The Lake of Souls. Darren Shan
made me do it!” Urcha whined, receiving a dig in the ribs from his older brother.
“I don’t doubt he put you up to it,” Merla growled, “but you’re old enough to know better. Don’t do it again. Shancus!” she added. The snake-boy looked at his mother innocently. “If Urcha or Lilia get into trouble tonight, I’ll hold you responsible.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Shancus shouted. “They’re always–”
“Enough!” Merla cut him short. She started towards her children, then saw me sitting in the shadow of the tree next to the one Alexander Ribs was hanging from. Her expression softened. “Hello, Darren,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for cockroaches,” I said, managing a short smile. Merla and her husband, Evra Von – a snake-man and one of my oldest friends – had been very kind to me since I’d arrived a couple of weeks earlier. Though I found it hard to respond to their kindness in my miserable mood, I made as much of an effort as I could.
“It’s cold,” Merla noted. “Shall I fetch you a blanket?”
I shook my head. “It takes more than a slight frost to chill a half-vampire.”
“Well, would you mind keeping an eye on these three as long as you’re outside?” she asked. “Evra’s snake is moulting. If you can keep the kids out of the way, it’d be a real help.”
“No problem,” I said, rising and dusting myself down as she went back inside the tent. I walked over to the three Von children. They gazed up at me uncertainly. I’d been unusually solemn since returning to the Cirque Du Freak, and they weren’t quite sure what to make of me. “What would you like to do?” I asked.
“Cockroach!” Lilia squealed. She was only three years old, but looked five or six because of her rough, coloured scales. Like Shancus, Lilia was half-human, half-snake. Urcha was an ordinary human, though he wished he could be like the other two, and sometimes glued painted scraps of tinfoil to his body, driving his mother wild with exasperation.
“No more cockroaches,” I said. “Anything else?”
“Show us how you drink blood,” Urcha said, and Shancus hissed at him angrily.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Shancus, who’d been named in my honour.
“He’s not supposed to say that,” Shancus said, slicking back his yellow-green hair. “Mum told us not to say anything about vampires — it might upset you.”
I smiled. “Mums worry about silly things. Don’t worry — you can say whatever you like. I don’t mind.”
“Can you show us how you drink then?” Urcha asked again.
“Sure,” I said, then spread my arms, pulled a scary face, and made a deep groaning noise. The children shrieked with delight and ran away. I plodded after them, threatening to rip their stomachs open and drink all their blood.
Although I was able to put on a merry display for the kids, inside I felt as empty as ever. I still hadn’t come to terms with Mr Crepsley’s death. I was sleeping very little, no more than an hour or two most nights, and I’d lost my appetite. I hadn’t drunk blood since leaving the city. Nor had I washed, changed out of my clothes, cut my nails – they grew quicker than a human’s – or cried. I felt hollow and lost, and nothing in the world seemed worthwhile.
When I’d arrived at the Cirque, Mr Tall had spent the day locked in his trailer with Evanna. They emerged late that night and Evanna took off without a word. Mr Tall checked that Harkat and I were OK, then set us up with a tent, hammocks and anything else we required. Since then he’d spent a lot of time talking with me, recounting tales of Mr Crepsley and what the pair of them had got up to in the past. He kept asking me to chip in with my own recollections, but I could only smile faintly and shake my head. I found it impossible to mention the dead vampire’s name without my stomach tightening and my head pulsing with pain.
I hadn’t said much to Harkat lately. He wanted to discuss our friend’s death but I couldn’t talk about it, and kept turning him away, which upset him. I was being selfish, but I couldn’t help it. My sorrow was all consuming and endless, cutting me off from those who cared and wished to help.
Ahead, the Von children stopped, grabbed twigs and pebbles, and threw them at me. I stooped to grab a stick, but as I did, my thoughts flashed back to that underground cavern and Mr Crepsley’s face as he let go of Steve and crashed upon the fiery stakes. Sighing mournfully, I sat down in the middle of the clearing, taking no notice as the Vons covered me with moss and dirt and prodded me curiously. They thought this was part of the game. I hadn’t the heart to tell them otherwise, so I just sat still until they grew bored and wandered away. Then I remained there, filthy and alone, as the night darkened and grew colder around me.
As another week dragged by, I withdrew further and further inside myself. I no longer answered people when they asked a question, only grunted like an animal. Harkat had tried talking me out of my mood three days earlier, but I swore at him and told him to leave me alone. He lost his temper and took a swipe at me. I could have ducked out of the way of his chunky grey fist, but I let him knock me to the ground. When he bent to help me up, I swatted his hand away. He hadn’t spoken to me since.
Life went on as usual around me. The Cirque folk were excited. Truska – a lady who could grow a beard at will, then suck the hairs back into her face – had returned after an absence of several months. A big party was held after that night’s performance to celebrate her return. There was much cheering and singing. I didn’t attend. I sat by myself at the edge of camp, stony-faced and dry-eyed, thinking – as usual – about Mr Crepsley.
Late in the night, there was a tap on my shoulder. Glancing up, I saw Truska, smiling, holding out a slice of cake. “I know you feeling low, but I’m thinking you might like this,” she said. Truska was still learning to speak English and often mangled her words.
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” I said. “Good to see you again. How have you been?” Truska didn’t answer. She stared at me a moment — then thrust the slice of cake into my face! “What the hell!” I roared, leaping to my feet.
“That what you get for being big moody-guts,” Truska laughed. “I know you sad, Darren, but you can’t sit round like grumpy bear all time.”
“You don’t know anything about it,” I snapped. “You don’t know what I’m feeling. Nobody does!”
She looked at me archly. “You think you the only one to lose somebody close? I had husband and daughter. They get killed by evil fishermen.”
I blinked stupidly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Nobody here does.” She sat beside me, brushed her long hair out of her eyes and gazed up at the sky. “That why I left home and joined with Cirque Du Freak. I hurted terrible inside and had to get away. My daughter was less than two years old when she die.”
I wanted to say something but my throat felt as though there was a rope tied tight around it.
“The death of somebody you love is the second worst thing in world,” Truska said softly. “Worst thing is letting it hurt you so much that you die too — inside. Larten’s dead and I am sad for him, but if you go on as you are being, I will be sadder for you, because you will be dead too, even though your body lives.”
“I can’t help it,” I sighed. “He was like a father to me, but I didn’t cry when he died. I still haven’t. I can’t.”
Truska studied me silently, then nodded. “It hard to live with sadness if you can’t get it out with tears. Don’t worry — you’ll cry in end. Maybe you feel better when you do.” Standing, she offered me a hand. “You is dirty and smelly. Let me help clean you up. It might help.”
“I doubt it,” I said, but followed her into the tent that Mr Tall had prepared