The Saga of Larten Crepsley (3) – Palace of the Damned

by Darren Shan

  “Didn’t you enjoy it, darling?” Alicia asked.

  “No,” he grunted. “Monsieur Santos-Dumont and the Wright Brothers can wage their war for the air without me. I have experienced all the joys of flight I ever intend to. It is a crazy form of transport, Alberto. If you heed my advice, you will get out of this business immediately. There is no future in aircrafts.”

  With that, the smiling vampire turned his back on the shuddering machine and never stepped aboard an aeroplane again.

  Paris in 1906 was a chic, vibrant, multi-layered wonder. The Eiffel Tower, still standing seventeen years after it had been erected as a temporary exhibit for the Universal Exposition, was the tallest building in the world. The métro had opened six years ago, providing Parisians with a fascinating ride deep beneath the streets. The city was flooded with artists, many hoping to improve on the advances made some years earlier by the Impressionists. It had the most acclaimed museums, the finest restaurants, the rowdiest nightlife. From the respectability of the Louvre to the seediness of the Moulin Rouge, Paris had something for everyone.

  For Larten Crepsley, above all else it had Alicia Dunyck, a woman with whom he’d fallen in love.

  They had met for the first time four years earlier, when Larten fetched up in Paris at random. He had been going by the name of Vur Horston, which was how Alicia still knew him. After what he had done on the ship to Greenland, he wanted to try and forget about Larten Crepsley, at least for a while, possibly forever.

  Gavner brought the pair of them together. The baby had survived the trek back from the icy wastes and grown into a sturdy little boy. It would have been easy for Larten to rear him as his son, but he didn’t feel that he had the right. He had never lost sight of the fact that he had killed the boy’s parents. He believed it would be hypocrisy of the highest order if he took their place and let the boy love him as a father.

  Although Larten fed and cared for Gavner on their way back, he was stern with the boy and refused to treat him with love. He believed a night would come when he and the adult Gavner Purl must address the nature of his foul crime. He didn’t want any sort of emotional attachment to confuse the orphan when that night came.

  Larten tried to offload the boy a number of times, but nobody seemed to want him. He could have abandoned Gavner and left him to the workings of fate, but he needed to be sure that the boy would have a chance to prosper. So he kept Gavner by his side longer than he would have liked, crossing the world with no real plan, waiting for the right set of parents to accept the growing child.

  In Paris he finally found a home for the boy. He had made money gambling, and attracted a wealthy circle of fair-weather friends. He had no interest in these vain, frivolous people except to find parents for Gavner. Wealth wasn’t important to Larten, but the rich had a much easier time in life than the poor, so he thought he might as well settle the boy with a prosperous couple.

  He met Alicia by chance. She was the cousin of one of the men he gambled with. She came one night to experience a little of her cousin’s sordid world. Alicia stood out among the others in the saloon. She didn’t consider herself superior to the women of low class or the men of dark vices, or look upon them with disdain. But there was a sadness in her expression as she watched the lost creatures chase their petty pleasures. Larten, who knew much about sadness, was moved by it and made an excuse to talk with her and meet her again in a place more fitting than a den of wine, women and cards.

  Alicia was suspicious of the pale, scarred, orange-haired man of mystery. There were many rumours about the strange Vur Horston, that he’d made his money from the illegal slave trade, that he was a highly paid assassin, that he avoided the sun because he had signed a contract with the devil and would burst into flame if exposed to the pure light of the day world.

  “Nothing so dramatic,” Larten laughed when Alicia put this accusation to him. “I have a severe skin condition, that is all.”

  She was wary of the stranger and didn’t encourage further visits, but Larten was persistent, popping up wherever she went, bending her ear, discussing art and dancing with her. (He had no great love of either, but made an effort to impress.) He realised that lavish presents wouldn’t impress her, so instead he scoured the markets for quirky, beautiful flowers or charming, cracked ornaments, which were worthless but came with an interesting story.

  As she slowly warmed to him, Larten introduced her to Gavner, who was a sullen, quiet boy. Gavner knew Larten preferred silence and a sense of distance, so he was more withdrawn than most children. Like all young boys, he craved love, but having received none from the man who refused to act as his father, he hoped to earn Larten’s approval by behaving as coldly as the adult did.

  Larten didn’t tell Alicia that he was hoping to give away the boy. Instead he told her that Gavner was the son of an old friend and that he’d vowed to look after the orphan when his parents died. He let her think it was his intention to bring up Gavner on his own.

  “Why are you so hard on him?” Alicia asked not long after she got to know the child. “You’re kind and gentle with me. Why not with Gavner?”

  “I raise him the way I was raised,” Larten answered stiffly. “Discipline is good for a growing boy.”

  “But you push him away every time he tries to get close to you,” she said.

  Larten grunted sourly, but inside he was smiling. As he had hoped, Alicia made even more of an effort with Gavner, encouraging him to smile, laugh, play and enjoy the world. A bond grew between them, and although Alicia was young and free, with hopes of having children of her own one day, she didn’t hesitate when Larten asked if she wished to take the boy and rear him as her son.

  That should have been the end of the matter. Larten had finally rid himself of his charge and was free to search for a place in the wide, lonely world. But he had grown fond of Alicia, so he made one excuse after another to stay. Weeks became months, and months became years. He still occasionally spoke of leaving, but it had been a long time since he’d truly meant it. He had found unexpected peace in Paris, and while he refused to admit it, deep down he hoped to stay with Alicia to the end of her relatively short, normal life.

  They returned home after Larten’s adventure in the aircraft, still laughing. Alberto Santos-Dumont was a good friend of Alicia’s. She couldn’t understand his obsession with building the first proper aircraft (“The Wrights use catapults to launch their clumsy contraptions! How can that be a real aircraft?” he would protest whenever the American pioneers were mentioned), but she enjoyed watching the machines that he built, especially when they got off the ground. Larten didn’t normally come with her when she visited Alberto – he preferred night pursuits to those of the day – but he was fascinated by her reports. When he’d casually declared that any fool could fly the simple aircraft, she put the challenge to Alberto and convinced him to let Larten try the 14-bis one bright, moonlit night.

  “You could be an aircraft operator,” Alicia joked as they let themselves in. “Alberto says there will be large aircraft soon, with seats for passengers. You could get a job flying people from one town to another.”

  “Alberto lives in a fantasy world,” Larten snorted. “Aircraft are a novelty. They will never replace trains or boats. Only a fool would think otherwise.”

  “I don’t know,” Alicia sang, tweaking his nose, then went to check on Gavner. He was fast asleep and snoring heavily. She’d never known anyone who snored as loudly as Gavner Purl.

  Larten was staring out of the window when she returned. He was thinking about Malora and the people on the ship, as he often did in quiet moments like this. No matter how much happiness he found with Alicia, the sorrows of the past were never far from his thoughts.

  Alicia studied him, gazing at his troubled reflection in the glass, wishing she could do something to rid him of his grief. There was much about his life that was a secret. She knew he’d had an unhappy past, that he was hiding a lot from her. But that didn’t matter. She loved him an
d was sure he’d reveal the full truth to her in time. And no matter how disturbing it was, she would still love him and do what she could to help him deal with it.

  After all, she thought as she slid forward and embraced Larten, bringing a smile to his thin lips, it can’t be that bad. No matter what life has thrown at him, regardless of what he did in his youth, he is a good man at heart. His dark deeds are probably nowhere near as grisly as he believes. And if they are? Well, I’ll forgive him. We all make mistakes. That’s simply the nature of what we are. I’ll confess mine and accept his. He has set his standards high, and that is admirable, but he should not be so hard on himself. After all, I will tell him, at the end of the day, like the rest of us, he’s only human…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Larten was a night creature, but he made adjustments to his routines to account for Alicia and, to a lesser extent, Gavner. Although he avoided mornings and the searing light of the midday world, he normally rose in the early afternoon to spend some of the day with Alicia and the boy. He would listen to Gavner reading – something he’d never learnt to do himself – and gruffly tell the child that he was doing a good job if he made no obvious mistakes. The three of them would go out for walks or to the shops, Larten shielded from the sun by an umbrella, hat and gloves, wearing dark glasses to protect his eyes.

  Alicia thought he was exaggerating about his condition until one day he sat by a window for half an hour with his arms and face exposed. When she saw the way his skin reddened, she realised he was telling the truth. From that day on she was even more conscious of the sun than he was.

  As they strolled through a park one cloudy evening, Gavner running ahead of them trying to catch a bird, Alicia squeezed Larten’s arm and pecked his scarred cheek beneath the covering of the umbrella.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I’m just happy.” She squeezed his arm again. “This is a good life, isn’t it, Vur?”

  “Aye,” he said, feeling the little stab of guilt he always did when she called him by his false name. He knew he should tell her the truth about himself, but he hoped that if he denied the reality of Larten Crepsley long enough, the man he’d once been might cease to exist entirely.

  “Gavner is happy too,” she murmured. Larten stiffened, as she’d guessed he would, and she tutted loudly. “You have to stop that,” she snapped.

  “Stop what?” Larten frowned.

  “Gavner is our child,” she said. It was an old argument, one she had with him a couple of times a month. “You should start treating him like your son. He needs a father and you’re all he has. Unless you’d rather I look for another man to take me on walks through the park…” She grinned cheekily at him.

  “You might be better off with another man,” Larten said gloomily and Alicia pinched him.

  “You’ll say that once too often one day,” she growled.

  Larten forced a smile, but he was troubled. Alicia was right. Gavner did need a father. He had grown into a bright, healthy, good-natured boy, blooming under the care of his foster mother. But he often stared at Larten longingly. He didn’t know why the tall man with the scar brushed him aside whenever he tried to get close. He thought there must be something wrong with him, that he had in some way offended the adult. Although he was happy and lively around Alicia, Gavner pulled back into himself when he was with other children. He thought they might reject him if he tried to be friendly with them, as his guardian had.

  He deserves better, Larten thought sadly. He deserves a father. But I can never be that for him. I killed his true parents. I must never let him love me. Never.

  He should leave. He was a thorn in Gavner’s side, a shadow hanging over the boy. If he left, Alicia would find another man to marry her, as Larten had so far failed to do, despite her many hints that she would accept his proposal if he asked. That man could be a real father to Gavner and the boy would profit from their relationship.

  But that would mean abandoning Alicia. The small woman with the red hair and green eyes had brought happiness into Larten’s life, a type he’d never suspected he might be capable of experiencing. He couldn’t walk away from that. With her, he could nearly forget about Malora, the killings, the dark abyss into which he had almost literally fallen. If he cut her out of his life, he feared what might happen to him next.

  “Vur?” Alicia asked quietly, breaking into his gloomy reverie.

  For a moment he thought she was calling to the real Vur Horston and he looked around eagerly for a thin, poorly boy he hadn’t seen in close to a hundred years. But when he only found the chubby Gavner Purl – still chasing the bird – he realised she was speaking to him. “Yes?” he replied.

  “A centime for your thoughts,” Alicia said.

  Larten smiled thinly. “They are not worth that much.”

  Then he held her close and strolled after the running, laughing boy, afraid that he’d lose her – and himself – forever if he let her go.

  A few nights after their walk in the park, Alicia dragged Larten along to an art exhibition. Among the works on display were some new paintings by a young Spanish artist called Pablo Picasso. Larten liked most of the art, but he wasn’t too keen on the crowd.

  Larten was uncomfortable in large gatherings. When it was just him and Alicia, he could forget that he was different. In other company he became self-conscious. He kept expecting someone to recognise him for what he truly was and scream, “Vampire!” The book by that dratted Bram Stoker had come out some years before and everyone knew the word now. There was no point claiming innocence and saying he wasn’t like the fictional Dracula. Larten knew how mobs worked. If his true identity was ever revealed, he would have no choice but to flee.

  Larten had been uneasy since they arrived at the exhibition. As they wandered, stopping to chat with friends of Alicia, that feeling intensified. He felt certain that he was being watched. Some people might have dismissed such a hunch, but Larten knew better than to doubt his instincts.

  The vampire smiled freely and pretended to listen to the conversation flowing around him. He didn’t want to let the person watching him know that he was aware of their scrutiny. But all the time he was slyly sweeping the rooms with his gaze, searching for the one who had pinpointed him.

  Finally he singled out his potential enemy. It was a tall, fat man. He was twice the size of anybody else and Larten was surprised not to have noticed him before. The man’s face was virtually hidden behind layers of blubber. He had long, curled hair and a majestic, drooping, waxed moustache. He was finely dressed, his fingers – Larten noted without surprise that each one had a small scar at the tip – glittered with rings, and he sported a diamond-studded monocle. But there was something vulgar about him, and it wasn’t just the four scantily clad women who encircled him and tittered at his every joke.

  The fat man saw that he had been spotted. With a sharp word and a curt snap of a hand he dismissed the women. They drifted away to talk with some of the other men – they had plenty of admirers – though Larten was sure they’d return once their master clicked his scar-tipped fingers. They were the type of women he had seen much of in his younger days as a vampire Cub.

  The fat man inclined his head and stepped out on to a balcony, inviting Larten to follow. “Excuse me a moment,” he murmured to Alicia. “I wish to take some air.”

  “Don’t be long,” she said.

  “Of course not,” he promised, but he wasn’t sure if he could keep this particular vow. He didn’t know what the fat man wanted, but he was sure of one thing — the stranger was a vampire. And that spelt bad news whatever way he looked at it.

  The obese vampire was snorting a pinch of snuff when Larten joined him on the balcony. He offered some, but Larten shook his head.

  “You never did like snuff, did you?” the man purred, putting it away.

  “You know me, sir?” Larten frowned, studying the stranger again, trying to place him. There was something familiar about the voice, but not the ma
n’s face. Had they met in Vampire Mountain?

  “I know you well, Vur Horston,” the man smirked. “I also knew you when you went by your real name. And I knew you by another name too.” His eyes twinkled and Larten realised that whoever this was, the man meant him no harm.

  “What name might that have been?” Larten asked, relaxing slightly.

  “It was one I gave you myself,” the vampire said, then smiled nervously as he removed his monocle and brushed his hair back, revealing his face in full. “I called you Quicksilver.”

  The mention of his old nickname astonished Larten, but as the man formed the word, something about the movement of his lips triggered a memory that was even more astonishing. Leaning close, eyes widening with shock, Larten seized the man’s shoulders and croaked with disbelief, “Tanish Eul?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Larten and Tanish sat in plush leather chairs in the study of Tanish’s house, sipping wine from France’s finest vineyards. Larten preferred ale to wine, but Tanish was proud of his collection and forced a glass on his guest.

  Larten had known Tanish when they were Cubs, young vampires with a taste for war, and the seedier human pleasures. They’d drunk, gambled and womanised their way across much of the world. He had counted Tanish as a close friend, one who got him into much trouble, but who was always fun company. Then Tanish refused the challenge of a vampaneze and was shamed in front of his peers. He departed in disgrace, never again to take his place in the clan. Larten thought that was the last he would see of the dashing, finely groomed vampire. Over the years he had occasionally wondered what might have happened to Tanish, but only idly, never expecting an answer.

  Now here was the exile, bloated beyond recognition, wealthy and dressed in the most expensive clothes that Paris could offer, with a coterie of pretty young women and faithful servants.