by Darren Shan
Laurence was waiting for Larten when he returned from his night’s activities. The monk was an old man now and he didn’t sleep much. He often sat with Larten late at night when the vampire had finished his chores. The men rarely spoke, just enjoyed the darkness and the silence, the sense of being all alone in the world yet connected to something bigger than either of them.
Larten had been digging a ditch. It was work that the monks could have done, but he liked to keep busy, so they were always looking for jobs for him. He had pushed himself hard, as he did most nights, and was sweating through the dark clothes that he had worn since coming to volunteer at the monastery. He hadn’t shaved in the last decade and his beard was long and thick, flecked in a couple of places with gray streaks, at odds with his head of orange hair.
Laurence was seated outside the monastery walls. There was a chair to his left and a small cage on the ground to his right. He nodded pleasantly at Larten as the vampire sat beside him.
The pair studied the countryside in comfortable silence. It was a clear night but there was a chill in the air. Winter would be upon them soon and the sea would rage with storms. The Skelks had already moved on ahead of the changing season and it would be spring before they returned. Laurence hoped that he would be alive to welcome them back, but he was an old man and he took nothing for granted.
“I love the smell of salt water,” Laurence commented. “We live so close to the sea, it’s in the air all the time, so I often forget how much I cherish it. Every once in a while I make myself stop, clear my nostrils, and breathe in deeply.”
“I like it too,” Larten said. “It brings back sad memories sometimes, but I enjoy it regardless.”
Laurence nodded understandingly. Larten had told him about the ship, when he’d killed all those people. He had told the monk everything over the course of the past ten years. He hadn’t meant to confess when he came. For many months he said nothing to anybody, merely worked silently and slept. But eventually he found himself confiding in the patient, kindly monk. As their friendship strengthened, he gradually unburdened more of his secrets and sins until he had nothing left to hide.
Laurence never passed judgment on Larten or recommended ways in which he might atone for his crimes. The vampire didn’t want advice, just company, and Laurence was pleased to offer that without any strings attached. He didn’t even pray on Larten’s behalf, as the vampire would have considered that deceitful. He had learned a lot about the clan during their talks, and while he didn’t think he would ever understand vampires fully, he knew they were creatures of great honesty and respected those who valued the truth as much as they did.
“This is a night for Madam Octa,” Laurence said, reaching for the cage by his feet. A huge, multicolored spider was crouched in the center of the cage on long, hairy legs, a green, purple and red ball of unconcealed menace. Laurence had been given the spider by one of his visitors a couple of years earlier. The woman had come to visit the Skelks and the gift was her way of thanking the monk for looking after her.
A tin whistle—Laurence referred to it as a flute—hung from the side of the cage. Laurence handed it to Larten. The monk had taught him how to use it and Larten now played a tune as Laurence unlatched the cage and took out Madam Octa. He petted her as she rested in the palm of his hand, then nodded at Larten. The monk couldn’t control the spider, but Larten had a special way with animals. At his gentle mental bidding, Madam Octa crawled up Laurence’s arm and over his face. She spun cobwebs across his eyes and scratched his nose. She tickled his lips until he smiled, then wove a web around one of his teeth and pulled on it as if she were a dentist trying to remove a rotten molar.
The pair continued in this fashion for an hour, playing with the spider like a couple of schoolboys. They never grew tired of her, and although they repeated familiar tricks most nights, they always experienced the same sense of delight as when she had first performed for them.
Laurence was sad when he returned Madam Octa to her cage. He would miss her when she was gone.
“Have you enjoyed your time with us?” he asked Larten.
“Yes,” Larten said, surprised by the question.
“The years have passed quickly, haven’t they?”
“They usually do,” Larten muttered.
“How many more decades do you think you will see?”
Larten shrugged. “I never like to tempt fate.”
“But if you stay in good health and avoid accidents?” Laurence pressed.
“I could live another three or four hundred years,” Larten said. “A few more if the luck of the vampires is with me.”
Laurence sighed. “I would love to see the world three hundred years from now. You are a fortunate man.”
“It is not too late for you to be blooded,” Larten joked.
Laurence smiled. “I am satisfied with the time that I have been given. It would be nice to live longer, but I won’t ask for more years than the Maker has seen fit to grant me.”
“A pity,” Larten said. “You would have made a good vampire.”
The men shared a laugh, then Laurence said casually, “Where will you go when you leave us?”
Larten frowned. “That is a strange question. Do you wish to be rid of me?”
“You know that I don’t,” Laurence said. “But I think you want to go.”
Larten gaped at the monk. “How did you know? I have been thinking of it, but I had not made up my mind or spoken of it with anyone.”
“I haven’t lived as long as you, my friend, but I’m old for a human and I like to believe I’ve learned a bit in my time. Your gaze has been wandering inland for many months now. Our life is not for you any longer.”
Larten nodded. “I wish it was, but you speak truly. I have felt restless lately.”
“Good!” Laurence beamed.
“You do want to get rid of me,” Larten accused him.
Laurence shook his head. “I only mean it’s good that you feel it is time to move forward. This was never the life for you. It was a temporary retreat. You needed us while you were confused and lost. We gave you shelter and support, so that you could recover. The fact that you wish to resume your life is a sign that you are over the worst. For that I give thanks.”
“I will never truly be over it,” Larten said softly.
“No,” Laurence said. “Nor should a man forget such a terrible thing. But if you’ll forgive an old monk for preaching, we can’t fester in purgatory forever. You need to move on and I’m delighted that you finally feel that you can.”
“I have wanted to leave for almost a year,” Larten confessed. “But I am afraid. The world beyond has always hurt me and I fear being hurt again.”
“The world hurts us all in one way or another,” Laurence said, “but we can hurt ourselves too. If you follow your destiny, you stand a chance of knowing true happiness. If you hide from it, you will never be content.”
Larten took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I meant to stay for the winter—there is much to be done when the weather is bad—but perhaps I will reconsider and go before the frost sets in.”
“There’s no rush,” Laurence said. “But if you feel you must leave, don’t worry about us. We will struggle on without you.” He patted the top of the cage. “I want you to take Madam Octa when you go.”
“No,” Larten protested. “She is yours. I know how much you enjoy her.”
“You’re wrong,” Laurence said. “I enjoy watching you play with her. We have no personal possessions here. I never thought of her as belonging to me. Besides, I can’t control her the way you do. I will be happier thinking of you teaching her new tricks and showing her to people in distant countries.”
“If you are sure…” Larten said.
“I am.” Laurence stood and stretched. He sniffed the wind blowing in off the sea. “It will be a harsh winter, I think.” He glanced at Larten and smiled. “But we will relish the change. And no matter what the world throws at us, I am sure
that we will face it unafraid, and thrive in our own strange, individual ways.”
Chapter
Twenty-one
Larten had no idea what the future might ultimately hold in store for him. But in the short term he knew exactly what he wanted to do. As soon as he left the monastery, he set off in search of the Cirque Du Freak.
Mr. Tall had been expecting him, and Larten wasn’t surprised to find that he had already adjusted the running order to slot in the vampire.
“What does it say?” Larten asked when Mr. Tall handed him a flyer listing all the performers who would be taking part in the next show.
“Larten Crepsley and his performing spider—Madam Octa!”
Larten frowned. “You want me to perform with my pet?”
“Your escape routines are fun,” Mr. Tall said, “but Madam Octa will excite the crowd. Most people are afraid of spiders. When they see one as large and deadly as her, crawling over your face…” He chuckled sadistically.
“Why use my real name?” Larten asked. “I prefer Quicksilver.”
“Quicksilver is a good name for an escape artist,” Mr. Tall agreed. “But I want you to present a serious, solemn face to the world. Larten Crepsley sounds more mysterious and commanding.”
Larten shrugged. “As you please.”
Mr. Tall smiled, then told Larten to go practice. “You start tomorrow night and I want you to hit the ground running. Forget about the soft life of Vampire Mountain—here, you’ll have to work hard for your living!”
The years since had been hard, but enjoyable too. It had taken Larten a while to adapt to his new routine, but now he loved performing onstage with Madam Octa. He felt like he was a true part of the Cirque Du Freak when he had the incredible spider with him, a unique performer like the rest of the cast.
He avoided contact with other vampires while they were traveling, but he did visit Sylva to tell her that her mother’s killer had been executed. Sylva was frail and sickly when he found her. She wasn’t glad to see him, and when he was getting ready to leave, she asked him not to visit her again.
“I’m not long for this world,” she sighed, “and I want my last few years to be peaceful. I don’t blame you for what happened, but every time I see you, I remember, and I’m at a point in my life where I’d rather try to forget.”
Larten honored her wishes and never inquired after Sylva again, though he thought of her often, recalling the evenings when he, Gavner, Alicia, and the girl would stroll through the park like any ordinary, happy family.
Larten also met Jimmy Ovo a few times. The teenager had matured and abandoned his original plan to become a mortician like his father. But he hadn’t strayed too far from the family business—he’d trained as a pathologist, so he still spent most of his time dealing with corpses.
Larten liked dropping in on Jimmy if the Cirque Du Freak passed near his home, to stock up on bottled blood, but also for news of the clan. Gavner had kept in touch with Jimmy, and Larten was keen to keep abreast of the young General’s doings. Although he would never allow himself to think of Gavner as a son, he liked to keep tabs on what the good-hearted vampire was up to. He rested easier when he knew that Gavner was safe and content, making his way in the world.
His only meeting with another vampire came several years after he’d linked up with the Cirque Du Freak. He was practicing with Madam Octa one night, a few hours before the latest show was due to start, when he spotted the unmistakable figure of Vancha March stumbling into camp. Vancha had a distressed, shivering woman with him. She was wrapped in furs and weeping. As they passed, Larten realized it was the Skelk he’d seen get married, the woman called Truska.
Mr. Tall didn’t appear for the show that night and Larten—as he’d done a few times before—took the owner’s place and introduced the acts. He wrestled with and subdued the Wolf Man when the beast broke free. The Wolf Man couldn’t be controlled, but he could be influenced by Mr. Tall, who had taught him never to kill when he went wild at the start of a show, merely to bite off a hand or foot. The circus master had a bag of magical powder that could be used to reattach severed limbs. Larten thought it was a tad extreme—he felt sorry for the people who were attacked—but Mr. Tall said it was the perfect way to start the show, and in matters such as these he was rarely wrong.
Larten’s job was easier after he’d dealt with the Wolf Man. The rest of the show passed smoothly, though he couldn’t help wondering about Vancha and Truska. He thought about slipping away at the end to avoid the Prince, but that would have been an insult to their esteemed visitor.
Vancha tracked down Larten close to dawn, as the vampire was getting ready for sleep. He grunted a greeting and perched on the end of the ex-General’s coffin. He studied Larten silently, then mumbled, “I suppose you had a good reason for snubbing the will of the Princes and turning your back on the clan?”
“Aye,” Larten said quietly.
“Can you tell me what it was?”
“No.”
Vancha nodded. “As you wish.”
“What happened to Truska?” Larten asked.
“Her husband and daughter were killed by fishermen.” Vancha sighed. “When a Skelk is widowed, she has to live in mourning, apart from the others, for twenty or thirty years. I offered her a home at the Cirque Du Freak. I knew Hibernius would take her in.”
“That was kind of you,” Larten noted.
Vancha shrugged. “It was no more than I’d do for any friend. No more than I’d do for you.”
Larten smiled gratefully at the confirmation that the Prince still considered him a friend.
Vancha burped loudly, then said, “I’d like to stay but I have to crack on. We can’t all flee our responsibilities and live the high life.”
“Very droll,” Larten grimaced, pleased to be teased.
Vancha headed for the door, then hesitated. “Nobody’s seen Wester since you told Gavner that you were sick of us all.”
Larten’s expression never changed. “Is that so?”
“There have been all sorts of rumors,” Vancha went on. “The anti-vampaneze brigade has split and there’s been no talk of war recently. Kurda’s even convinced a lot of Generals that the time is right to push for a reunion. We might see true peace between the clans in our lifetime if he gets his way.”
“That would be a good thing,” Larten said.
“You don’t hate the vampaneze anymore?” Vancha asked.
“No,” Larten said. “Life is too short for hate.”
“You sound like you might be learning something at last,” Vancha snorted. “Do you want me to give your regards to Seba, maybe pass on news about Wester?”
“Tell him…” Larten gulped, then lowered his voice. “Tell him I do not know any vampire of that name.”
Vancha blinked with surprise, then spat sadly. He was terribly curious, but he knew that Larten would never tell anyone what had happened. He nodded gruffly, then set off to reluctantly deliver the message to Seba Nile. As little as Larten had said, it would tell the elderly quartermaster all that he needed to know about the fate of his ex-assistant, and more than he’d ever wished to hear.
A couple of years later, Larten clung to a wall high above the stage and waited patiently. They had just completed a show in a town like any other, having performed in an old, abandoned cinema theater. It had all gone smoothly, as usual, but Larten had a feeling this was no ordinary night, that his life was about to change in some momentous way. Whether it would be for the better or the worse, he could not say.
The vampire was used to people gasping and cringing when he came onstage with Madam Octa—the spider sent shivers of fear down the stiffest of spines. But tonight a boy had gasped in an unusual fashion. It hadn’t been a gasp of fear but of recognition.
As he’d performed, Larten had carefully scanned the crowd and located the boy. He was sitting near the front with a friend. The other youth was fascinated by Madam Octa, as most people were, but the boy who’d gasped only had e
yes for the orange-haired handler. He followed Larten’s every movement, captivated, nervous, yet also strangely eager.
There was no after-show party that night. Larten had meant to go feed, but instead he returned to the stage and climbed the wall to hide in the shadows near the top of the building. After a while he heard noises from the balcony opposite his perch. With his sharp eyesight, he spotted the second boy—the friend—edging forward. The boy was terrified, but he pushed on. A foolish but brave lad by the look of him.
Several minutes later, the boy who had gasped wandered onto the stage. Larten studied him intently. For some reason he felt excited yet tense. He had existed in a safe, quiet place for the last few years, content to drift along at the Cirque Du Freak. But he’d always known the time would come to put the circus world behind him and face the future with purpose, and his instinct was telling him that these boys would be the catalyst for that.
The vampire considered keeping to the shadows and rejecting the call of fate. His life would probably be a lot simpler if he clung to the wall and slipped out of town as soon as the boys drifted away from the theater. Hurt and pain might swoop down to claim him again if he got involved with this pair.
But Larten was through running from the challenges of life. He wasn’t afraid of the future or the prospect of death. As he hung in the darkness, he had a sense of the universe clicking into place around him, of being in the right spot at the right time. No matter where he went from here, no matter what happened from this night onwards, this was his destiny. And it was a relief, after all this time and so many setbacks, not to be afraid of whatever life held in store.
With a gesture of both acceptance and defiance, the vampire let go of the wall. Spreading his arms, letting his cloak billow out behind him, he dropped towards the stage like a bat. In the balcony, the young boy toppled backwards with fright, then shakily rose to his knees and stared at the man standing over his cowering friend. In his flamboyant red clothes, with his unnatural orange hair, pale skin, jagged scar and penetrating gaze, there could be no mistaking him.
