Tunnels of Blood. Darren Shan
don’t need a babysitter!” I huffed.
“No,” Mr Crepsley agreed, “but a guardian would not go amiss. You have a habit of getting into trouble when left to your own devices. Remember when you stole Madam Octa? And the mess we had with that human boy, Sam whatever his name was?”
“That wasn’t my fault!” I yelled.
“Indeed not,” Mr Crepsley said. “But it happened when you were by yourself.”
I pulled a face but didn’t say anything.
“Will I ask him or not?” Mr Crepsley pressed.
“I’ll ask him,” I said. “You’d probably bully him into going.”
“Have it your own way.” Mr Crepsley rose. “I will go and clear it with Hibernius.” That was Mr Tall’s first name. “Be back here before dawn so I can brief you – I want to make sure we are prepared to travel as soon as night falls.”
Evra took a lot of time deciding. He didn’t like the idea of parting company with his friends in the Cirque Du Freak – or with his snake.
“It won’t be for ever,” I told him.
“I know,” he said uncertainly.
“Look on it as a holiday,” I suggested.
“I like the idea of a holiday,” he admitted. “But it would be nice to know where I was going.”
“Sometimes surprises are more fun,” I said.
“And sometimes they aren’t,” Evra muttered.
“Mr Crepsley will be asleep all day,” I reminded him. “We’ll be free to do as we like. We can go sightseeing, to cinemas, swimming, whatever we want.”
“I’ve never been swimming,” Evra said, and I could tell by the way he grinned that he’d decided to come.
“I’ll tell Mr Tall you’re coming?” I asked. “And get him to arrange for your snake to be looked after?”
Evra nodded. “She doesn’t like the cold weather in any case,” he said. “She’ll be asleep most of the winter.”
“Great!” I beamed. “We’ll have a wonderful time.”
“We’d better,” he said, “or it’ll be the last time I come on ‘holiday’ with you.”
I spent the rest of the day packing and unpacking. I only had two small bags to bring, one for me and one for Mr Crepsley, but – apart from my diary, which went everywhere with me – I kept changing my mind about what to put in.
Then I remembered Madam Octa – I wasn’t bringing her along – and hurried off to find somebody to look after her. Hans Hands agreed to mind her, though he said there was no way he’d let her out of her cage.
Finally, after hours of rushing about – Mr Crepsley had it easy, the wily old goat! – night fell and it was time to leave.
Mr Crepsley checked the bags and nodded curtly. I told him about leaving Madam Octa with Hans Hands and again he nodded. We picked up Evra, said goodbye to Mr Tall and some of the others, then faced away from the camp and began walking.
“Will you be able to carry both of us when you flit?” I asked Mr Crepsley.
“I have no intention of flitting,” he said.
“Then how are we going to travel?” I asked.
“Buses and trains,” he replied. He laughed when I looked surprised. “Vampires can use public transport as well as humans. There are no laws against it.”
“I suppose not,” I said, grinning, wondering what other passengers would think if they knew they were travelling with a vampire, a half-vampire and a snake-boy. “Shall we go, then?” I asked.
“Yes,” Mr Crepsley answered simply, and the three of us headed into town to catch the first train out.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT FELT strange being in a city. The noise and smell nearly drove me mad the first couple of days: with my heightened senses it was like being in the middle of a whirring food blender. I lay in bed during the daytime, covering my head with the thickest pillow I could find. But by the end of the week I’d grown used to the super-sharp sounds and scents and learned to ignore them.
We stayed at a hotel situated in the corner of a quiet city square. In the evenings, when traffic was slow, neighbourhood kids gathered outside for a game of football. I’d have loved to join in but dared not – with my extra strength, I might accidentally end up breaking somebody’s bones, or worse.
By the start of our second week we’d fallen into a comfortable routine. Evra and me rose every morning – Mr Crepsley went off by himself at night without telling us where – and ate a big breakfast. After that we’d head out and explore the city, which was big and old and full of interesting stuff. We’d get back to the hotel for nightfall, in case Mr Crepsley wanted us, then watch some TV or play computer games. We usually got to bed between eleven and twelve.
After a year with the Cirque Du Freak, it was a thrill to live like a normal human again. I loved being able to sleep late in the morning, not having to worry about finding food for the Little People; it was great not to be rushing about, running errands for the performers; and sitting back at night, stuffing my face with sweets and pickled onions, watching TV shows – that was heaven!
Evra was enjoying himself too. He’d never known a life like this. He’d been part of the circus world for as long as he could remember, first with a nasty side-show owner, then with Mr Tall. He liked the Cirque – I did too – and was looking forward to returning, but he had to admit it was nice to have a break.
“I never realized TV could be so addictive,” he said one night, after we’d watched five soap operas in a row.
“My mum and dad never let me watch too much,” I told him, “but I knew guys in school who watched five or six hours of it every night of the week!”
“I wouldn’t take it that far,” Evra mused, “but it’s fun in small doses. Perhaps I’ll buy a portable set when we return to the Cirque Du Freak.”
“I never thought of getting a TV since I joined,” I said. “So much else was going on, it was the last thing on my mind. But you’re right – it would be nice to have a set, even if only for reruns of The Simpsons.” That was our favourite show.
I wondered sometimes what Mr Crepsley was up to – he’d always been mysterious, but never this secretive – but in truth I wasn’t overly bothered: it was nice to have him out of my hair.
Evra had to wrap up in layers of clothes whenever we went out. Not because of the cold – though it was chilly: the first snow had fallen a couple of days after our arrival – but because of how he looked. Though he didn’t mind people gawping at him – he was used to it – it was easier to get around if he was able to pass for a normal human. That way he didn’t have to stop every five or ten minutes to explain to a curious stranger who and what he was.
Covering his body, legs and arms was easy – trousers, a jumper and gloves – but his face was tricky: it wasn’t as strongly scaled or coloured as the rest of him, but it wasn’t the face of an ordinary human. A thick cap took care of his long yellow-green hair, and dark glasses shaded much of the upper half of his face. But as for the lower half…
We experimented with bandages and flesh-coloured paints before hitting on the answer: a fake beard! We bought it in a joke shop and though it looked silly – nobody could mistake it for a real one – it did the job.
“We must look a right pair,”