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

by Darren Shan

  “The women Randel is killing… they’re nothing. Cheap, low-class, worthless. Let him end their short lives a few decades earlier than scheduled. What of it? The world won’t have lost much. But if you get in Randel’s way, you could lose it all — your position, my friendship, Alicia’s love. Let this pass. We’ll take a cruise, visit the pyramids. You’ll forget about this in no time.”

  “Perhaps I would,” Larten murmured without looking back. “But some things in life should not be forgotten.” And he stormed out of the room without another word.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Larten longed to go home and tell Alicia what was happening, or at least bid her farewell in case he perished at the hands of Randel Chayne and never saw her again. But night had fallen and the vampaneze could strike at any moment. He could not afford to think about himself. So he returned to the casino and stood watch on a rooftop at the rear of the building.

  There was no guarantee that Ginette would be Randel’s next target, or that he would attack tonight even if she was. But she was Larten’s only link to the killer. He could do nothing but shadow her and wait.

  Larten thought about Tanish while he sat in darkness, hidden from the light of the moon behind a large brick chimney. He understood his friend’s position. Larten had known for a long time that Tanish was a coward, but even if he hadn’t been, he might have adopted a similar stance.

  Many in the clan thought that humans were inferior. Few vampires would risk their lives for a human, especially one they had no personal ties to. Weakness wasn’t respected in the vampire world. The main reason they didn’t kill when they fed was to avoid trouble, not because they thought that all life was precious.

  But Larten couldn’t turn his back on this. If it had been ten years ago, before he lost his mind on the ship to Greenland and became a monster… perhaps. He liked to think he would have interceded even then, but he wasn’t sure.

  What he did know for certain was that he had changed. Too many innocents had died at his hands for him to remain neutral in a matter such as this. Maybe Tanish was right and it was madness, but Larten could no more let Randel go on killing freely than he could lie on a beach for a whole day without burning.

  Larten also thought of Alicia and Gavner while he waited. They would suffer if he lost this fight, especially if Randel hid his remains and they never found out what had become of him. Alicia might think that he had lost interest in her and left to seek love elsewhere. He doubted Tanish would correct her. He had an inkling his cunning friend might even encourage such thoughts and try to win her love for himself.

  If Larten had been able to write, he would have found a pen and paper and sent a message to Alicia. But being illiterate, he could only send his thoughts and pray she somehow received them.

  “I must learn to read, if I get out of this alive,” he muttered. “It is ridiculous, a man my age never having made the time to…”

  He stopped. A skylight had opened and someone was crawling on to the casino roof, dragging a slumped figure. As the man shut the window behind him, Larten glimpsed a flash of purple skin. The vampaneze must have been in the casino already, hiding in a dark corner. Perhaps he’d slept there through the day, waiting for darkness, smelling Ginette even in his sleep.

  Larten wished he had some of the throwing stars favoured by Vancha March. Normally he’d face an opponent cleanly, one on one, but in this situation he would have happily struck down Randel from afar, without warning. But having only an ornamental knife, which he always carried, Larten had to wait for the vampaneze to leap from the roof of the casino to one closer to where he was stationed.

  As soon as Randel landed, cushioning the unconscious Ginette on his shoulder, Larten attacked. He threw himself silently at the vampaneze, scampering across the roof like an agile cat. He would have struck unseen, if instinct hadn’t made Randel pause and look back.

  The vampaneze’s eyes shot wide when he saw the vampire closing in on him. He dropped the woman and dug out a knife much larger than Larten’s feeble blade.

  Larten’s momentum drove him into the vampaneze and the pair rolled silently across the roof, stabbing wildly at one another. Both connected, but neither was able to cut deeply or sever any major veins or arteries. Larten had the advantage, having landed on top of Randel, but then the vampaneze bit his neck and he had to pull away or risk his throat being torn open. The slight gap gave Randel the space to ram his knee into Larten’s stomach and the vampire fell back, winded.

  Randel was on his feet before Larten hit the roof. He had no idea who his foe was or why he’d been attacked, and like any natural warrior he didn’t care. Rather than waste time asking questions, he threw himself at his assailant and stabbed at his heart. He would rather live in ignorance than die well-informed.

  Larten blocked Randel’s thrust and instead of piercing his heart, the tip of the knife ended up stuck in a tile. Larten jammed his own knife into the vampaneze’s thigh. Randel hissed and jerked his leg free. The blade snapped in half and Larten tossed the useless hilt away. He had trained to fight with his bare hands, so he wasn’t overly concerned, particularly since Randel’s knife remained wedged in the tile.

  Larten got a hand between his face and Randel’s and pushed. Randel tried to chew Larten’s fingers, but the vampire was too experienced to be caught out like that. Seba, Vanez Blane and his other instructors had taught him to be wary of the dirty moves as well as the legitimate.

  Sliding his fingers away from Randel’s teeth, Larten jabbed at the vampaneze’s eyes. He gouged one of them and Randel fell away, cursing. Larten followed like a flash of lightning, glad that his reflexes were as sharp as ever. If he won this battle, he’d be able to smile at his old nickname of Quicksilver and think how apt it had been. But this fight was far from won and only a fool would congratulate himself while his opponent was still alive and dangerous.

  Pinning Randel to the roof, Larten found the vampaneze’s throat and squeezed. His fingers tightened and Randel’s face turned an even darker shade of purple. A vampaneze could hold his breath far longer than a human, but Randel had been panting from the fight and hadn’t much oxygen left in his lungs. He had to break his enemy’s hold quickly or he was lost.

  The desperate vampaneze worked an arm free and tugged at Larten’s hand. When that didn’t make a difference, he punched Larten’s face, trying to smash his nose. Larten tucked his chin in tight and took the blows on his forehead, grunting, but still in control. Randel tried to poke at the vampire’s eyes, but Larten was alert to that trick and snapped at the purple fingers. He caught one and almost chewed it off, but Randel jerked free before he could gnaw through the bone.

  Randel was weakening. He had fought many times and knew when a fight was lost. He didn’t give up – a vampaneze never willingly accepted defeat – but he started to make his peace with the gods. If he was to die tonight, at least he’d die with a clear conscience. Randel didn’t ask forgiveness for the humans he had killed – in his view they didn’t count – but for the times he had been weak, when he’d let down his proud and demanding clan.

  Larten sensed victory, but remained focused. Many battles were lost in the last few seconds, when the one with the upper hand grew over-confident and gave his opponent a chance to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Larten wouldn’t make that mistake. Just another thirty seconds of pressure and Randel would be dead. Then he could return Ginette to the casino and–

  Something hard connected with the back of Larten’s head. He gave a cry of shock and pain then slumped over, fingers loosening, eyes swimming. He tried to rise, but was again struck from behind. He blacked out, but not for long. When he came to, Randel was sitting up, rubbing the flesh of his throat, staring with suspicion at his saviour, who was talking rapidly.

  “…quick before he recovers. Kill him, I tell you! If he gets up, we’re finished. I’m giving him to you. What more can I do? You want me to kill him myself? I won’t. I’m not that soulless. Kill him now before–”


  “Tanish?” Larten wheezed.

  There was a moment of silence, then Tanish cursed. “There! You waited too long. He’s awake.”

  “And it’s well that he is,” Randel growled. “I would never kill a vampire in his sleep. Only a coward strikes an unconscious foe.”

  “Oh, for the love of…” Tanish muttered. “Very well. He can defend himself now. Are you going to finish this or would you rather I revived him with smelling salts and gave him a sword?”

  “Why are you doing this?” Randel asked. Larten wanted to ask the same question, but his lips were numb and he couldn’t form the words.

  “Self-preservation,” Tanish snapped. “Larten’s my friend, but I value my life more than our friendship. If I let him kill you, revenge would be sharp and savage. Your fellow vampaneze would pursue me and they wouldn’t heed my innocent pleas once they’d tracked me down.”

  “You are without even a shred of honour,” Randel sneered.

  “Tell me something new,” Tanish croaked, then glanced at Larten as he tried to rise. He got as far as his knees then collapsed. “Finish him,” Tanish said coldly. “I know you love tormenting me, but this is too much. He tried to kill you. He struck when your back was turned. Are you going to let him get away with that?”

  “Ordinarily, no,” Randel said, getting to his feet. He looked down at the groggy vampire and nodded approvingly. “But I understand why he attacked me, and I hate him far less than I hate you.” Randel laughed cruelly. “Besides, I want to see what happens when he recovers. You’ll have a new tormentor, Tanish Eul, but I doubt he’ll settle for killing those close to you. I suspect your nights are numbered, you obese and shameful cur.”

  Still laughing, Randel bolted. Within seconds he’d vanished, leaving a stunned Tanish stranded on the roof with the swiftly recovering Larten.

  Gritting his teeth, Larten rolled on to his back and glared at his one-time friend. He spat out blood and took deep breaths, wishing his legs didn’t feel so heavy. He expected Tanish to attack and braced himself to meet the challenge.

  But Tanish didn’t move. He was trembling. He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed sweat from his jowls. Grinning weakly at Larten, he giggled hysterically. “What a mess,” he moaned. “I told you not to do it. You should have listened. She–” he kicked the unconscious Ginette “–wasn’t worth this. You’ve ruined us, and for what? A human.” He snarled the word, as if it was foul.

  Larten wanted to tell Tanish that the girl was worth a dozen of him, but his head was still a sickly swirl and the words wouldn’t come.

  Tanish stepped closer. He was carrying a thick plank of wood, the weapon he had clubbed Larten with. The fat vampire’s face was clouded by shadows, only the whites of his eyes visible, glinting malevolently in the moonlight. Larten recalled how often Gavner had swung from this man’s ludicrous moustache, the times he’d kissed Alicia’s cheeks, the jokes he’d told so well. He wanted to hate Tanish, but he couldn’t. He felt only pity and disgust.

  Tanish raised the plank. A few good blows to Larten’s skull would finish the job. Larten stiffened and waited for the end. Unlike Randel Chayne, he didn’t pray to the gods. He still felt that he was undeserving of Paradise and believed any prayers would be thrown back in his face.

  “You fool,” Tanish moaned and Larten realised he was crying. “Why couldn’t you let things be? I’ve been alone so long. I thought I’d found a true friend at last. The plans I had for us…” He shook his head and brought the plank slamming down on Larten’s skull.

  Larten shut his eyes instinctively and opened his mouth to howl a death cry. But the plank never connected. A confused second later, Larten squinted. Wood filled his vision. When he moved his head slightly, he saw that Tanish had stopped short. His hands were trembling and his face – now exposed by the rays of the moon – was twisted.

  “I can’t,” he cried. “Curse your eyes, Quicksilver, but I can’t.” He threw the plank aside and staggered away. Larten pushed himself up and stared at Tanish, bewildered.

  Tanish was breathing raggedly, looking left and right, thinking furiously. Then his gaze settled on the motionless Ginette and he fell steady. The change was swift and eerie. All expression faded from his face and his eyes went cold.

  “No!” Larten gasped, understanding Tanish’s intent. He tried to scramble to his feet, but he was in no state to stop the large but nimble vampire.

  Tanish leant over the unaware Ginette, laid a sharp, hard nail to her pale, soft throat, then tore across the folds of flesh. She shook in his arms as blood spurted. He ducked out of the way of the arcing blood, then moved her so that the spray spattered Larten, who was crawling towards them, whining like a dying dog.

  Some of Ginette’s blood struck Larten’s eyes and he stopped to wipe them. When he looked again, Tanish was standing by the edge of the roof, Ginette held lengthways in his arms. “No,” Larten groaned, but it made no difference now. Even if he could have hauled Tanish back, Ginette was already dead.

  Tanish held out the remains of the damned, pretty girl, then dropped her. She hit the ground with a loud, wet sound, but Larten didn’t hear that because Tanish was roaring. “Help!” he screamed. “Murder! He drank her blood and killed her! Vur Horston is a vampire! Help!”

  Lights flickered in the windows around them, in the casino and other buildings. Lamps were trained in their direction from the street. Tanish danced by the roof’s edge, shrieking, screaming murder, crying for help, flapping his arms, pointing at Larten, who was now on his knees.

  “I will kill you,” Larten growled, finally finding his feet. He staggered towards Tanish, who quickly drew away from the advancing vampire.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Tanish snapped. “You have to run. This is your only chance. If you stay, they’ll execute you.”

  “I do not care,” Larten snarled.

  “Maybe not. But Alicia and Gavner will.”

  Larten hesitated. Others were yelling now. Someone had discovered Ginette’s body in the alley. He had been sighted by dozens of people, some of whom worked in the casino and recognised him. Tanish hadn’t needed to shout his name.

  “Flee,” Tanish urged him. “Your death will serve no purpose. I’d rather not see you butchered, even though I’d be safer if you were dead. Fly, fool, if not for your sake, then for Alicia and the boy.”

  “I will come back,” Larten said softly, pointing at Tanish with a shaking finger. “I will track you down and slaughter you. I swear it on the souls of all who have died because of your cowardice.”

  “You’ll have to look hard,” Tanish chuckled bleakly. “I’m going to hide where even that accursed vampaneze can’t find me. No more high life for Tanish Eul, not for the next few decades anyway. But look if you must. Seek me if it pleases you. I’ll give you satisfaction if you track me down, a duel that will set hearts racing when they recount it in Vampire Mountain. Only now, for the love of the gods and all you hold dear, go!”

  Larten let his finger point accusingly at Tanish for another long second, then spat and spun away. People were already taking to the roofs, pitchforks, knives and other weapons in hand, closing in on the apparently heartless murderer. But Larten was faster than the humans. Before they could trap him, he slipped through the tightening net and streaked across the Paris skyline. This wasn’t the first time he had fled from a mob, but never before had he run with such a bitter taste in his mouth, a bitterness that could only ever be sweetened by bloody, wretched, vicious revenge.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Larten waited nervously in a giant shed on the outskirts of Paris. The shed belonged to Alberto Santos-Dumont. The aircraft enthusiast hadn’t heard of the uproar and had happily granted Larten permission to stay when he’d turned up a week earlier, claiming to have had a row with Alicia, asking for shelter. Alberto assumed Alicia had caught Larten with another woman, and having tutted at such folly, he’d returned to work on his beloved bird of prey and barely taken any notice of Larte
n after that.

  It had been a long, frustrating week. Larten knew he was risking everything by staying, that he should have carried on running. But he couldn’t leave without seeing Alicia. It might be for the last time, or maybe she’d accept him for what he was and travel onwards with him. Either way he had to speak with her. He couldn’t let her go on thinking he was a killer.

  When he felt that enough time had passed, he asked one of Alberto’s assistants to carry a message to Alicia, telling her where he was and asking her to meet with him. He told the man to say that Vur would understand if she didn’t want to come, but if she cared to see him, he would wait for her every day at midday for the next week.

  She turned up on the fifth day, when he had all but given up hope. He smelt her before he heard or saw her. Brushing straw from his hair and clothes, he stood by the door and waited, close to the world of sunlight, aware that she might not want to come into the shed where it was dark.

  Alicia had black rings under her eyes from crying. She looked like she hadn’t slept since he’d last seen her. She was unusually scruffy and walked like an old woman. She stopped several feet shy of the door and stared at him. He couldn’t read her expression.

  “I did not kill Ginette,” he said softly. No reply. “It was Tanish.”

  At that her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Tanish killed her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he could not bring himself to kill me.” When Alicia frowned, he explained the whole story. About vampires, the Cubs, Tanish’s history with Randel Chayne, trying to save Ginette. Alicia listened in silence and thought about it at length once he’d finished.