anton to make sure he would not experience any pain, but he still took up scratching at his ear in mild irritation. He did this after a time regardless of the state of his droplets, so I left him to it.

I estimated that it would take about six months to whittle away at the thinnest fuse, a tiny filament of blood stretched between my blood and the tiny clotted mass I had separated away.

It took me weeks to get my filament right. Meanwhile we were sailing, taking ships, and sinking them. Captain Minuit seemed quite attached to the Albatross, especially now that the crew had added her metal innards. Otherwise, we should have switched to a new vessel.

We had live cargo on the ship, and they mattered less and less to me. The crew was all I knew, and I distanced myself from even them. They were my enemy now, my prison guards.

At last I had my filament correct in all the members of the crew, so the final step was to convince Captain Minuit that the threat was serious and real.

It was a delicate conversation, and if it went badly the Captain would feed me to the sharks.

I approached Captain Minuit one evening. He was in a relatively good mood. We had taken a merchant vessel the week before, and everyone in the crew, including Marie, was in a good mood. I'd noticed the Captain's mood paralleled hers more than the weather or the situation we found ourselves in. If Marie was displeased with the Captain we all felt it. When she forgave him it was like a warm breeze swept through the ship.

I was almost tempted to tell Marie first about my demands, but at the least threat to anyone in the crew Marie was likely to kill first and ask questions later. Captain Minuit would at least give me a chance to explain before gutting me and throwing me over the side.

In my musings I had thought of dozens of ways to begin but none gave the results I wanted. So rather than try a complex maneuver, I went forward with the simple truth.

"Captain Minuit?" I avoided his eyes, which drew me in and sapped me of my resolve. "I'm tired of sailing."

Minuit looked at me idly and with some curiosity. "Well, lad, we'll soon take a break at the island. Just a few more blood folk to visit."

"No sir, I'm done with the ship and the island."

Minuit looked more surprised than angry. "I'm sorry you feel that way, lad. But based on our agreement together you have no say in how long or where you'll be sailing."

"That's true, sir. But I agreed only because I had no choice. You threatened me."

"Aye. Ye have no choice still."

"No, sir. I think now I might have a threat of my own."

"Aye? And what might that be? Will you be fighting me for mastery of my vessel, then?"

It was a joke, but it took me aback. I'd never considered that Captain Minuit would lose his post only if he lost his life.

"No, sir. I'm going to hold you and the crew for ransom."

Captain Minuit laughed. It was a deep, dark sound with a bitter edge.

"All right, lad. Ye've had yer fun. Now get to work or go below." He was turning away already.

"Sorry, sir. I am serious. Please observe Mr. Crab." I'd chosen the tall navigator for the demonstration because he'd already shown signs of illness on this voyage. He was also the least likely of the crew to kill me immediately for causing him pain. I'd already placed a "fuse" in his far ear but I needed a demonstration for the Captain. So I began banging my droplet around inside his nearer ear. Crab lurched and almost let go of the wheel. He raised his hand to his head and let out a low moan. As the Captain and I watched he hastily lashed off the wheel before he staggered and dropped to his knees.

"Enough." The Captain's voice lashed me and made it clear that if I did not cease instantly my head would be floating on the waves.

Instantly, I let up on Crab, pushing the droplet back where it began.

"Give me one reason not to kill you now." Captain Minuit's voice was dead and calm.

"Because sir," I'd practiced this but my voice was still shaking. "If you do in six months every member of your crew will be experiencing that and worse."

"You've figured out how to poison us with your blood slowly. And that damned Grutte taught you Blood Weaving." The Captain looked very, very deadly.

"Yes, sir."

"And you must think you're clever enough to keep Grutte from stopping you."

"Yes, sir. He didn't teach me what I did. He doesn't know how to do it."

"Interesting." Captain Minuit seemed pleased to find something that Grutte didn't know about Blood Weaving. "Did you do it to Grutte before you left? Will we find that old wretch writhing or dead on our return?"

"No, sir. I figured out how to do it since we left."

Minuit looked impressed despite his clear urge to use one of his deadly blades on my frail body. "Is that why you've been looking so dreamy-eyed lately? I just figured you were pining after Marie like every other member of my crew."

"Yes, sir. It's taken me quite some time to perfect. I was certain anything else would involve my immediate death."

"And I suppose it would do me no good to Mesmerize you?"

"It would give you a better sense of what I did. But it would sap my will, which is necessary for me to change anything I've done. We could try. I don't know if I could resist you long enough to trigger yours."

Minuit started a bit. Up to this point he'd been thinking about his crew and not himself. I purposely avoided his eyes. He could probably Mesmerize me with his voice, but I might be fast enough. I prayed it wouldn't come to that, because Minuit would most likely kill me to stop what I was doing.

Minuit relaxed. "Well, young Tom. You have something to blackmail me with. What's to keep me from killing off your loved ones until you withdraw whatever you've done?"

I had thought of this possibility. It was the largest gamble of my scheme. "I offer you the same terms you offered me. For every loved one I lose, you will lose a crew member. Both of us will end up alone if we play that game. Since I lack your network of spies, I need updates on my loved ones regularly. Except Mr. Ramirez."

"Why not Mr. Ramirez?"

"Because that is where I'll be living from now on, Captain. You'll let the crew know that I'll be safer there than on the island. Set up any sort of defense you like, but let me live my life in peace."

"And your blood?" Captain Minuit seemed to be considering my offer.

I had thought of this as well. "My blood will continue to be yours. Take as much as you need. But bring the Weavers to me rather than dragging me to every snake-filled swamp in the world."

Captain Minuit looked at me closely and I ducked away from his eyes. "What about my crew?"

"I can make sure the crew is fine as long as you visit me every three or four months. Six months is the maximum. But you'll be wanting my blood about that often anyway."

Minuit nodded. He seemed to be taking my threats surprisingly well. I thought I knew why. "Oh, and Captain. I wouldn't have Grutte try and burn out what I've done."

"And why is that?" Minuit even looked a little guilty.

"Because he doesn't understand what I've done. If he goes in and tries to tear things out or burn things up, chances are good he could kill the crewmen."

"Very well," Captain Minuit's face clouded. "I'll choose whoever he experiments on with care."

"Then," I looked full into Minuit's endless eyes and held them. It took all my strength but I knew I needed to make a good show: "do we have an agreement?"

The Captain nodded and for once he broke with my eyes first. "It seems our original agreement has been modified. So I agree for now. Expect further modifications in the future."

"One more thing," Captain Minuit looked up at me and got very quiet, "if you mention a word of this to any of my crew I'll deny it and cut you down where you stand. We may all die as a result, but I cannot allow you to undermine me so completely. It would mean the end of us as a colony."

I nodded. His sudden ferocity stunned me. I knew I was playing with my own life, but it was like pulling the tail of a dog and hoping the snapping jaws of the head won't reach you. Could Grutte undo what I had done? I would likely find out suddenly and painfully some night. But until then I would live my life on my own terms.
28. The Priesthood

I don't remember our voyage to Mr. Ramirez's island. It was so fraught with quiet tension I don't think I slept at all. Captain Minuit announced the change of direction as if it were his idea. But I'm certain my smell gave me away. I was afraid of Minuit now, and anxious to be as far away from him as possible. Even hearing his voice made me wince and begin to sweat.

But at long last, I was deposited on Ramirez's island. Crab and Claw wished me well, but the rest of the crew was silent at my departure. Marie and Anton were openly hostile.

Mr. Ramirez greeted me with tears and hugs. I could hardly free him from his Mesmerized state, but I was pleased to see him regardless of his condition.

We fell into our old routines, dealing with the never-ending farm chores and taking trips into town as needed. The store owner was a weasel-faced man who watched me with far too much interest. I was certain he was Minuit's spy, so I played the doting son role for Mr. Ramirez. The store owner eventually left us in peace.

My life with Mr. Ramirez was not without hardships. We were prone to all the problems of farmers everywhere. The animals went lame, the crops got eaten, and we had an army of weeds that outgrew our crops so badly it seemed we were growing them instead.

As we worked the soil, a small part of me kept a lookout for a young rider. She at last appeared, and dismounted immediately upon sighting me. Cat, the scrawny boy who was also a girl of unknown rank, ran to me and grasped me in her arms. I was startled and pleased, but more worried than I should have been about the mud on my clothing. She felt me stiff and awkward in her arms and moved back. "Where have you been, Tom? Mr. Ramirez wouldn't say where you'd gone. I was worried he'd sold you to another island."

Where could I begin? I sighed. "I was on another island. It was too horrible to speak of. I'm glad I'm back."

Cat noticed my necklace bag of vampire ooze around my neck. "What's that?" I shrugged. "It's just a necklace." A moment later she was called away by her governess, who shot daggers to me as they rode away. That night I broke off a piece of the vampire's ooze and made a second necklace, smaller than the first. I had no idea if I'd see Cat again, but I wanted...I cannot say what I wanted, a farm boy daring to befriend a noble lady. She did ride by a week later, barely outpacing her governess. I had the second necklace around my neck, and as she rode past I threw it to her. She smiled and caught it neatly. I did not see her for some time after that.

Our life was hard, but we lacked the constant fear and occasional starvation of many farmers. Due to Minuit's influence, Mr. Ramirez's credit was always good. The growing season I spent with Mr. Ramirez was very poor due to torrential rains, but we lacked the lean and hungry look of our neighbors. By common consent Mr. Ramirez and I started hosting late afternoon Bible study that always ran over into dinnertime. I am certain it was the only good meal our neighbors got. Mr. Ramirez justified our daily meetings by claiming "his nephew" was woefully ignorant of the scripture. I allowed this slur on my mother's strict teaching for the good of the community. My role as Mr. Ramirez's nephew was accepted without question, because he had never treated me like anything but a family member.

From Bible study it was only a short step to ministry in church services. The island had a priest that traveled by boat between churches. He was only on our island one service a month. So Mr. Ramirez and I oversaw a short scripture reading and a hymn singing on the other Sundays. One Sunday there was a question about a passage and Mr. Ramirez explained it so well that from that time onward we looked forward to the absence of the priest.

All would have been well except that families started arriving by boat to hear Mr. Ramirez speak. He was quite remarkable, only made more so by the Mesmer's calmness and comfort in all situations. The priest got wind of what was going on and told Mr. Ramirez to stop using the church. The next Sunday the priest came he sat in an empty church for four hours before he relented and joined our gathering at the farm. We'd set up logs for all our guests and were having a mid-day meal. The priest had a great time. At the end of the gathering he asked Mr. Ramirez if he'd considered joining the priesthood. The priest said he'd send off a request to his superiors to allow Mr. Ramirez to start study from where we were on the farm. Since the priest's order was stretched thin among the islands, they might allow Mr. Ramirez to learn what he needed to and only make the journey to Europe to be ordained. I was included in the study plans, with the understanding that I would also need to travel to Europe to complete my study before returning.

It was an extraordinary time for me, full of great opportunity. For me to become a priest would allow me access to society and opportunities far above what I could otherwise dream of doing.

I pulled myself toward this virtuous life, trying to block out my occasional visits with the silent, shadowy crew. The midnight cart ride and the silent rowing out to the creaking Albatross seemed like a bad dream rather than some real aspect of my life. Captain Minuit perfunctorily took my blood, but the demeanor of the crew was such that I was certain he had told them something of my blackmail. Not even Crab spared me a smile on these occasions. Evidently Grutte was unable to help them, for I was still alive. But I was pleased to see that none of the crew had visibly suffered as a result of his attempts.

For now I wish to leave myself on the farm, dwelling on virtue, with the sins of the past slowly being atoned for. I had already promised myself that before leaving for my training in Europe I would sever my strands, rendering my threat against the vampire crew inert. Mr. Ramirez would inform Captain Minuit of the ending of his danger by delivering my letter long after my ship had sailed. I realize many would fault me for not ending those dismal creatures, but at the time I wished no man or creature suffer at my hand. So even the wretches on the Albatross would be spared by me.

As with all memoirs, even confessions, there is no time to end one chapter and start another. Every moment leads to the next. But let us leave me now tending the garden and reading scripture, my thoughts and dreams full of a bright future with the priesthood.

#####
Editor's Notes

The Carib tongue which is roughly translated in these pages when it can be without offense is practiced by fewer than five thousand individuals today. In an effort to keep the language alive, Henk Courtz has compiled an online dictionary that can be found by searching for "Carib Dictionary," going online to http://www.caribdictionary.com/, or purchasing his book. Everything, including offensive phrases, can be translated into English there.

The Marquis series continues with the Red Hand, Arctic Refuge and finally The Marquis. If you would like more stories, please write to me at: docmaloneynd@gmail.com or reach me through my website: http://chrisjlmaloney.com/

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About the Author

C. J. Maloney works by day as a doctor, and spends his nights as a storyteller. He created the Marquis Papers from short stories told to his boys after they asked for tales of pirates, vampires, and zombies. The boy Tom Hawkins took on a life of his own, and his story needed to be told.
Other books by this author

Please visit your favorite ebook retailer to discover other books by C. J. Maloney

The Marquis Papers (PG-13)

Vampire Island

The Red Hand

Arctic Refuge

The Marquis

Children's Fiction

Morgan and the Other Side of The Stone (PG)

Two Pennies: A Living History Mystery (PG)

Victorian Paranormal

Page Turner: Avarice And the Arcane (PG-13)

Science Fiction

Miner Six (PG-13)

The Mutiful Series (Coming Soon)

Science Fiction Farce

Everest Jones Hitchhikes To Betelgeuse (PG-13)

Dark Fantasy

Siofra (domestic violence) (R)
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A Chapter Of The Red Hand: 1. Heal Or Die!

In September of the year of our Lord 16-

If you recall, I was happily entrenched at Mr. Ramirez' farm when last we left this, my full confession of my crimes and collaboration with vampires. My thoughts and dreams at this time were entirely engrossed in my extraordinary opportunity to join the priesthood with Mr. Ramirez. For someone without means like myself to receive such a sponsorship from a local priest was a dream beyond anything I'd imagined.

The one spot of sadness arrived one day while I worked in our garden. I looked up and saw Cat and her chaperone. Cat was both the scrawny beggar I'd befriended back on Hispaniola and now a noble girl who had taken an interest in me. She dismounted and strode toward me. "We're off," she said without introduction. "My family is returning to England. I'm to be educated as a lady in London." I bowed to her and congratulated her on her good fortune. She nodded. "I expect I shan't be seeing you again," she said. "Good luck to you on the priesthood." The word seemed to pain her somewhat, but it was only a momentary thing. "You have a good and noble soul, Tom. I expect you'll make a saint." She clasped my hand, even as her chaperone looked on with clear disapproval. I kept my eyes lowered and bowed lower still. With that she was back on her horse and galloping away out of sight. I felt warmed by her good opinion of me, and promised myself I would do my best to make her wishes of my piety come to fruition.

All the more terrible then were my midnight journeys to the Albatross. My old ship, full of a vampire crew and armored against zombie assault by copper armor within, sailed under the terrible Captain Minuit. I had survived our acquaintance only by the poisoned nature of my blood and Minuit's interest in discovering its secret. By luck I'd managed to learn a bit of the dark art of Bloodweaving, which allowed me to set a bit of my blood inside the ears of any vampire I'd met. The exceptions were Grutte, my bloodweaving teacher, and Urchin, the blind lookout of the Albatross, both of whom had sensitivities so acute as to make me fearful they would discover my handiwork and tell the others.

The nature of my handiwork with the vampire crew made it necessary for them to visit me every three or four months for me to refresh the thread that kept it from becoming active. Without this care, they would sicken and likely die. They were my hostages, despite their greater force and deadly power. Our visits were brief and silent as Captain Minuit drained a bit of my blood and I secretly reset the crew's threads. Only the Captain knew the danger they faced, and had ordered me to silence about it. I relegated the visits to a bad dream that would soon be ending. I planned to undo my handiwork before I left for Europe and inform Captain Minuit of their freedom by letter well after I'd escaped.

So imagine my consternation when a mere month after their second visit Mr. Ramirez and I were awakened by an after-midnight pounding on the door. Without waiting, Captain Minuit and Claw splintered through our thick door as if it were rotten wood and carried Marie, the Captain's mate, into the room.

Captain Minuit hauled me up from my straw and threw me at Marie's form. I noticed they all were drenched with salt water. "Fix her!" He growled at me.

I opened my mouth. Mr. Ramirez was hurriedly lighting a lamp to see by. Minuit grabbed him. "Fix her now, or I snap him like a twig."

I focused on Marie. At first glance she seemed to be dead. The left side of her head was coated with the thick ooze that constitutes a vampire's blood. I searched in vain for any spark of my blood. At last I found it, inside a dense mass of her own thick ooze. The blood had moved from inside her ear to inside her head, and her ear was trying to reform over a head full of blood.

I tried to coax the droplet from inside the oozy mass. But it was too far changed and resisted me. Failure was not an option for my dear Mr. Ramirez. I held out my hand to Claw.

"Please prick my finger."

Claw recoiled. "The Captain told ye to fix her, not poison me! Keep yer damn blood to yerself!"

The Captain cut him off. "He needs it to do his work. Use a knife or something."

Claw pulled a fearsome looking blade from his boot. "Prick yerself." He turned it handle first toward me. I did so without a pause. Claw made a great show of cleaning the blade.

Moving the droplet into the mass of Marie's blood was a terrible task. I forced my little droplet deeper, but on all sides bits of ooze detached themselves and tried to break down my droplet. I struggled for a long moment, but my droplet disintegrated and was consumed. I was sweating heavily now. Two droplets were now dispersed in Marie's brain. I pricked another finger and let another drop fall. I could feel the eyes of Captain Minuit upon me. I knew Mr. Ramirez would not survive his fury and I was unlikely to live out the night if Marie died.

My new droplet I sent in swiftly, speeding toward the encased droplet. I could feel the ooze detach and come after my droplet, but I was moving too quickly for it to engulf me. As I approached the ball, I felt my second droplet begin to move toward its rescuer. It took me a moment to realize that my droplet was now pursued by the ooze from behind and the ball before. I dodged the ball, and, lacking options, brought my droplet as rapidly as I could toward the outside of the wound. I wish I could say that I planned what happened next, but I was too busy trying to keep my droplet from disintegrating to consider the repercussions of my actions. It was only when my droplet cleared the wound, followed by gout of ooze and a ball the size of a musket shot, that I realized what I'd done. As the ball released, Marie's body started healing itself. It was magnificent to watch her head reforming correctly before our eyes.

Marie gave a scream and clutched the side of her head. Grasping the ball, she hurled it from her and stood in one fluid motion.

"Merde, that hurt!" She looked at me darkly. "I call first blood on your spineless little carcass. How dare you infect me with your nasty poisoned blood?"

I stood helpless, but Captain Minuit clutched her arm. "We are all infected ma cherie. Without him, we will all die."

"How can we live with a ball that size in our heads, Jacques?" Marie turned to him. "And how can the little wretch maintain them all? Not even Grutte could maintain a ball that size for months. Let me kill the little devil and we'll dig out the balls from each other."

"No, my love, we cannot take the chance. It was a blow from that Red-Hand made blade that set you off. Perhaps trauma sets off the balls."

"Argh!" Marie looked at me fiercely. "When we do figure out how to undo this wretch's devil work, I will personally bury his body parts on six different islands!"

Capt. Minuit looked at me. If his eyes could have taken my life, he would have. "Is Marie fully well? There is no more blood in her?"

I nodded. "I have nothing left in Marie."

Capt. Minuit turned. "Let's go."

Marie looked venomously at me. She seemed determined to end my life before she left for the Albatross. Both Claw and Capt. Minuit grasped her by the arms and silently dragged her from the room. READ MORE IN The Marquis Papers Volume II: The Red Hand.
