by Darren Shan
“No,” Harkat chuckled. “It’s Princes’ talk.” “We’ll be upstairs,” Debbie said. “Call us when you’re ready.”
Vancha stood and bowed as the ladies were leaving. When he sat again, his expression was curious. “Why the secrecy?” he asked.
“It’s about who I was,” Harkat said, “and where . . . we learned the truth. We don’t think we should discuss it . . . in front of anybody except a Prince.”
“Intriguing,” Vancha said, leaning forward eagerly. We gave Vancha a quick rundown of our quest through the wastelands, the creatures we’d battled, meeting Evanna, the crazy sailor — Spits Abrams — and the dragons. He said nothing, but listened, enthralled. When we told him about pulling Kurda Smahlt out of the Lake of Souls, Vancha’s jaw dropped.
“But it can’t be!” he protested. “Harkat was alive before Kurda died.”
“Mr. Tiny can move through time,” I said. “He created Harkat from Kurda’s remains, then took him into the past so that he could serve as my protector.”
Vancha blinked slowly. Then his features clouded over with rage — and fear. “Damn that Desmond Tiny! I always knew he was powerful, but to be able to meddle with time itself . . . What manner of diabolical beast is he?”
It was a rhetorical question, so we didn’t attempt to answer it. Instead we finished by telling him how Kurda had chosen to sacrifice himself — he and Harkat shared a soul, so only one of them could live at any given time — leaving us free to return to the present.
“The present?” Vancha snapped. “What do you mean?”
Harkat told him about our theory — that the wasteworld was the future. When he heard that, Vancha trembled as though a cold wind had sliced through him. “I never thought the War of the Scars could be that crucial,” he said softly. “I knew our future was at stake, but I never dreamt we could drag humanity down with us.” He shook his head and turned away, muttering, “I need to think about this.”
Harkat and I said nothing while Vancha deliberated. Minutes passed. A quarter of an hour. Half an hour. Finally he heaved a large sigh and turned to face us. “These are grim tidings,” he said. “But perhaps not as grim as they seem. From what you’ve told me, I believe that Tiny did take you into the future — but I also believe he wouldn’t have done so without good reason. He might have been simply mocking you, but it might also have been a warning.
“That damned future must be what we face if we lose the War of the Scars. Steve Leonard is the sort who’d level the world and bring it to ruin. But if we win, we can prevent that. When Tiny came to Vampire Mountain, he told us there were two possible futures, didn’t he? One where the vampaneze win the war, and one where the vampires win. I think Tiny gave you a glimpse of the former future to drive home the point that we have to win this war. It’s not just ourselves we’re fighting for — it’s the entire world. The waste-world is one future — I’m sure the world where we’ve won is completely different.”
“It makes sense,” Harkat agreed. “If both futures currently exist . . . he might have been able to choose which . . . to take us to.”
“Maybe,” I sighed, unconvinced. I was thinking again about the vision I’d had shortly after we’d first met Evanna, when Harkat had been plagued by nightmares. Evanna helped me put a stop to them by sending me into his dreams. In the dream, I’d faced a being of immense power — the Lord of the Shadows. Evanna told me this master of evil was part of the future, and the road there was paved with dead souls. She’d also told me that the Lord of the Shadows could be one of two people — Steve Leopard or me.
The uncertainties came rushing back. I was unable to share Vancha and Harkat’s view that one future was bright and cheery where the other was dark and miserable. I felt we were heading for big-scale trouble, whichever way the War of the Scars swung. But I kept my opinions to myself — I didn’t want to come across as a prophet of doom.
“So!” Vancha laughed, startling me out of my dark thoughts. “We just have to make sure we kill Steve Leonard, aye?”
“Aye,” I said, grinning sickly.
“What about me?” Harkat asked. “Does it alter your opinion of me . . . now that you know I was once a vampire traitor?”
“No,” Vancha said. “I never liked you much anyway.” He spat into his right palm, ran the spit through his hair, then winked to show he was joking. “Seriously, you were right not to broadcast the news. We’ll keep it to ourselves. I always believed that although Kurda acted stupidly, he acted with the best interests of the clan at heart. But there are many who don’t share that view. If they knew the truth about you, it might divide them. Internal argument is the last thing we need. That’d be playing straight into the hands of the vampaneze.
“As for who Harkat is now . . .” Vancha studied the Little Person. “I know you and trust you. I believe you’ve learned from Kurda’s faults. You won’t betray us again, will you, Harkat?”
“No,” Harkat said softly. “But I’m still in favor of a treaty . . . between the two clans. If I can help bring that about through peaceful . . . means, by talking, I will. This War of the Scars is destroying . . . both families of the night, and it threatens to destroy . . . even more.”
“But you recognize the need to fight?” Vancha said sharply.
“I recognize the need to kill Steve . . . Leonard,” Harkat said. “After that, I’ll push for peace . . . if I can. But openly — no plotting or intrigue . . . this time.”
Vancha considered that in silence, then shrugged. “So be it. I have nothing personal against the vampaneze. If we kill Leonard and they agree to a truce, I’m all for it. Now,” he continued, scratching his chin, “where do you think Leonard’s holed up?”
“Probably somewhere deep underground,” I said. “You think he’s preparing a grand-scale trap, like before?” Vancha asked.
“No,” Harkat said. “Vampaneze have been active here. That’s why Debbie and Alice came. But if there were dozens of them, like . . . the last time, the death count would be higher. I don’t think Steve has as many . . . vampaneze with him as when we faced him . . . in the Cavern of Retribution.”
“I hope you’re right,” Vancha said. He glanced at me sideways. “How did my brother look?” Vancha and Gannen Harst were estranged brothers.
“Tired,” I said. “Strained. Unhappy.”
“Not hard to imagine why,” Vancha grunted. “I’ll never understand why Gannen and the others follow a maniac like Leonard. The vampaneze were content the way they were. They didn’t seek to crush the vampires or provoke a war. It makes no sense for them to flock to that demon and pledge themselves to him.”
“It’s part of Mr. Tiny’s prophecy,” Harkat said. “As Kurda, I spent much time with . . . the vampaneze, researching their ways. You know about their Coffin of Fire. When a person lies within, it fills . . . with flames. All normal people die in it. Only the Lord of the Vampaneze . . . can survive. Mr. Tiny told the vampaneze that if they didn’t . . . obey that person and do all that he commanded, they’d . . . be wiped from the face of the earth. Most of the vampaneze fight to preserve themselves . . . not to destroy the vampires.”
Vancha nodded slowly. “Then they’re motivated by fear for their lives, not hatred of us. I understand now. After all, isn’t that why we’re fighting too — to save ourselves?”
“Both fighting for the same reason,” Harkat chuckled humorlessly. “Both terrified of the . . . same thing. Of course, if neither side fought . . . both would be safe. Mr. Tiny is playing the creatures of the night . . . for fools, and we’re helping him.”
“Aye,” Vancha grunted disgustedly. “But there’s no use moaning about how we got ourselves into this sorry state. The fact is, we fight because we must.”
Vancha stood and stretched. There were dark rims around his eyes. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept properly for a very long time. The last two years must have been tough for him. Although he hadn’t mentioned Mr. Crepsley, I was sure the dead vampire was never far fro
m his thoughts. Vancha, like I, probably felt a certain amount of guilt — the two of us had give Mr. Crepsley the go-ahead to face the Vampaneze Lord. If either of us had taken his place, he’d be alive now. It looked to me like Vancha had been pushing himself to his limits in his hunt to find the Lord of the Vampaneze — and was rapidly nearing them.
“You should rest, Sire,” I said. “If you flitted all the way here, you must be exhausted.”
“I’ll rest when Leonard is dead,” Vancha grunted. “Or myself,” he added softly, under his breath. I don’t think he realized he’d spoken aloud. “Now!” Vancha said, raising his voice. “Enough self-pity and misery. We’re here and Leonard’s here — it doesn’t take a genius to see that an old-fashioned scrap to the death’s on the agenda. The question is, do we wait for him to come to us, or do we seize the initiative and go looking for him?”
“We wouldn’t know where . . . to look,” Harkat said. “He could be anywhere.”
“So we look everywhere.” Vancha grinned. “But where do we start? Darren?”
“His son,” I said immediately. “Darius is an unusual name. There can’t be too many of them. We ask around, find out where he lives, track Steve through him.”
“Use the son to get to the father,” Vancha hummed. “Ignoble, but probably the best way.” He paused. “The boy worries me. Leonard’s a nasty piece of work, a formidable foe. But if his son has the same evil blood, and has been trained in Leonard’s wicked ways since birth, he could be even worse!”
“I agree,” I said quietly.
“Can you kill a child, Darren?” Vancha asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t think so. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
“It’s no good hoping,” Harkat objected. “Going after the boy is wrong. Just because Steve has no morals doesn’t . . . mean we should act like savages too. Children should be kept out . . . of this.”
“So what’s your suggestion?” Vancha asked.
“We should return to the . . . Cirque Du Freak,” Harkat said. “Hibernius might be able to tell us more . . . about what we should do. Even if he’s unable to help, Steve knows . . . where the Cirque is camped. He’ll find us there. We can wait for him.”
“I don’t like the idea of being a sitting target,” Vancha growled.
“You’d rather chase children?” Harkat countered. Vancha stiffened, then relaxed. “Perhaps no-ears has a point,” he said. “It can certainly do no harm to ask Hibernius for his opinion.”
“OK,” I said. “But we’ll wait for night — my eyes can’t take the sun.”
“So that’s why your ears and nose are stuffed!” Vancha laughed. “The purge?”
“Yes. It struck a couple of days ago.”
“Will you be able to pull your weight,” Vancha asked directly, “or should we wait for it to pass?”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “I can’t make any guarantees, but I think I’ll be OK.”
“Very well.” Vancha nodded at the ceiling. “What about the ladies? Do we tell them what we’re up to?”
“Not all of it,” I said. “We’ll take them to the Cirque Du Freak and tell them we’re hunting Steve. But let’s not mention Darius — Debbie wouldn’t think much of our plan to use a child.”
Harkat snorted but said nothing. After that we called Debbie and Alice down and spent a peaceful afternoon eating, drinking and talking, swapping tales, laughing, relaxing. I noticed Vancha glancing around during quiet moments, as though looking for somebody. I dismissed it at the time, but I now know who he was looking for — death. Of us all, only Vancha sensed death in the room that day, its eternal gaze passing from one of us to the other, watching . . . waiting . . . choosing.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHEN NIGHT FELL, WE DEPARTED. Declan and Little Kenny bid us farewell. They were settling down in the living room, cell phones laid in front of them like swords. Debbie and Alice’s vampirites had been scouring the town for traces of Steve and the other vampaneze since the massacre in the stadium. Declan and Little Kenny were to coordinate that search in the ladies’ absence.
“You have our numbers,” Alice said to Declan as we were leaving. “Call if you have anything to report, no matter how trivial it might seem.”
“Will do.” Declan grinned, saluting clumsily. “Try not to get yourself shot this time,” Little Kenny said to me, winking.
Alice and Debbie had a rented van. We piled in, Harkat and Vancha in the back, covered by several blankets. “If we’re stopped and searched, you two will have to break free,” Alice told them. “We’ll act like we didn’t know you were there. It’ll be easier that way.”
“You mean you’ll act the innocent and string us out to dry,” Vancha grunted.
“Exactly,” Alice said.
Even though it was night and the moon was only half-full, I wore sunglasses. My eyes were especially sensitive that night, and I had a splitting headache. I was also wearing earplugs and had little balls of cotton wool stuffed up my nose.
“Maybe you should stay behind,” Debbie said, noting my discomfort as Alice switched on the engine.
“I’m OK,” I groaned, squinting against the glare of the headlights, wincing at the roaring grumble of the engine.
“We could walk,” Alice said, “but we’re more likely to be stopped and searched.”
“I’m OK,” I said again, hunching down in my seat. “Just don’t blow the horn.”
The drive to the old football stadium where the Cirque Du Freak was encamped was uneventful. We passed two security checkpoints, but were waved through at each. (I took my glasses off and removed the earplugs and cotton wool as we approached, so as not to arouse suspicion.) Alice parked outside the stadium. We let Harkat and Vancha out of the back and walked in.
A big smile broke across my face as the tents and caravans came into sight — it was good to be home. As we exited the tunnel and made for the campsite, we were spotted by a group of children playing on the outskirts. One stood, studied us warily, then raced towards us, yelling, “Godfather! Godfather!”
“Not so loud!” I laughed, catching Shancus as he leapt up to greet me. I gave the snake-boy a welcome hug, then pushed him away — my skin was tingling as a result of the purge, and any form of contact was irritating.
“Why are you wearing sunglasses?” Shancus frowned. “It’s night.”
“You’re so ugly, I can’t bear to look at you without protection,” I said.
“Very funny,” he snorted, then reached up, picked the cotton wool out of my left nostril, examined it, stuck it back in, and said, “You’re weird!” He looked behind me at Vancha, Debbie, and Alice. “I remember you guys,” he said. “But not very well. I was only a kid the last time I saw you.” Smiling, I made the introductions. “Oh yeah,” Shancus said when I told him Debbie’s name. “You’re Darren’s girlfriend.”
I spluttered with embarrassment and blushed bright red. Debbie just smiled and said, “Am I, indeed? Who told you that?”
“I heard Mom and Dad talking about you. Dad knows you from when you first met Darren. He said Darren goes googly-eyed when you’re around. He —”
“That’s enough,” I interrupted, wishing I could strangle him. “Why don’t you show the ladies how you can stick your tongue up your nose?”
That distracted him, and he spent a couple of minutes showing off, telling Alice and Debbie about the act he performed onstage with Evra. I caught Debbie smiling at me sideways. I smiled back weakly.
“Is Truska still with the show?” Vancha asked. “Yes,” Shancus said.
“I must look her up later,” Vancha muttered, using a ball of spit to slick back his green hair. The ugly, dirty Prince fancied himself as something of a lady’s man — even though no ladies ever agreed with him!
“Is Mr. Tall in his van?” Harkat asked Shancus.
“I guess,” Shancus said. Then he glanced at Debbie and Alice and straightened up. “Come with me,” he said
officiously. “I’ll lead you to him.”
All five of us fell in behind the snake-boy as he led us through the campsite. He kept up a running commentary, telling Debbie and Alice who the various tents and caravans belonged to, giving them a rundown of that night’s coming show. As we neared Mr. Tall’s van, we passed Evra, Merla, and Urcha. They had the family snakes out in big tubs of water and were carefully scrubbing them down. Evra was delighted to see me and rushed over to check that I was all right. “I wanted to come visit,” he said, “but Hibernius told me it wasn’t a good idea. He said I might be followed.”
“The Cirque’s being watched?” Vancha snapped, eyes narrowing.
“He didn’t say so in as many words,” Evra said. “But I’ve felt eyes on my back a few times recently, late at night when I’ve been wandering around. I’m not the only one. We’ve all been edgy here lately.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have . . . come back,” Harkat said, worried.
“Too late now,” Vancha huffed. “Let’s go see what Hibernius has to say.”
Merla grabbed Shancus as he made to lead the way again. “No you don’t,” she said. “You’ve a show to prepare for. Don’t expect me to groom your snake for you every time you want to go and play with your friends.”
“Aw, Mom!” Shancus grumbled, but Merla stuck a sponge in Shancus’s hand and dragged him over to the snake I’d bought for his birthday.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” I laughed, feeling sorry for him. “I’ll show you my new scar, where I was shot.”
“Another one?” Shancus groaned. He turned appealingly to Evra. “How come Darren gets all the excitement? Why can’t I get into fights and have scars?”
“Your mother will scar your backside if you don’t get busy on that snake,” Evra responded, and winked at me over Shancus’s head. “Drop by when you have time.”
“I will,” I promised.
We moved on. Mr. Tall was waiting for us at his van. He was standing in the doorway, looking more impossibly towering than ever, eyes dark, face drawn. “I have been expecting you,” he sighed, then stood aside and beckoned us in. As I passed him, a strange shiver ran down my spine. It took me a few seconds to realize what the sensation reminded me of — it was the same sort of feeling I got whenever I saw a dead person.
