Brothers to the Death. Darren Shan
“That was a long time ago,” Gavner said softly.
“Hardly,” Mr Tiny snorted, then eyed Gavner critically. “You were an ugly baby. At least that much hasn’t changed.”
Gavner bristled, but Mr Tiny only laughed and turned his attention to Larten. “I assume you’re aware of the dozens of stout-hearted Germans dogging your every move?”
“Yes,” Larten said.
Mr Tiny flicked the bone he’d been scratching his foot with up into the air. He let it spin a couple of times, then caught it and proceeded to pick his teeth with it. Larten raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. There was a long silence. Gavner felt uneasy, but Larten and Mr Tiny both looked at ease.
Mr Tiny broke the silence. “You’ve matured since I saved you in that palace of ice. You remind me of Seba Nile now, serious and boring.”
“I am not a jester,” Larten said calmly. “It is not my job to amuse you.”
Mr Tiny scowled. “I preferred you when you were suicidal.” He cast a cat-like glance at Gavner. “Has he told you about the time he nearly leapt to his death?”
“Yes,” Gavner said.
Mr Tiny rolled his eyes. “You two are about as much fun as…” He grumbled his way into silence again.
Larten cleared his throat. “Have you travelled far?”
“I’m always travelling,” Mr Tiny replied. “I never stop in one place for long. There’s always some new tragedy to enjoy, a fresh disaster which merits an audience. I don’t get home often.”
“You have a home?” Gavner asked.
“Of course,” Mr Tiny said. “Every man needs a place to put his feet up and call his castle. I might take you there one day, Master Purl. You could tell me tall tales and admire my collection.”
“What do you collect?” Gavner asked, but Mr Tiny waved the question away and cocked his head. “Ah. Here they come. Better late than never.”
Larten and Gavner shared an uncertain look. They couldn’t hear anything. Then, out of nowhere, Larten heard the footsteps of several heavy people, close to the entrance to the crypt. He couldn’t understand how they had got so near without alerting him before this. It was as if they had dropped to the earth or appeared out of thin air.
As Larten tensed and Gavner rose to his feet, eight strange figures entered the crypt and fanned out around Mr Tiny’s coffin. They were even shorter than the meddler in yellow, and all were dressed in blue robes with hoods drawn over their heads to hide their faces.
“The Little People,” Larten sighed, having heard the legends.
“I must come up with a better name for them one day,” Mr Tiny purred, leaning across to adjust the hood of the Little Person closest him. Larten caught a glimpse of grey skin which had been stitched together, and a flash of green which might have been the creature’s eyes. Its mouth was covered with some sort of mask. Before he could probe further, the hood fell back into place and he saw nothing more of the Little Person’s face.
“I’m taking them to the Cirque Du Freak,” Mr Tiny said, and Larten’s eyes lit up.
“The Cirque is nearby?” he gasped, surprising Gavner with his enthusiasm.
Mr Tiny nodded. “Just a few hours from here. That’s why I’m in the area. You didn’t think I dropped by just to pass the time with you and your pup, did you?”
“Don’t call me a–” Gavner growled, taking a menacing step forward. Before he got any further, four of the Little People stepped in front of him and shielded Mr Tiny. They made no sounds and he couldn’t see their faces, but Gavner got the impression that they were snarling hungrily beneath their hoods.
“If you don’t withdraw, they’ll tear you limb from limb and eat your flesh while it’s warm and bloody,” Mr Tiny said cheerfully. He studied Gavner speculatively. “I believe I’ll ask them to keep your tongue for me.”
Gavner retreated swiftly, only stopping when he backed into the wall. The Little People returned to their original positions. Mr Tiny looked disappointed.
Larten had taken no notice of the exchange. He was searching mentally for Mr Tall, the owner of the Cirque Du Freak. The pair had bonded years before and Larten could track him the same way he could track Seba and Wester.
After a few seconds the orange-haired vampire smiled. Mr Tiny had told the truth — his old friend was no more than a couple of hours away. Larten brightened at the thought of meeting with Mr Tall again. He adored the world of the Cirque Du Freak, its fantastical performers, the magical shows it produced without fail night after night.
“You can come with me,” Mr Tiny said. “I won’t be stopping – I just want to drop off my Little People – but you can stay once I’m gone.”
Larten would have loved to accept the tiny man’s offer, but as he thought about it, his excitement dwindled. He didn’t want to lead the Nazis to the Cirque Du Freak — it might mean complications for Mr Tall and his crew. Better to steer clear and return at a later date when he was free of his vampiric duties.
“No, thank you,” Larten said. “We must move on. We do not have time for social visits.”
“As you like,” Mr Tiny sniffed. He got to his feet, put his boot back on and started for the exit.
“One moment,” Larten stopped him.
“Yes?” Mr Tiny paused.
“If you do not mind my asking, could you tell me why you are taking the Little People to the Cirque Du Freak?”
Mr Tiny shrugged. “I have a vested interest in the Cirque. Hibernius Tall might be my polar opposite when it comes to height, but we share many similar concerns. I help out in times of distress. Hibernius can usually take care of himself, but he doesn’t always act in his own best interest. Sometimes he is powerless to shield his performers from the cruelties of the world. In times of danger and terrible wars, I send a troop of Little People to travel with the Cirque and guard the cast and crew from catastrophe.”
“But this is not a time of war,” Larten noted.
“It will be soon,” Mr Tiny chuckled, his eyes flashing with wicked delight. “The most delicious war ever will be hot upon us within a matter of years. I can’t wait. It’s going to be majestic. I plan to follow it in all its gory glory, so I need to see to Hibernius in advance, to avoid getting distracted later.”
“You cannot know that for certain,” Larten said. “Like you, I think there will be another savage war, but it is a guess. Neither of us can be sure.”
“I can,” Mr Tiny purred. “Time is not the mystery for me that it is for you. I can see into the future. I know what lies ahead.”
“If that is true, you could stop it,” Larten said. “You could intervene and halt it at its source.”
“I could,” Mr Tiny said thoughtfully, then grinned viciously. “But that wouldn’t be any fun!”
Mr Tiny threw a mock salute at Larten and Gavner then ducked out of the crypt. His Little People followed like a line of giant, gloomy ducks. Larten and Gavner stared at each other. Before they could say anything, Mr Tiny stuck his head back inside. “I almost forgot — you’ll be seeing your old friend Wester Flack soon. Give him my regards, won’t you?”
“Wester?” Larten snapped. “What is he doing here and how do you…?”
Before he could complete the question, Mr Tiny was gone, leaving a troubled Larten and a bewildered Gavner alone in the crypt with the remains of the dead.
A week later, with the Nazis hot on their