The Saga of Larten Crepsley 1-4. Darren Shan
with vampires, but he had no intention of asking. Mr Tall was even more secretive than Seba Nile.
“You hunger to follow in his footsteps,” Mr Tall noted.
“Aye,” Larten nodded, sighing happily at the thought of making the trek to the legendary mountain.
“It’s a hard life,” Mr Tall said. “Long, perilous, dark. You would have a much more rewarding career if you remained with us and worked on your stage skills.”
Larten hadn’t told Mr Tall about his lessons with Merletta, but he wasn’t surprised that the circus owner knew.
“Why do you wish to become a vampire?” Mr Tall asked.
Larten paused, then frowned and admitted, “I’m not sure.” It was a question he had never asked himself. He’d just followed his instincts since that first meeting with Seba in the crypt.
“Do the centuries appeal to you?” Mr Tall pressed. “Many humans yearn to lead long lives. Do you want to extend your natural time and live four hundred years… five hundred… more?”
Larten shrugged. “I’m not too bothered.”
“Is it the power? You will be stronger than any human when you are blooded. You can force people to do as you wish, to respect and obey you.”
“Seba…” Larten stopped. He’d been about to tell Mr Tall of Seba’s decision not to become a Vampire Prince. But on reflection he wasn’t sure if he should. That might not be something that Seba wanted to share, even with as close a friend as Hibernius Tall.
“Seba told me a vampire shouldn’t seek power,” Larten said instead. “We leave humanity behind when we’re blooded. He said the Generals take a dim view of any vampire who tries to set himself up as a lord of humans.”
“So why do you hunger to join the clan?” Mr Tall asked again and looked up. His gaze was dark and burning. Larten wanted to look away – he felt oddly afraid – but he didn’t break eye contact.
“I don’t know,” Larten said. “It’s just something I have to do. If I could explain it, I would, but…”
Mr Tall grunted. “A victim of destiny,” he muttered and his head turned slightly as if he was sniffing the air. Larten realised that the caravan had come to a halt. Mr Tall always led the way, guiding his troupe from one place to another. He had a faithful piebald horse, but rarely sat up front to direct her. He was able to transmit his thoughts to the beast and steer the caravan from within.
Larten glanced out of the window. They had come to a crossroads. The horse had started to take a right turn, but now she hesitated, her head flicking to the left. To an outsider it would have looked like she was unsure of which path to take. But Larten knew that it was actually Mr Tall who was caught between two minds.
“There are some in life who serve destiny unconsciously,” Mr Tall said softly. “Their lives are mapped out for them, but they are unaware of it. I envy their ignorance — I, alas, know far too much. Others make of life what they wish. They are free to choose and go this way or that on a whim. I envy their freedom — I, unfortunately, am bound never to make such a loose choice.
“I see the paths of other people sometimes.” Mr Tall’s voice was now a whisper and his eyes were distant. Larten wasn’t sure if the tall man even knew that he was speaking. “I try not to, but on occasions I cannot avoid it. It’s tempting to make a change, to interfere, to avert the pain that one can see lying in wait for others. Destiny is a tower of cards — nudge one just an inch and everything stacked on top comes crashing down. To be able to help people, but to live in terror of the dire consequences…”
Mr Tall’s face darkened – his features seemed to vanish – then cleared. He smiled thinly at Larten. “Sometimes I think too much and say even more. Ignore me, my young friend. I should stick to what I am good at — running a freak show and carving dolls that nobody wants to buy.”
As Larten stared at the mysterious owner of the Cirque Du Freak, not sure what to say, Mr Tall lowered his head and concentrated on the doll. Outside, the horse’s head steadied and it took the right turn. Without hesitation it followed its original route, carrying Larten forward into the darkness and damnation of destiny.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Three nights later, Larten Crepsley took his first ever stage bow. Merletta sprang it on him at the last moment. He had been preparing his tray, and smiled briefly as Merletta approached, expecting her to pass him by. When she stopped, he looked up, slightly annoyed – she knew he was working to a tight schedule – only to almost drop the tray with shock when she said, “Would you like to be part of my act tonight?”
Larten thought he must have misheard. But before he could ask Merletta to repeat herself, she said, “You won’t have to do anything hard, just wriggle out of some locks and chains. It will be easy. If you’re not scared, that is.”
She smirked, confident he wouldn’t turn away from a challenge. But he nearly did, regardless of the shame it would bring.
“I can’t,” Larten gasped. “I don’t have anything to wear.” Every performer had a specially designed costume.
“I’m going to plant you,” Merletta said. “You’ll pretend to be part of the crowd. I’ll ask for a volunteer and pick you. That way you don’t need a costume.”
Larten tried to think of another objection, but Merletta headed him off at the pass again. “It was Hibernius’s idea.”
“Mr Tall wants me to go on?” Larten groaned.
“He thinks you have what it takes. I do too, though I wouldn’t have introduced you to the act this soon. I’d have given you another month. But Hibernius thinks you’re ready and he is rarely wrong in these matters.”
“All right,” Larten mumbled and set his tray aside. He didn’t ask anyone to take it for him — he was sure Mr Tall would have thought of that and sorted it out already.
Larten took a seat in the tent and chewed his fingernails as the rows around him filled. He felt dizzy and sick. He would have backed out if it had just been Merletta, but he was certain Mr Tall was watching him. He didn’t want to let down the man who had given him a temporary home.
When the lights dimmed and the show began, Larten could hardly breathe. The first few acts came and went without making any impression on him — afterwards he couldn’t remember what the line-up had been. He sat chewing his nails or squeezing his hands, praying to the gods for a miracle.
But Larten’s prayers went unanswered and Merletta took to the stage as usual. She normally held back her chains for the second act, but mindful of what Larten was going through, she opened with them that night. She performed a few tricks, slipping free of handcuffs and knotted ropes. Then she stepped forward and asked if any young man would be so good as to come up and assist her.
A few dozen hands shot into the air – Merletta’s beauty ensured that she never went short of lovestruck volunteers – but Larten’s wasn’t among them. He had made a spur of the moment decision to keep his hand down. Mr Tall might criticise him later, but that was better than having to get up there and…
To his amazement his right arm shot into the air and he half leapt out of his seat. He tried pulling his hand down, but he was no longer in control of the limb.
“There we go!” Merletta cried. “You’ll do, young sir. Give him a warm round of applause, please, ladies and gentlemen. He’s a brave young man, isn’t he?”
As people clapped and cheered politely, Larten found himself edging forward, propelled, he was sure, by the magic of the unseen Mr Tall. About halfway to the stage he regained control, but it was too late to back out. Gulping, he mounted the steps and grinned crookedly as Merletta turned him to face the crowd.
There were so many of them! Larten had viewed audiences from the wings, and moved among them with his wares. But now that