by Darren Shan
I stared at the tickets, then at Mr. Tall. "How did you know …?"
"I have my ways," he replied with a smile.
"I don't have any money," I warned him.
"I'll take it out of your wages," he said.
I frowned. "You don't pay me anything."
His smile widened. "Clever old me." He handed over the tickets and closed the door in my face before I could thank him.
I hurried back to Sam and gave him the tickets.
"What are these?" he asked.
"Tickets for tonight's show," I told him. "One for you and one for R.V."
"Oh, wow!" Sam quickly stuck the tickets in his pocket, as if he was afraid they might blow away or vanish. "Thanks, Darren."
"No problem," I said. "The only thing is, it's a late show. We're starting at eleven, and it won't be over till nearly one in the morning. Will you be able to come?"
"Sure," Sam said. "I'll sneak out. Mom and Dad go to bed at nine every night. They're early birds."
"If you get caught," I warned him, "don't tell them where you're going."
"My lips are sealed," he promised, then set off to find R.V.
Except for a quick dinner, there was no other break between then and the start of the show. While Evra left to feed his snake, I set up candles inside the circus tent. There were also five huge chandeliers to be hung, four above the crowd and one over the stage, but the Little People took care of those.
Mags — a pretty woman who sold souvenirs and candy during intermission — asked me to help her get the displays ready, so I spent an hour stacking candy spiderwebs and edible "glass" statues and pieces of the wolf-man's hair. There was a new novelty I hadn't seen before: a small model of Cormac Limbs. When you cut a part of it off, a new piece grew in its place. I asked Mags how it worked but she didn't know.
"It's one of Mr. Tall's inventions," she said. "He makes a lot of this stuff himself."
I chopped the head off the model and tried peering down the neck to see what was inside, but a new head grew before I could.
"The models don't last forever," Mags said. "They rot after a few months."
"Do you tell people that when they're buying them?" I asked.
"Of course," she said. "Mr. Tall insists we let the customers know exactly what they're buying. He doesn't approve of conning people."
Mr. Crepsley summoned me half an hour before the show began. He was dressing in his stage costume when I entered.
"Polish Madam Octa's cage," he ordered, "then brush your suit down and clean yourself up."
"Why?" I asked.
"You are going on with me," he said.
My eyes lit up. "You mean I'm part of the act?" I gasped.
"A small part," he said. "You can bring the cage on and play the flute when it is Madam Octa's time to spin a web over my mouth."
"Mr. Tall normally does that, doesn't he?"
"Normally," Mr. Crepsley agreed, "but we are short on performers tonight, so he is going to be performing himself. Besides, you are better suited to assisting than him."
"How so?" I asked.
"You look creepier," he said. "With your pale face and that awful suit, you look like something out of a horror film."
That gave me a little bit of a shock. I'd never thought I was creepy looking! I looked in a mirror and realized I did look sort of frightening. Because I hadn't drank human blood, I was a lot paler than I should have been. The dirty suit made me look even more ghostlike. I made up my mind to find something new to wear in the morning.
The show started at exactly eleven. I didn't expect much of a crowd — we were in the middle of nowhere and hadn't had much time to notify people about the show — but the tent was packed.
"Where did they all come from?" I whispered to Evra as we watched Mr. Tall introduce the wolf-man.
"Everywhere," he replied quietly. "People always know when one of our shows is happening. Besides, even though he only told us about it today, Mr. Tall probably knew we'd be playing tonight ever since we set up camp."
I watched the show from the wings, enjoying it even more than the first time I'd seen it, because now I knew the people involved and felt like part of the family.
Hans Hands went on after the wolf-man, followed by Rhamus Twobellies. We had our first break, then Mr. Tall went onstage and darted around the place, never seeming to move, just vanishing from one spot and appearing somewhere new. Next up was Truska, then it was my turn to go onstage with Mr. Crepsley and Madam Octa.
The lights were low, but my vampire vision helped me pick out Sam's and R.V.'s faces in the crowd. They were surprised to see me and clapped louder than anybody else. I had to hide my excited smile: Mr. Crepsley had told me to look miserable and glum, to impress the crowd.
I stood over on one side as Mr. Crepsley made a speech about how deadly Madam Octa was, then opened the door to her cage as an assistant led a goat on the stage.
There was a loud, angry gasp when Madam Octa killed the goat … it came from R.V. I knew then that I shouldn't have invited him — I'd forgotten how fond he was of animals — but it was too late to take back my invitation.
I was pretty nervous when it was my turn to play the flute and control Madam Octa, feeling every set of eyes in the tent focus on me. I'd never performed for a crowd before and for a few seconds I was afraid my lips wouldn't work or I'd forget the tune. But once I started blowing and sending my thoughts to Madam Octa, I did okay.
As she weaved her web across Mr. Crepsley's lips, it struck me that I could get rid of him now if I wanted.
I could make her bite him.
The idea shocked me. I'd thought about killing him before, but never seriously, and not since we'd joined the Cirque. Now here he was, his life in my hands. All it would take was one "slip." I could say it was an accident. Nobody would be able to prove otherwise.
I watched the spider move back and forth, up and down, her poisonous fangs glinting under the lights of the chandelier. The heat from the candles was intense. I was sweating a lot. It occurred to me that I could blame the slip of my fingers on the sweat.
Over his mouth she spun her web. His hands were down by his sides. He wouldn't be able to stop her. One wrong toot on the flute was all it would take. One broken note to stop the train of thought between the two of us, and …
I didn't do it. I played perfectly and safely. I wasn't sure why I spared the vampire. Maybe because Mr. Tall might know I'd killed him. Maybe because I needed Mr. Crepsley to teach me how to survive. Maybe because I didn't want to become a killer.
Or maybe, just maybe, because I was starting to like the vampire. After all, he'd brought me to the Cirque and made me part of his act. I wouldn't have met Evra and Sam if it hadn't been for him. He'd been kind to me, as kind as he could be.
Whatever the reason, I didn't let Madam Octa kill her master, and at the end of the act we took our bows and exited together.
"You thought about killing me," Mr. Crepsley said softly once we were backstage.
"What do you mean?" I played dumb.
"You know what I mean," he said. There was a pause. "It would not have worked. I milked most of the poison from her fangs before we went on. Killing the goat took the rest out of her."
"It was a test?" I stared at him, and my hatred grew again. "I thought you were being nice to me!" I cried. "And all the time it was just a test!"
His face was serious. "I had to know," he said. "I had to know if I could rely on you."
"Well, listen to this," I growled, standing on my toes so I could go eyeball to eyeball with him. "Your test was useless. I didn't kill you this time, but if I ever get the chance again, I'll take it!"
I stormed off without another word, too upset to stick around to see Cormac Limbs or the end of the show, feeling betrayed, even though deep down I knew what he said made sense.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I was still upset the next morning. Evra kept asking me what was wrong, but I wouldn't tell him. I didn't want him to
know I'd been thinking of killing Mr. Crepsley.
Evra told me he'd met Sam and R.V. after the show. "Sam loved it," Evra said, "especially Cormac Limbs. You should have stayed to see Cormac in action. When he sawed his legs off …"
"I'll see him next time," I said. "How did R.V. take it?"
Evra frowned. "He wasn't happy."
"Upset about the goat?" I asked.
"Yeah," Evra said, "but not just that. I said we bought the goat from a butcher, so it would have been killed anyway. It was the wolf-man, the snake, and Mr. Crepsley's spider that bothered him the most."
"What was wrong with them?" I asked.
"He was afraid they weren't being treated right. He didn't like the idea of them being locked in cages. I told him they weren't, except for the spider. I said the wolf-man was really quiet offstage. And I showed him my snake and how she slept with me."
"Did he believe you about the wolf-man?" I asked.
"I think so," Evra said, "although he still seemed suspicious when they were leaving. And he was very interested in their eating habits. He wanted to know what we fed them, how often, and where we got the food. We have to be careful with R.V. He could cause problems. Luckily, he should be leaving in a day or two, but until then, beware."
The day went by quietly. Sam didn't show up until later on in the afternoon, and none of us was in the mood for playing. It was a cloudy day, and we were all a little out of sorts. Sam only stayed for half an hour, then went home again.
Mr. Crepsley summoned me to his van a little after sunset. I wasn't going to go, but decided it was best not to annoy him too much. He was my guardian, after all, and could probably have me booted out of the Cirque Du Freak.
"What do you want?" I snapped when I arrived.
"Stand over here, where I can see you better," the vampire said.
He tilted my head backward with his bony fingers and rolled up my eyelids to check the whites of my eyes. He told me to open my mouth and peered down my throat. Then he checked my pulse and reflexes.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Tired," I said.
"Weak?" he asked. "Sick?"
"A bit."
He grunted. "Have you been drinking much blood lately?" he asked.
"As much as I'm supposed to," I said.
"But no human blood?"
"No," I said softly.
"Okay," he said. "Get ready. We are going out."
"Hunting?" I asked.
He shook his head. "To see a friend."
I got up on his back outside the van, and he began running.
When we were far enough away from the camp, he flitted and the world blurred around us.
I didn't really pay attention to where we were going. I was more concerned with my suit. I'd forgotten to get new clothes, and now, the more I examined it, the worse the suit seemed.
There were dozens of small holes and rips, and the color was a lot grayer than it was supposed to be, because of the dirt and dust. Strands of thread and fibers had come loose, and every time I shook an arm or a leg I looked like I was shedding hairs.
I'd never been very worried about clothes, but I didn't want to look like a bum. Tomorrow I'd definitely find something new to wear.
After a while we approached a city and Mr. Crepsley slowed down. He stopped outside the back of a tall building. I wanted to ask where we were, but he put a finger to his lips and made the sign for silence.
The back door was locked but Mr. Crepsley laid a hand over it and clicked the fingers of his other hand. It opened instantly. He led the way through a long, dark corridor, then up a set of stairs and into a brightly lit hallway.
After a few minutes, we came to a white desk. Mr. Crepsley looked around to make sure we were alone, then rang the bell that hung from one of the walls.
A figure appeared behind the glass wall on the other side of the desk. The door in the glass wall opened and a brown-haired man in a white uniform and green mask stepped through. He looked like a doctor.
"How may I — ," he began, then stopped. "Larten Crepsley! What are you doing here, you old devil?"
The man pulled down his mask, and I saw he was grinning.
"Hello, Jimmy," Mr. Crepsley said. The two shook hands and smiled at each other. "Long time no see."
"Not as long as I thought it would be," the man called Jimmy said. "I heard you'd been killed. An old enemy finally rammed a stake through your rotten heart, or so the story went."
"You should not believe everything you hear," Mr. Crepsley said. He put a hand on my shoulder and nudged me forward. "Jimmy, this is Darren Shan, a traveling companion of mine. Darren, this is Jimmy Ovo, an old friend and the world's finest pathologist."
"Hello," I said.
"Pleased to meet you," Jimmy said, shaking my hand. "You aren't a … I mean, do you belong to the club?"
"He is a vampire," Mr. Crepsley said.
"Only half of me," I snapped. "I'm not a full vampire."
"Please," Jimmy winced. "Don't use that word. I know what you guys are, and I'm fine with it, but that 'V' word never fails to freak me out." He shivered playfully. "I think it's because of all the horror movies I watched when I was a kid. I know you're not like those movie monsters, but it's hard to get the image out of my mind."
"What's a pathologist do?" I asked.
"I cut corpses open to see how they died," Jimmy explained. "I don't do it with a lot of bodies — just the ones who died in suspicious circumstances."
"This is a city morgue," Mr. Crepsley said. "They store bodies that arrive dead at the hospital or die while they're there."
"Is that where you keep them?" I asked Jimmy, pointing at the room behind the glass wall.
"Yup," he said cheerfully. He swung up a section of the desk and invited us through.
I was nervous. I expected to see dozens of tables piled high with sliced-open bodies. But it wasn't like that. There was one dead body, covered from head to toe with a long sheet, but that was the only one I could see. Otherwise it was a huge, well-lit room, with big filing cabinets built in the walls and lots of medical equipment scattered around the place.
"How is business?" Mr. Crepsley asked as we sat on three chairs near the corpse on the table. Jimmy and Mr. Crepsley didn't pay attention to the dead person, and since I didn't want to look out of place, neither did I.
"Slow enough," Jimmy answered. "The weather's been good, and there haven't been many car accidents. No strange diseases, no food epidemics, no collapsing buildings. By the way," he added, "I had an old friend of yours in here a few years back."
"Oh?" Mr. Crepsley responded politely. "Who was that?"
Jimmy sniffed heavily through his nose, then cleared his throat.
"Gavner Purl?" Mr. Crepsley hooted with delight. "How is the old dog — as clumsy as ever?"
They started talking about their friend Gavner Purl. I looked around while they were speaking, wondering where the bodies were kept. Finally, when they paused for breath, I asked Jimmy. He stood up, and told me to follow. He led the way to the big filing cabinets and pulled one of the drawers out.
There was a hissing sound, and a cloud of cold air rose from inside the drawer. When it cleared, I saw a sheet-covered form and realized the filing cabinets weren't filing cabinets at all. They were refrigerated coffins!
"We store the bodies here until we're ready."
Jimmy said, "or until their next of kin come to collect them."
I looked around the room, counting the rows of drawer doors. "Is there a body behind each of these?" I asked.
Jimmy shook his head. "We've only got six guests right now, not counting the one on the table. Like I said, it's quiet. And even during our busiest times, most of our storage space goes unused. It's rare for us to be half full. We just like to be prepared for the worst."
"Any fresh bodies in stock?" Mr. Crepsley asked.
"Wait a minute and I'll check," Jimmy said. He consulted a large pad and flicked through a few pages. "There's a
man in his thirties," Jimmy said. "Died in a car crash just over eight hours ago."
"Nothing fresher?" Mr. Crepsley asked.
"Afraid not," Jimmy replied.
Mr. Crepsley sighed. "It will have to do."
"Wait a minute," I said. "You're not going to drink from a dead person, are you?"
"No," Mr. Crepsley said. He reached inside his cape and pulled out some of the small bottles where he stored his supply of human blood. "I have come for a refill."
"You can't!" I yelled.
"Why not?" he asked.
"It isn't right. It's not fair to drink from the dead. Besides, the blood will have turned sour."
"It will not be at its best," Mr. Crepsley agreed, "but it will do for bottling. And I disagree: A corpse is the ideal person to drain, since it has no use for the blood. It will take a lot to fill these bottles. Too much to take from a living person."
"Not if you took a little from several," I protested.
"True," he said. "But that would require time, effort, and risk. It is easier this way."
"Darren doesn't speak like a vampire," Jimmy remarked.
"He is still learning." Mr. Crepsley grunted. "Now, lead the way to the body, please. We have not got all night."
I knew it would be pointless to argue anymore, so I shut my mouth and followed silently behind them.
Jimmy slid out the body of a tall blond man and whipped back the sheet. There was a nasty bruise on the dead man's head and his body was really white, but otherwise he looked like he might be sleeping.
Mr. Crepsley made a long, deep cut across the man's chest, baring his heart. He arranged the bottles beside the corpse, then got out a tube and stuck one end into the first of the bottles. He stuck the other end into the dead man's heart, then wrapped his fist around the organ and squeezed it like a pump.
Blood crept slowly along the tube and into the bottle. When it was almost full, Mr. Crepsley pulled the tube out and jammed a cork into the neck of the bottle. He stuck the mouth of the tube into the second bottle and started filling that one.
Raising the first bottle, he swallowed a mouthful and rolled it around his gums, as though tasting wine. "Good," he grunted, licking his lips. "It is pure. We can use it."
